Since no one probably cares about the move (We love our new place! Buying furniture off Craig's List rules! I can keep not going to the gym for another month with all that lifting and running up and down the stairs I did! We're siphoning wireless net off some neighbors!), I'll tell you how I spent my Friday night.
I'd committed myself to checking out this party I'd been getting emails about for a few months. I trekked across Queens and Brooklyn on the J as usual, stumbling into the haphazard rerouting that had a special J train running in place of a 4/5 as an M/Q hybrid to Prospect Park. The MTA loves fucking up the weekend trains all at once. It's always so fun.
I found myself around J&R circa 1am, peering down a sidestreet and hoping that I had to be anywhere besides the dark alley. But, I took a breath and was off until I found the nondescript looking storefront building. My note in my phone said it was the place and I opened the door to see a Wes-like hippie man chilling in the lobby.
"Am I in the right place?"
"You're here for the party?"
"Yeah I think so."
"We've got to keep it lowkey, you know."
I nod sorta and look around for an elevator/stairs/something.
"So, are you a cop?"
I shoot him a funny look. "Yes. Definitely."
"Yes I am." I laugh. "Come on, do I look like a cop? I'm like 4 feet tall!"
"Well, you never know. Are you a cop?"
"Yes..ahhh...no. Heh...I can't help saying yes. But, I'm really not a cop."
A new guy comes through the door and the door keeper quizzes him. The guy says yes too. It's impossible not to. The question is so ludicrous. Not that there aren't black cops, but I doubt the guy and I with our modified afros and slightly hipster gear would make the cut. This is real life, not 21 Jump Street. The door dude babbles on, "well, it's a legitimate question. If you were cops, you have to say you are when asked, you know." We get on the elevator, chuckling about it, and a girl and another guy hop on before the doors clothes. "I'm totally a cop!" she says and we all laugh.
We exit upstairs into a line in front of a door. Music thumps on the other side, but first we have to get through the chick with the clipboard and the man selling door tickets. I pay my $7 entry fee and pick up 2 drink tickets (also $7 a pop) before heading in. The party is live: great music and dancing, people all about. The bar is even professional looking considering the circumstances.
I spot D, newish friend, holding up the wall and he waves me over. "You've got perfect timing," he says. "The party just got really good."
I panscanned the crowd -- a heap of people I've never seen before. It's a miracle! I've been slowly phasing out a lot of the places I used to hang out and shifting into new ones. I'm trying to recapture the feelings I had last winter when anything seemed possible, but navigating things a little wiser this time around. If anything, I hate a lot more things than I used to, so my bullshit meter is pretty sensitive now.
In some sort sick cosmic joke, just as my wandering eyes landed on paydirt (fucking Morgan Geist at the same party as me! Holy shit!), the lights turned on. D and I glanced over to the doorway to see cops in uniforms busting in the place. He disappeared somewhere across the room and I stood wondering what was about to happen. "I guess the guy downstairs wasn't so silly asking if we were cops," said the second guy from the elevator who had the bluest eyes I've ever seen. True to form, I blathered with him and had no clue who he was (until I looked it up on the net, natch). Some guy came up to him solemly and shook his hand saying, "I really enjoyed your set last night. It was really awesome." He demurred thanks and I glanced on it quizzically. Ignorance is totally bliss.
Some hecklers encouraged the cops to go waste their time on real criminals, etc. and chanted "9-1-1." One got grabbed up by the arms and marched out. The notable thing about that to me was the fact that he was picked up by the undercovers...who were straight up as plainly cops as ever existed. They looked like someone had gone to central casting and ordered up some "cop-looking" characters. I wondered how the hell paranoid door guy would ever let them through. Maybe they lied and said they weren't, totally disproving his little theory.
They made with the kicking out of the partygoers and I used my scarf to cover up my little plastic cup of rum and cranberry. I met up with D on the street and he was amazed to see me sipping. "This is a $21 drink, goddamit. I wasn't leaving it in there!" We made our way past City Hall and Uptown. It was only 1:30. The night was still young.