Christmas came a little early or, I guess this still qualifies as Hanukkah. I recently moved and acquired a roommate. I'm down to just one now. As we're moving in and unpacking various boxes, we start to take stock of all of the stuff we have. He has more cd's than he'll listen to in the course of this lifetime but he has racks to hold them all. I have enough DVDs to keep anybody entertained 24/7 for a little over a year however, I have no racks to hold them. My collection has lived in assorted boxes for years just like my books.
At the thought of finally unpacking all of these boxes, I suggested the practical approach of cinder blocks and wood planks. You can pick them up damn near anywhere and they break down for easy transport when it's time to move again. No sooner were the words out of my mouth when the idea was vetoed. The reasoning being that we are now adults and NOT college students. This may be true but we are adults on a budget not to mention the fact that we are men. As a man, I've always believed in keeping things simple and practical. We met somewhere in the middle and kept an eye on Craigslist.
Another point brought to my attention was the fact that I was sleeping on the floor. This is not as destitute as it sounds. I had a futon mattress at my old place but didn't notice that there was a small leak somewhere in the room and water had gathered under the mattress and started to grow things. Needless to say, I left it behind. I planned on replacing it but wanted to make sure I could cover my new expenses before I started dallying in creature comforts.
I've done the futon mattress for years because they're easy to move, relatively cheap and comfortable enough. Being of the simple and practical mindset, I've never seen the point of forking out a lot for something you only spend six to eight hours in and you're sleeping through the experience. If it gets the job done, that's all I need.
Once again, my roommate, in an effort to drag me kicking and screaming into adulthood, told me of his plan to buy me a bed for Christmas. Apparently as an adult, practicality is no longer a watch word.
Today, the book cases and my bed showed up. Complete with boxes and instructions. Insert tab A into slot B and secure with screw L while making sure the holes match up.
Don't get me wrong, I know my roommate has the best of intentions but I've lived alone for a very long time and have just gotten used to doing things differently.
I now own a bed that could sleep two comfortably so I have a lot of room to spread out. I bought sheets for the first time in my life tonight. They're grey flannel, I call them my Gregory Peck sheets. I bought a new pillow and a comforter. I own linens. I'm starting to feel like I'm selling out by giving in to comfort and luxury, like any minute ninjas will disappear into the night with half of my Motorhead cd's because I have lost the right to listen to them anymore.
This should make for an interesting nights sleep. Goodnight everybody.
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Friday, June 7, 2013
The Break
To set the scene
for you, there is a coffee shop, inside the coffee shop is a man sitting at a
table lost in thought with a notebook open in front of him. Working behind the
counter is a woman. She’s not necessarily glamorous, just somewhere between hotter
than donut grease and making a grown man want to lick his eyebrows. She approaches his table with a cup of
coffee.
“You must really
be thinking of something hard, I’ve called your name three times” she says as
she puts the cup on the table in front of him. “What-oh…sorry, I was just
trying to think of something to write here. When you get a chance, can I get
some coffee?” She chuckles and points to the table. “Oh, how about that?
Thanks.” He starts to stand up. “Looking for the cream?” she asks. “Uh-huh,
just need a little bit” he says. “I know, check the color of your coffee, Mr.
Holmes” she points again to the table. “Again, thank you” he says, a little
awkwardly. “What’s with you today? It’s like you’re not even here” she asks.
“I’ve been
working on this damn screenplay for months and I can’t seem to get it to go
anywhere. The characters are flat and the plot never goes anywhere. It’s just a
bunch of people sitting around talking about nothing of any merit. This was
supposed to be my Rocky and it’s not even a Grave Robbers From Outer Space. The
Expendables two had more character definition.” “It’s about boxing grave
diggers? I thought you were writing a mystery”
“No, I mean, yes, I am writing a mystery.
Grave Robbers From Outer Space was the original title of Plan Nine From Outer
Space, you know, the Edward D. Wood, junior movie?” “Not really” she said
blankly. “Well, it’s considered by many to be the worst film ever made” “So
what does that have to do with boxing?” “Oh, um… nothing. You see, Sylvester
Stallone wrote Rocky while he was making The Lords Of Flatbush and he knew that
it was going to get his foot in the door when studios started to take notice,
so his package deal became that if they wanted the script, he had to star in it.
