I’ve kindasorta known Camper English for a little while now. Well, to be fair I only knew him in print (or web, as the case may be) until I met him as the plus-one of a friend at a fellow friend’s wedding last year, and I’m pretty sure he couldn’t pick me out in a crowd. But this much I have to say: Girlfriend knows her bars. Three recent stories have opened my eyes to the incredible diversity of drinking and cavorting venues that sound too much fun. He’s also opened my eyes to the fact that I never, ever go to any of them. Loser!
What can I say. I’m sedentary, married, aging well ahead of my time. It’s not that I don’t also have my nights of blurred vision and missing time episodes, but they usually follow dinner parties (preferably chez nous) than a night barhopping. Ah, to be single and strong of liver…
But don’t let me stop you from going out there and experiencing a whole world full of cocktails, bars that are not for Marina Girls nor Castro Clones, and ways you can swing it with the queers without the crystal meth (well, I suppose it’s optional). Maybe, just maybe, I’ll see you at one of them. Some day. Maybe.
Update: I happened to run into Camper yesterday evening at the Pilsner Inn. Yes, in a bar! He didn’t recognize me.