Last week was spent building tolerance: It was the annual week of the Dallas Observer Music Awards. The tolerance of which I speak really has nothing to do with music, but of crowds, heat and hooch.
Allow me to elaborate: The DOMAXXII (the 22nd year of the DOMAs) showcase took place down in fair Deep Ellum -- a neighborhood once thought by many to be lifeless, hopeless and scheduled for destruction in our lifetime. But, those aforementioned many were idiots, because on Saturday, July 17, Deep Ellum was alive and fucking kickin' it old school.
My cohorts and I felt like it was 10 or so years ago -- back when we'd have been down there any given night of the week provided a band was playing and drinks were to be had -- back when my tolerance of the alkie was far more robust.
We hit up the outdoor tent for Secret Machines. The sweating began but wasn't as bad as expected for the 107-degree day...yet. It would get worse as the night wore on, but I'm such a perfect flower you would never know, except because I had beads on my upper lip and other largely flattering side effects of sweating your balls off. We cooled off, first, with a VIP tent Bud Light in a cup. I'm not going to sit here and pretend that I am some Very Important Person, by the way, but that's what my badge said and I'm not one to argue with free ingestibles.
We moved on to a couple of indoor sets and copped the super booth at La Grange for dinner. Delicious. Also, well air-conditioned. Also, equipped with chairs (and flocked kick-ass wallpaper in the bathrooms, but that's not important right now).
Know what else La Grange has? Spiked snocones. Yeah, huh. Suzy, aka, the 6-foot Canadian for those of you who ran in the Deep Ellum circles with us, and Marla were in charge of transport. It wasn't easy. The cup already has a wide brim with which to contain the shaved ice, but it also features a long plastic straw and a vial of your preferred liquor jutting out of the top-side. It's ideal if you've scored a table, but cumbersome (in the beginning) if you're standing like sardines in bar.
Oh, I should clarify one thing. The restaurant part of La grange featured the a/c; the venue side featured a giant garage door that was lifted to allow all 1,500 degrees of hotness (and the overflowing crowd) inside for the show. My grape-vodka snocone was not long referred to as "sno"cone and began it's descent through slushcone and into melted-ice-in-strange-cup. And you know what they always say about melting drinks: "Suck 'em down before all the ice melts and your life is ruined!" So I did. And then I admitted to everyone that "they" have probably never said that. And I was OK with my decision even then. And a little drunk.
We ventured out of the packed Boys Named Sue show and headed to Trees for a wee bit. The girls had mixed drinks. Jessica grabbed me a water as requested because she is sweet. I assume the drinks were amply poured as Marla began dancing in heels that were previously "destroying her soul" and Suzy wound up in our slideshow of various cute-but-drunk people. Jessica maintained a breezy, nonchalant appearance and kept everyone on schedule, flitting us off to the next location -- which sadly, was away from a/c.
Keeping up appearances despite that heinous sensation of "festival pants' (don't act like you don't know) is an art. I'm not sure I was successful in my artistry but I put forth a good effort. Just saying.
We defected from DOMA briefly for the Dallas Comedy House, added to our wristband collection (see photo above), acted like 21-year-old freaks during Baboon's amazing set, and returned to Elm Street to catch up with some colleagues.
La Grange's margaritas must be good. I witnessed the tragic death of one -- it was knocked over accidentally -- and its drinker looked so sad at its loss it didn't even phase her that another lady was dramatically lamenting that some of it had fallen into her purse. Girl Drink Drunk moral of that story: Don't ever store your purse on the ground in a bar (it's bad luck anyway) and suck that frozen drink down before it melts and ruins your life! Kidding. Well, on the last part.
Then we went home.
Tuesday -- during the actual DOMA ceremony at the Granada, which was so incredibly packed with stylish and talented folk that I had to stand kinda-sorta in the photo booth for a couple of sets -- I learned another valuable lesson care of my boss: Michelob Ultra isn't that bad. In fact, I think I kinda dug it.
See what I mean about tolerance?