A few academy awards, and five sequels later, nineteen seventy-six becomes two
thousand thirteen and the rest is, as they say, history.”
“You do realize that I’m twenty-four and most
of what you just said is just words coming out of your face?” “I know, I’m
talking film with the English major, he also wrote three books, does that put
you on familiar ground?” “Close” she said with a smile. “Stallone, wasn’t he in
that movie you kept trying to take me to? Something about bullets or guns?”
“Bullet To The Head. Good movie, your loss. Walter Hill’s adaptation of the
graphic novel. I keep meaning to read it just to see how much Hill inspired the
novel, there are so many nods to his earlier work…you have that look again.”
“The one that says this is all just words coming out of your face?” “Yup” “Do
you know why?” They both laugh.
“I’ve seen Rocky,
my dad used to watch it when I was a kid” she said, “and, an old boyfriend drug
me to The Expendables, but it wasn’t that good. Luckily I was single when the
sequel came out.” “The only part of that last statement I can agree with is
that you’re lucky you didn’t see The Expendables two. You’re not one of those
people that watch Michael Bay films and Nicholas Sparks adaptations are you?”
“Nicholas Sparks is a fucking hack!” “Right on sister! I was afraid that I was
going to have to start buying my coffee somewhere else for a minute.” They both
chuckle, back on common ground.
“I enjoy a good
comedy or even a drama sometimes.” she said. “Yeah, well Stallone doesn’t do
well in the comedy genre. The less said the better; even he’ll agree to that.
Have you ever seen Paradise Alley or F.I.S.T? He wrote Paradise Alley before
Rocky but nobody took any interest until after the movie came out.” “That was
nineteen seventy what? Child of the nineties, remember?” “Home video, you ever
hear of it? When you get tired of watching Will Farrell play the same role over
and over again, check out something besides the new release wall. You should
come over to my place sometime; I’ll introduce you to a whole other world.”
“You know there’s a generation gap between us, right?” “There’s about twenty
years between Stallone and his wife, just saying.” She smiles and then changes
the subject.
“So, this mystery
you’re working on, what’s wrong with it?” “Well, there’s been a murder so of
course you have to figure out whodunit, but the main character lacks something
to give him some definition, a back story, anything.” “What if he’s in a bad
marriage? She’s trying to end it; he’s trying to keep it together but just
can’t see that it’s over?” Suddenly, his head snaps up. “Nothing is over,
nothing! You just don’t turn it off. It
wasn’t my war; you asked me, I didn’t ask you.” She takes a step back but he
grabs her hand and kisses it. “That’s it, you’re a genius, I’ll make him a war
veteran, ah-ha, perfect!” He lets go of her hand and picks up his pen and
starts writing again. She backs away and says, “Glad I could help, I guess.”
She returns to her work behind the counter.
Tuesday, May 28, 2013
Is it Tuesday night or Wednesday morning?
I've been so tired lately. The weather doesn't help. It's not even a good kind of tired that you feel from working hard, although I am coming off of a five day work week. It's that kind of bored, apathetic kind of tired. I have a few irons in the fire so it's not like I'm just waiting around for some divine force to show me the way, it's just that everything is currently on hold or in the works. Hurry up and wait. It makes me nuts. The thing that makes me the craziest is that I have this screenplay that I'm working on and all I can figure out is what's wrong with it.
It's not the usual kind of thing where you look at it and think it's drivel and want to start over, I've learned to fix that in the second draft. Just get it on paper and fix it later. No, this comes from following a train of thought and realizing that it's going nowhere or is completely unnecessary. I had a break through earlier this week but, when I went to write it down, it eluded me like trying to remember a dream. I know where it is and I see the approach, I just have to find the words.
The crazy thing is that I've been working on another project with a partner and since she went off to do the next draft, all I keep thinking about is that project. My timing's all screwed up.
