Seat’s Taken
He swirled his whiskey in the old fashioned tumbler the barkeep deemed worthy of the Johnnie Walker Green Label double, on the rocks. He glanced over at the identical, untouched drink slowly watering down on the bar in front of the empty seat next to him.
The bar had changed in the last ten years. Young, lean-bodied girls danced to poorly written hip-hop with awkward beats, rhythm completely lost on them. Guys that may or may not still be in frats slap five and pound fists in pastel polo shirts, collars stiff and popped. It didn’t used to be like this.
He took a sip.
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“How ‘bout here?” They were on an Adventure, as they called it. The rules of Adventuring were simple: Take the subway to a random, unfamiliar stop. Get out. Search for nearby bars, stopping in as many as possible that strike their fancy. The seedier the better. One whiskey and one beer at each bar, then move on (exceptions were made for especially special drink specials and extraordinarily attractive [or easy] women). This particular bar was guarded by what appeared to be a grizzly bear, mid-attack, carved out of a large tree trunk. It was strangely inviting.
“Absolutely.”
The bar was decorated as an old-time log cabin, country music blaring, peanut shells on the ground, a pool table, and three dart boards, bristle with steel tips. The regulars glanced towards the door, sizing up the two youngsters strutting through the door, hops in their steps. They quickly lost interest, refocusing on their drinks. The boys loved it here, not in an ironic way.
They started going on Adventures to experience as much of the Island as possible. It was unclear how long their finances and psyches would last in the most expensive, populated, and exciting city in the country. “They might even let us play some Kenny.”
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“Is someone sitting here?” He hadn’t even noticed her approach. He refocused on the here and now, looked to his right. “Hellll-oooh! I said, is someone sitting here?” She was attractive in an ‘I’m-way-too-young-to-legally-be-drinking-but-I’m-wearing-almost-no-clothing-to-compensate-oh-and-did-you-notice-my-chest?-it’s-on-display’ kind of way. In his younger days she would have been easy pickings.
“Seat’s taken.” He turned back to his drink.
“But nobody’s sitting here.”
He turned back. Slowly. “Seat’s taken.” Back to the whiskey.
“But that drink has been sitting there forever.”
Back to the whore. “The seat. Is taken.” Whiskey.
Puppy-dog eyes, forward lean, arms pushed together, cleavage on display, “Pleeeeeeease?” A wink.
He shakes his head, places the whiskey on the bar delicately, as if it might shatter unexpectedly. Whore. “The. Seat. Is. Taken.” He almost whispered it, his voice like stone. She backed away.
In a swift, practiced motion he spins on his stool, grabs his whisky, gulps it. “Another, please.”
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“You. Man, you! Are my best friend.” Hiccup. “Seriously.”
“Dude. In a totally non-gay way, I think I love you.” Stumble.
Drinking had a way of bringing out the sentimentalist in each of them. Adventures often led to staggering, arms-around-each-other’s-shoulders confessions like this. Stumbling between bars, huddled over jukeboxes, cabbing it home … the Adventures started with the goal of exploring the city but rarely met the goal. Bars are bars, drunks are drunks, sluts are sluts, assholes are assholes– it’s the same everywhere. The city, for all its diversity, seems monotonous when your time is spent inside trains and bars. Unless you get off the island, the skyline all looks the same from street level.
“Nectar of the gods?”
“Bartender! Two shots of Jameson, please!”
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They’d been coming to this bar for years, the crown jewel, the fruit of their labors, The diamond in the rough, if you will. The Bear was easily the most incredible bar they had come across on an Adventure. The ambiance (if you could call it that), the regulars, the beer, the music …
They considered themselves Urban Cowboys. They liked country music and whiskey. They had little money and were proud of it. Sure, neither could properly saddle and ride a horse, nor had either ever fired a gun or killed anything other than bugs. But being a cowboy is state of mind. And they loved it. In a city full of metropolitans, urbanites and hipsters, they considered themselves the alternative.
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He sipped his new whiskey. His faced tensed. As much as he loved it, he could still remember the first time he’d had a whiskey on the rocks. It was on an Adventure. He glanced at the stool, looked at the drink on the bar, noticed the ring of water forming around the glass. “Another.”
