Reeling around the nightclub like the hubcaps off a car

He says you ain't worth a dime
To his life support systems
They still keep him talking
On the chance that he'll say something
--- American Music Club, "Crabwalk"

After work, I met Friar at the Hangout. Over a few drinks, we reminisced about our high school circle and what's become of them. That's a pastime I still enjoy every now and then, even though it often makes clear just how short of the mark, by any measure, I've fallen compared to them.

Anyway, then we went off to the Theater where one of Friar's bands was playing. It was a terrific show, full of sounds and lights and fury. Local comedian Skullfuck introduced the band, after telling a few corny jokes. Naturally, after his set I felt the need to go up and give him some helpful advice on comedy and timing. He appreciated that.

We ran into Gunner, the young sister of one of Friar's friends. She's one of those cool, songwriter-digging, motivated chicks; at a very young age, she served as a congressional aide in D.C. She lives life hard, goes to as many shows as she can and has a huge crush on Auric.

Before the band's second set finished (unfortunately, as they were in fine form), Friar headed us back to the Hangout, where Sonar was playing an intimate solo set. Sonar's a very talented guy, and Friar and I were up front cheering and singing along.

When we entered the bar, a doorman I'd never seen before asked me for ID (I look and dress young). Usually, I don't mind --- it's these guys' job, after all. But tonight, I was having none of it. I happened to be standing next to Bon, one of the part-owners of Hangout, and just wordlessly tapped him on the shoulder, then jerked a thumb back at the doorman and walked away, leaving Bon to tell him it was OK. A dick move, but what's the point of being a regular at a place if you don't flaunt your familiarity with the bosses every now and then? Later, Friar, Bon and I played video golf, and we ate some suspicious-looking fried bar food. Everything's better with ranch.

There's a waitress at the Hangout named Cocotte, whom Friar tells me is a tip-snatcher. She'll intercept customers who have been ordering from other waitresses and take their order and ring up their whole bill under her name, taking the tip total for the whole night. AL, the venerable waitress whom I've mentioned before, has been the victim of this at times, but as an easygoing, self-abnegating, motherly type, AL doesn't mind, even willingly passing off her own customers to Cocotte. While I'm friends with several waitresses, I've never worked in a bar or restaurant before, so I'm not personally familiar with the professional code of conduct. I would think, however, that this practice of tip-snatching would be seriously frowned upon. I'm surprised at Cocotte, as she seems so friendly and sweet. She is also easily one of the five most beautiful girls I have ever seen in my life.

Watching her at the bar, I said to Friar, "Even knowing she had taken every other server's customer in the bar, I would still happily give that girl the biggest tip I could possibly afford." Female pulchritude is a form of brainwashing in males.