If the world were ending, Rob would go to the Rainbo Club. He’d lock his bike up outside—not that it would matter, since it would soon be destroyed in the oncoming disaster. He’d sit on one of the old barstools and drink cans of PBR until it was his time to die. Some people would berate him for not making his last beer a “better” beer, but Rob liked PBR; it was solid, familiar, comforting. Because he’d be wearing his favorite cutoff shorts, his thighs would stick to the stool every time he got up to use the bathroom. Before the end came, he’d take his picture in the photo booth. That way if anyone survived, or if new creatures inherited the dilapidated planet, something of Rob would remain.
The Hipster Apocalypse.
Last night Lindsey, Gena, Felipe, and I went to the Bowie Ball. Heaven Malone's DJing was delightful (he actually played "Diamond Dogs" when I came in dressed as Halloween Jack), but next time I think perhaps he should do it in a different bar. This was my first time at Rainbo Club, and it wasn't the greatest first impression. Normally I'm all for dive bars, but this particular place seemed to be a ridiculous hipster stereotype. They were literally all dressed the same--black t-shirts or plaid button-downs, cutoff shorts, carabiners with their keys clipped to their back pockets. Everyone was drinking PBRs, and they mostly just seemed extremely unfriendly. So we stayed for a while, then moved the party to Delilah's, where, within the first five minutes, we were complimented on our outfits. And really, how could you NOT compliment outfits this fabulous?
Anyway, it was still a really fun evening. Tonight: Improv Shakespeare! Then I have to go to the burbs so I can attend TWO weddings tomorrow. Have a lovely weekend!