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“Every year, today” he looks to his wrist, “the twenty third of …” he looks to the ceiling, “March? We’ll meet here to have a drink. A whiskey. To remember.”
“Definitely. It’s a Manniversary.”
“Cheers.” They touched glasses, downed the whiskey.
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“I think you’ve had enough.” The bartender spoke, suddenly.
“It always surprises you.” He said softly, more to himself than the tender behind the bar.
“Whiskey? Nah, man. It’ll get you every time.” The bartender dispensed his young wisdom.
The man chuckled. “No. Not the whiskey. Whiskey is true. It doesn’t change. One could argue, I suppose, the relative merits of different techniques. Of aging, of blending. But whiskey is whiskey. An eight dollar bottle gets you drunk the same as Johnnie Blue.” He shook his head. “I wasn’t talking about the drink.”
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“I don’t like it.”
“What? What don’t you like?”
“You. Talking about leaving. We’re not done here. There’s so much to do!”
“It’s not my choice, man. You know I’d stay if I could.”
“Bullshit! This is a choice. You’re choosing there, not here. Them, not us. You’ve built a life here.” He lifts his arms, taking in his surroundings. “Why leave this place? What’s better?!” “And don’t say, ‘Her.’”
“Her.”
“Fuck off.”
He laughs. “Sorry, I had to.” Another round is placed on the bar. “I’m not done just yet.”
They hug.
They drink.
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“You know, you’re wasting that drink.”
He had been staring at his own drink, lost in memory, as if the last sip held answers of some kind. He looked up at the bartender with cold eyes.
“I mean, it’s watered down by now. The ice is melted.”
“The seat is taken.” His voice is dull, lifeless. His eyes, the same.
“Right, man, I’ve heard that. You’ve been saying that all night. You’re creeping out the customers, dude.”
The man looks up from his drink, turns slowly, looking the crowd over. Kids are caught up in the moment, having fun, jumping into drama, being irresponsible. “I’m waiting for someone. It’s our anniversary.”
“Whatever, man. My patience is running out.”
He looked back at his drink. Picked it up, smelled it, twirled the glass. He shut his eyes. Paused. Pounded the drink. Opened them. “Another.”
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Things happen. People change. He couldn’t say what, exactly, had caused it. Maybe it had been one cataclysmic event, maybe countless, minor things built up over time. Youth had a way of simplifying things, of turning trivial matters into monumental, life-altering events. As mature as you feel in the moment, a year later you look back on yourself as an ignorant kid. Maybe you never really change.
He stood, finished his drink, took a final look around the bar. The ice in the untouched tumbler long ago melted. He looked away.
Sunday, January 25, 2009
Friday, January 23, 2009
personality types
I’d been labeling people all my life, so nothing really surprised me anymore. For every unique soul out there, there were hundreds of others, all perfectly matched, and secure in their exclusive individuality. I’d be willing to bet that if you got to know every single person on Earth at any given time, there would be a finite number of personality types, the masses within them differentiable only by age, shape, and name.
There are the Superficials, of course, that lucky group that goes through life making small talk on airplanes and finding inexplicable joy in grocery store samples and Mary Englebright calendars. That group flies in contrast to the Burdened Souls, who can’t stop to enjoy simple pleasures because they’re too deeply troubled by famine and wars happening halfway around the world. There are the Argumentatives, perpetually using flawed logic to poke holes in even the most obvious truth, and answering any dissent with “but that’s your opinion.” Then there are the YesSirs, forever picking up the slack for those around them because their lips are seemingly incapable of forming the word “no.” There were the Happily Coupled Offs and the Sad Singles, the Slackers and the Work-Obsessed, the Conservatives and the Eclectics, the Brightsiders and the World-Owes-Mes. I’d met them all, so meeting a new person never made me anxious. I’d been here a hundred times before.
