A night at Copperfield's

C's friend BJ is a character. He is the self proclaimed "greatest salesman on the planet." And truth be told, he is probably right. BJ is loud, friendly, and talks up a storm about any topic on the planet. He has a million friends, all who have a story that start "BJ is so crazy, I remember once when...."

On Friday night, BJ's band was having a CD release party at a bar called Copperfield's. Oh I forgot to mention, BJ is a drummer of a heavy metalesque band. Their normal fair is to cover 80's songs, but on occassion they play original material, which may lack the polish of their covers.

Copperfield's is a dingy sport's bar next to Fenway park. In the background there are unstrategically placed obligatory flatscreen plasma TVs, that were playing the final game of the World's Series. The ambient light is yellow and ungainly. Jack'o'lantern plastic buckets around the bar overflowed with sugary sugary treats. Let's think sugar and alcohol, always an interesting mix.

Friday night, was not about baseball, it was all about BJ. His whole family was there, including his new wife wearing a baby doll tee with their band logo on it. She had the honor of selling CD's. His parents were there. His mother-in-law wore a pink shirt that said "BJ's other mother." His friend from high school wore a t-shirt with a picture of BJ with glasses on, which only could have been taken out of their high school year book. And of course, his college roomate, C, and the Holy Cross contingent was there.

B, S, and I had gone to dinner prior and was resigned to the fact that we were old and tired. Well, maybe not old, but definately a little sleepy and full of yummy malaysian cuisine. So when we got the bar, I nursed my Bud light as we gossiped about the people around us.

C's friend N had taken the bus from NYC that afternoon, just for the night, and for his one crazy night out thought shots of vodka were appropriate. I declined, but then was goaded into it by Sh. Sh is B younger brother, and as long as I can remember our relationship is to annoy the crap out of each other. That means I muss up his gelled coif, he punches my shoulder etc.. So when he said, "What you some kind of ivy leaguer?" I downed the shot slammed it on the bar and replied, "Yup, Columbia and Harvard. And that's how its done in the ivy league." Of course, the rot gut speed rack vodka may not have warranted such dramatics.

As the night progressed, the pile of KitKat, Whopper, Crunch bar wrappers and beer bottles around us got larger. The sugar alcohol high lead to dancing on the bar, ass slapping, and throwing candy at the girl in the teal sweater with the largest cleavage. During one of the band's breaks, BJ came back to say hello. He got C and Sh to pin me down as he stuck his band's bumper sticker on my collar bone.

More shots of tequilla. We bopped our head's to BJ's band. There was a lot shouting. Some wrestling. More beer. N missed his bus to NYC. C missed his booty call. More candy. Lots of laughing.

'twas quite the night at Copperfield's.