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June 5th, 2008

dyke bar

So the other night homovegetarian and I went to the Five-Cent Decision, now known as the Nickel. It's a dyke bar in a neighborhood in Cleveland. As we approached we gleaned without difficulty that there was a band that night; happily it was a pretty decent rock cover band, the Jane Deans.

The place was fairly crowded, and moreso as the evening went on. I got to talking to one woman hanging out near us, and then to her friend. Periodically they'd go for smoking breaks that seemed to take a long time. E & I were observing and appreciating the range of ages and sizes of people at the place. Then we saw some especially appealing-looking folks. More "queer" than "gay women," you might say. One of them had really cool shorts on. I was jealous of them. I asked her about them.

Later I got curious about the long gaps the smokers were taking, so I went out back to impersonate a smoker. Turned out there was a whole back slab area, with a fence and a firepit and a tent and such. A particularly friendly woman there (it got her in trouble with her gf) suggested I go to a place called Big Fun and buy fake cigarettes, so I could pass more easily among smokers in such situations. It *was* the place to be, I'm telling you, that smoking area. And you could hear people talk, too. And a surprising number of them were quite affably ready to talk to us. The night turned into one of those unusually friendly bar experiences.

Only problem was, being out back, we ended up missing a whole intermediary set by another band, which we found out when chatting with those especially appealing women, who turned out to be the members of that band, Early Girl.

MySpace is an annoying sloppy interface, but it's cool to be able to check them out thus. I'm angling for them to play Ann Arbor, but maybe I'll go see 'em in the fall at the lezbo fest in Columbus. They're pretty for-real.

After the bar we got breakfast in the neighborhood of our motel, at Dianna's, a 24-hour joint which was pretty much the definition of hubbub. The very smell of the place seemed to impart the kind of nutrition from grease that goes so well with alcohol in the bloodstream.

Later, back in our room, I found I still had a hard pack of Kools, with a token smoke therein, rolled up in my T-shirt sleeve.
 
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