When I first saw Karen, she seemed to be an Overly Excited. She’d walked into the party and approached a group of blondes, who all started screeching and hugging in that way that girls do when they haven’t seen each other in several hours. Immediately annoyed, I’d written her off and turned my attention to my then-girlfriend, Amanda. Amanda was a Social Clinger, the kind of girlfriend who stays silently at your side and observes for the duration of a party. At times, she was incredibly inconvenient, but she didn’t leave home too often, so it worked for me. That night, she followed me from room to room, alternating smiles and scowls, depending on who I was speaking to. At 10pm, she whispered to me that she was going to leave, and we went through the motions, neither of us meaning the words we said. “I’ll come with you”—“No, it’s fine, stay”—“Are you sure? I’m happy to leave.”—“No, stay, it’s fine.”—“Okay. I’ll miss you.”—“Good night.”
In 5 minutes, I was free. Enter Karen.
She was waiting at the bar when I spotted her the second time, and conveniently, she was alone. Leaving my already-full drink on the table, I approached, and used the smooth line I’d been practicing since college: “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“Can I buy you a drink?” How cliché.
“Sure. Vodka tonic.”
“Nice.” I was a conversational genius today. Amazingly, though, it worked. We chatted a bit more before she got straight to the point.
“You want to get out of here?” she asked, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Great. Let me get my coat.”
She walked away and my mind started going. We’d go back to her place, since Amanda was at mine. She’d offer me some wine and sit down on the couch. We’d talk awhile longer. She’d lean in, saying she was cold. I’d make a lame joke about knowing how to make some heat. She’d kiss me, we’d head back to the bedroom… (End scene).
Afterwards, I’d head home, distracted, not wanting the night to end. I’d sleep on the couch, so as not to wake Amanda, and in the morning, I’d find the first excuse I could to get out of the house. I’d call Karen and we’d make plans for that night. We’d meet at a bar, and she’d look amazing. Everything about her would be exciting and mysterious, and we’d have one too many drinks and end up at her place again. This time, I’d spend the night. Later that week, we’d meet up again, and again, and sooner or later she’d want more. She’d ask me to leave Amanda, and I’d be so smitten that I would. Only the second I did, our fling would go from a forbidden scandal to a regular relationship, filled with obligations and nagging and doing laundry together. And after a week or so, I’d be gasping for air, Karen would be the Social Clinger, and I’d be scanning the party for something new.
“Alright, ready to go?” Karen came back, wearing a coat and holding her car keys. Only now, I wasn’t ready to go. I’d already lived our whole story, and I wasn’t excited about her anymore.
Still, the hopeful side of my brain assured me that this time, things would be different, so I only said “Okay,” and let her lead me out the door.
There are the Superficials, of course, that lucky group that goes through life making small talk on airplanes and finding inexplicable joy in grocery store samples and Mary Englebright calendars. That group flies in contrast to the Burdened Souls, who can’t stop to enjoy simple pleasures because they’re too deeply troubled by famine and wars happening halfway around the world. There are the Argumentatives, perpetually using flawed logic to poke holes in even the most obvious truth, and answering any dissent with “but that’s your opinion.” Then there are the YesSirs, forever picking up the slack for those around them because their lips are seemingly incapable of forming the word “no.” There were the Happily Coupled Offs and the Sad Singles, the Slackers and the Work-Obsessed, the Conservatives and the Eclectics, the Brightsiders and the World-Owes-Mes. I’d met them all, so meeting a new person never made me anxious. I’d been here a hundred times before.
When I first saw Karen, she seemed to be an Overly Excited. She’d walked into the party and approached a group of blondes, who all started screeching and hugging in that way that girls do when they haven’t seen each other in several hours. Immediately annoyed, I’d written her off and turned my attention to my then-girlfriend, Amanda. Amanda was a Social Clinger, the kind of girlfriend who stays silently at your side and observes for the duration of a party. At times, she was incredibly inconvenient, but she didn’t leave home too often, so it worked for me. That night, she followed me from room to room, alternating smiles and scowls, depending on who I was speaking to. At 10pm, she whispered to me that she was going to leave, and we went through the motions, neither of us meaning the words we said. “I’ll come with you”—“No, it’s fine, stay”—“Are you sure? I’m happy to leave.”—“No, stay, it’s fine.”—“Okay. I’ll miss you.”—“Good night.”
In 5 minutes, I was free. Enter Karen.
