Alan and I moving an entertainment center from out of the back of the truck:
"You got it?"
"yeh"
"ready?"
"yeh"
We lifted up the awkward-shaped entertainment center from the bottom. For a moment it hung there in our hands, but then from inside of the unit I began to hear creaks and groans as gravity attacked the cheap particleboard. Then with a slow majesty like the Hindenburg crash, the whole unit toppled over to the ground and shattered in a spray of small shelves. Sigh. Tonight I am going to have to work with screws and glues to get it back to its original form.
Went to Haven last night. It sucked. Sucked blue dog balls. When we were there, at least, the place was dead. About a dozen people populated the place. At the bar some guy in a mechanics shirt nursed a beer. A couple of underwear-baring yo-boys played a game of pool. A couple of creepy older dudes in leather vests milled about. Up on the stage, perched on a pedestal, a single geek with a pair of tinted glasses worked his laptop and the sound system. Techno music pulsed through the room. It was not bad stuff, nothing great but not bad. Not anything some dude with some samples and a mixer could not sequence under some windows software.
Every now and then some dude would hop into the dancefloor and start a frenzied jig. After a few moments when he saw the rest of the bar was not jumping in to join him like some sort of Bollywood epic, he sheepishly slunk away. Some people were playing with glowsticks. Welcome to 1995.
Alan kept commenting on a picture that was on the wall. He said it was the bartender's mom. I am not so sure he was wrong. Seemed like an odd place to hang a pic of your mom, though.
After an hour or so at that place I was bored out of my mind. We decided to take off. My booty-gawking appetite had gone unfulfilled, so we headed downtown to I-bar. There was a lot of interesting characters running around that night. My favorite was communist-panty girl. This was some slim little waifish girl who was wearing what looked like a pair of white panties, fishnet stockings, and a Russian fur cap. It was an amusing combination.
Out on the dancefloor I was amused to see the girl from lazytown, all grown up and decked out in black and shaking her stuff.
As fun as that was to watch, eventually the smell of the hotdog vendor outside garnered all my attention. There is just something about having a few beers that makes the smell of some dingy old sausage that has been drying up outside on a metal rack suddenly seem like the most appetizing thing around. I paid too much money for one, tipped the guy a quarter, and then wolfed it down. It was heavenly.
There was something big going on at Tabu. I could not tell what, but there was a huge line, mostly black folks, stretching down almost the entire length of the block. A few of the outfits those girls wore was downright hookerish.
So that was that and we headed home.
Last night after work I popped in the liquor store to find myself something to nip at during the week. To my delight I saw that they are now selling Redrum in Florida. I used to buy it all the time when I went to school in New York, but I haven't been able to find it in Florida. It's good stuff. Slightly fruity rum that is not too sweet and not sticky. Great stuff for taking shots. Hooray for Redrum.
2026 Update
Cranking the dial to October 5, 2006, where Ed mourns particleboard and hunts spectacle in a dead techno club.
Ah, 2006. The year of no smartphone, just instincts. Ed drags an entertainment center from a truck, hears the particleboard groan like a dying whale, and watches it fall with Hindenburg majesty. The future has not improved this moment: now the furniture arrives flat-packed and the groan comes later, during assembly, when you realize you've built a coffin for your television stand. Nightlife: Ed gambled on a dead bar, gaped at communist-panty girl, fled to another bar, ate a suspicious hot dog. Today we would check photos, read five reviews, and still go out because FOMO is the eternal furnace. The hot dog vendor with the quarter tip is gone; now every payment screen demands 25% and a smile. Redrum appearing in Florida was big news; now I can summon almost any bottle to my door without wearing pants. The more things change, the more they are delivered.
“2006 Ed, what exactly did you expect to happen at a place where the only people were a mechanic, some yo-boys, older dudes in leather, and one laptop DJ? And did you tell anyone the hot dog was heavenly before or after you tipped him a quarter?” — Beelzebubba the Third
2006 Ed: So, Beelzebubba, good question. Honestly, I didn't have many expectations walking into Haven. A dead bar with a mechanic, some yo-boys, old guys in leather, and one laptop DJ is pretty much the Central Florida special. You go in hoping maybe someone falls off the stage or a glowstick catches fire, but instead you get a Bollywood slink and a framed picture of the bartender's mom. Should've known. And no, I didn't tell the hot dog guy he was heavenly, not before or after the quarter tip. I just nodded, grunted, and shoved that beautiful dried-up sausage in my face. Then I told Alan, 'That was heavenly.' He looked at me like I'd lost my mind. But I meant every bite. Redrum made up for the whole night, too. Hooray for rum hiding your mistakes.