There was a waitress that worked in this all night diner that I used to like to hang out at. She eventually became a friend. When I first started both of these projects, I'd be in there until the wee hours just writing and drinking coffee. She'd always listen if I had an idea that I needed to talk through. Sometimes she'd make suggestions. They were usually simple things that were just what the doctor ordered, but without them I was lost in the forest trying to find a tree. I tried not to monopolize her time, usually waiting until she had a couple of minutes, because she'd get in trouble with her manager for hanging out with me. She said she didn't care, it was more fun trying to figure out my plot holes than trying to find busy work. The best part was that when I got stuck, really stuck, and had to go home and think about it, she'd just shrug it off and tell me that I'd figure it out. Like there was no doubt in her mind. It was nice to have someone in my corner. She broke up with her boyfriend, moved across town and I haven't seen her since. It seems weird to miss someone you didn't know that well or that long but I miss her on nights like this.
So when it's a little after 1:00 a.m., what do you call it? Tuesday night or Wednesday morning? I've known people who mark time by when they wake up and go to bed. That's a day to them. Some people mark time by sunrise and sunset. Personally, I mark time by the clock. Everything starts fresh at 12:00 a.m. I work nights and have been a night owl most of my life. There have been times due to work or whatever that I've had to keep Jack Bauer hours. If I marked time by my sleep pattern, my week might get a little shorter.
It gets confusing when I try to talk to people who mark time differently. I'll be asking them about what they're doing later today and they'll either look at me funny or tell me what they did yesterday afternoon. I'll end up explaining the question for five minutes just to have them tell me they don't have any plans. Most of the time I'm just making conversation. Sometimes I might be trying to make plans, but that's kind of rare any more.
Most people don't do the things I do or when I do them. That's fine. I used to try to be accommodating but too many times I found myself sitting around and waiting for phone calls to confirm or somebody'd cancel or want to reschedule. I have things to do. It's not that I don't want to hang out with you, I just don't have all day to try to figure out when. It sucks sometimes, but it's often best to just do my own thing. I'm done dragging people to things that they've never heard of. No matter how good the intention, if you're not having a good time, you're just wasting your time.
It's not the usual kind of thing where you look at it and think it's drivel and want to start over, I've learned to fix that in the second draft. Just get it on paper and fix it later. No, this comes from following a train of thought and realizing that it's going nowhere or is completely unnecessary. I had a break through earlier this week but, when I went to write it down, it eluded me like trying to remember a dream. I know where it is and I see the approach, I just have to find the words.
The crazy thing is that I've been working on another project with a partner and since she went off to do the next draft, all I keep thinking about is that project. My timing's all screwed up.
There was a waitress that worked in this all night diner that I used to like to hang out at. She eventually became a friend. When I first started both of these projects, I'd be in there until the wee hours just writing and drinking coffee. She'd always listen if I had an idea that I needed to talk through. Sometimes she'd make suggestions. They were usually simple things that were just what the doctor ordered, but without them I was lost in the forest trying to find a tree. I tried not to monopolize her time, usually waiting until she had a couple of minutes, because she'd get in trouble with her manager for hanging out with me. She said she didn't care, it was more fun trying to figure out my plot holes than trying to find busy work. The best part was that when I got stuck, really stuck, and had to go home and think about it, she'd just shrug it off and tell me that I'd figure it out. Like there was no doubt in her mind. It was nice to have someone in my corner. She broke up with her boyfriend, moved across town and I haven't seen her since. It seems weird to miss someone you didn't know that well or that long but I miss her on nights like this.
So when it's a little after 1:00 a.m., what do you call it? Tuesday night or Wednesday morning? I've known people who mark time by when they wake up and go to bed. That's a day to them. Some people mark time by sunrise and sunset. Personally, I mark time by the clock. Everything starts fresh at 12:00 a.m. I work nights and have been a night owl most of my life. There have been times due to work or whatever that I've had to keep Jack Bauer hours. If I marked time by my sleep pattern, my week might get a little shorter.
It gets confusing when I try to talk to people who mark time differently. I'll be asking them about what they're doing later today and they'll either look at me funny or tell me what they did yesterday afternoon. I'll end up explaining the question for five minutes just to have them tell me they don't have any plans. Most of the time I'm just making conversation. Sometimes I might be trying to make plans, but that's kind of rare any more.
Most people don't do the things I do or when I do them. That's fine. I used to try to be accommodating but too many times I found myself sitting around and waiting for phone calls to confirm or somebody'd cancel or want to reschedule. I have things to do. It's not that I don't want to hang out with you, I just don't have all day to try to figure out when. It sucks sometimes, but it's often best to just do my own thing. I'm done dragging people to things that they've never heard of. No matter how good the intention, if you're not having a good time, you're just wasting your time.
