Being friends with Jonah Goldberg has its privileges. Yeah, we hate each other, but that’s what binds us together- he’s got the cash and the multi-media empire, I’ve got the brains and you know he’s always had a thing for Geenie C. We just pretend to like each other. Anyway, I’m swilling his VIP room champagne at the club, he thinks he’s teaching me a lesson. He’s trying to be edgy as he passes around a pack of clove cigarettes, although the Magnum PI lighter he got from Tom Selleck at an NRA meet-and-greet is not doing him any favors. Since this part of the club is starting to smell like a god-damned Christmas ham, I decide to check out the rest of the action.
Song: Pure Freak-downlowtooslow. Missy mashed with the androgynous misanthropes Placebo. Is this the mashup that proves you can mix Missy with anything? No, that’s Missy plus some Bach fugue they played earlier.
Either way Brian Molko’s sexual ambiguity is fitting because as I look across the dance floor, I see Chuckles is trying to find some more coats to check so he may continue to ply the coat check “girl” with suspect tips. Where’s his babysitter?
Song: I Need a Spirit Machine-ccc. Norman Greenbaum, the Fabs, Goldfrapp. A killer.
Some conspicuous PDA on the floor- a Josh Duhamel lookalike and a trendo wearing a “librarians do it in the stacks” skirt become interwined. Young love indeed. Oh there’s Fulsome, he’s looking wistfully at the floor although it seems his g-friend wants his nerdly side at full-attention.
How did this get played? What’s going on? I catch AG and Uncanny Canadian (Three Bulls!) sneaking out the door. Well, they’d had their hands all over each other all night, probably headed out of this ham and sausage festival. The first idea that something was amiss was when this song started playing and the tv above the bar stopped playing German Gay-ish semi-porn and started playing Patriots highlights. Oh, I see that Gavin M. and Brad R. have taken over the DJ booth. Looks like it is going to be Tom Brady and the Damned for the rest of the night.
Well they’re doing the balloon drop and another New Years comes and goes. Jonah toasts the troops on his fake gimpy leg thinking of Jenna the whole time. Cheney’s in the back room with the as-of-yet unmoved Ecstacy working Bobby Lightfoot over for channeling a damn good Lester Bangs. Blue Girl’s drinking a tonic with lime cuz she’s gonna take care of everyone’s drunk ass. Troy been passed out in a sea of beef for at least an hour, he’d already had his own ball drop. Res, he hasn’t left his little booth all night, looking both dour at the rest of us and smitten at the same time with his special someone. He’s doing that thing where he gives you a weird, skeptical eyeball. It’s like the eye of Sauron that one.
a and p were of course bickering over a’s scarf left in the cab. p just wants to order a drink but a a) won’t decide and b) want’s to blog about p’s assumed hegemony over a’s drink choice. The Rev. of course merely has to say two not really words in his English accent and he pulls like 20 birds. He’s fit, but by God, don’t he know it.
All the cool kids scored like a million dates and were too cool for this club of miscreants, plus jexter got his eyeball chewed out by a chipmunk. aif is diversifying his portfolio as we speak. Auguste is trying out some poetry on some babe, but perhaps he has forgotten that the poetry already worked and that it is his wife. Halford, Chip and Baby Si-Si are busy building a spaceship with Take 5 bar wrappers while being watched by church police.
I ask Gavin to put on one little tune, one little Happy Monday’s tune, the kids perk up, they hear the guy from Gorillaz’ “Dare”…
Happy New Year, Cobaggos!