West Palm Beach (yawn), Goo Goo Dolls at Sun Fest and the terrifying Bar (Palm Beach)

Montel

This morning I went to the gym, ostensibly to exercise but really to legitimize stealing an apple and banana for breakfast. Keeping true to Patsy’s “you should meet one new person a day” adage, I introduced myself to Kelly, the guy who works the seadoo rental on the beach. He was charming and not bad looking, despite the receding hairline. He mentioned the Goo Goo Dolls were playing that evening at Sun Fest in West Palm Beach, and I tentatively proposed we meet up.  It’s always strange to suggest an innocent rendezvous with strangers due to the ambiguity of intent.

I left the hotel later than planned (I was distracted by Montel Williams frolicking on the beach with his amply-bossomed wife) and had the darndest time trying to find a decent-looking restaurant which would stay open past 2:30 pm! Even worse, as I sit here it is absolutely chucking down with rain. Uch, I just tried to wipe off my black t-shirt with a white napkin, and now I’m covered in white. Gross.

* * *

While I didn’t think Sun Fest would be a replica of Jazz Fest, I wasn’t expecting the high school fundraiser I got instead. When the most exciting offering appeared to be children’s face painting, I shuffled to My Martini on Clematis Street. I am now tucking into a “Funky Monkey”, the most exciting part of my tour of this rather boring place.  No, wait – they’re towing a car! There must be 20 people watching, including the entire wait staff of Big City Tavern.  I swear, if this town weren’t in Florida it would be Ogdensberg, New York.

* * *

Wow, it’s nearly 7 pm and I’m supposed to meet Kelly and I’m the most buzzed I’ve been since leaving Toronto. I just flicked the almond sliver that was stuck to the bottom of my glass off the table and got the fish mouthed hairy eyeball from the little girl who “had to go poo-poo”.  Too bad the almond missed. Fuck Sun Fest, I could just site, write, drink and people watch from my perch all night (rental car? What rental car?). This wine is soooo gooood.

* * *

True to his word, Kelly met me as planned. Cans of contraband beer safely hidden in my knapsack (undetected by Security, despite the audible sloshing), we employed my recently-acquired Jazz Fest and alcohol-fuelled crowd management skills to navigate a reasonable vantage point amongst the throngs of Goo Goo Dolls fans. Black Balloon was terribly romantic, but despite his sweetness I wasn’t attracted to Kelly and had deliberately made the decision not to consider anything.

After the show we did the obligatory tour of the main drag, Clematis Street.  We hit four clubs, the most frightening place of which was the simply-titled “Bar”. Bar was a terrifying embodiment of bad sex.  The music was excruciating – so loud it was barely recognizable. The black lighting illuminated puddles of stale, gritty beer and sloppy sickness, and barely-conscious girls slumped on amplifiers while disheveled frat boys with damp chests and feverish eyes unsteadily stalked. I was happy to leave this grim place.

Having stopped drinking many hours before I drove Kelly home and returned to the hotel. Needless to say there wasn’t too much activity in the hotel at this time, but I did manage to run into the nighttime cleaning staff at about 3 am.