Thursday, May 23, 2013
Random Thoughts While Doing My Laundry
A few years ago, when I was washing my clothes at a local laundromat, I'd take my notebook with me and write about different observations and get caught up on journal writing and what not. I've since moved out of that neighborhood and the laundromat has closed but I still have a few things rattling through my head. Isn't that what this whole blog thing is about anyway? I figure if nothing interesting is going on with my job, maybe there's something else I can entertain you with.
A friend of mine posted a youtube clip on facebook that was talking about the current state of music. Next to the clip he posed the question of do you agree or disagree? The person being interviewed is someone I've admired and respected for years and I know he's not talking out of his ass when he says that he thinks the state of music is alive and well. Being in the industry, his ear is most likely closer to the ground than mine. I live in the mid-west and work in and around bars where cover bands and d.j.'s come to play the same 50 songs every weekend. I listen to classic rock on the radio because it's the station that comes in the clearest at home. In the car I'm usually listening to a book on cd. I've become a fan of Spotify because it gives me access to 83% of the bands on the planet without having to spend a bunch of money just to find out that the song that made me buy the album was the only good one on it.
I'm fortunate enough to be friends with a lot of musicians and have been turned on to a lot of good music that way. Most of it theirs. Unfortunately, most of the bar/club patrons have the attention span of a three year old and just want to hear the same thing that corporate radio has been shoving in their ears all day so, no matter how good of a musician these people might be, if they want to make money they'll be practicing Santaria and telling all the single ladies to put a ring on it.
One of the things mentioned in the clip is how a lot of bands are using the internet to get their stuff heard. It is cool when you can find somebody who's playing for the sake of playing and not getting stingy over a royalty payment. Also, companies like CD Baby make it possible to get the music to the masses without having to conform to the big labels idea of what they think people want.
Something I miss, and I'm surprised that there isn't more of it considering all of the social networks, is when you would hang out with your friends and one of you'd be listening to something new and cool and you could turn each other on to other things. I have a couple of friends that will post about some new release they just listened to but they're in the minority. Now, if you don't check the website of your favorite bands, you don't know what's coming out. Also, you miss out on some things you'd never hear before.
I've been called everything from an alien to a freak because of things I've retained as a music fan. Sometimes I might be talking to somebody about an obscure song on side two of some rare album and if you just found out about this band yesterday, I'll let that blank look slide. When I talk to some of my musician friends about the follow up track to a number one hit that went platinum, and I still see that look, I start to question them. I love music. It's always been a big part of my life. But I've always considered myself the outsider looking in. Movies and books have always been my passion. Music is just what I listen to while reading. These people were so inspired by music that they picked up an instrument and learned to play so they could MAKE music. How they don't take me on some musical Enter The Dragon every time I open my mouth still surprises me.
The flip side of that is while they blow me away with being able to come up with some cool stuff with only a piano, guitar and an empty room, I get to turn them on to stuff they should have heard already. It's almost circular.
One final thought before my dryer goes off, in an age where we now have the world at our finger tips, I no longer accept "that came out before I was even born" as an excuse. Charles Dickens wrote books before I was born and Humphrey Bogart made movies before I was born. Richie Vallens had a career and died before I was born. I'm not Superman, I just find something that turns me on and I follow the thread. Stop playing Angry Birds and do something constructive. This isn't like the good old days where the radio d.j. could express his own personal tastes and you could hear music that was new to you. You have to do your own leg work. Even if you like Justin Bieber, find out what some of his influences were, maybe you'll like them too. Hopefully they didn't become corporate whores as well.
The buzzer means the laundry is done and so is this post. Hope you enjoyed it. What are your thoughts on the current state of music? I've told you my limited view, I'm curious to know yours.
A friend of mine posted a youtube clip on facebook that was talking about the current state of music. Next to the clip he posed the question of do you agree or disagree? The person being interviewed is someone I've admired and respected for years and I know he's not talking out of his ass when he says that he thinks the state of music is alive and well. Being in the industry, his ear is most likely closer to the ground than mine. I live in the mid-west and work in and around bars where cover bands and d.j.'s come to play the same 50 songs every weekend. I listen to classic rock on the radio because it's the station that comes in the clearest at home. In the car I'm usually listening to a book on cd. I've become a fan of Spotify because it gives me access to 83% of the bands on the planet without having to spend a bunch of money just to find out that the song that made me buy the album was the only good one on it.
