Just another weekend in my hood

After what can only be described as a grueling week spent grokking with my new gig while trying to handle the responsibilities of my studio, I kind of collapsed on Friday night. That's right- my nightlife consisted of a goat-cheese-and-roasted-pepper pizza, wine and re-runs of Project Runway. [No. Really. The pizza was fantastic.] I was so exhausted that Ukes not only dug my car out of the snow and washed my dishes, he also went to the liquor store to score some cabernet for me. That's friendship. [Thanks again, man!]

I was the kind of tired that defies immediate deep sleep. Finally I called it a week around midnight- only to wake at 1 a.m. to the screams of "I'm gonna fuck you up!" Repeated screams, I might add.

Morbidly curious and now wide awake, I went down to the first floor studio to see pockets of people running toward a hidden parking lot a half block up the street. Clearly, this had something to do with that hell-hole nearby, 40 Below, a place I can't even believe has a website. [Make sure the mute key is depressed if you visit this site.] Compared to its predecessor 40 West, 40 Below is an upgrade. I don't think this iteration of the club has a metal detector at admission. Classy.

Although unable to see the actual fight, I was such a combination of tired and disgusted that I just watched this exodus of shrieking and swearing. Normally? I'd reach for the phone and talk to the non-emergency dispatcher to send the cops, but I didn't do a thing. Whatever, I thought, let them thin the herd themselves, and trudged back upstairs. In minutes, though, there were sirens and flashing lights, and soon West Broad was choked with seven [seven!] cruisers and an ambulance. The "party" must have moved elsewhere because in moments half those cruisers went screeching around the block in another direction.

Things didn't completely quiet down until around 3 and I was now wide awake and watching old movies until around 4:30. Yep. Just another weekend in my hood.