These lovely ladies, The Schmeckle Sisters, have nothing to do with this post, but I did come across their lovely visage while searching for pictures of Ye Olde Rustic Inn, "the scene of the crime", as it were. Somehow, the combination of Ye Olde Rustic Inn, the festive Cinco de Mayo mood, and my cultural sensitivities, have tempted me to attempt this in some sort of makeshift, half-assed, Olde English, although truely, it probably ain't gonna happen seeing as the the closest I've ever come to Olde English, is a 40 of this...
which, by the way, lest you scoff, has garnered many a prestigious award over the years, to wit, it was awarded a Silver medal in the American Malt Liquor category at the Great American Beer Festival, and has taken home the Gold medal in the American Malt Liquor category in 1992, 1994, and 1995 and in the American Style Specialty Lager category in 1997. Finally, Olde English High Gravity 800 won the Bronze medal in the American Style Specialty Lager category in 2006. So there, you scoffer, you.
This post however, is not about weighing the merits of Olde English (of which, admittedly, there are few), at least not specifically. If anything, it would probably be most closely related to cheap tequilla, or whatever other concoctions inspired some young ladies the other night at Los Feliz's own Ye Olde Rustic Inn to get up on stage and Karaoke their hearts out for the gringo co-option of Cinco de Mayo. As for me, the siren call of "El Cinco" was more akin to a nagging whisper than a demand. I walked on down to the Rustic for a simple Bud Draught, although, I'm pretty sure, when it comes to Budwiser, the proper nomenclature is draft. Sometimes, simple is just fine with me, besides, I've said it a million times, and I'll say it again,
"Cheap wine sucks, but cheap beer is just cheap beer." -El Me-
By the by, if you're in the mood for Ye Olde Bud Draught, my diligent research has uncovered, that this 24k gold rimmed stein, is the proper vessle, setting you back a mere 150 Bucks, however, not being one to mess with perfection, I stuck with a regular old pint glass. Yet I digress-
So, back to the matter at hand, I was down at Ye Olde Rustic, enjoying my beer, when I was aurally assaulted, by what can only be loosely described as a cacophany of crap (great name for a band,
huh?) These two girls, actually quite spectacularly (because it's somewhat difficult to simultaniously screw up tone, meter, beat, and key), completely butchered, what is by all definition, the most famously fucked-up song of all time, She Bangs as performed by none other than William Hung (pictured below).
It would've been, if it wasn't so irritating, an almost John Cage-like meditation on dissonance, except with a New Jersey accent. I really would have rather listened to William Hung sing it. In fact, when the waitresses walked around, rattling, and offering out plastic Maracas courtesy of Tecate beer, I grabbed one with the express intention of stabbing myself in the ear and puncturing my ear drum with the handle end. Although, as a side note, I must say, cheap as they were, those Maracas did have a rather infectious rhythm, lets give credit where credit is due. But that's neither here nor there. If anything, they were most valuable as a weapon (Oooh, foreshadowing!)
I'm pretty sure I'm not the first one to consider using maracas as deadly weapons, however I googled it just to make sure, and it would appear, I just might be the first one to put it on the net. Boo-Yah! Hoo-ray for me! Try googling it. "Maracas as Deadly Weapons" but you've gotta use the quotes. Dare to dream, kids.
While we're on the topic of Maracas, apparently hot on the trail of Nintendo's Guitar Hero and Rock Band phenomena, they will soon be releasing Mariachi Band Hero. Can't wait!
Anyhow, now properly armed with maracas, I relaxed into a (relatively) nice enough coma, as the girls left the stage, and the next person up navigated a so-so version of Elton John's Tiny Dancer. Nota bene, not to be confused with Tony "Tiny" Danza.
This is the part where it all becomes somewhat metaphysical. (Yup, that's right, after the mention of Tony Danza, then comes the enlightenment).
I'm sure we've all been in touch with the "Higher forces" that create the "Law of Attraction" from The Secret. Well, unfortunately I must've somehow managed to tap into the wrong energy vortex because, as the girls approached me, and I turned away into my tensed up, almost fetal, dear-god, please-stay-the-fuck-away-from-me pose, this was somehow misconstrued to be a, "Hey ladies, why dontcha-saddle-on-up-next-to-me pose."
Well friends, saddle on up next to me, they did, and it wasn't long before I was dragged into their conversation. Now, I'm a pretty friendly guy, and there are relatively few people I don't want to talk to at a bar, as most people can be even remotely entertaining for a few minutes at a stretch. The only two barriers for me, are Annoying and/or Abusive. Other than that, I've got a generally open door policy towards bar conversation. This attitude has led to some particularly interesting situations in the past, and in fact, I've been inappropriately squeezed and fondled at Ye Olde Rustic before, see here. (No wonder it's my favorite place!) That time, it was an overweight off-duty security guard in her 40's, who was rather, shall we say, forward with her approach, and hands. And as a further side note, although her approach was all wrong, and went nowhere, I can't help but give her an A for effort, and chalk it up to a much needed look at role reversal for today's boys and girls.
Anyhoo, back to these ladies at the bar, one of the girls, let's just call her "Suzy", was, god bless her, not much in the looks department. I suppose in that old "doors not being closed without windows being opened" kind of way, what she lacked in beauty was more than made up for in crazy.
Now don't get me wrong, crazy can be wildly entertaining and fun, I loves me some crazy. But sometimes, the wrong kind of instability plus drugs and alcohol equals bat shit insane. This is when the bar becomes insanity wood, and the only defense against one under it's spell is a smack upside the noggin with a plastic maraca.
And I'm not advocating violence here, there's a very fine line between a bonk with a plastic maraca, and actual bonafide assault, so if you must, approach that line with extreme caution.
The sweet siren sound of the booze talking. I can hear the ocean of crazy from here.
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