I will probably never see some of these people again.
Stuart calls me Wayne for reasons lost to the mists of time. Well, the mists of alcohol, really, but whos counting. Hes snide but just barely charming enough to get away with it. Sooner or later he will attempt to add a supercharger to his prized Miata and I hope to be around to hear the catastrophic engine failure. He is talented at many things but I doubt that tuning a sportscar is one of them.
Adam is quieter. His cheeks look like theyve been pinched by many an overzealous grandmother. We never talked much, two quiet kids at the PJs on Robert E. Lee. The distance doubled after a night that Adam, coming down from a one-night dalliance with cocaine, yelled (deservedly) at me for being an asshole. (I was being an asshole. Something about the mix of strong coffee and Jim Beam just sets me off. This is not an excuse, just an explanation.) He awoke the next day mortified about his morally correct behavior. He still apologizes for that one instance. That's Adam.
The rest of the group circles around PJs. Ive met Jim and Josh on a few occasions. Jasons sister Hannah is beguiling in a standoffish manner but theres that push-me-pull-you sexual tension between her and Stuart so I want to stay clear. Kelly was new. She has a way of standing on the edge of a group, it made her appear to be part of the conversation and yet still alone and therefore approachable by any man with amorous intentions. The thin kid with the Kill Rock Stars t-shirt embodies everything that I ever hated about indie rock. Then again hes a quick wit.
Abdel cooks the meanest fucking gumbo this side of the Mississippi.
Jason has now officially moved to Denver. Matt has one or two weeks left in town. I was connected to this group through them and while I dont think it will be terribly awkward being around them I will probably never run into them. We travel in different circles.
All of the bartenders at Mythique have quit, according to scuttlebutt. Everyone worthy of a tip at the Dervish has also scattered. The new owner, whoever he is, has cleaned house. The free wi-fi is now gone, Im told. So are the wine flights.
The Shim Sham club is folding. Everyone is planning to either visit the final Empire : Dark Dance night there on Friday or the final show of the Shim Sham Burlesque Revue.
So, I drink at the Pirates Alley. Im told that similar problems happened at the Alley when I first moved into town new owners, upheavals, the regulars scattering like cockroaches all over the Quarter and then reforming two months later at a new bar. I dont know about the history but I can say now that the summer breeze will often flow unimpeded throughout the bar and the bartenders are fair but firm on the fact that they will not mix Hurricanes and bike people get slightly preferential treatment over the rest of the rabble. It is comfortable.
Two future SuicideGirls sat and decried the possibility of a smoking ban in all Quarter establishments. The young man next to them nodded assent with that and then with their following ur-Communist screed but I wonder if that was for show his bag had both Atlas Shrugged and the Fountainhead in it. Two locals dropped by and played The Movie Game with the bartender name a movie, name an actor or actress in that movie, name another movie with that same actor or actress you get the idea. They were embarrassingly bad about it but game. An older lady chatted with an older man, one whose grandson was apparently a celebrity of sorts, and later we compared notes on the celebrities that weve seen and met. Highest marks overall went to Robert Duvall, for exchanging an on-the-spot recital (with feeling!) of the Apocalypse Now napalm speech in exchange for a panful of bread pudding. Best regular visitor was, of all people, Gerald McRaney whom you, dear reader, undoubtably know as Major Dad. Harry Anderson and Trent Reznor are such commonplace sights that they didnt warrant mention. A young woman came in and I overheard her mention that she was moving to Pennsylvania by bike 1700 miles pedaled to her new apartment.
But mostly it was quiet. I think this will be a good place to enjoy a summer rain.
Stuart calls me Wayne for reasons lost to the mists of time. Well, the mists of alcohol, really, but whos counting. Hes snide but just barely charming enough to get away with it. Sooner or later he will attempt to add a supercharger to his prized Miata and I hope to be around to hear the catastrophic engine failure. He is talented at many things but I doubt that tuning a sportscar is one of them.
Adam is quieter. His cheeks look like theyve been pinched by many an overzealous grandmother. We never talked much, two quiet kids at the PJs on Robert E. Lee. The distance doubled after a night that Adam, coming down from a one-night dalliance with cocaine, yelled (deservedly) at me for being an asshole. (I was being an asshole. Something about the mix of strong coffee and Jim Beam just sets me off. This is not an excuse, just an explanation.) He awoke the next day mortified about his morally correct behavior. He still apologizes for that one instance. That's Adam.
The rest of the group circles around PJs. Ive met Jim and Josh on a few occasions. Jasons sister Hannah is beguiling in a standoffish manner but theres that push-me-pull-you sexual tension between her and Stuart so I want to stay clear. Kelly was new. She has a way of standing on the edge of a group, it made her appear to be part of the conversation and yet still alone and therefore approachable by any man with amorous intentions. The thin kid with the Kill Rock Stars t-shirt embodies everything that I ever hated about indie rock. Then again hes a quick wit.
Abdel cooks the meanest fucking gumbo this side of the Mississippi.
Jason has now officially moved to Denver. Matt has one or two weeks left in town. I was connected to this group through them and while I dont think it will be terribly awkward being around them I will probably never run into them. We travel in different circles.
All of the bartenders at Mythique have quit, according to scuttlebutt. Everyone worthy of a tip at the Dervish has also scattered. The new owner, whoever he is, has cleaned house. The free wi-fi is now gone, Im told. So are the wine flights.
The Shim Sham club is folding. Everyone is planning to either visit the final Empire : Dark Dance night there on Friday or the final show of the Shim Sham Burlesque Revue.
So, I drink at the Pirates Alley. Im told that similar problems happened at the Alley when I first moved into town new owners, upheavals, the regulars scattering like cockroaches all over the Quarter and then reforming two months later at a new bar. I dont know about the history but I can say now that the summer breeze will often flow unimpeded throughout the bar and the bartenders are fair but firm on the fact that they will not mix Hurricanes and bike people get slightly preferential treatment over the rest of the rabble. It is comfortable.
Two future SuicideGirls sat and decried the possibility of a smoking ban in all Quarter establishments. The young man next to them nodded assent with that and then with their following ur-Communist screed but I wonder if that was for show his bag had both Atlas Shrugged and the Fountainhead in it. Two locals dropped by and played The Movie Game with the bartender name a movie, name an actor or actress in that movie, name another movie with that same actor or actress you get the idea. They were embarrassingly bad about it but game. An older lady chatted with an older man, one whose grandson was apparently a celebrity of sorts, and later we compared notes on the celebrities that weve seen and met. Highest marks overall went to Robert Duvall, for exchanging an on-the-spot recital (with feeling!) of the Apocalypse Now napalm speech in exchange for a panful of bread pudding. Best regular visitor was, of all people, Gerald McRaney whom you, dear reader, undoubtably know as Major Dad. Harry Anderson and Trent Reznor are such commonplace sights that they didnt warrant mention. A young woman came in and I overheard her mention that she was moving to Pennsylvania by bike 1700 miles pedaled to her new apartment.
But mostly it was quiet. I think this will be a good place to enjoy a summer rain.
Did you work at the Clever Girl? Or just go there alot? Tofu? Christ...someone zigged when they should have zagged to end up at the CG asking for tofu.
Swoo