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05/19/2022 12:01 AMLike the groundhog peeking up out of his hidey hole to see if there’s a shadow, I emerge from my winter lair. I’m ready for an old-time night out, circa 2019.
I go with Fisher Cat to a spot where there’s a band playing. It’s been forever since I’ve heard live music. When we walk into the place, the music is pounding, and we’re immediately greeted by the Walking Party.
“How ya doing?” Walking Party cries with a wide smile and open arms. He’s a bundle of energy and the kind of person who enlivens every situation. If you’re not having a good time with the Walking Party around, that’s your fault.
Before I can answer, he asks if I’ve ever been to a certain town in Italy. Before I can answer that, he launches into a story. Turns out the town name is actually the name of a nearby restaurant.
“It’s great! Food is amazing! Hey, but there was a naked clown last time I was there!” he says.
“A what?” Fisher Cat and I ask in unison.
“Yeah, this guy wearing a big red nose, had big frizzy hair. We’re all dancing. Guy takes his shirt off. Okay, that’s kinda odd. Then he gets up on the bar, pulls his pants to his ankles. Man, two guys got on him fast, threw him right out!”
When your night starts with a story about a naked clown, you know it’ll only get odder. I’m so here for that. It’s been another long winter COVID-style and I’m ready for some ridiculousness.
The band ends but it’s still early, so we talk about going somewhere else. Naturally, the Walking Party has the answer.
“Let’s go to The Kozy!” he suggests.
I’ve heard tale of The Kozy from several people. They say it’s a dive bar like in the days before the Connecticut shoreline became known as a Gold Coast. Tucked in a back corner of the world, it is its own little time warp. You won’t find Kobe steak or upscale drinks here. Nor is it a place to see and be seen. It’s a place to drink bottom shelf and just be.
Tonight, informs the Walking Party, they have karaoke until 2 a.m.
I don’t sing karaoke and believe me, no one would want me to, either. I like to go and cheer people on, though.
We get there and park in back. The Kozy is part of a larger building and if someone didn’t tell me it was here, I’d never know to look for it. When I get out of the car, I find that the air is thick and slightly salty. The first humid night of spring. The overhang over the door reads “Lounge” in script. I already feel like I’m in another decade.
Inside there’s a motley crew of people singing, swaying, sipping. We settle ourselves at a standup table and I assess the situation. Yes, this is everything I expected and wanted.
We hear a wide variety of songs and maybe the most surprising thing is that the singers are all good. Usually there are at least a few karaoke clunkers, but it doesn’t matter if the person doing it is having a good time. Anyone who’s brave enough to get up there automatically has my respect.
As the clock winds toward and past midnight, the entire place starts to erupt in song. When the Macarena is fired up, lines form and it’s 1996 all over again. Will I admit that I’m in one of those lines? Sure, why not. It’s been a long, cold, dark, depressing winter and right now I have no shame in my game.
Days later as I read the news, COVID-19 seems to be flaring up again. Will we need to endure another period of social isolation? I have no idea. This virus is a wily critter, and no one seems to know what the future holds.
That’s why I say to gather ye dive bars while ye may. And if you look a little silly doing the Macarena, who cares? Virus or no virus, Old Time is still a-flying.
Juliana Gribbins is a writer who believes that absurdity is the spice of life. Her book Date Expectations is winner of the 2017 Independent Press Awards, Humor Category and winner of the 2016 IPPY silver medal for humor. Write to her at jeepgribbs@hotmail.com. Read more of her columns at www.zip06.com/shorelineliving.