Blondie, Fondly

Yesterday I told the tale of Pinto and Founder.

The story was sparked by an email I got that came completely out of the blue. Turns out it wasn't the only surprise email I got last week.

The other surprise email came from Phil, who asked if I remembered a night in Atlanta, GA way back in 1998.

(BTW, how come I never get surprise emails from women in high school or college who had been holding a torch for me all these years? Where are those emails?)

I told Phil, I had a vague recollection of the evening but couldn't fill in many of the details. Fortunately he could. And with his permission I am reprinting his account of that night:

You were in town to give a talk at the ad club about the ABC campaign with your partner whose name is eluding me now. I was interning with the Creative Club and tagged along for dinner at Highland Tap which was all fine and nice. Then Jim Newberry asked what you guys wanted to do, to which you replied "I don't know. I mean, what do people do in Atlanta that's like a really unique, local experience?" 

"That's easy," said Jim. "The Clermont Lounge." 

"What's that?" 

"Just trust me." 

"Okay." 

So out of all the institutions that Atlanta has to offer, both nudity-oriented and non-nudity-oriented, we all went to the Clermont Lounge, which is famous for being the absolute rock bottom of the adult entertainment world. The Clermont Lounge is located beneath a hotel where some guy from a famous 70s punk band overdosed or something. Anyway, the dancers at Clermont fall into four categories: old, fat, addicted to something really serious, or pregnant. There was actually a pregnant woman smoking on stage when we came in. 

They served cans of shitty beer, long before people were ironically drinking cans of shitty beer. 

Anyway, Blondie's thing was that she would dance for tips, but also for $2 she would crush a beer can between her boobs, and for $5 she would write you a poem. 

Four of us ended up getting a semi-private session with Blondie which for three of you involved some brief smothering (with boobs, nothing else), and then she came around to me and said "Close your eyes." I did, and then she actually punched me. Not with a fist - not using her hands in any way – but by merely twisting her torso with such force that her enormous breasts smacked me in the face. I've been punched in the face before, but never with a boxing glove - but I'm pretty sure that's what it would feel like to be punched by someone wearing boxing gloves. 

When we left everyone was like "What now?" and I think between the jet lag and the general trauma of seeing the Clermont Lounge you guys were like "Uhm, sleep would be good." 

So I drove you back to the hotel, nearly killing us all by taking an exit ramp too quickly, and then you guys got out with a semi-dazed expression saying "So this is Atlanta..." 

It was a special night when we all learned a little something about ourselves... possibly. 

It's all coming back to me now. 

In fact, I remember purchasing Blondie's book of poems and artwork. It's in my garage somewhere. Some day I'm sure I'll run across it and when I do, I will post it here. 

After all, a woman who is willing to smack people with her boobs deserves an outlet for her creativity.