with Frank Barron
Friday February 26th, 2010
Frank Barron reporting, your midnight tour guide, your personal gadfly, your late night scribe. It's 10:35 upon my arrival at FB's for the duration of my term.
It was fine to see that the modern club rule that "no song will be allowed to play more than 65 seconds before the DJ must mix in another song" was strictly observed, and when Salt N Pepa's "Shoop" comes on. I'm doubly grateful. White belts with blue jeans are in this season, but this season is almost up. The ratio of women flocking to the rest room compared to men is approximately 38 to 1, and the male dress code seems to be overly influenced by Maroon 5. Kill Bill is on the flat screen, and the Red Bull is starting to take hold.
Amazing that in 2010 you can kick on "Genius of Love" and it still gets the party jumpin'. Balloons in the VIP section reveal a birthday of some sort. I'm betting this 29 year old song may be older than the birthday girl. As for the party, I'm not invited, and Frank Barron doesn't invite himself. Ducking photographers and blending in with the wallpaper will be my only challenge, and the fight between Uma Thurman and Go Go Yubari explains itself without words.
The service is excellent, but I'm here for the scene. I mean the women, oops. I mean the scene. I'm all about the decor, and did I mention that the service is excellent. If you ever questioned if the Midwest knows how to do the whole "cocktail lounge" thing, then you really should leave the coast more often.
Gazing at the beautiful chandelier, I spot the female of whom I'd most like to pursue, but she's holding hands with another woman who's holding the hands of another man. Before I can figure out this arrangement I'm distracted by the four "over served" dancers enjoying every song as if it were their last. One of which takes special interest in me. Her friend chides me for not being more receptive. I give my standard "I'm on assignment" smirk, and we choose to forget the moment. The spot is layered with friendly smiles and the occasional pretentious face. I'm speaking to you, hot thing with the Burberry purse. No hard feelings though, I'd gladly trade places with your boyfriend (and that also applies to the lady entering at 12:10 w/ the North Face jacket, you know who you are).
I get approached by a woman who wonders if I represent the media, I tell her I represent myself. I then say "Stardom is an eggshell", just to give her something to ponder about. If I look suspicious, it's suspiciously amazing, and this is on a night I forgot to bring my glasses. It was a good evening at FB's, as one day passed on to the next, I've got a plane to catch in the morning, and with that I exit into the frozen night, Frank Barron is ghost.
