Drunk crackas and Salvadorian food make me feel alive…

I recently saw an 80’s metal cover band.  Turns out, I’m the target demographic for this type of spectacle.  For 20 years I’ve wondered what white people around my age did for fun.  Apparently they get hammered at the local dive bar and watch a band named Glitz.  Who knew?

What was I doing there?  Simple.  I only feel alive when I’m out of my element.  Watching an 80’s metal band surrounded by drunk crackas filled that bill.  Just last month I attended a VFW luau where a 75 year old DJ was spinning Lady Ga Ga.  Beat that!

More?  Last weekend I was in our nation’s “most average city”, Columbus, Ohio.  Next to some decapitated housing projects, this sign caught my eye:

An El Salvadorian restaurant across the street from the projects probably isn’t where I should be hanging out.  But my inner Anthony Bourdain thought otherwise.  Examining my surroundings, I realized that just like J. Rob back in ‘47, I would be breaking the color barrier.

The food was good.  And I felt alive.