I'm fortunate enough to be friends with a lot of musicians and have been turned on to a lot of good music that way. Most of it theirs. Unfortunately, most of the bar/club patrons have the attention span of a three year old and just want to hear the same thing that corporate radio has been shoving in their ears all day so, no matter how good of a musician these people might be, if they want to make money they'll be practicing Santaria and telling all the single ladies to put a ring on it.
One of the things mentioned in the clip is how a lot of bands are using the internet to get their stuff heard. It is cool when you can find somebody who's playing for the sake of playing and not getting stingy over a royalty payment. Also, companies like CD Baby make it possible to get the music to the masses without having to conform to the big labels idea of what they think people want.
Something I miss, and I'm surprised that there isn't more of it considering all of the social networks, is when you would hang out with your friends and one of you'd be listening to something new and cool and you could turn each other on to other things. I have a couple of friends that will post about some new release they just listened to but they're in the minority. Now, if you don't check the website of your favorite bands, you don't know what's coming out. Also, you miss out on some things you'd never hear before.
I've been called everything from an alien to a freak because of things I've retained as a music fan. Sometimes I might be talking to somebody about an obscure song on side two of some rare album and if you just found out about this band yesterday, I'll let that blank look slide. When I talk to some of my musician friends about the follow up track to a number one hit that went platinum, and I still see that look, I start to question them. I love music. It's always been a big part of my life. But I've always considered myself the outsider looking in. Movies and books have always been my passion. Music is just what I listen to while reading. These people were so inspired by music that they picked up an instrument and learned to play so they could MAKE music. How they don't take me on some musical Enter The Dragon every time I open my mouth still surprises me.
The flip side of that is while they blow me away with being able to come up with some cool stuff with only a piano, guitar and an empty room, I get to turn them on to stuff they should have heard already. It's almost circular.
One final thought before my dryer goes off, in an age where we now have the world at our finger tips, I no longer accept "that came out before I was even born" as an excuse. Charles Dickens wrote books before I was born and Humphrey Bogart made movies before I was born. Richie Vallens had a career and died before I was born. I'm not Superman, I just find something that turns me on and I follow the thread. Stop playing Angry Birds and do something constructive. This isn't like the good old days where the radio d.j. could express his own personal tastes and you could hear music that was new to you. You have to do your own leg work. Even if you like Justin Bieber, find out what some of his influences were, maybe you'll like them too. Hopefully they didn't become corporate whores as well.
The buzzer means the laundry is done and so is this post. Hope you enjoyed it. What are your thoughts on the current state of music? I've told you my limited view, I'm curious to know yours.
Sunday, May 12, 2013
Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer
The other night there was this girl who should give lessons in how to be a drunk. She was a little over five feet tall, wearing flats, 110 pounds, maybe. She had this high pitched, cartoon sounding voice that would crack me up as she sat next to me and gave lessons on how to walk down stairs to customers and a running commentary to me.
She would talk to the gravity impaired women trying to navigate stairs in heels and explain to them the importance of using the railing and then turn back to me, shake her head and say, "they're all shit heads, they don't know anything." As people would walk upstairs, without tripping, she'd give them a high five and tell them they did a good job. Turning to me, she'd explain, "you have to give them positive reinforcement, that's how they learn." If they tripped, she'd just call them a shit head and tell them to go home. Sometimes they would agree with her. Others would look at her, then look at me, then back to her and figure she was in the time out chair and on her way out. Most of them turned a deaf ear.
With that much pent up hostility, I knew she had to be in the customer service industry which she later confirmed. She offered to sit with me all night because she said this was the most fun she'd had since she arrived. Whenever a guy would walk by, she'd turn to me and say, "he's not going to get laid tonight" and then rattle off three valid reasons why. Most of them were fashion related. See guys, women notice these things, you dress like a dueche bag, you don't get to swim in the gene pool. You just watch from the side and try to figure out what happened to all of your Motorhead albums.
