oh swarvey, you suck...

Someone I work with was talking about his extra-worklife activities. He plays keys for a couple of different bands and does some DJ-ing. He is presenting an evening of jocularity at a new-ish club in Fall River.
As I lived in Fall River 15 years ago, he asked me if I knew about the club that opened this spring.
After finding out that I did not know the club, he explained where it was in the city. It's in just about the roughest area they could have thought of in which to build a club.
At least, the roughest area of Fall River.
If you had the roughest area of Fall River fight the roughest area of, say, Philly, the roughest area of Fall River would put on a dress and cower under a couch.
Still, not a great place to build your club. I said so.
He said that there was a time when a bad element had taken up residence of the club, but that the owner has had the bad element moved out.
I said, with requisite confidence and flair, "Oh? Did he bring Dillon in?"
I got no response from the table. I was pissed off and disappointed. I eat with some fairly well-versed movie guys. I expected someone to know what I was talking about. No one did.
"Man. Road House? Hello?", I said in frustration.
Almost in unison the table of people I was yelling at for being dopey told me the name I was looking for was DALTON, not DILLON.
Damn it.
I was cowed. I usually have a witty retort, well, I usually have A retort. But I got nothin'.
It might have been a nice little joke. It might have been happy. Instead, I clubbed it like a seal.

How could I forget? How could I forget?



Forgive me, Swayze.