My God, I'm old.

WRAP UP!

Blogging the square happened today, and it was a clear indication that I'm party-impaired.

Oh, I hung in there for four or so hours in the sun and heat of a late August North Carolina day while bands roared and played and a throng of almost every imaginable sector of local society swirled around (but still....not an Asian person in sight. Where ARE they?), but the four was about all I could do.

Once 8:15 darkened the sky, I was done fer, as they say, and had to bid adieu to Mojo and a couple of other friends (Hi P and C!) and make it home to the Tiny House before 1) the liquor stores closed, and 2) I dissolved into a messy puddle of old sweat and 'stopped paying attention.'

The bands were good and loud, that much is for sure. They were good, really! Loud, also. If pattern holds, tomorrow I should sound a little like Harvey Firestein what with all the shout-talking that was needed to make a point come across the first time, even when seated three feet from the receiver of said point. Secksee, no?

We heard four or five bands, each flinging out heavy geetar riffs and a wall of sound that forced the curmudgeon in me to respectfully insist we sit someplace where there was a fighting chance of hearing one another yell. We picked a nice spot under a nice tree with a nice bench next to it on which were sitting a few nice homeless people, who, no doubt, were not at all pleased that we'd chosen their BEDROOM to hang out in. I felt badly, but really? Sorry. I need the shade, and that was the last reasonably sized piece of it left to be had. Who cares it it was absolutely littered with cigarette butts? It was right next to the tent where the country-bar girls were supposed to be doing a little living advert for their establishment, but instead came across as several pretty young hotties in fishnets and boots (in which anyone can look good, but they? were rocking that look HARD), sitting in plastic chairs and looking bored. Prolly not what the proprietor had in mind.

It was fun talking and getting to know each other. Mojo is a bit of the Bollywood afficinado, and knows tons of lines from tons of movies, besides which he can so a Scots accent spot-freaking-ON. Would have been cool to be able to hear half of what he was saying the first time he said it....

Got to see the Ghandi statue downtown. Ghandi apparently had very big feet. And was over 6 feet tall. And wears a diaper. Who knew?

Had three 4-buck Red Hook IPAs. Excellent.

Had some nachos. Pretty dammed good. There were steak sammiches and onion rings too, but by the time dinner rolled around the crowd had begun to mount up and invade the square, so the wait for those nommable treats was rather long. My friend C and I sat and chatted for quite a while while the gentlemens were fetching edibles, so long in fact that we began to think that the mens had gotten lost or ensnared by one of a gaggle of gorgeous young women who roamed the park. There were many many breasts on display today, and not all of them on women. (Hey dude in the patent leather platform boots, fishnets, short mini, and pink boa? Dude, the boa took it over the top for me. You would have been better off wearing a collar and being led around on a leash by your totally nondescript female handler. Oh, and learn to WALK in boots if you're a tranny. Also? shave. Jeez!)

The boobs on display were kind of astounding. Even I had to look. Too bad there weren't an equal number of hot young dudes to ogle. Seriously, the margin was at least 10 sweet young thangs to 1 reasonably attractive hot stud. No fair, say I.

Anywho, by the time band 6 rolled around (which was Eve 6, by happy coincidence), I was all out of gas. It was time to go home. The sea of humanity was pressing in, the ambulances had started to arrive to pick up the first beer-induced casualties of the night, and my fat lazy old soul said "baby? let's go home where it's quiet and there's a shower and where there's a teevee and your chair and bourbon, and let's call it a night, mmkay?"

I love my FLOS and so said yes.

Mojo, C, P? Thanks. I really did have fun. But the crust of sweat? It had to go, and so did I.

They really ought to hold these things in November, ya know?