WARNING: LONG ENTRY! GET A SANDWICH AND GET COMFORTABLE!
Downtown Phoenix is a dangerous place.
I'm not saying that because of the drunk drivers, and all the cop cars scattered about lying in wait for them. I'm not saying that because once you pass streets like Roosevelt and Jefferson and move towards Buckeye, barbed wire starts shooting up all over the tops of walls and buildings like weeds. I'm not saying that because there is an absolutely deranged amount of strip clubs sprinkled about the area (there are so many clubs I honestly wonder how any of them turn a profit, what with all the competition cutting into their business). I'm saying that downtown Phoenix is a dangerous place because it is the only area I know of in the massive Phoenician sprawl that has a lot of one way streets.
Before I continue, allow me to add some context. I am not a bad driver. Compared to some of the spastic daredevils careening all over the place on our highways, I'm fucking Steve McQueen, I'm Kowalski from
Vanishing Point. Since my car accident years ago, I've been full of apprehension over how I would feel once I got behind the wheel again. So far, aside from a couple of close calls, I've been the poster boy for responsible driving. Granted, I've got the grace of an elephant doing ballet when I'm driving, but I haven't banged in to anything or given anyone I know a near heart-attack over my motor skills. I still get flustered very easily when shit happens while I drive.
I've been heading a lot to the downtown area lately, mostly to catch shows at Modified, have a cup of coffee at the Willow House, sometimes I go there with no plan at all and just drive for an hour or two, familiarizing myself with the local geography. It was during one of those initial, aimless drifts that I stumbled into the twilight zone: one way roads, the sort of thing you very rarely see in the neck of the woods I'm from. One minute I'm turning a corner into a residential street, listening to Deerhunter's '"Cryptograms" on the stereo (fucking wonderful album), and the next a car zooms past me going in the opposite direction, the driver glaring at me and giving me a "Dude, what the FUCK" look of sheer disbelief. Its then that I notice the small, inconspicious "One Way Street" sign and I start shouting every variation of "Jesus" and "Fuck" and "Shit-Eating" and "Baby" I can think of as I scramble to get back in the right direction of traffic. As I noted in the beginning of this entry, there are a LOT of patrol cars in the DT area at night, and the last thing I needed, after having a suspended license and going through the torture of 3 consecutive traffic survival school classes, was getting a traffic citation for being a damn fool.
The same thing happened on two later occasions in different parts of the downtown area. Proving the old maxim that God loves drunks and fools (and in my case I qualify for a third category: fools who don't believe in God), I avoided the scrutiny of our Barney Fifes every time. Now every time I go to that part of town, I'm on edge and scanning the sides of the streets like I'm in sniper country; no way am I going to be caught unawares on a one way street AGAIN.
As for why I bring up my vehicular shenanigans in the first place: I was in downtown last night after work. The Mini-Bosses were coming to town and playing at a venue called the Ruby Room Lounge down on Central Ave and Lincoln. No one I know has heard of this venue. I head down to Central by weaving through our many highways: the 51 to the 143. Not to get off on another tangent, but I must confess that one of the reasons why I love driving at night is being able to look at streetlights. I got to drive by Sky Harbor Air Port last night and it was a gorgeous sight, the entire area bathed in a golden glow. The U.S. Airways building looked like a cube of pure energy. It reminds of Jean-Luc Godard's flick "Alphaville" (not my favorite Godard, but still good). It was his sci-fi flick done cheap, so cheap that he just used modern technology (i.e. the 60's was when it was filmed) and filmed it in such a way it LOOKED futuristic. Instead of a spaceship, the hero drives a Ford Galaxie. The film ends with him and the "princess of Alphaville" driving off into "space" (i.e. probably the streets of Paris, shot at night in black and white), the street lights shining and flickering by like pulsating stars. I always think of "Alphaville" when I drive the 101 at night, the way the street lights seemed to string together in my vision like pearls in a necklace, like they really were the stars in the sky hanging down low. Its a mundane sight, but something very pretty, and for what its worth I'll take unexpected man-made beauty like that over the beauty of nature any day of the week (to hell with trees, give me neon lights and winding streets).
