June 5th - Modern Jazz Quartet (MJQ)

So, when you are an adult who has experienced an unusual amount of stress such as packing up all of your worldly possessions and driving for three days across the southern states of America with two highly attitudinal felines, you inevitably reach a point where you either require a nervous breakdown or you must dance really, really hard for a long time. Having recently relocated to Atlanta, Georgia, this marketer by day and reveller by night thankfully chose the latter. I decided to get loose at an ATL favorite by the name of MJQ (Modern Jazz Quartet). MJQ is the kind of place one goes to dance. There's no need for flashy outfits with matching accessories or six hours at the salon. If you feel like dancing and not leaving the dance floor for hours despite the wet heat, a random elbow in the face and the unmistakable aroma of burning illegal substances then MJQ is your place. In the daylight hours one would never tell that this random garage on Ponce De Leon is an absolute crackin' music emporium once night falls.

After centering myself to the tunes of Paulo Nutini , donning a boy-beater, jeans and stilettos, and grabbing a bite to eat, we hightailed it over to MJQ at the stroke of midnight and walked into the literally underground spot to the sound of the late Biggie Smalls. We ordered a couple of beers and then hit the floor, happy, smiling, excited and all. From the DJ's table was a steady stream of hip hop classics including A Tribe Called Quest, KRS One, Naughty By Nature, E-40 and on and on and on. Then at one magical point made specifically for lovers, the music switched to reggae and we grooved to hits like Action
and Murder She Wrote.

In a word, it was AWESOME. You see, MJQ always attracts a crowd who will give you plenty of space to express yourself on the dance floor. There is no person randomly standing in the middle of the floor or shouldering their way through to the other side. Even the folks standing outside of the center are moving to the beat. The DJ knows how to hype the crowd. The music is stopped for sing alongs. Exhibitioners have dance-offs and the crowd makes a circle to accomodate.

OutPast30 Lady danced for just two hours that night. Why? My goodness...because of the humidity. It's been about six years since I've sweated a freshly permed head of hair out on the dance floor. I guess it's something with which I'll just have to reaquaint myself. Upon exiting the club, ears ringing, sticky, heads still bobbing to the bass we checked out the ice cream truck parked outside. Sweet Asha sold everything from Otter Pops to bottled water to Lifestyle condoms. Now, that's good marketing. MJQ, I will be back....soon.

To my West Coast readers, please stay tuned and keep reading. If you've never been to Atlanta, there is so much to do. In the tradition of Las Vegas, it is a 24 hour city but it's got a certain je ne sais quoi that makes it reminiscent of the Bay Area and New York and New Orleans all wrapped into one. I hope that I can convince you to visit. To my new Atlantean friends....oh the fun we're going to have.

FLASHBACK - OPM @ Ceasars Palace

I'm not a parent but I might as well be, considering the antics of my cats. Berenstein, perhaps under the influence of Spring, decided to try to mount his sister, Buttercup. Buttercup wasn't having it; thus she put the smack down on Berenstein to the tune of $250 in vet fees. In order to make sure Berenstein didn't try to remove his e-collar (again) and scratch out his stitches, I've been playing nurse...at home... devoid of nightlife, complimentary cocktails...or encounters with crazy tourists. Alas, I do have my memories.....

While in the midst of a rather nasty breakup, I decided that the "mack" in me was due to make a return. I called up an old friend from the Bay Area (let's call her "Candy" ) to go check out OPM at Caesars Palace. World-renowned Kid Capri would be handling the wheels of steel so I knew there was going to be a good mix of music. (OPM no longer exists. It is now Poetry Night Club.) I went and picked up Candy, put a fast-forward on her wardrobe selection and whisked her away to Caesars. I was eager to let off some steam on the dance floor plus I refused to pay cover or miss out on the free champagne until midnight. We must have gotten there right around 10:30pm.

