What should have happened

What should have happened
One of the perks of writing a column like SubVersions – aside from being able to indulge your love of pointless Saved By The Bell references – is that it constantly forces you out of the house and into the wide, wacky world of Milwaukee’s Kinda-Sorta-Thriving Night Life?. At least once a month, you’re compelled to throw yourself willy-nilly into the sinuous arms of the city – forgoing yet another night of watching Cheaters in your underwear – in search of beauty, cheap booze and an event deserving of 1,000 words.

The downside, of course, is that these events usually turn out to be complete busts. For every life-affirming rock show and spontaneous dance party, there’s at least one tepid burlesque show and a good ol’ fashioned random mugging. Nevertheless, a breathtaking column is usually formulated beforehand, and an appropriately poignant conclusion is strived for (friends! city! redemption!). Of course, after about a half-dozen drinks and a knee to the groin, things usually tend to fall apart.

What follows are two such events attended in hopes of some sort of bittersweet, revelatory moment that instead ended in crushing despair and ill-advised trips to gay bars. Each one will be divided into three parts: what happened (the mostly-true account of the event), what should have happened (the hoped-for outcome that inevitably never came to fruition) and a few sample lines from the breathtaking, yet ultimately abandoned column.

Hallowang
What happened
Through a bizarre set of coincidences, I learn of a fabled “Hallowang” party being thrown somewhere on Water Street. The idea – a costume party exactly six months before and after Halloween – is a noble one, and along with that machine that can launch a Busch Light clear across your living room, certainly represents frat-boy ingenuity at its finest. I soon discover a group of attractive lady friends will also be attending said festivities. They’re going as Ghostbusters – complete with jumpsuits and inflatable proton-packs – prompting me to stick some batteries and stereo wire to a metal colander, put in on my head and go as Louis Tully, a.k.a Vince Clortho, Keymaster of Gozer.

Arriving at the pre-determined Water Street bar (Mel’s? Art’s?), we find the number of costumed attendees lacking. Though we receive our fair share of confused looks – along with a large number of people who mistake me for Doc Brown from Back to the Future – the night nonetheless proceeds swimmingly. Things turn quickly tragic, however, after I accidentally thrust a lit cigarette into my friend Kelly’s open eye; following some worried fretting and a few more drinks, she’s fine, and the entire Hallowang contingent hops on a chartered school bus headed for our final destination, Cans. Once there, awards are given out for the best costumes, and we end up losing to two chumps dressed as Fred and Velma from Scooby-Doo. The night concludes at Foundation (more confused looks), where a drunken, nonsensical argument over a deflated proton-pack signals an end to the 2007 Hallowang festivities.

What should have happened
Obviously, Team Ghostbusters should have walked away with this thing. Four fully outfitted ladies and a guy with a spaghetti strainer on his head? What’s the problem? More Hallowang participants would have been nice, and at one point a gorgeous girl should have identified herself as the “Gatekeeper” to my “Keymaster.”

Sample lines from abandoned column
We win, of course, and as we weave our way through the din we find ourselves glowing: radiant with a strange kind of satisfaction that can only be found in something this perfect, this ridiculous. An hour later I’m back home and in bed, at peace in knowing that at absolutely no point during the evening did I jab a lit cigarette in anyone’s eye.

Brewcity Bruisers Karaoke Challenge
What happened
My friend Andrea and I decide to brave Milwaukee’s ever-increasing crime risk and trek out to Mad Planet for some hot roller girl/karaoke action. Though I harbor strong aversions for both karaoke and all-things roller skates, the evening’s festivities promise to cancel these out with a few drinks and an inspired performance of “Love Shack.”

We arrive early and attendance is decidedly slim: a handful of Bruisers and some nervous onlookers mill about as we’re treated to two – count ‘em, two! – Alanis Morissette songs. Accordingly, drinks are consumed. Things start to pick up (mysteriously in direct correlation to our level of intoxication) and soon the place is packed. The karaoke, on the other hand, is still pretty weak, leading to a series of scribbled notes between Andrea and I, both puzzling ( “Godzilla is a ho!” ) and to the point ( “Get me out of here!” ). Though the next few hours get a little fuzzy, the night ends like so many others: barely conscious, somehow at La Cage and stuck sitting next to a guy who talks with a lisp and walks with a cane.

What should have happened
For starters, two hard-and-fast rules of karaoke should have been adhered to: “More Than a Feeling” should have been performed no later than two hours in, and at least one Hysteria-era Def Leppard song should have been trotted out (preferably “Animal” or “Love Bites” ). In the end, my distaste for karaoke and roller skates should have been drowned out in the roar of the crowd whilst delivering a stirring rendition of Meat Loaf’s “Two Out of Three Ain’t Bad.” Men, women and children should have wept. Peace should have descended upon the Middle East. No one should have gone to La Cage.

Sample lines from abandoned column
The crowd bursts through the doors of Mad Planet – still singing, still glowing – and pours itself into the post-bar-time evening as one. The night air is warm and unafraid – finally! – and I leave with a newfound sense of love for our humble, mixed-up city, for the tireless, mixed-up people buzzing around in it, for the improbable, mixed-up things we make happen. VS