I Have Dined With Rich Folk

So, of course, because I pitched such a big fit about it and went in to the evening assuming and expecting the worst, my dinner with the Rich Folk ended up going just fine. They were a very nice family, lively dinner companions and if they noticed that I looked like a total hobo in my shabby jeans and hole-riddled boots, they were polite enough not to call attention to it. And they seemed to like me, too; despite evidence given in at least 65% of the posts on this blog, I can in fact be charming and funny when called on to do so, though honestly I prefer to only bust out Socially-Presentable Clinton on rare occasions. It's soooo much easier to just be drunk and cranky (or "dranky") all the time. But, whatever, I was a big hit Saturday night and that's all that matters.

Oh, coolest part... They had with them Girlfriend's Uncle's Father (Grandpa, who was a dead ringer for Lloyd Bridges) and it was clear that the entire family was a little weary of his old man-ness by the time we got to dinner. I ended up sitting next to him at the table and quickly discovered that he was a life-long Brooklyn resident. This, naturally, led me to ask if he'd ever seen the Dodger's when they were still East Coastally located. Well, Grandpa's eyes lit up and the old bastard started chattering away about Ebbet's Field and how games only cost a nickle and Leo Durocher and we ended up talking baseball for a good chunk of the night. I made a friend! Also earned major bonus points with Girlfriend's fam for entertaining their elderly charge for a little while. It was my pleasure, of course; I'm a big fan of chatty old men, especially when baseball's being discussed.

Yeah, so the evening went surprisingly well as far as person-to-person interactions were concerned. I was, however, right on the money as far as the jazz club was concerned. L-A-M-E!!! Girlfriend's family seemed to dig it, but man... they (the club) were going for kind of an upscale, sophisticated nightclub/lounge atmosphere but, for me anyway, it ended up feeling a lot closer to a dimly-lit waiting room in a dentist's office. Lots of polished blond wood and uncomfortable, spine-hating chairs. The food wasn't horrible, but it wasn't anything to do backflips for or anything; my catfish sandwich would have been a great 5$ meal. Them charging 16$ for it, though, is the best example I've ever seen of the phrase, "Rich Folk will pay any amount of money for anything as long as it's on a fancy plate."

As for the music... we saw a Latin jazz quintet called, I believe, El Boring Boringson and the Dulls. That may not be right though; I was lulled into a coma pretty quickly, so details are a bit fuzzy. Oh, but I kid the, I'm sure, talented musicians... if nothing else, their singer was certainly attractive in a Minnie-Driver-by-way-of-Cuba sort of way. I'd be lying if I said that I spent the entirety of her performance doing anything other than trying to make her dress fall off with my mind.

After the sonambulent sounds of Senor Siesta's Nap Squad, we all went out to Sardi's for coffee and desserts. Sardi's, if you don't know, was the hot, post-Broadway show place to eat back in the 70's and 80's. Today, not so much. But it's a piece of NY history and a place I'd never been to before, so that was pretty awesome.

Anyway, there you have it... not the disastrous evening that I figured it would be. It's always nice to be proven wrong in cases like these, I guess. Although it doesn't make for the most interesting blog fodder, as I'm sure you've noticed.

More later.