Champagne in hand, I recall scanning the crowd. I knew that half of the ladies had gained entry on the strength of borrowed IDs. Ghastly. I was pretty disgusted for a half hour because Kid Capri had not yet begun to spin and everyone who had gotten there early enough to get a seat was sitting there with that "I have a seat and you don't" look on there faces. OPM was one of those clubs that was designed to look packed no matter how many people were there. There could have been 150 or 1050 people there and it would still feel like the cozy confines of a sardine can. Meanwhile, Candy was convincing some dude to score us some shots. I knew she'd come in handy.

The night progressed and Kid Capri made his entry. (It's amazing how we're all aging, isn't it?) The dance floor was ridiculously packed thus prohibiting any movement that could remotely be considered dancing. I just stood there for a while looking around at the people. I noticed a guy walking by with a cigar hanging out of his mouth. I asked him what kind of stick it was. He gives me this totally smug half-grin and proudly announces, "It's Cuban, Baby." I asked him to let me take a look at it. Being a cigar snob of sorts, I have the ability to smell the savory decadence encased within an authentic Cuban tobacco leaf. That was no Cuban. The cigar band didn't even have a brand on it. I handed his cigar back to him and advised him that he was mistaken. I then watched him approach his friends and ask them what kind of cigar it was. That's when I knew I had to get the hell out of there. I was in a room full of faulty "flossers" and "posers."

I ended up staying for about another two and a half hours.

I would gladly go see Kid Capri spin anywhere. He was playing all of the East Coast sounds I like even as he mixed in some Bay Area favorites. After throwing a few 'bows and slapping more than a few people in the face with my dreadlocks, I was able to clear a space for myself to get down. I worked up a good sweat and then found Candy talking to some guy who apparently had at least three STDs. I had to drag her all the way down the stairs and out of the casino by her forearm....and she was no skinny Minnie.

On the way, I had to listen to Candy talk about how many guys had hit on her and how she was afraid that someone from the Bay Area had seen her and would probably report it back to her seasonal lover. She then kept insisting that we stop and get something to eat. I refused. I guess I could've stopped after all but I just didn't want to. Besides, Candy had the situation under control. She pulled a half-eaten Arby's roast beef sandwich out of her purse and sated her appetite. I didn't even begin to comprehend what I was witnessing until the next morning. Yes, she had brought that sandwich to the club. Yes, she had danced around the club for at least three hours with that thing in her purse. Yes, she smacked as she ate it on the ride home.

Honestly, I think that's what made my night.

April 11th - Down and Derby @ The Beauty Bar

Last night's festivities definitely warranted a celebratory WOOOOOOOOO!!

In all honesty, I have always been and will always be a hippie from the Bay Area (Westside represent). I was incredibly saddened by the death of Vegoose. I support and am hopeful for the development of >First Friday. The hippies of Las Vegas need a place to congregaate since we don't have our own Telegraph Avenue. However, with the addition of Down and Derby Las Vegas, our culutural revolution continues.

Down and Derby is a monthy skate party at The Beauty Bar down on Fremont Street. Clad in funky get-ups inspired by the 70s, 80s, or just pure insanity, expressive folks aged 21 and over can imbibe in the bar upfront or rollerskate in the lot out back. If you think that the idea of combining alchohol and skating with adults who probably haven't donned a pair of rollerskates since their were gradeschool age sounds firghtfully dangerous then you are probably right. However, when you're grown and sexy...and a hippie...you pop a multi-vitamin, throw on a blond afro wig, do some squats amd high tail it over to that skate party like you have business.

I had such a fine time! Initially, I was pretty wobbly on those wheels but I took great comfort in knowing that I wasn't the only one. I'd made the incredibly wise decision to drink a soda instead of a martini and thus after a few circuits around the makeshift rink, I was able to comfortably relive the joys of dancing on wheels. The energy of the crowd was amazing and everyone was quite sympathetic of those who took a tumble. Falling as an adult really sucks because you have so much farther to drop. The party went on until 2am but I was done after three hours. I'm no skating spring chicken. To all my fellow skaters, enjoy the photos!