Desperately Seeking Salem

While all of you were glued to your televisions watching bizarre “breaking news” leading with the header: Remembering Michael Jackson (memory and breaking news are mutually exclusive in my book), I was at Roxxy for the club’s Thursday night comedy event watching comedian Andre Paradise (above, moving so fast he’s just a blur) give a more fitting tribute to MJ.

He actually did a five-minute, Evolution-of-Dance-inspired Michael Jackson mini-dance marathon to Billie Jean, Pretty Young Thing, Bad, and Thriller. He also mentioned a new screenplay he wrote that is being produced: “Mormon Football.”

Man was pretty damn good — way better than watching the reels of news footage on CNN streaming at the bar.

Though Andre was just our well-fro-ed host, he was the highlight of an evening that, for $5, was the most impromptu fun I’ve had out in Salem.

It also attracted more black people than I’ve seen anywhere in this town — pretty thrilling in its own right for someone used to a more diverse city of folks.

You don’t go to the Roxxy for the food — as pretty much everyone and his retired uncle has suggested. According to the place’s one slutty librarian waitress, who took about 45 minutes to take our drink orders, the place is changing management and has lost some of the regular menu items it had as it restructures.

No matter.

The puffy doorman, a really swell blueberry of a guy in a fancy tan suit, promised to “talk things over” with me if I didn’t like the acts.

I did not ask for my money back.

Cariss, a heavy-set, lovably raunchy black woman comedian opened the night with some stories about hating bull and of her time swinging on the horses near the State pen.

She was followed by a potty-mouthed old dude–wish I had his name–who had more offensive old guy sexual jokes than I’ve heard in recent years. Three quarters through the set, he whipped off his toupee and used it as a prop. He also hit on the waitresses the entire time, with a comeback for all of their annoyed quips, and verbally assaulted a table of three people who made the unfortunate choice of sitting too close to the stage.

You’ve been warned. Go, but unless you’ve got thick skin, stick to the perimeter.

I’ve been thinking a lot about what needs to go into the new neighborhood — you know, the one in the Bermuda Triangle of burgeoning hipsterdom where the Salem Cinema has just lifted its curtain. I’ve had some down moments in Salem lately, days when I wondered how I was ever going to make a life here when we can’t even find a good restaurant open at 9:30 near downtown (apparently we’re turning Catalan).

So I’ve got a lot of hope for NoBro, or NoHo, or the Carpet District, or the Mission, or whatever you want to call it.

If you own property you know how important it is to have the “right” kind of neighbors. You want the lawn mowers, the flower planters, the doggie-do picker-upers, the silent meditators instead of the all-night rockers. Some might even go as far to say that in Salem, you don’t want the chicken-keepers. But above all you want that strange mix of characteristics that together form the “right” kind of people.

Yeah, I think that’s some pretty conservative, close-minded gibberish too.

But there’s some truth to it. Especially if you’re trying to launch a cultural movement to breathe life into a downtown neighborhood.

So I’m going to put this out there and hope that the links and the vibrations and the word gets out — if you are interested in opening an insanely sophisticated food shop in a setting that is a little industrial and raw around the edges, please consider bringing your craft product to Salem. Seriously, I should be sending invoices to the Chamber of Commerce.

And if you are Pix Patisserie (see pic above), consider yourself invited.

Weeks ago I threated to stay out until 2:00 a.m. on a Tuesday night in Salem.

With the help of one Ryan Rogers, who introduced us to the Space (and the awesome Chance Wiesman), we did just that, flitting like demonic butterflies from one downtown venue to the next, always just barely making it out the door as they closed behind us.

The story of this much-recommended litmus test of Salem nightlife can be foud in the latest issue of Salem Monthly, which hit stands today. And if your SM stand hasn’t been replenished yet, let the publisher of the monthly know. In case you haven’t heard, it’s a small operation, and A.P. generally hand delivers the product.

Now, considering that I do my best writing in the morning, I can’t say these almost all-nighters are a gig that I can keep up indefinitely. I don’t generally advise cramming all of your fun into seven hours in the middle of the week.

But oh, what a night.

If you have any ideas on where the fun goes when everybody else goes to bed, please share them here. From my conversations with people these last two months, the interest is there, and the night owls do go somewhere (hey, owls are territorial, maybe that accounts for the secrecy…)