Anyway: I had to spend a half hour driving around the general area of the Ruby Room, because it was located on a one way street going in the opposite direction of how I needed to enter it (and due to the wacky layout of the side streets, most of which go right past Lincoln and didn't give me a chance to properly exit), I nearly ripped my waxy brown locks trying to get to the place. But get there I did. I must say that its a kind of bummer I don't live closer to the joint; although the Ruby Room is not a very good concert venue, its a perfect place to get drunk in. The walls of the bar are a raspberry red, complete with a large red curtain acting as a backdrop on the stage, and a bunch of black velvet paintings of naked women (and one picture of a mandolin sans naked women for some odd reason) spread out across its interior. The bar looks like it could fit right in as a setting in a David Lynch movie. They also played decent music in between sets: they alternated between the Flaming Lips "Soft Bulletin" and Brainiac's "Bonsai Superstar" albums (note: I love Brainiac so much that part of the reason why I crashed my car was I got so excited listening to to their "Hissing Prigs"; I was too busy bobbing my head and groovin to the second track, "Pussyfootin'", to notice that traffic had come to a halt right in front of me).
The opening acts were... OK. Nothing to write home about, really. Then again, neither was the audience. The bar was packed, but judging from the general vibe of the place, I could tell that people were here primarily to mingle and booze, not listen to the music. I'm used to going to concert venues that also happen to serve alcohol; last night was the first time I visited a place that serves alcohol and also happens to be a concert venue, and the difference was telling, not to mention a bit dissatisftying. I for one would hate to be a musician playing to a crowd paying more attention to their Bud Lights then your stage presence.
The Mini-Bosses were worth the wait. I admit that my video game geek-knowledge has severely atrophied over the years, because I didn't recognize 80% of the songs they covered, but I just enjoyed looking at them striking these gloriously un-self conscious guitar god poses while playing delightfully dweeby music. The crowd also improved just a bit, because 20 or so people showed up to actually watch the band play, and kept shouting requests betweeen songs ("DOUBLE DRAGON!" "PITFALLLLLL!!!").
Good times. The only downer on the evening was heading out of the Ruby Room and seeing that there were like 6 poor devils huddled and sleeping on the pavement across the street. Homeless people so worn out and destitute they just crash out on the sidewalk in plain sight, and nobody seemed to pay it any mind. Just looking at them made me feel like an ass, because I was getting a little moody and bummed out in the bar, feeling alone and awkward (I go to concerts all the time by myself and I always have a good time, but its like getting on a roller coaster for me: I always regret it during the beginning of the ride). Nothing puts your own petty bullshit in perspective like watching grown men huddled together on the ground like a litter of puppies.
Anyway: its late and this is long enough as it is. Night, folks!
Downtown Phoenix is a dangerous place.
I'm not saying that because of the drunk drivers, and all the cop cars scattered about lying in wait for them. I'm not saying that because once you pass streets like Roosevelt and Jefferson and move towards Buckeye, barbed wire starts shooting up all over the tops of walls and buildings like weeds. I'm not saying that because there is an absolutely deranged amount of strip clubs sprinkled about the area (there are so many clubs I honestly wonder how any of them turn a profit, what with all the competition cutting into their business). I'm saying that downtown Phoenix is a dangerous place because it is the only area I know of in the massive Phoenician sprawl that has a lot of one way streets.
Before I continue, allow me to add some context. I am not a bad driver. Compared to some of the spastic daredevils careening all over the place on our highways, I'm fucking Steve McQueen, I'm Kowalski from
Vanishing Point. Since my car accident years ago, I've been full of apprehension over how I would feel once I got behind the wheel again. So far, aside from a couple of close calls, I've been the poster boy for responsible driving. Granted, I've got the grace of an elephant doing ballet when I'm driving, but I haven't banged in to anything or given anyone I know a near heart-attack over my motor skills. I still get flustered very easily when shit happens while I drive.
I've been heading a lot to the downtown area lately, mostly to catch shows at Modified, have a cup of coffee at the Willow House, sometimes I go there with no plan at all and just drive for an hour or two, familiarizing myself with the local geography. It was during one of those initial, aimless drifts that I stumbled into the twilight zone: one way roads, the sort of thing you very rarely see in the neck of the woods I'm from. One minute I'm turning a corner into a residential street, listening to Deerhunter's '"Cryptograms" on the stereo (fucking wonderful album), and the next a car zooms past me going in the opposite direction, the driver glaring at me and giving me a "Dude, what the FUCK" look of sheer disbelief. Its then that I notice the small, inconspicious "One Way Street" sign and I start shouting every variation of "Jesus" and "Fuck" and "Shit-Eating" and "Baby" I can think of as I scramble to get back in the right direction of traffic. As I noted in the beginning of this entry, there are a LOT of patrol cars in the DT area at night, and the last thing I needed, after having a suspended license and going through the torture of 3 consecutive traffic survival school classes, was getting a traffic citation for being a damn fool.
