Skip to main content

Bloggy Blog #4

The booze scene in this town is, if anything, fairly entertaining. More important, it's very cheap, compared to what I've been used to the last few years in New York. But that's not to say it's not without moments of abject misery.

JERKS.

Don't get me wrong, booze laws here aren't as downright ridiculous as some other states - hello, Utah - they're just enforced sort of differently. And by differently, I mean cops. Lots of them. All over. There's always a story about them - checkpoints, arrests, hanging around bars just waiting for some drunkard to follow and yank over within minutes. Sure, that's their job to do such. And it keeps everyone around drunkards safe. Thanks, cops! But Jesus tapdancing Christ, they are all over the place. And the stories about their conquests are even more daunting. Some folks vehemently refuse to drive downtown if they're going to drink, because they're never going to make it back home without seeing those flashing lights flare up behind them. 

That said, if you can get away with shorter commutes to watering holes, all the better. We have such a place here in what I think is the burbs. Just a hop, skip, and  jump away from awesomeness. Or more like a hop, walk down a hill, skip, walk down another hill, and jump down yet another hill away. Aside from that, it's totally close. Honest. 

The whole restaurant slash bar thing confuses me just about every time I visit one. Especially those with outside patios for the smoking crowd, and even more so when there's a little playground thing off to the side of the patio. Really? Kids can play here? Why yes, yes they can. Weird. Kids running and jumping and yelling while adults imbibe outdoors puffing on their Pall Malls. Inside, things aren't entirely better. The bar area is generally full of regular patrons, some even playing pool. But then you have the restrooms that are just like any other bar potty in the universe - just downright borderline shady. The same restrooms children use here are the same ones drunkards leave their lip sauce.

Parents, keep the wipes handy here.



Popular posts from this blog

Bloggy Blog #84

The first time I visited, I had to park across the street in the lot of an abandoned gas station. The lot itself went up a slight hill, and the station's sign would occasionally spin some slow turns whenever the town spirits wanted to have some fun.  She lived in a questionably constructed building on the second floor of this sleepy Revolutionary War town, adjacent to a craft store that was hardly ever open. In the basement sat a four-lane bowling alley and a small bar. It was by appointment only, which really meant the building's landlord had to be there to serve drinks and keep an eye on the action. I didn't get a chance to bowl down there, but seeing the construction of the building, this was probably a good thing. When she moved out of her place, part of the process involved placing a three-foot wide plank over the bowling alley basement stairs, in order to move big furniture out. Needless to say she left the heavy lifting to the moving experts.  The new plac...
Read more

Bloggy Blog #17

     From 2001-03, I called the northwest corner of Louisiana my home. My initial foray into the real world was met with a trip halfway across the country - a trip that consisted of a thirty-six hour bus ride (with plenty of transfers in sketchy towns in between) and a friend in Little Rock who took me the rest of the way to the Pelican State. Prior to this, my only moment spent in the state was interviewing for the position. That was early June, where I hopped aboard a couple planes and was whisked away to campus for hours upon hours of interrogation. The interview process wasn't really that bad, but what was bad was my ill-fated idea to take a walk around campus shortly after the interview ended. I was drenched in sweat upon my return, completely oblivious that the humidity there stuck around much longer than it did back in upstate New York. Regardless, I was in love. I was in love with this idea of continuing (starting, maybe?) my life elsewhere. The first few weeks...
Read more

Bloggy Blog #19

    I was, to put it mildly, an absolutely disgusting high school cross-country runner. No, disgusting is not slang for good. I mean bad. Real bad. A teammate - who wasn't a very proficient runner himself - often competed in what appeared to be casual street shoes or cross trainers. During some races I finished behind him. This happened for a variety of reasons, none of which have to do with him probably being a better runner than me. The most critical reason why I often found myself in the middle or close to the end of the pack of meet competitors is the fact that at some point during the races, I just stopped caring. I mentally shut down. Gave up. Waved a white flag. Why the hell am I even here? , I'd ask myself. Literally hundreds of runners have passed me already, and I'm barely halfway through. There may have been a race or two where I actually stopped running once we got into the woods and knew there was no chance of anyone seeing me. I'd walk a couple steps,...
Read more