Something That Happened

There I was, celebrating the birthday of a friend at a country western bar in Chatsworth. The bunch of us drank (with a couple of exceptions that included me), danced (with a number of exceptions, including me), and soaked in the atmosphere of the venue (including me). The place started out packed will old people who danced in a courtly fashion to the live band's music. The makeup of the bar's patrons changed as the evening wore on.

There started to be more and more young people of an apparently low character. This is too bad, because the old people seemed nice enough and their enthusiasm for dancing was infectious. This was not true of the new arrivals. They were mainly well behaved enough in spite of that, except for something odd that happened. It was not unpleasant so much as puzzling, but I do wish that it hadn't happened.

Bar Vulture

Some friends and I were at a bar last night to celebrate a birthday. It was that sort of place where the wall and ceiling are plastered with dollar bills, and this happened to be karaoke night. I did manage to sing, although I have had better performances. In any case, the karaoke is not what I found chiefly remarkable. There was something about the service there that rubbed me the wrong way, although I'm sure I would be alone in this.

We got dinner there, and the food was good enough. Certainly there was an awful lot of it. I hardly got halfway through my burger before I'd had enough, and there were nachos and fries as well. The food is not at issue. It's the guy who came around looking for completed dishes and empty glasses. That's a necessary thing, I'll grant, but I won't agree that one need be as as aggressive as he seemed to be in his task.

Could It Be So?

You have to go out there into the world, or else you deny yourself so much. It's easy to stay home and do things like read, watch TV or in some other manner live vicariously or theoretically. There's no substitute for living firsthand outside of one's home. I get many ideas that way, and today's is one of them. It's less an idea than something that happened to me, which is what many ideas truly are. It never would have happened if I'd stayed home.

It's not a big thing. I went out with friends to a live sketch comedy show, which was fun. I have more to say on the matter, but let us give each facet of the experience its due. Before the show, we met at a decent bar a few doors down from the theater. It was obscenely crowded, to the extent that one wonders if it was legal. Still, we were able to obtain drinks quickly enough. We were not able to find elbow room at any time.

Friend Finder

I recall some time ago ruminating on the matter of spotting a city bus coming down the street as I stand there wringing my hands in fear of being late for some engagement. It's not easy, for the reasons that I then outlined. A similarly difficult search came to my attention in the very bar I spoke of yesterday. It was exceptionally crowded, but I trust that the occupancy of the place fell within legal limits because I prefer to believe the best in people.

I was at this bar with several friends, and as much fun as I have there, I would never go there or be there alone. It was for that reason that I considered it to be of paramount importance that I keep those friends within sight. I would say that I managed to do it mostly. It was impossible to keep an eye on all of them, particularly as I was engaged in similar activities to those which repeatedly took them out of my sight. I did my best.

In View Of The Coolness

I've lived in the modern surroundings of first-world cities all my life, but I take nothing for granted and let no part of my circumstances go without circumspection. To be indoors is an experience which has consumed probably most of the hours in my life, and yet I found it rather remarkable briefly one night not so long ago. I was in a bar dancing with friends as a DJ played track after track of thumping hip hop beats. Along one wall of the space were several windows, some cracked open.

It reminds me of some story wherein a man forced to spend the night out in the cold takes solace from being able to see a fire off in the distance. I think of it from time to time in connection with different contexts. In this case I describe it was quite the opposite, for inside it was far too warm, physical exertion and alcohol doing what they will. Being able to see outside where the air was so brisk and only occasionally feeling it directly was nothing short of tortuous.

The Hit Parade

With the last traces of interest in my trip to Florida dutifully flogged to death over a period of time longer than the trip itself, I feel I may devote myself to other matters, and you may rest assured that I have a matter in mind that will surely drive from your mind any nostalgia for Sarasota. Interestingly, I gather that the word nostalgia originally referred to the lingering pain from an old wound. Does that apply? In any case, my mind has set upon something that must have resulted in a wound of some kind.

There I was with a few friends at a fairly new and very fashionable bar near our apartment building. It's not some quiet pub where old men play darts and sip a pint. It's loud and full of class in the least sophisticated sense of the word. There's a dress code, but fulfilling it somehow doesn't really improve the clientele. A look around produces the sight of immature people enacting what they imagine a fancy club experience to be. Naturally I can't get enough.

The Case Of The Eighty-Sixed Drunk

There's a great deal to like about not knowing things. They  say that ignorance is bliss, and so far as you can carry on in that way without suffering the inevitable consequences, it's true. It's not that which is so interesting at the moment, however. What's rather stimulating for me is to try and figure out something I've witnessed when I have only part of the narrative, and maybe not even much of it. It's less putting together a jigsaw puzzle than taking one with pieces missing and trying to determine what the whole looks like without any knowledge of what is lacking. It's fun.

I happened to be out at a bar in Hollywood some time ago- a rather large bar passing itself off as an Irish pub. What it lacks in authenticity it makes up for in affordability and general entertainment value. An excellent example of the latter happened on this occasion. As closing time draws near, the establishment takes progressively more severe measures to coax the barflies out on their own volition. First they have last call and then start turning off tv sets. After that they make everyone move forward to the front of the bar. It was at this stage that several burly employees muscled a somewhat disordered-looking man out the front door from the upper floor. As they went down the stairs, an janitor with mop and bucket in tow went up the stairs. That's all I know for sure.

My Country, Right Or Wrong

There is a country and western bar in Burbank which friends of mine like to patronize from time to time. Actually, it used to be that all of this particular group of friends went there until a grievance formed with one, and now he won't be caught dead there. I guess that life's too short to go to bars which make you mad.  In any event, that person's attendance being out of the question on one particular night, we returned. It was our second bar of the night, but we had just been bolstered by the arrival of another friend (who had not yet been known to me personally).

This bar had live music, and the dance floor was happening. Rather, I should say that it was as happening as such an aged collection of dancers could make it. The place looked like a retirement home in El Paso. I also noticed that there was some apparent difference of opinion as to what the dancing should be like. No group of more than three or so was on the same page. The largest group was attemping some out-of-sync line dancing. Others were engaged in two person dances of a non-descript nature. I myself was content with tapping my toe and bobbing my head when a good enough song came on, which was more often when the band finished and we turned to the jukebox. I picked songs by Merle Haggard, Waylon Jennings and Johnny Cash. A friend picked 'Whip My Hair' by Willow Smith.