Classics pt. 2a: Clumsy lovin’ in the Arizona Keys
Originally posted Aug. 20, 2004Come back next week to find out how “Clumsy lovin’” concludes!
Sorry, ya’ll. Been slipping in the posting department this week, I know. When you have neither a man nor a job, however, it’s important to fill your life with at least some things (besides blogging). What is that Ray Charles lyric about how to “get some you gotta have some”? Surely he was talking about things...
By the way, if I’m less than coherent today, that’s the sangria talking. We spent much of last night together and it’s still got a hold on this section of my forehead, right between the eyes — a pinching hold. Not that I would say I’m hungover, mind you, I just forgot to be my usual water lush last night when downing damn-near half the generous pitcher (probably more, in fact; I swear there were times I outdrank my friend 3-2 in glass refills).
Probably this all happened because yesterday I saw a Clumsy Lovers show. That’s right — the band from the side column! They tell me ya’ll have put Sexless in the top-30 site-referrals list for their website. Sexless and clogging — so, blogging and clogging — are two of their biggest i-traffic sources. ;) And the Clumsy Lovers have been one of my biggest sources for post-show hijinx (compared to other bands for which I am an unofficial groupie).
A fan is born
It all started back when I was in grad school, and Irish Pub was my local Cheers. One Monday night in the fall semester, Girlfriend #4 and I headed to Irish Pub to work on a class assignment. Monday nights were usually quiet, so we secured a large table in the corner by the window, perfect for spreading out all our papers around the plates of fish and chips and an extra pot of curry sauce for her. At some point in the midst of our studious absorption, the evening’s entertainment arrived, arranged their gear on the small stage, and started playing to the audience of pub-goers. We continued our homework, but remarked to each other that this was probably one of the best bands we’d heard in the place.
They weren’t shy, either. One of the guys (CL is all-male, except for the kick-ass fiddle player) started heckling us good-naturedly about the papers strewn all across our big, wood table, and our evident disregard for their performance.
After the show finished, Girlfriend and I took a break from our studying, and somehow I struck up conversation with the fiddle player. She was great, and promised to send me a copy of her sister-in-law’s book. But my socializing didn’t end there. Somehow I ended up chatting to Good-natured Heckler, who was a tall, gangly Canadian with a wild mop of blondish hair (I always confuse him with a Russian economics Ph.D student an old roommate knew and want to call him Igor since they have the same hair). At one point in the conversation, the Rolling Stones’ “You Can’t Always Get What You Want” came on, and I expressed my delight by starting to dance around as I do (this was one of my ecstasy songs at the time).
One thing led to another, and before we knew it, 1.m. rolled around, Irish Pub was closing in accordance with Arizona’s liquor laws, and Girlfriend #4 and I were still chatting up the band — that is to say, Good-natured Heckler. We proposed continuing the night at the now-defunct diner where Girlfriend #3 and I once drank so many pots of coffee. As we were making our way out to the parking lot with Good-natured Heckler, he ended up inviting a trio of drunk strangers to join us on the diner date. We supplied directions, and a few minutes later the six of us reconvened in a window booth presided over Marilyn or Mae or one of the other celebrities adorning the wall, and whatever character was our server that night (one night the server offered her last smoke — a joint — to another random guy Girlfriend #5 and I had picked up at Irish Pub that night and dragged out to the diner; but that’s another story) ...
Sangria: 50 Festive Recipes
Living the Questions
Making Sense of the Mess and Mystery of Life
|Ray’s final album|
Genius Loves Company