Friday, July 18

T-town Represent piled in the car and roared off for Olympia at 7:30 p.m. only to be stalled by inching traffic on I-5 South. Why is it easier to sit in traffic if you know that some cars got crushed or that sweaty, rough looking men are working on the road?  Catching up to Pappi Swarner at The Mark was a grueling affair.

Whenever I find myself at The Mark in Olympia, I'm usually there to "finish up." Usually, it's late; I'm half in the bag, and I have little interest in anything other than the square foot of bar top directly in front of me - the magical zone in which I lay down money and it miraculously turns into booze. But tonight the crew and I ended up at The Mark relatively early to meet Pappi Swarner for a night with guitar god Link Wray.

The Mark serves delicious food, which redeemed our mildly forgetful waiter.  G.G. made knowledgeable recommendations of imported cheese appetizers paired perfectly with Spanish olives and ginger martinis. The Frenchman's friend Alex met us and turned out to be a superb conversationalist. Or maybe I just talked his ear off and he was too polite to tell me to shut up?

Moving on, our traveling spectacle was no competition for the girls in brilliantly colored outfits doing yoga poses on the sidewalk outside.  Surprise!  Weekly Volcano scribe Paul Schrag was standing above them.  He gave us a brief history of yoga poses before disappearing back into The Mark's music room for more hip-hop.

The BroHo (Brotherhood Lounge) was a crackin' spot with stiff drinks. It's the hipster joint of Oly, so I'm told. Hot, young writer Matt D. met us there, and immediately the place was more intelligent. G.G. let Go Music win at pool, and we wandered up Fourth Avenue to the Eastside Tavern. Not much was going on, but everyone there looked content. 

Popping in to YES YES, the new all-ages venue, was a sad two minutes, prompting us to declare it a NO NO. The girl supposedly watching the door let us walk right in, having made eye contact with each of us, and then told the promoter we hadn't paid. That chick was on Pappi so fast, demanding money as if we snuck in and had no intention of paying. It was lame anyway, so we were out.

Go Music tried to drag us into The Vault, but there was a line, and security was wanding people, which counts me out.

Jake's on 4th had splendid '80s New Wave dance music orchestrated by DJ Keith Leviathan. Within 10 minutes we were on the floor tearing it up in true white people fashion (think Elaine Bennis). Grey Goose shots made me the best dancer.

At 1:30 a.m. we speed-walked to Thriftway only to be foiled by its midnight closing. There was nothing to do but race to the car and hit a gas station convenience store with the rest of Olympia. Since the T-town crew had a few brain cells left, we opted for a slumber party at the Ramada. The suite was not so sweet, but we gave it a go filling the bathtub up with hot water and getting in our bathing suits for a bathroom party.  Let's not talk about the purpose of our field trip to Olympia: seeing Link Wray at The Clipper. The show was cancelled last minute - huge bummer, as were Saturday's hangovers. I barely made it to Sunday's Art on the Ave.