my original intentions were to indulge in a soy caramel latte. immediately in the door, i learned soy was not on the menu and opted for a sierra nevada pale ale instead. i had correctly remembered from my one visit there two years ago that the lighting is dangerously close to non-existent. but i persevered and finally took the opportunity to curl up in a booth with my copy of fish piss and put in for a little more eye damage. i will say this: 'zines may seem to be a little pricey, but admittedly, there is a lot of ground to cover when reading them word for word. i don't think i even got through 25% with the nearly two hours of time that i put into it. i did read a piece written by someone who took an offer to teach english in south korea which i had lightly toyed with a couple of weeks ago. of course, i don't really want to go to korea... but he seemed to be enjoying it.
the music was noticeably sporadic the first hour i was there. ironically, i spent the first part of the day putting my cd's in alpha order and re-casing those i no longer felt the need to listen to. the ironic part being the first four songs were from albums i'd just finished manhandling. i need to listen to joy division again.
since i'd opened a tab, i felt compelled to order a second beer. my 'tender read my mind and offered up a fat tire. two beers on an empty stomach and i became a powerhouse of enlightenment. such clarity! such insight! such sadness that others could not possibly see as clearly as i. and then bartender #2 came on the scene. (note to self: visit new amsterdam a little later in the afternoon next time). #2 was left to entertain a patron at the bar who very much sounded like my friends' father (Mr. Wright). he even told stories in the same manner, including something about just having come from shooting a superbowl commercial with members of the cowboys management. however, i don't know that Mr. Wright would've ordered a drink hoping 'she' would come with boas and handcuffs. maybe i was more drunk than i thought at this point.
i returned home (approx 1,400 paces later, yes...i counted) just in time to beat the encroaching darkness that surely would've brought my demise under the overpass... only to hear playing (on the classic rock station the cats listen to) a song that was on a mixed tape my first boyfriend made for me. how i wish you were here? pink floyd? must've been a post-traumatic-breakup tape.
and of course there is a problem with having a beer high in the late-afternoon-early-evening hours... and that's that it wears off before you can become unconscious and call it a glorious end to a pitiful day.