I Get My Fortunes Told For Free

Mike was wearing this same goofball Walmart T-shirt when Joe and Al and I went to see his band DC3 play the White Horse Pub last night, to which they launched into their usual tight set of covers like "Cissy Strut" by The Meters, Brubeck's "Take Five" and any number of random Allman Brothers jams. Mike, sort of a black, considerably less gay Bruce Vilanch, rarely ever wears the same slogan T-shirt twice in public so I was quite knocked over to see him suddenly repeating himself in such a, uh, broad communal setting (about 50 people, but a good night for the White Horse) opening up for a band called, er, Thundercock. And yes, we went basically to see if indeed a band called Thundercock could actually live up to such hubris. But actually after helping Mike break down his drums we didn't stick around long for their set because I had to make another appearance at another venue where I was also invited to attend the same evening: The weekly talent show Saturday nights at the Ambush. And I haven't been to the Ambush in over a decade, back when it was in the old Ames shopping center (which is now a Weight Watchers, which made me giggle every time I went there for meetings, sitting amongst cackling old biddies discussing recipes while I thought about all the hot young gay men that used to dance til they stuck to each other's sweat in that very same room) but the show has been moved a little closer to my house, and Saturdays are their typical talent/drag show shindig, and Miranda's girlfriend Ashley mentioned to me at work yesterday that she was in the finals for the top prize and to come on out and hear her do her thang. Her thang not involving drag so much but just her up on stage singing straight-up Faith Hill ballads and somesuch. And she sounded quite lovely, despite her taste in material. The other drag queens did their lip syncing bit, and some guy accused Al of calling him a whore, and when Al apologetically explained that he never said any such thing, the guy said "Aw, too bad." and kissed him. Whoo, score! And all I got to feel up all night was Ashley's boob. Which was pleasant, don't get me wrong. But the best part was Al's nonplussed expression when he pointed and roared "That MAN just KISSED MY EAR!!", obviously not as accustomed to being come onto in such an interesting, antagonistic manner, and not to mention Al being not gay and all. Later as we left we saw the same guy mackin' on some other dude in the parking lot. Poor Al. Barely an hour had passsed and already yesterday's lunchmeat. ;-)

Alvin, as always, keepin' it gangsta.

It's an amazing sensation, sitting here right now just coming back from brunch at A.W. Shucks with Mike and Al and Joe and the gang, and realizing that this is probably the first time in months that I had a brunch meeting with some of the funniest folks this side of the peninsula and I didn't cough once. And I didn't cough last night, laughing at the Ambush. Or earlier, when I was howling at Thundercock. Earlier this morning I was in my backyard while Joe was taking the weed-eater to the lawn, and I was breathing deep of the sunshine and flying grass, and I was able to exhale without a single seizure. Did get a mess o' bug bites on my ankles, though. That did kinda suck. But no coughing. That didn't suck.

I'm well again. At least until next year.

Here's to health. And to the good folks at the Ambush. And to, uh, the guys in Thundercock, wherever you may roam.

Prost!