She could do all of this with her hair in place and not spilling her drink all over the floor and herself. Finally, somebody who can go out on the weekend, have a few, cut loose, and maintain as well as entertain. I wish there were a hundred more just like her every weekend. Her friends eventually came and collected her and dragged her back out to the dance floor but I hope she comes back soon.
She would talk to the gravity impaired women trying to navigate stairs in heels and explain to them the importance of using the railing and then turn back to me, shake her head and say, "they're all shit heads, they don't know anything." As people would walk upstairs, without tripping, she'd give them a high five and tell them they did a good job. Turning to me, she'd explain, "you have to give them positive reinforcement, that's how they learn." If they tripped, she'd just call them a shit head and tell them to go home. Sometimes they would agree with her. Others would look at her, then look at me, then back to her and figure she was in the time out chair and on her way out. Most of them turned a deaf ear.
With that much pent up hostility, I knew she had to be in the customer service industry which she later confirmed. She offered to sit with me all night because she said this was the most fun she'd had since she arrived. Whenever a guy would walk by, she'd turn to me and say, "he's not going to get laid tonight" and then rattle off three valid reasons why. Most of them were fashion related. See guys, women notice these things, you dress like a dueche bag, you don't get to swim in the gene pool. You just watch from the side and try to figure out what happened to all of your Motorhead albums.
She could do all of this with her hair in place and not spilling her drink all over the floor and herself. Finally, somebody who can go out on the weekend, have a few, cut loose, and maintain as well as entertain. I wish there were a hundred more just like her every weekend. Her friends eventually came and collected her and dragged her back out to the dance floor but I hope she comes back soon.
Sunday, April 28, 2013
Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer
Ah, young love on a Friday night! It's the weekend, time to let your hair down, relax, have a few drinks...and argue with your significant other.
There's a girl that comes out to the bar who's a fairly regular. She usually hangs out for a couple of hours, gets varying degrees drunk and then she disappears into the night. On this particular night I first saw her on her way to the ladies room. We exchanged pleasantries and salutations and off she went. She'll usually get chatty towards the end of the night when she's looking for a place to refocus her vision and isn't surrounded by a bunch of guys wearing plaid shirts and offering her drinks.
The next time I saw her she was having a problem with some guy on the dance floor. The impression that I got was that he wouldn't leave her and her friends alone. I was stuck on the side door with three things going on at the same time so I had her tell one of the guys on the floor. The upstairs was closed due to in-climate weather so I knew there would be at somebody looking for something to do.
I didn't hear from her again for another couple of hours when the band was on break and random yelling can be heard at the end of the hall. I look around the corner and what to my wondering eye should appear? A drunk girl and a guy in a plaid shirt. The police will tell you the easiest way to deal with a domestic dispute is to let it burn itself out and just play referee when things start to get rough. This is a great philosophy and has served me well on a few occasions. However, you guessed it, I know this drunk girl. I don't know the plaid shirt. But, I remember a complaint about a guy who seemed to have a problem with no.
She seems intent on getting away from him and has managed to get herself into an alcove formed by the barricade we fashioned to block off the upstairs and the bands gear. She has her back to the wall and he's now in front of her blocking the only way out. Ladies, this is NOT tactically advantageous. Stay aware of your surroundings and stay out in the open. He moves in, closing the gap.
I grab this guy by the shoulders and pull him back. At this point there is no hostility, I just want to separate them until I can figure out which way the wind is blowing. I feel his shoulders tense as he whips himself around, his arm ready to cock back. I take half a step back, out of his effective range but still within my own. He looks me straight in the sternum and his eyes track up to my face. At any other time I might have laughed, it was sort of comical since he was only about 5'7. Since I was at work, levity was not an option.
He found the answer to his how-fucked-am-I? question in less that a second and went from hostile to docile in less time than it takes to draw a breath. Suddenly, I have both of them apologizing profusely, she's telling me how this is her boyfriend, he's telling me how they're just trying to sort things out and how they're not normally like this...I stopped listening at some point, I've heard this song before. They go back out to the dance floor.
I see her again on the way to the ladies room. I don't see her again for a while. If it wasn't for her two friends tag teaming, I'd swear that she was ready to start forwarding her mail. She eventually comes back out and everybody leaves.