The same thing happened on two later occasions in different parts of the downtown area. Proving the old maxim that God loves drunks and fools (and in my case I qualify for a third category: fools who don't believe in God), I avoided the scrutiny of our Barney Fifes every time. Now every time I go to that part of town, I'm on edge and scanning the sides of the streets like I'm in sniper country; no way am I going to be caught unawares on a one way street AGAIN.
As for why I bring up my vehicular shenanigans in the first place: I was in downtown last night after work. The Mini-Bosses were coming to town and playing at a venue called the Ruby Room Lounge down on Central Ave and Lincoln. No one I know has heard of this venue. I head down to Central by weaving through our many highways: the 51 to the 143. Not to get off on another tangent, but I must confess that one of the reasons why I love driving at night is being able to look at streetlights. I got to drive by Sky Harbor Air Port last night and it was a gorgeous sight, the entire area bathed in a golden glow. The U.S. Airways building looked like a cube of pure energy. It reminds of Jean-Luc Godard's flick "Alphaville" (not my favorite Godard, but still good). It was his sci-fi flick done cheap, so cheap that he just used modern technology (i.e. the 60's was when it was filmed) and filmed it in such a way it LOOKED futuristic. Instead of a spaceship, the hero drives a Ford Galaxie. The film ends with him and the "princess of Alphaville" driving off into "space" (i.e. probably the streets of Paris, shot at night in black and white), the street lights shining and flickering by like pulsating stars. I always think of "Alphaville" when I drive the 101 at night, the way the street lights seemed to string together in my vision like pearls in a necklace, like they really were the stars in the sky hanging down low. Its a mundane sight, but something very pretty, and for what its worth I'll take unexpected man-made beauty like that over the beauty of nature any day of the week (to hell with trees, give me neon lights and winding streets).
Anyway: I had to spend a half hour driving around the general area of the Ruby Room, because it was located on a one way street going in the opposite direction of how I needed to enter it (and due to the wacky layout of the side streets, most of which go right past Lincoln and didn't give me a chance to properly exit), I nearly ripped my waxy brown locks trying to get to the place. But get there I did. I must say that its a kind of bummer I don't live closer to the joint; although the Ruby Room is not a very good concert venue, its a perfect place to get drunk in. The walls of the bar are a raspberry red, complete with a large red curtain acting as a backdrop on the stage, and a bunch of black velvet paintings of naked women (and one picture of a mandolin sans naked women for some odd reason) spread out across its interior. The bar looks like it could fit right in as a setting in a David Lynch movie. They also played decent music in between sets: they alternated between the Flaming Lips "Soft Bulletin" and Brainiac's "Bonsai Superstar" albums (note: I love Brainiac so much that part of the reason why I crashed my car was I got so excited listening to to their "Hissing Prigs"; I was too busy bobbing my head and groovin to the second track, "Pussyfootin'", to notice that traffic had come to a halt right in front of me).
The opening acts were... OK. Nothing to write home about, really. Then again, neither was the audience. The bar was packed, but judging from the general vibe of the place, I could tell that people were here primarily to mingle and booze, not listen to the music. I'm used to going to concert venues that also happen to serve alcohol; last night was the first time I visited a place that serves alcohol and also happens to be a concert venue, and the difference was telling, not to mention a bit dissatisftying. I for one would hate to be a musician playing to a crowd paying more attention to their Bud Lights then your stage presence.
The Mini-Bosses were worth the wait. I admit that my video game geek-knowledge has severely atrophied over the years, because I didn't recognize 80% of the songs they covered, but I just enjoyed looking at them striking these gloriously un-self conscious guitar god poses while playing delightfully dweeby music. The crowd also improved just a bit, because 20 or so people showed up to actually watch the band play, and kept shouting requests betweeen songs ("DOUBLE DRAGON!" "PITFALLLLLL!!!").
Good times. The only downer on the evening was heading out of the Ruby Room and seeing that there were like 6 poor devils huddled and sleeping on the pavement across the street. Homeless people so worn out and destitute they just crash out on the sidewalk in plain sight, and nobody seemed to pay it any mind. Just looking at them made me feel like an ass, because I was getting a little moody and bummed out in the bar, feeling alone and awkward (I go to concerts all the time by myself and I always have a good time, but its like getting on a roller coaster for me: I always regret it during the beginning of the ride). Nothing puts your own petty bullshit in perspective like watching grown men huddled together on the ground like a litter of puppies.
Anyway: its late and this is long enough as it is. Night, folks!
I'd try to comment more, but other than expressing affection for the Minibosses, I don't know how else to respond. Uh, good luck navigating in the future, I guess.