My alter ego shows up at dinner


Yesterday ended this morning at 5am when I walked home from a small local dance club, leaving my friends with their Mr Rightnows in search of my bed. But what a day it was. After getting up early to check out the historic center, I was invited out to the beach hotel where Anderson and Ivaldo are staying for a great meal of Acarajé, Moqueca, and Pudim (among other tasty things). After that we headed to the beach where we gawked at the bodies, swam, had beers, tried to teach Stephen a little more Portuguese, gawked a little more and then headed back to the hotel for a nap.

We then made a plan to go to a restaurant my friend Gabe had recommended, but when we got there it turned out that this location (there are two) was no longer in business. Alas, we decided to try back for lunch on Monday, and headed off into the lower central city for a great meal at a restaurant on the bay. The place was a bit crowded and we had to wait, meeting and eventually sharing a table with a couple, enjoying great conversation and even better tropical fruit Capirinhas. When we were just about finished with dinner, who should show up but Anderson’s friend and my alter ego Bruci Veloso (I think it may actually be spelled “Bruce” like in English, although pronounced “Broosee”), a very nice young man of 21 who was fascinated by my little travel adventure. We spent the next half hour or so pouring over the gory details of my trip with me offering up encouragement for his own wanderlust.

After that we said our goodbyes to our eating companions and went by a club we were thinking about going to, but when we got there it looked less than promising, and a man outside told us to stay in the middle inside because “On the left side is a very bad smell, and on the right an even worse one”.

Quite the recommendation.

And since the place clearly was not AC equipped, we let discretion take the better part of valor and headed out on a wild goose chase around the city in search of another place to go. We finally landed at a small club in my neighborhood (called Off) which was pleasant enough (and cool inside). Several hours later I was back in my bed, having braved the dangerous streets to walk home in the early morning light. Despite being rather tired, I couldn’t really sleep all that well and so here I am blogging to you about it.

Saddest little gay bar in South Carolina


My brother David and sister-in-law Jackie and I decided to have a young(er) adults night out on the town. With the kids in bed and our parents watching them, we consulted “The Google“, found what looked like a hopping gay nightclub in Myrtle Beach, and headed out for the 35 minute trip north.¬† Once we got there, we realized Jackie had forgotten her ID and they weren’t about to let us in, despite our entreaties. The guy at the door told us there was another bar around the corner that probably wouldn’t card, so we headed over. It was a pretty sad little place that smelled of smoke and stale beer, decorated in early post-party frat house. I don’t remember what the place was called, but if I were to enter a naming contest, I believe I would submit the name “The Smelly Rainbow”. We had a beer and a dart game, said goodbye to the 6 people(including the bartender) in the place and headed back to Litchfield.

Here, hold this…


Josh, Gabe and I had a fantastic dinner at a place called Trestle last night, after which we went to the Eagle for a drink, met a really dull 28 year old Italian guy (who could have passed for 45), walked around squinting like crazy trying to make out the faces of people, decided to take our leave, trotted down to a club called Hiro(which was cute with good music), noticed that the line at the coat check was crazy long, and feeling a bit lazy and non-committal, we carried our winter coats around the club, looking somewhat silly, drinking and chatting a bit before deciding that we were in fact pumpkins and heading home.

Josh just told me to remember to add the part about the bitter, freezing cold wind.