Dateline: Sauced!

9:51 p.m. CDT

This is Laocoon Blogblah!!! reporting live from Sauced!, Milky Way, Earth, North America, United States, Oklahoma, Oklahoma City, Paseo District.

I had hoped to slip unnoticed into this environment so that my observations weren’t skewed, but despite the fact that i’ve worn all the Earthling clothing in the computer for my year and location and occupation, I was noticed.  I think Earthlings know whether they are being watched.

I can’t understand it, really.  I drove into the parking lot of the convenience store nearby, parking in the back near the Dempster Dumpster where my car could be the closest to the object of my attention.  Perhaps the Pavarotti blaring from the CD player was a giveaway.  I’m sure it’s not my attire.  I’m wearing a reporter’s fedora duly tagged with a sign that says “Press!”  I’m wearing tortoise-shell round eye-glasses, a starched shirt and tie, slacks and a trench coat, tweed.  I’m quite sure I’ve well researched this wardrobe.  Still, no one else here is dressed anything like this and I believed they noticed.  The Zippo Lighter?  I had to have a cigaret dangling from my lips to go with the cup and saucer of coffee I was served for two pieces of green paper.

The fact that I’ve been caught out has a great deal of evidence behind it.  Lynn the Printer and her companion Dan recognized me right off.  Part of the cost of galactic fame, I suppose.  All of us intrepid reporters are accustomed to the adoring fans and… well, anyway, Kaitlin the gorgeous waitress, Mikey, Flip’s bartender Ian and his everpresent Sherrie the Roller Derby queen, they all seemed to know me immediately.

This just in at 10:05 p.m.:

Gary Yazzie, Navaho artist who has shown at Cowboy Hall of Fame and Indian Market in Santa Fe and other places, is selling alot of his artwork so that he can relocate to Colorado Friday 5-9 and Saturday 1-6.  He’s also shown at Red Earth.  All at Los Milagros Studio at NW 16th and Villa.  This is taken verbatim from aforesaid Lynn.

Back to the main thing, which is ME, of course, since this is my blog.

At 10:09 p.m.:

I rather conceived of this as performance art, costume and all, but there don’t seem to be many Laurie Anderson fans around.  Not even a Spalding Gray?  It seemed like the right thing to do after being blown off for dinner by a young blonde and stood up by an older brunette with a sad story about a sick mother for a long-anticipated booty call.  What else is a 60 year old batchelor supposed to do?  I suppose I could hang out and look good at Nova or Flip’s, but to what purpose among all those children under 35?  So, I came here to where the average age is even younger, but they are so jaded that not even an old guy like me draws a turned head.

There were about 5 or 6 musicians out in front of Galileo’s north of here for open mic night and later, Isis will be a blast when the Foreign Legionnaires return from seeing Village People at the fairgrounds and there were a couple of couples and a waitress at Paseo Grill, but Sauced! is the place with the wi-fi available, so this is the location from which I report.

More Later.

There are only three tables of people here tonight, but all three tables are actually islands of tables put together for much larger crowds.  One island has about 5 people, another about 8 a third has maybe 15 and then there’s the “balcony” table I can’t see from my vantage.  The weather’s delicious at upper 70s and very little wind.  Well, there WAS very little wind, but another couple of acquaintences arrived and they are so full of hot air, the wind may soon kick up.

Several bikes are parked to my immediate left and the girl with the dreadlocks who sometimes sings and plays the guitar just walked by, drawing my attention.  She seems to be drawing on something off in another corner away from me a short distance.  The table of five closest to me is four guys and a girl with short red hair and a short patterned skirt/dress.  One of the four guys is explaining his slight Irish accent  In the background is a beep beep beep of a car alarm and a helicopter slashes the air overhead a short distance away.  I can even hear the Broadway Extension traffic and maybe a train going by, although I didn’t notice the train whistle so it could be the HVAC from the grocery.  Sitting on the concrete bench near the metal chaise lounges in front of the place is a large man with very very very long hair in a pony tail leading a very small white dog on a leash.  Now to my left beyond the bikes is a plump girl with a small white dog growling at a black trash bag.  The dog appears to be a Scottie by its cut and size.  It’s a different small white dog than the one with the large man in the burgandy short sleeved shirt, shorts and sandals.  His dog looks a good bit more like Petey from the Little Rascals than most other dogs I’ve seen in a good while.  The plump girl was joined by a slightly less plump girl in green with a babuska-looking hairdo and the dog successfully evacuated.  This seems to be singular obsession of Earthlings, but not one I’ve studied as much as other Earthling behavior.  I recommend the science acadamy fund a grant for such a study, preferably by an attractive female with a fetish for older men.  Moroccan Ben behind me compliments my hat “bon chapeau,” he said.  I’ve asked him to help me with my French, and I knew the word for hat and replied “merci, beaucoup” just as is polite.  Good for me.  Progress.

Dropped by to see Mom today and she’d been to the dentist and still has a cough from trying to spread chemicals at one of the apartments.  I can’t seem to get her to actually let that stuff go.  I think it lets her feel busy and successful and helpful and all. 

Oh, the big man with the small dog and the long hair also has a very long beard — so long as to be tied in knots — and he seems to be walking bent over with a pronounced limp on one lifted heel.

The Hoffman bikers are appearing as are some babes in short skirts and tight shirts.  Young, but lovely.

Ed the Engineer is nearby in blue jeans and a thick green shirt, huffing a smoke and nursing a bottle of beer.  He waved.  Another Earthling who recognized me.  Damn.  He’s swtaying away, I suppose because he can see it’s a performance.  Or, maybe I just don’t interest him at all.  Either way.

It’s 11 p.m. and the train is going through, honking as it goes.  I recall listening to that train so many nights from my bedroom on the north side of my parent’s home on 21st just south of here.  It was time to drift off to sleep then, and that’s the way I feel tonight.

Oddly, there will be no applause for this performance.  Just as well.  My ego couldn’t handle the pressure.

Reporting from Sauced! Thursday night.

Blogblah!!!