Fitting in a Thursday night

1 Apr

Where do I fit in?

Do you ever have those big existential questions that loom over you?  You know the ones about: “Who am I” or “Where do I fit it?”  Every time that I feel confident and sure-footed about the answers, something twists.  I get older, they get younger.  Last night was a pretty succinct real life illustration of what I’m talking about.

I started out at the opening party for the new Jonathan Adler retail showroom in Atlanta.  If you don’t know who he is or aren’t familiar with what he does, just give it a little time.  Jonathan started out as a pot dealer…let me explain.

Pot candles make an excellent hostess gift

He makes pots and things out of bisque clay, like vases covered in boobies, menorahs, bongs and canisters for Quaaludes.  He has branched into funky textiles, lighting, furniture and purveying his “happy chic” lifestyle.  It’s all bright, graphic and tongue-in-cheek.

The party was clogged exclusively by Atlanta’s forty-something fabulous crowd.  Do not mistake this group with the Jezebel clique.  That’s a totally different vibe.  These are largely the natives and private-school hipsters of the 1980s and late 1970s who still have it going on in a big way.  There were waiters with plates of little fluffy yummies to munch, vodka drinks, white wine and sparkling water.  All the best-dressed industry and artsy gays were mixing with swanky couples, bohemian socialites, old-school preps and Hot Damn.  It was all very glam.

But it was Thursday and that means that I had to scoot out of Jonathan’s and get myself over to The Laughing Skull Lounge to check out this week’s offerings.

Who doesn't want to look pretty for their close-up?

This month there isn’t any one host comic.  With the Comedy Festival starting next week, everyone is just pitching where needed.  Tonight Trey Toler primed the room with new uses for Crest Whitestrips.  I had actually heard about “off label” uses before, but dismissed it.  Who would need to bleach THAT to make it sparkle?  But now that Trey has clarified that a certain sector comes from the womb on a rainbow burst and has an expectation for things to just be shiny.  If Trey said it, it must be true.  He reads a lot of blogs, so he knows about these things.

Poor, poor Paul Gallois, at age thirty, he still can’t seem to pick out his own clothes.  That might be why he kinda looks like he’s got his own militia OTP.  It’s not a look that is conducive to being able to actually use a whole box of condoms before they expire, especially with foxy black chicks.  But Paul is well aware of his exploits looking more like hate crimes than just a simple man trying to get a little lovin’.

Renaissance gal Emily Fleming

New-to-the Skull Emily Fleming came in from Tennessee.  She is young, adorable, energetic and has a sort of stoner goofability about her…except that I am certain that she was completely sober.   Emily is a creative sort; she makes jewelry, designs jeans for specific body types, can do dead on impressions and brings visual aids!  I love a visual aid.  She’s a cool chick who felt comfortable enough to share her religious beliefs with us.  She had a good point about people needing to experience bouts of extreme atheism and unwavering faith before they are able to reconcile themselves to a God-like figure they can believe in and be respectful of.  God, like a kick-ass pair of jeans, is not a one-size-fits-all.  He can take on many forms…like a Kittycorn…

Thou shalt meow!

Headliner Sean Patton is recording a new comedy CD at the Laughing Skull this weekend.  Do you know what that means for you?  It means he’s got his thing totally fleshed out and it is ready to go, that’s what.  This CD is going to need to be run through Tipper Gore’s PMRC, because dude loves to say “FUCK!”

Sean Patton and Hot Damn

Sean currently lives in NYC and we all know what kind of homeless crazy just walks around up there.  It’s pretty much the same kind we have here at the downtown bus station, but more.  Sean’s had to develop a line of demarcation to figure out what kind of bat-shit nut can benefit from his $1 to spare and who will just do something weird with it.  It ran off on an interesting tangent where I began wondering what my own psychotic split with reality would look like should it ever come to pass that I’m out on the street.  Luckily, it’s just a thing to muse about, like having a county jail cavity search.  Except, that thanks to Sean I have a pretty good idea of exactly how that goes down.  Growing up misunderstood in a safe, white upper-middle class neighborhood with supportive parents can really give you a case of the teen angst and rage.  The best way to deal with this is probably to take up Mom and Dad’s offer to send you to a great liberal arts college and narrow your focus to application essays and not spend your creative energy taking a stand against The Man with a rousing nine innings of Mailbox Baseball.  Turns out that is a criminal, arrestable offense.  And sometimes, when you are funny, hilarious things just come out of your mouth.  Word to the wise: shut your mouth when the deputy wants to know if you have a gun stuffed up your butt.  Just hold still and be quite.  Listening to Sean talk about having an inner-loser voice, hanging out with friends who are professional potheads, getting your heart macerated in messy breakups, and pregnancy scares made me think that maybe I’m glad to have moved on and be able to look back and laugh at my twenties and be glad that those years are someone else’s problem now.

Speak up!

The night ended with sitting in the Skull’s green room, that is red, stuffed full of really young people and recording a pod-cast.  We talked a lot about music, middle-school zero tolerance policies that did not exist when I was in sixth grade…or even in college, award shows, parents and Jesus! did I feel old.  It was such a flip-flop to start out tonight with one group who is well underway and end with another that’s just starting to stretch.  I am somewhere solidly in the middle.  Too old to be hip or care about bleaching my b-hole, too young to be hiring a caterer or decorating a lake house.

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