She was waiting at the bar when I spotted her the second time, and conveniently, she was alone. Leaving my already-full drink on the table, I approached, and used the smooth line I’d been practicing since college: “Hey.”
“Hey,” she replied, glancing over her shoulder at me.
“Can I buy you a drink?” How cliché.
“Sure. Vodka tonic.”
“Nice.” I was a conversational genius today. Amazingly, though, it worked. We chatted a bit more before she got straight to the point.
“You want to get out of here?” she asked, tucking a stray curl behind her ear.
“Yes. Yes I do.”
“Great. Let me get my coat.”
She walked away and my mind started going. We’d go back to her place, since Amanda was at mine. She’d offer me some wine and sit down on the couch. We’d talk awhile longer. She’d lean in, saying she was cold. I’d make a lame joke about knowing how to make some heat. She’d kiss me, we’d head back to the bedroom… (End scene).
Afterwards, I’d head home, distracted, not wanting the night to end. I’d sleep on the couch, so as not to wake Amanda, and in the morning, I’d find the first excuse I could to get out of the house. I’d call Karen and we’d make plans for that night. We’d meet at a bar, and she’d look amazing. Everything about her would be exciting and mysterious, and we’d have one too many drinks and end up at her place again. This time, I’d spend the night. Later that week, we’d meet up again, and again, and sooner or later she’d want more. She’d ask me to leave Amanda, and I’d be so smitten that I would. Only the second I did, our fling would go from a forbidden scandal to a regular relationship, filled with obligations and nagging and doing laundry together. And after a week or so, I’d be gasping for air, Karen would be the Social Clinger, and I’d be scanning the party for something new.
“Alright, ready to go?” Karen came back, wearing a coat and holding her car keys. Only now, I wasn’t ready to go. I’d already lived our whole story, and I wasn’t excited about her anymore.
Still, the hopeful side of my brain assured me that this time, things would be different, so I only said “Okay,” and let her lead me out the door.
Wednesday, January 21, 2009
Haiku
Following in Art's footsteps, Paul would like to add a Haiku to the site. This Haiku is titled "Benediction" and was inspired by the closing Benediction at the 2009 Inauguration.
Benediction
Red Man ahead, man
And can i get an amen?!
The torch has been passed
Benediction
Red Man ahead, man
And can i get an amen?!
The torch has been passed
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
the purpose of all
Below is my (Art's) first entry on Hemingway Was a Chump. I find it ironic that the inspiration for this piece stems from the recent spate of violence in Gaza, while today is the day when Barack Obama takes the oath of office to become our 44th President. Oh well, i am hopeful that his presidency will inspire positive artistic endeavors that will be posted on this site. Let me know what you think.
The Purpose of All
betrayal borne from ignorance
posits its leverage against the hopes
of a peaceful tomorrow
blood spilled is still blood spilled
each drop hastens the steady yoke
pulled by the horsemen
discord made honorable
through ritual detachment
of body from soul
an infinitely thin line
separates our histories
and converges at our fates
the arc of existence bends
in conflict with a path
forged by sword and furrowed brow
those who do not seek peace
are those who will never know peace
or the greatness of our destiny
peace is not merely absence of conflict
it is a spirit-deep recognition
of our oneness
peace is not merely consensus
it is the aesthetic quality
of creating a shared future
betrayal discord and death
methods contrarian to life
and any holy purpose
the purpose of life is peace
the purpose of love is peace
the purpose of all is peace
The Purpose of All
betrayal borne from ignorance
posits its leverage against the hopes
of a peaceful tomorrow
blood spilled is still blood spilled
each drop hastens the steady yoke
pulled by the horsemen
discord made honorable
through ritual detachment
of body from soul
an infinitely thin line
separates our histories
and converges at our fates
the arc of existence bends
in conflict with a path
forged by sword and furrowed brow
those who do not seek peace
are those who will never know peace
or the greatness of our destiny
peace is not merely absence of conflict
it is a spirit-deep recognition
of our oneness
peace is not merely consensus
it is the aesthetic quality
of creating a shared future
betrayal discord and death
methods contrarian to life
and any holy purpose
the purpose of life is peace
the purpose of love is peace
the purpose of all is peace
Tuesday, January 13, 2009
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