Friday, after the old man had hit the Angels game without dutifully bringing me (full disclosure: Republican, campaign, ad nauseam), we headed to Alex's in the LBC. He had never been to the punk rock treasure (great jukebox, stylish décor, little kids that make the rest of us feel a thousand years old), and he was embarrassingly excited when Stiff Little Fingers came over the speakers. It took him a moment to realize nobody else was excited because they were all 12 years old, and then he knew what the rest of us have always known: little kids suck all the joy out of a place. We left.
Luckily, Club Broadway, a lesbian bar full of the most-mulleted dykes in history, was ready to rock his world. "I love lesbians!" he told me, after a group of them kept touching him and telling him what good energy he had and being eager to hear about the Angels game in minute detail. "But not in a Penthouse Forum way! Like they're dudes!" While I was out smoking, they all did the Chicken Dance (he denied the Chicken Dance in the morning like Peter denied Christ), and the lesbians two-stepped to everything, including The Clash. Then there was a big chick fight, for reals, but not like in Penthouse Forum. For reals.