Last night I was in Nowy Targ (w Nowym Targu) for a blues concert at Dudek, the club that Charles always goes to. The music was outstanding — a guitar, bass, and drums, and they all knew what they were doing. It was great. I danced like a maniac. I didn’t realize how much of a catharsis dancing until you’re drenched in sweat could be. The feeling and emotion in the music was contagious: They were having a blast playing and it made it impossible for me not to have a blast dancing. Things got rather intense at the end, and we were almost moshing. I think it could have gotten “out of control” in that sense if things continued.
I sat in on a couple of numbers and played harmonica, but I don’t think I played well at all. I’m a little ashamed of it, in fact. I couldn’t hear myself at all, and I was just playing by feel. Such is life, I guess. We all have to make asses of ourselves on occasion.
The highlight of the evening came when the bouncer came up to me and said, “Don’t look on [sic] my girl again or I’ll kick your ass. Do you understand?” I had noticed “his” girl from the moment she walked in the room — she was really attractive with a lovely body and something about her that reminded me of Krissy Cooper (I’ve always thought she was elegantly beautiful.). I don’t know if she noticed me glancing up at her every now and then and told “her” boy to say something or whether he was just completely insecure about his relationship and felt the need to threaten everything that in his eyes threatens his relationship. Whatever the case, it was a little surprising and disturbing. I was tempted to correct his English: “Okay, well first of all, it’s ‘Don’t look at,’ not ‘Don’t look on.’ You can never use ‘look on’ as a transitive verb.” I didn’t think it was wise to antagonize the Neanderthal.
It’s moments like that that I always wish I was the master of some martial art. Visions of glory dance in my head as I see myself refusing to back down: “Look, I just happened to notice that she’s a very attractive woman. I’m not going to make a move on her. But don’t tell me to do this or not to do that.” He loses control and makes a move — tries to hit me. I swat his fist away like it’s an insect. “Come on now, just let it alone. I don’t want any trouble.” He, being the asshole he is, makes another move, though, and before he realizes it, I’ve got him in some incredibly painful and completely disabling position . . . We wimps have such vivid daydreams.