It’s Thursday night. Do you know where your local Milwaukeeans are?
They are sitting back to back with strangers, drinking Pinot Grigio out of a box and lounging on a sheet within the grassy plain that makes up Cathedral Square Park.
It’s called Jazz in the Park, and yes, we all know it well. However, ask anyone who goes there frequently who the headlining Jazz spewing bands are and they will no doubt give you a blank stare.
Sadly, Jazz in the Park has become so watered down with the social aspect of seemingly classy fun, that it is now a bit trashy. But, who am I to complain? I was there for my first and last time this summer and I had too much fun. And yes, there is such a thing as too much fun.
My Thursday night routine usually consists of going down to Alterra on the Lake and taking in the Florentine Opera for free. It’s beautiful, relaxing and best of all, I can always find a place to sit and there is no boxed wine in sight. But afterward, I usually go home, finish the bottle of wine I didn’t get to and fall asleep to CNN or “Sex and the City” by 11 p.m. Afterall, I do have a regular job that I have to be ready for by 8:30 a.m. Friday morning.
But, a couple Thursdays ago, my routine went down the drain when some friends invited me to go to Jazz in the Park. I was sad I would be missing opera, but I do try to make Jazz at least once every summer and this was my chance.
The four of us sat, scrunched together, on a plaid blanket underneath one of the many trees in the park. We opened a Chardonnay, took in some jazz, ate some cherries, finished the Chardonnay and decided that we were not quite ready for our night to end.
By now, our group had grown to seven and there was no way we wanted to sit inside on such a beautiful night. Situated just outside of the mayhem Jefferson usually attracts, Dino’s Taverna (777 N. Jefferson St.) was quite the relaxing spot to get the evening started.
The owner even took some time out of his (not-so-busy) schedule to come and talk to us. Don’t ask me what about, I was well on my way of being three-sheets-to-the-wind at this point.
After catching up on some scandalous gossip at Dino’s, we walked over to Taylor’s (795 N. Jefferson St.) and were instantly greeted with an entirely different atmosphere. Bouncers at the door, mobs of people spilling in and out of the windows and lounging effortlessly on the metal patio furniture is the normal scene at this swank corner bar. We all managed to get inside and wound up at the perfect table: situated directly next to the bar.
This night quickly turned into one of those evenings where your hand never seems to be drinkless and you never have to utter the words, “Where’s our bartender,” or “Who has next round?” Vodka seltzers, rum and diets, Sapphire and tonics and shots of Goldschläger seemed to instantly appear and then flutter away in mere moments.
What was once a relaxing Thursday evening on a plaid blanket turned into a 2 a.m. scramble to find a cab on Friday morning. Exactly how it happened is truly hard to say. However, I’m willing to bet it had a lot to do with having Friday off work.
Coincidence? Probably not.
