Myrtle Madness Part I: Max & Ruby Red and the Rockers of Lost Karaoke (Bar)

So, we arrived in Myrtle Beach (or, more specifically, Pawleys Island) around noon, and found our place of residence for the next three days to be incredible: open, airy, with a pond in the back, a pool to the right and a golf course behind all of it. And a kitchen. That was probably the best part.

We settled, got groceries, Michelle whipped up a batch of sangria, and Lydia and I started to figure out the gas grill. This was a mistake, as I am not exactly the world’s best grill master, but we muddled through and made some very tasty (although not terribly beautiful) beef and Boca burgers. After dinner and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom (we watched the entire trilogy during our three days there), Leigh, Michelle, Leah and I were ready to play. On the way in, Michelle spotted the Pub ‘n Grub, which promised karaoke that evening, starting at 9pm. After some deliberation (and clothing changes), we convened at our passenger van at 9:37pm, ready to head off and rock our hearts out.

As we turned into the parking lot, a squeal of excitement came from the back seat (I was driving): “BIKERS!!” Indeed, there were about fifty hogs sitting outside the bar, and the inside was filled with smoke, leather and biker babes/dudes. Singing country. This was going to be exciting. We hurried in, grabbed the songbooks, ordered up a round of Jack and Coke and began plotting our entrée into this strange new world.

Michelle was first up. Her rendition of Let ‘er Rip, including some SERIOUS riffing at the end, made a big splash. The four of us were already cheering up a storm for everyone who got up to sing (earning us some very strange looks), and you’d better believe we went wild for our own people. Leigh’s Bye Bye brought down the house, I got people up dancing for Uptown Girl and Leah’s Piece of My Heart was a performance that would have made Janis proud. By the time second songs rolled around, we had befriended a bunch of bikers, bartenders and bar-folk, and successfully moved the music selection closer to pop/rock standards. Someone actually told us: “You make this bar fun.” Clearly, we New York folk were turning some hearts.

And, perhaps, one a little too much.

Crash, as he liked to be called, decided he wanted to seduce the ladies. Not just one, but all three. Leah, Michelle and Leigh successfully fended him off (despite promises that “I got a boat, thirty-foot boat,” “I got a band, rock band; you can sing in it” and “I got more money than Davey Crockett”), so I was the one who got to play “super boyfriend,” and listen to Crash’s sad tales of loneliness. One of the better conversations:

[Crash, covered in alcohol-smelling sweat, approaches me and gives me a bear hug.]
Crash: Man, I don’t know how you do it. All three of ‘em at once.
Me (trying to think on my feet): Well, um, it’s… hard.
[Crash nods sadly, knowingly, and hobbles back to the bar for another.]

After a few more songs (including Journey's Don't Stop Believin' and Mamma Mia), we said goodbye to Crash and our new biker friends. The van was calling. After a brief stop to dive into the ocean in our underwear (again; remember Miami?), we began the long journey back to our secluded home, confident that the hijinks of our evening were successfully ended.

They weren’t.

(To be continued…)



Kid quote of the day: As the bunny scouts mourn the demise of the castle, which Max has knocked down, a little girl in the third row very patiently consoled us: “It’s OK.”

Call tomorrow: I think we all woke up around noon. Something like that.