I Came to See You

The funny part is, I originally planned to have a two-hour evening. No, seriously, I was shooting for a simple little Saturday night listening to friends play folk music and then home to bed. 10:30 to 12:30 and then out. Really.

And then a friend called out of the blue and suggested meeting for a drink at Julep and although I'd just been there Thursday night, I had been eating, not drinking, despite Bobby's attentive offers to pour me a variety of tequilas, so I said yes.

Tonight I gave him the opportunity to pour me Corazon and he graciously made me the first customer to use the new metal spoon-straws he'd brought back from his NYC trip last week. "You don't really need it with tequila on ice," he said, smiling, but it was still a nice gesture to make me the inaugural user.

The bar was packed, so we were standing near the end behind the hostess stand. At one point, one of my favorite servers, the handsome Kent, came over with a startled look on his face.

"You're like a Ninja," he said. "You come in here so stealthily I never even realize you're here and then, surprise, there you are." Yea, that's me, the stealthy type. I think more likely my lack of height hides me among the tall masses.

After a couple of hours (the original targeted length of my entire evening) about pasties, bar ambiance and pot-stirrers, I left for Balliceaux. A new friend had suggested meeting for music tonight, but didn't know of anything happening. Since I already had plans to go to a show, we decided to make it a twosome.

Austin greeted me at the front bar, so I decided to linger there a while there sipping Herradura Anejo and waiting for my evening's company, whom I wasn't even sure would recognize me since we hadn't seen each other since our original meeting nearly two months ago.

I told Austin about the dueling soloists show I'd seen last night because two of the guys at the show were mutual friends, including the drummer who'd lost me with his reference to pocket rhythm drumming.

Reassuringly, Austin gave me the same "huh?" look I'd given the drummer when he mentioned it. I felt better knowing I wasn't the only one confused by obscure drumming terminology.

As the dining crowd began to leave, the pretty people started arriving, so I knew I had to make my way to the back bar and establish territory.

My friend was due to arrive shortly and I wanted to have a place where we could actually see the show. I found that spot at the stool-less bar, where the most popular request from the youngest of the females was for Stella, a beer Balliceaux doesn't even carry (I like to think just to challenge them).

I'd come for the show with Jonathan Vassar and the Speckled Bird and the Go Rounds, a Brooklyn band.

Unfortunately for the bands (and me) 90% of the crowd had come to get drunk and shout. It was a shame for my companion, who had never heard JV & TSB before because the crowd roar drowned out the accordion almost completely

On the other hand, he got to hear Antonia's vox saw (turning to me, he said, "For a minute, I thought someone was playing saw!"), a real treat for anyone who's never heard it. I couldn't resist mentioning that I'd seen a band earlier this week that had two saw players. Two!

The Go Rounds were a duo playing earnest folk music and they had just as difficult a time making themselves heard over the inane conversations going on in the crowd. I can say that because I eavesdropped on enough to know that nothing was really being said.

During the break, we got to talking about classic country music after I told him my only real musical prejudice is contemporary country. A friend had recently played several vintage country records for me and I loved both the heartfelt sincerity of the lyrics and unique delivery.

While waiting in the loo line, I chatted up the guy in line behind me after he asked if I had waited as long as he had to finally get in line (I had). Funny the things people use to strike up conversations.

A few well-placed questions and I discovered that his current music passion is 80s Italian disco and that we both shared an affinity for Joy Division. Now I feel the need to explore 80s Italian disco just to know.

After the show, it was only 12:30, so my companion asked if I wanted to do some more talking (clearly we're new to each other if he has to ask me if I want more conversation) and get a bite to eat.

Given the time, our choices were limited, but Joe's Inn wasn't far and I hadn't been in since the "cool side" had been made into the smoking side (as I'd been told by more than one friend lately), so I was game.

The non-smoking side was empty and closed for the evening, so we took a booth amongst the cool kids, the only seats available actually, on the other side.

Standing next to our booth were a guy in bright red plaid pants and another guy in a shocking blue flower-print shirt. Despite my electric-blue tank top peeking out from under my dress, clearly we weren't nearly colorful enough for this crowd.

Deciding on what to eat was easily accomplished by him picking two things and me picking from his choices. That resulted in a Greek salad followed by spaghetti a la Greek with marinara, something I would have never ordered on my own, which made it a good choice for me.

As we worked our way through the mound of pasta the size of my head, we played the question and answer game, meaning we barely finished before they closed at 2:00.

As our ancient waitress informed us, "We've turned the coffee pots off." We assumed that meant that they were ready to lock the doors next.

End result: my planned simple little two-hour evening morphed into something like a simple seven instead. No complaints here.

Simple is in the eye of the beholder.