It's Friday night and we're heading out to see Mr. Denton on Doomsday with some other bands at a venue we've never been to: The Blackened Moon. On some random impulse, I check one of the band's webpages--the venue's been changed to Gone Wired! Gone Wired? Even my high-heeled lady friend can--and volunteered to!--walk that short hoof. On the way past The Green Door we lamented the half-hearted singing wafting boozily through the front window, "Suhweet, uh-Caroliine..." shrugging into the cool night.
When we arrived at Gone Wired we sort of realized why this had all seemed too easy--you don't necessarily feel like you're 'out' when you're trying to party at the coffee shop where you wipe bananna off your baby's face while checking email. Not to say the dozens of other teens and twenty somethings weren't enjoying themselves. They looked like they lived in East Lansing.
So, where to? We gamely slipped over to The Green Door, but by the time our neighbor had finished checking our i.d.s, I knew it was over--The Green Door never misses, but they never split the arrow, either (think Robin Hood's first round of competition in the archery contest scene--the old school Robin Hood, not that last-year trash). Nikii has the brainstorm "Emils!"
Of course! Emils! The perfect spot for a stiff drink or a meatball. After crossing Michigan at the light on Clemens (always responds quickly to the Walk summons), we were greeted warmly upon our entrance into the red door (for the record, Gone Wired's door is pretty much a non-remarkable color. But the olive-burgers are fresh-ground at the halal market on the same block!)
Where were we? Emils. Met who might be called a costumed reveler were this a holiday article (and who still could be if not for just that confusion), local grassroots public relations icon E-Hosk incognito in a huge fur hat and fake nose with glasses. He looked much like Humpty trying to blend in on the set of Wizard of Oz, which of course got us all talking about synchronicity vis a vis Dark Side of Oz, which E-Hosk put into the context of a zombie ice-capades routine.
Somehow we did not end up breaking into a beatbox rendition of The Humpty Dance, but rather our new friend told us about Lauriepalooza going down at Mac's Bar. (We always say Mac's Bar, not just Mac's, cause like most locals, we find it weird implying that Chuck's name is Mac.) Lauriepalooza was this girl named Laurie having a birthday party for $1+ at the door, donated to cancer research. Dope.
So we finally found the all-out dance party Nikkii (and I) had been craving--or at least some embers to fan. And fire sprang to life.
Let's think about Michigan for a moment like it's the whole nation: Detroit is New York, there's the west/north Third Coast, and even spry Ann Arbor like a little Austin, TX all balanced by plenty of irresponsible farming and out-dated roads. This oil and coal whore (viewing from a celestial perspective, say) might make a rough case for Lansing as a place to settle unless one is on a quest for the belly of the beast. Yet here we are in rich interactions with one another on an Eastside Friday Night. Next time you fly over or cruise through a town that feels like just another prick on the map, remember what we have here in Lansing, and how most outsiders can't see the trees for the rest-stop.
Moral? Go out in your neighborhood--you can't predict the best love it can throw at you. Even if you miss the band you went out to see, that will just make a better story to tell them later... Holler.
