Saturday, October 15, 2011

Party Rule #3 – Always take a cab, because money is no object when partying…

Money has no intrinsic value anyway, and it is most valuable when partying, because it grants complete access to your party.  This does not mean that one should be wasteful with money.  Purchasing bottles of Grey Goose v. Skyy Vodka makes no difference, there’s no point in spending hundreds of dollars extra on Grey Goose to impress others, nor is it ever a great idea to drink an entire bottle of liquor at a club in the first place.  I propose: if you’re hanging out with individuals that you need to impress by wasting money on Grey Goose, at places where you need to be buying bottles of alcohol in order to party, then you’re not doing a good job of partying in the first place.   

Naturally, the next topic of discussion was mode of transport.  I suggest to Big J that he drive.  I don’t have a car.  He protests.  Three beers deep, and he complains that if he drives; he’ll stop drinking and won’t have fun.  “Well then you’re not a very sophisticated partier if you can’t have fun unless intoxicated.” 

His voice booms, “Well if you can have so much fun, why don’t YOU just drive my car?”  He lives about 20 miles from the club, and I have no desire to drive his Mustang.  “How much would a cab cost?”  “A cab costs 50 dollars.”  The sinking feeling that maybe we won’t make it out to the post-Mardi Gras Mardi Gras Party sets in, and paranoia, the anti-party force, creeps up.  Suddenly: inspiration.  “Well, if we’re all slaves anyway to the universe, and this is exactly what we’re supposed to be doing, screw it!  Let’s get twisted and take a cab!”  “Yeah!” “Vodka shots!”

A $50 cab ride will not ruin your party; it will MAKE your party.  Better to spend $50 on a cab than to risk death, arrest, humiliation, or injury while driving intoxicated.  The round trip average cost of cab fare is worth maintaining a worry-free and safe mode d’emlploi, as the whole purpose of the awakening life is to enjoy and continue existence.  If the net worth of your life is not worth 50 dollars, then you’re not attending the right parties.  The party goal is to keep the party going as long as possible and live to party another day.  Besides, treating yourself to a driver is one of the greatest luxuries in the world, standard procedure, and by partying in-style, you increase party enjoyment.      

-Better to spend $50 on a cab than to risk death, arrest, humiliation,
or injury while driving intoxicated.  PBG

The shots are poured and they are large.  Warm Smirnoff vodka is poison.  The purpose of this heavy neurotoxin is to dissipate the self into the reptilian brain, until all action is merely reaction, no thought, no hesitation.  Large shots catalyze the process.  “Dude!” he grimaces after a large swig.  “I can’t drink all of this.”  “Do you want to party, or do you want to party?”  Pathetic, but it takes vodka and 3 beers for oneness to set in: we are exactly where we should be at this exact moment in time.  “This is exactly what we should be doing.  There’s no other option, so just drink the piss out of some piss!” 

Minutes later, the cabbie arrives in an American car, resembling a Buick or an Oldsmobile, with fancy GPS and tracking devices on the front dash.  We scurry over snow piles to get in.  He is in his late 20s, African, and he’s amused by the sight of two bumbling white dudes, necks full of beads, climbing over snow.  “You boys going to party?”  “Yeah we’re going to party.”  “Haha- me too - later tonight.”  “If you gotta better party…” I scream, “you’d better tell us about it…unless you think we would get messed up at your party, in case white boys aren’t encouraged.”  “Ha-ha!” He laughs, “you’d be fine, but it might be a little quiet for you.”  “Screw that, we want to do it right!”

We chit-chat about his car: 100 bucks per day to rent the cab, and he can’t even pick-up people in the city; he can only drive to and from Bensalem.  “My boss, he got so much money because he has the medallion, and he make-a da money everyday guarantee.  Man, sometimes I lose-a da money when I get no fare. I work-a da 12 hour day, seven day week!”  “Man, that’s crazy…you can’t even pick someone up when you drop us off, then take them somewhere in Philly?”  “No man…the city controls all dat sheet. Odawise dere would be cabs evarywhere picking up-a da people left and right.  It’s all about control.”  “You gotta love competition in this country – where capitalism is discouraged when it might actually help the working man.  Shit man, you don’t take a day off?”  “That’s a violation of federal employment laws,” says Big J, an employment lawyer, fired up by the threat of litigation.  “They have to pay you overtime if you’re working over 40 hours a week!” “No man, I’m a da independent contractah…” “Yeah, what if he’s an independent contractor?” “Irrelevant.  If his boss takes a portion of his pay, advertises out his cab service on the car door, and controls his hours, our man here is an employee.  You deserve overtime man.” 

Club La Roxxy – Philadelphia’s Premier Party Location

We arrive at our destination – Philadelphia’s premier party location - one of the best party spots on the North East in general, featuring a hundred-thousand dollar light and speaker system, lasers, stages, screens, strobe lights, HUGE disco balls, and scantily clad bartenders serving 2 dollar Bud Lights all night long.  In the summer, the party goes outside to the bamboo deck and pool and gets even creepier. 

There’s like a line halfway down the block on N. Delaware Ave.  We jump out the car and cross the median, dodging snow drifts in make-shift Mardi Gras uniforms, cutting right to the front of the line. 

“Hey man – I know Mikey-W,” Random spikey-haired bros scream.  “It’s Mikey-P now, he just got married,” chuckles the behemoth at the point of entry.  “He took her name.” 

Mikey-W is the promoter for Club La Roxxy.[1]  He’s modest and unimposing if you meet the man in the flesh.  Most big city promoters feature flamboyant clothing, outspoken hypocrisy, and are loathsome to males, such as myself, not on the VIP list.  Mikey-W on the other hand is friendly, calmly smokes cigarettes, and encourages all comers to La Roxxy through daily text messages and weekly emails.  If you email Mikey-W, to “get on his list,” from 9 to 11 you get free admission and free well drinks.  Tip your bartenders.    


[1] Mikey-W recently retired for family reasons.  I texted him to wish him luck in his future endeavors.  When I get the name of the new promoter I’ll let you know. 

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