People wonder sometimes why I don't date anymore. The answer is simple-women are crazy, men are stupid and relationships are merely a series of wrong answers to dumb questions.
There's a girl that comes out to the bar who's a fairly regular. She usually hangs out for a couple of hours, gets varying degrees drunk and then she disappears into the night. On this particular night I first saw her on her way to the ladies room. We exchanged pleasantries and salutations and off she went. She'll usually get chatty towards the end of the night when she's looking for a place to refocus her vision and isn't surrounded by a bunch of guys wearing plaid shirts and offering her drinks.
The next time I saw her she was having a problem with some guy on the dance floor. The impression that I got was that he wouldn't leave her and her friends alone. I was stuck on the side door with three things going on at the same time so I had her tell one of the guys on the floor. The upstairs was closed due to in-climate weather so I knew there would be at somebody looking for something to do.
I didn't hear from her again for another couple of hours when the band was on break and random yelling can be heard at the end of the hall. I look around the corner and what to my wondering eye should appear? A drunk girl and a guy in a plaid shirt. The police will tell you the easiest way to deal with a domestic dispute is to let it burn itself out and just play referee when things start to get rough. This is a great philosophy and has served me well on a few occasions. However, you guessed it, I know this drunk girl. I don't know the plaid shirt. But, I remember a complaint about a guy who seemed to have a problem with no.
She seems intent on getting away from him and has managed to get herself into an alcove formed by the barricade we fashioned to block off the upstairs and the bands gear. She has her back to the wall and he's now in front of her blocking the only way out. Ladies, this is NOT tactically advantageous. Stay aware of your surroundings and stay out in the open. He moves in, closing the gap.
I grab this guy by the shoulders and pull him back. At this point there is no hostility, I just want to separate them until I can figure out which way the wind is blowing. I feel his shoulders tense as he whips himself around, his arm ready to cock back. I take half a step back, out of his effective range but still within my own. He looks me straight in the sternum and his eyes track up to my face. At any other time I might have laughed, it was sort of comical since he was only about 5'7. Since I was at work, levity was not an option.
He found the answer to his how-fucked-am-I? question in less that a second and went from hostile to docile in less time than it takes to draw a breath. Suddenly, I have both of them apologizing profusely, she's telling me how this is her boyfriend, he's telling me how they're just trying to sort things out and how they're not normally like this...I stopped listening at some point, I've heard this song before. They go back out to the dance floor.
I see her again on the way to the ladies room. I don't see her again for a while. If it wasn't for her two friends tag teaming, I'd swear that she was ready to start forwarding her mail. She eventually comes back out and everybody leaves.
People wonder sometimes why I don't date anymore. The answer is simple-women are crazy, men are stupid and relationships are merely a series of wrong answers to dumb questions.
Sunday, April 21, 2013
Notes Of A Drunk Whisperer
"Are you a cop?" she asks. "No". I get that a lot. "Are you with SWAT or DEA?" "No." That's a fresh spin on an old line. "I'm the bouncer, I work here." "You know, with that microphone, nobody's going to talk to you, b t dub." She's looking at my radio mic clipped to my collar. Another dead give away that I work there. She reaches up to pull my jacket over the mic. She's maybe 5'5, with the heels. If she's in the triple digit weight class she must have something in her pockets. Threat assessment-zero. I let her. The damn thing doesn't broadcast most of the time anyway.
She runs her hand along my head. "Your hair's really soft." I can't tell if she's flirty or just drunk. "Thanks." What else are you supposed to say to that? I wash it, I cut it, after that it takes care of itself.
"Are you having a good night?" Standard question, but it gives me something to say besides "Good night, thanks for coming" or "See you next time". Since there's a d.j. I can't ask her if she's here for the band. Outside of 3 or 4 friends, nobody ever shows up for the d.j.
She says her night's going okay, at least nobody's offered her drugs. "That's a good thing, right? Unless you're here to score." She doesn't laugh, just looks kind of confused. I suddenly feel like a character in a Jay McInerney novel. She goes from confused to serious. I've seen this look too many times. At a party or a bar, you learn to make a quick joke and change the subject or just excuse yourself and go to the bathroom. Working the side door, you're a dog on a leash, a captive audience. Well, the string has been pulled, the doctor will see you now. I hope you're okay with this bar stool, I'm having my couch reupholstered. So, vhut seems to be ze problem? "I've been off drugs for...yeah, ten months now. In two years, I'll get my two year chip" "Good for you." "Yeah, I was arrested once for possession, but, and I know you hear this all the time," she still thinks I'm a cop "but I REALLY was just holding it for a friend that time." "Bad timing, tough break" "It didn't help matters much that I was driving drunk when they found it." "Yeah, I can see how that could be bad."
