Thursday, September 30
Green Lantern, 10:00. 21+
Detroit. Rock city. A little more than a decade ago I was smitten, as it happens, with a young woman way out my league. This was in Portland, Oregon, and the young woman in question was fresh in from DTW. Don’t remember why she’d come, but she’d moved with several friends who all knew the saxophonist in a local jazz-funk outfit that I road-managed for a time, who’d also moved to Portland some years prior, after taking a music degree from Wayne State.
She was beautiful, so much so that when she told me one night over drinks that basketball player Grant Hill, then with the Pistons, had once made an unsuccessful play for her affections, I absolutely believed her. She was a bit tipsy at the time, and this was her beautiful-woman way of rejecting my own advances: I’ve turned down millionaire NBA stars, honey; don’t embarrass yourself further. I took the hint.