Mens Like a Plague of Locusts

And other delightful scourges of modern life

The Prospecter is a hard-bitten bar and steak house dressed up with wagon wheels and John Wayne lamps. And there, every Friday and Saturday night, the old folks gather round the piano bar for the keyboard stylings of an equally old guy and his Jersey-looking young drummer (young, in this case, being mid-40s), who does a damn fiery version of "Just a Gigolo" that puts the hunched-over 80-year-old woman who's been banging drumsticks upon the end of the piano bar all night into a veritable frenzy of Alex Van Halen-ness. We wouldn't have been surprised if some of the anciens had flashed him their bubbies.

The Prospecter may very well be God's perfect steakhouse; the drinks are cheap, the aging cocktail waitress is sexy as hell, and there is, after all, a piano bar, where you can join the old people and belt out—or warble weakly, as you see fit—a couple of old standards. Like "Blue Moon," or "Blue River," or "Just a Gigolo."

And were there mens? Oui.And one who was 70 if he was a day kissed us on the neck on the way out. Now, what was it he said about "the opposite of Viagra"?

Are you reading this on Friday, Feb. 25? Then you are reading this on the Girl's birthday! Remember, gifts are better late than never. Send them c/oOC Weekly, Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627. CommieGirl99@hotmail.com.
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