"You're judging me aren't you?" "I'm not here to judge you, I'm just here to make sure that nobody screws with your good time or vice versa." "So, are you with the city or the county?" "I'm with the bar." Like a dog with a frisbee. "Okay, have it your way, I'm going to go look for my friends, it's been nice talking with you."
As she turns around, there are two blondes form earlier who had asked me if anyone had left recently. It's a big reunion. "Hey, come over here, I want you to meet my new friend." she says, dragging them over to where I am. Smiles, nods, hello's all around. "He says he's the bouncer, but you know he's a cop." She sounds like Rick Masters introducing Mr. Jessup-He says he's from Palm Springs, but he doesn't have a tan...tell me, do you like your work?
She's about two drinks away from being obnoxious but it's a slow night and she's harmless. Her friends could care less. They're debating between Brookside or Westport. The burning question of every Friday night. She keeps bouncing between me and them. The noise is escalating into what my former platoon daddy used to call a fish market.
She wants to exchange numbers and her friends are about to stroke out if they don't get to leave in the next 20 seconds. Normally I don't give out my number, but I'm pretty confident that she'll wake up tomorrow, look at her phone, wonder who in the hell is that? hit delete and life goes on. No harm, no foul.
She runs her hand along my head. "Your hair's really soft." I can't tell if she's flirty or just drunk. "Thanks." What else are you supposed to say to that? I wash it, I cut it, after that it takes care of itself.
"Are you having a good night?" Standard question, but it gives me something to say besides "Good night, thanks for coming" or "See you next time". Since there's a d.j. I can't ask her if she's here for the band. Outside of 3 or 4 friends, nobody ever shows up for the d.j.
She says her night's going okay, at least nobody's offered her drugs. "That's a good thing, right? Unless you're here to score." She doesn't laugh, just looks kind of confused. I suddenly feel like a character in a Jay McInerney novel. She goes from confused to serious. I've seen this look too many times. At a party or a bar, you learn to make a quick joke and change the subject or just excuse yourself and go to the bathroom. Working the side door, you're a dog on a leash, a captive audience. Well, the string has been pulled, the doctor will see you now. I hope you're okay with this bar stool, I'm having my couch reupholstered. So, vhut seems to be ze problem? "I've been off drugs for...yeah, ten months now. In two years, I'll get my two year chip" "Good for you." "Yeah, I was arrested once for possession, but, and I know you hear this all the time," she still thinks I'm a cop "but I REALLY was just holding it for a friend that time." "Bad timing, tough break" "It didn't help matters much that I was driving drunk when they found it." "Yeah, I can see how that could be bad."
"You're judging me aren't you?" "I'm not here to judge you, I'm just here to make sure that nobody screws with your good time or vice versa." "So, are you with the city or the county?" "I'm with the bar." Like a dog with a frisbee. "Okay, have it your way, I'm going to go look for my friends, it's been nice talking with you."
As she turns around, there are two blondes form earlier who had asked me if anyone had left recently. It's a big reunion. "Hey, come over here, I want you to meet my new friend." she says, dragging them over to where I am. Smiles, nods, hello's all around. "He says he's the bouncer, but you know he's a cop." She sounds like Rick Masters introducing Mr. Jessup-He says he's from Palm Springs, but he doesn't have a tan...tell me, do you like your work?
She's about two drinks away from being obnoxious but it's a slow night and she's harmless. Her friends could care less. They're debating between Brookside or Westport. The burning question of every Friday night. She keeps bouncing between me and them. The noise is escalating into what my former platoon daddy used to call a fish market.
She wants to exchange numbers and her friends are about to stroke out if they don't get to leave in the next 20 seconds. Normally I don't give out my number, but I'm pretty confident that she'll wake up tomorrow, look at her phone, wonder who in the hell is that? hit delete and life goes on. No harm, no foul.
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