Es Wednesday Bro!

So, I begged Pati and Gregg not to take me to Churchill's again. There are advantages to having Churchill's as your corner bar, but the biggest disadvantage is that you end up finding yourself in those same bar stools, peeing in that same nasty bathroom, too many times in life. And, they still charge ME entrance, they should hang my picture in there instead. I told that to Mr. C the last time I went, but he insists on charging me the 5 or 3 bucks except for the times that I have answered some of his trivia questions.

We drove to Transit Lounge instead. Hadn't been there in a while, but the place still looks as open and relaxed as always. We were at the bar and Pati and I shared vodka cranberries with two limes and talked about all sorts of interesting stories artists talk about.

There was The Chemical Artist, a guy who creates with chemicals all kinds of psychotropic drugs. "He has already created 12 new ones that have not been yet commercialized!" said Pati with excitement about her hero. He tries them and has his wife, another famous plastic artist, try them as well, and then he calls his "focus group" to try them in his ranch in the outskirts of San Francisco and after the trip he surveys each of their experiences. Apparently the celebrated Chemical Artist will be soon coming to Miami.

There was also the transparent artist, Alex Grey, who had to be tripping when he made those fabulous works.

And the other artists whose piece of art was a gigantic glass bubble in the middle of a gallery and them two having sex live inside of the glass bubble. It was called Love.

Then there was the kid who went crazy after eating too many mushrooms and the kid who turned gay the last time he took acid, that one was particularly funny.

While going over the exciting stories I found out it was actually Karaoke Wednesdays at Transit Lounge.

Yupii!! If there is something I love is to put up a show.
I was the first one to climb up stage and sang Pedro Navaja totally out of tune, even my most faithful fans, who cheered and danced to my theatrical performance of the New York Gangster, told me that I sang really bad. But, I did get a big ovation at the end.

I had given enough of myself to that Lounge, so we walked over to Tobacco Road, where an excellent jazz band played downstairs and we met a Catalan painter and a Puerto Rican musician who talked to us about women and the best cities to live in. We also talked about "La Gente Linda" of Miami.

Us bohemians need to feed on this conversations of the night over cigarettes no matter what day of the week it is.