Monday, July 30, 2007
I'm too old for this $h*t.
photo, credit to in2jazz.
On Saturday, we had planned to head into the city to watch The Color Purple - starring Fantasia! It was a rare night out without the monkeys and I was looking forward to it. Naturally, because of this, that night did not happen.
Apparently Fantasia flaked out for the evening, and was not to appear for our scheduled show. Once I discovered this, I exchanged our tickets for another night when I hope, she will make an appearance. Thankfully, I learned of this development before we drove all the way into the city. But, with babysitting already arranged for the evening, we were unwilling to sacrifice a rare opportunity to escape the madhouse for a few hours. So we went out anyway. We're all crazy and spontaneous like that.
We began the evening with a fabulous dinner at The Fig & Olive in the Meatpacking District.
Here's an idea of what the appetizer/tapas/crostini plate looked like. This picture was taken by Leslie Duss, who had the foresight to bring her camera with her when she went to the restaurant. I didn't bring my camera, but I really loved the food. It was picture perfect and (more importantly) scrumptious. The restaurant was big, by NYC standards, and filled with pretty, skinny, metro-type people who probably hadn't allowed themselves to eat all week. But apart from the scene, it was an awesome restaurant with great food and service.
Then we hit the club. The Highline Ballroom, to be precise. Wow. Why didn't places like this exist when I was young and skinny? Or if they did, why didn't I know about them? Wait, I know why. I lived in upstate NY and went to college there too. Places like this definitely did not exist in my old stomping grounds.
The trouble is, I was about fifteen years too late for this club. I'm not ready to say I was the oldest person there..but pretty close. The band - the Join, was great, our table was awesome, the fact that we could bypass the line out the door (thanks Steve) was great. What was my problem? Just old age, I guess.
As much as I was digging the music, I was distracted. Distracted by the hippie chick and boy who crashed our space, stood up on our booth barefoot, and put her stanky a$$ flip-flops on the table!! On the table!!! Lord, give me strength. Even my infant monkeys at home knew better than to put their foot apparel on the table.
I found myself thinking about the situation, as I listened to the music and surveyed the crowd. Some things never change, I guess. Fifteen years later, still the same ratio of hippie chicks/glamour girls/frat boy types. Still the same weird body gyration hippie dance going on (who invented this move???). I will say this crowd seemed slightly cleaner than the crunchy types that used to frequent the shows I went to.
But shoes on the table?? And maybe if they were nice shoes, I could deal. Like Manolos, or Jimmy, or Christian Louboutins, or shite, even Todt's, if you want to go casual. but flip-flops?? They looked like the Old Navy flip flops I have been living in for the last two years. I mean come on, girlfriend, make some effort will you?
Yeah, I've gotten old and grumpy. But at least my shoes were clean.
So, you can see why I do the bulk of my music appreciation at home these days. Here, Monkey jams on his horn (err...train conductor whistle) while I cook dinner. Front row seats without the scene, and he doesn't care how old I am. I'm the mommy, after all. I'm supposed to be ancient.