We Found a Freelance Limo at Ships and Rode it Through Taco Cabana's Drive-Through

Categories: The Overserved

I can't tell you his name and I can't give you his phone number but he has 1995 Cadillac limousine, and if you can find him on Greenville Avenue, he will definitely give you a ride. But you have to find him, maybe the way we did, in the dark cold of a dive bar at the end of a long Saturday night.

That That, Samantha McCurdy and Alexander DiJulio's Dallas gallery, has become a lively home for emerging artists, entertaining gatherings and mildly ridiculous afterparties. Most recently, it played host to semigloss. Magazine's third-issue release party. Sally Glass, the publication's editor and Dallas Observer People Issue cover girl, was having an unquestionably good week. No matter how many times I wander into That That for something truly civilized, and Saturday was that, my first memories will always be walking up those wide stairs, strapped down with Champagne for a night of debauchery at the hands of the Track Meet DJ collective. It was darker then, and I think the windows were covered in trash bags.

Elements of That That's varied personality were on display from the moment you walked in. Lucy Kirkman's exhibition Library of Babel was bathed in light from every side of the building. But on the side of the stairwell right at the gallery entrance were remnants from That That's installation at Ku De Ta, recently unveiled during their turn as hosts for Blake Ward's Friday night poolside party. One part light bright, one part Kool-Aid, all striking -- it is a colorful and playful interplay of color and light and personality. And it was made for a pool party.

As grimy as some of those afterparties can get, the semigloss. shindig was an exercise in refined good vibes. The fashion kids came, the photographers, the artists, the musicians. I even saw some critics smiling. The lack of A/C and a broken keg tap couldn't stifle the mood -- everyone was grabbing onto the coattails of Glass' good week and riding them into the sundown. Or at least onto the streets to await afterparty instructions where they could gather in the timid breeze.

Since we were already gathered at one of Dallas' current afterparty meccas, the selection would have to be perfect. Cold, dark, cheap. Good music.


Walking into that sainted dive bar, it seemed everyone had grabbed one friend and one bottle on their way toward Greenville Avenue. These impromptu Ships nights are among my favorites. A fun game at the table is to match the half-empty bottle of cheap liquor to its owner. Traveling from various wet bars to the vinyl-covered highboy table was a plastic bottle of Sauza Gold tequila, an entirely full bottle of Jameson, a vodka with most of the label scratched away, the last quarter of a bottle of Citadelle and some of those tiny airport bottles of a sweet-tea vodka. People were joyfully making do.

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