So my sister and I set out to explore Asheville’s nightlife this weekend. We made it out to a pub called a href=”http://www.jackofthewood.com/” target=”_blank”Jack of the Wood/a right downtown, paid the seven dollar cover for the live music, and a nice man gave up his seat at the bar so we could sit down. The bartender was extremely cute and the service was amazingly good. The music started up.. it was two hippies playing acoustic guitar. And by playing acoustic guitar, I mean hippies playing acoustic guitar: complete with yodeling and gospel hymns. A larger lady in a Christian shirt actually started fiddling after a few songs.
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Now, if you know either of us Martin ladies, you know we are more the A HREF=”http://www.independentbar.net/” target=”_blank”Independent Bar/a type… we set out to dance to indie rock and new wave; I-Bar in Orlando has two dance floors and music videos on a billion TVs, three bars and outdoor, street-side seating. This was… really laid-back to say it kindly. So we asked one of the bartenders at Jack of the Wood if there were any dance clubs, but he could only suggest a gay bar called a href=”http://www.clubscandals.net/main.htm” target=”_blank”Scandals/a. We might have to go check that out, but anyway…
lj-cut text=”Tell Me More About Hippies!”
We decided to head on outta there after we finished our first beers. The next place we went to was called A HREF=”http://www.westvillepub.com/” target=”_blank”Westville Pub/a, which looked promising enough on the website, since Tank Girl is a regular patron and all… However, after we paid the four dollar cover, I realized Tank Girl would probably machete everyone’s limbs from their bodies and use their fingers and toes as drink stirrers. The band playing was a country/rockabilly three-piece with no drums called “The Gravy Pockets”. Honestly, the place was crawling with hippies that never grew up… thirty and forty year olds in unwashed linen pants that looked like skirts, no bras to be seen, dirty ratty shoes and unbrushed, greasy hair. Were we in a twilight zone? And WHAT is with that stupid flowy skirt with cowboy boots look?
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Besides the scary populus of the bar, the icing on the cake was the terrible bartending service. It took me ten minutes to order drinks; they had the nerve to charge $7.50 for a Red Bull and vodka. It was mostly Red Bull with no vodka, so when my sister complained, he refused to give her another drink or refund her money. The bartender was missing teeth and wearing a cowboy hat. Granted, you don’t need teeth to think, but still… It was ridiculous. Maybe he eats too much of the house specialties: vegan chili and nachos. Gimme a fuckin’ break.
As I waited for drinks, not one person talked to me. When I was sitting at a table, nobody even acknowledged I was there. I don’t expect to be swarmed, but this just proved the place was really cliquey. As we watched the band, the hippies started dancing and I felt like I was at Disney and the Splash Mountain ride was stuck in front of the Brer Fox vs. Brer Bear showdown. I wanted off!! There was even a kazoo and a banjo added to the lineup later. So at one a.m., the bar was completely cleared out. bONE./b I guess everyone had to get up for church in the morning or some shit.
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smallThat rascally Brer Fox had to wait too long for a drink, too./small
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smallJesus showed up later to party, but he was kicked out because it was closing./small/CENTER/CENTER
Some highlights of the evening were this lady running up to my sister out of nowhere and screaming, “Goddamn, you have boobs!” and running away, a Jerry Garcia lookalike that told her she “smelled so good” as she was walking to the restroom. When I went to the restroom, there was a cluster of ladies that were pontificating what the “A” symbol on the collar of a painted picture of a cat was. “Is it the artist’s symbol?” “Is it just an A?” I cleared my throat: “Uh, I think it’s an anarchy symbol.” “Oh my god you’re right!!! Smart…” Fucking morons.
Right before we left, we spotted the only decent, non-mutant looking guy in the bar (he’s being blocked by that lady in the booth in the bar photo up there, on the left across from the cowboy boots/skirt ensemble). He was from Philidelphia and had moved a few years ago to Asheville. We explained that we were from Orlando and were looking for some clubs that were comparable. He gave us the same bewildered look everyone else had when we asked about nightlife; He said everything was mostly like this, save the a href=”http://www.theorangepeel.net”Orange Peel/a, which I mentioned was like the House of Blues. We probably look like when New Yorkers come to Orlando act all bored. Bitchy yes, but within reason.
bWhen I visit Florida, everyone MUST go to I-Bar with me, NO excuses. Clear your fucking calendars; nothing is more important. I mean this or I wouldn’t say it. I want an entourage, dammit./b hearts;
I don’t think I’ll be living here in Asheville very long … NYC here I come.