Odd bits................
I forced myself out of the house last night, more out of a conviction that I ought to stretch my legs and socialize a bit than a true desire to "go out".
It took about a beer and a half to determine that my first instinct, to stay at home with a book, was the correct one.
I sat, briefly, at the bar next to a youngish sort of fellow who was absorbed in a book. It's fairly odd to see someone other than myself take a book to a bar................so, when he had laid the book down to order a fresh beer, I asked him what he was reading.
It turned out to be a compilation of blurbs about strange and freakish deaths, gleaned from news stories from all over the world.............ooooooookay.
His drink replenished, he went back to his reading, but from time to time until I left the bar, he would hand the book to me to read whenever he found someone's demise to be particularly chuckalicious.
Among them, two that I recall:
A couple in eastern Europe who were run over by a train while having sex on the tracks.
A lady who collapsed and died at her husband's funeral. It seems one of the friends of the deceased was a ventriloquist who thought it would cheer up the mourners to hear, "Let me out!!!" issuing from inside the coffin. Police had to let him go because: "Throwing your voice isn't illegal."
I had intended to be up fairly early this A.M., but over the past few nights I've sort of drifted into a 3am to 9 or 10 am sleep pattern. Not nearly so idiotically distressing to the brain chemistry as the up all night routine I was following from last August until this February, but still not ideal.
At any rate, this morning didn't go as smoothly as I'd planned, but it worked out okee-fine, as I am now the possessor of tickets to see Willy Nelson and Bob Dylan on Aug. 25, 2004.
I got two tickets for my son and his lady (sort of a late birthday present), two tickets for my daughter and a guest of her choice (sort of an early birthday present), and a couple of tickets for myself. I don't really have anyone in mind to take at the moment, but I left myself the option. It's not likely, but at least possible, that, between now and August, I might meet someone who has a fair degree of control over her gag reflex and can hold my interest for more than 15 minutes outside the confines of the posture-pedic.
As a venerable and antient hippy, even I am surprised that I haven't seen Dylan before the middle ages of my life, but I suppose it's better late than never.
I have an old photgraph of a woman that I once kept time with.......I still, from time to time, look at it and feel that old sensation of seeing as beautiful a lady as I've ever known.
I see her from time to time around town, and though she has aged and faded, I see only the girl in the photo reflected in her face. I think its like that with the musicians of our youth. A young friend of mine once remarked that it was time for Fleetwood Mac to hang it up and write a book........I didn't contradict her, but to me they still make magic with their intruments and their harmonies. Likewise the Moody Blues, or Roger Daltrey, or Stephen Stills. God knows their voices have suffered from exertion and excess and time...........but the echo is still there, and memory does the rest. (The only exception to that rule may be Mick Jagger, who stikes me as a prancing, cartoonish old fool........but then I regarded him as a prancing, cartoonish young fool at best.)
I hope to still be around, and talking to my young friend when she hits fifty. Then, with her cocksure, judgemental,youthful chauvinism laid to rest by a long look in her own mirror, perhaps she will remember and understand.............and believe me when I tell her how beautiful she still is to me.
I'm not sure how the subject came up at Tomcat's this afternoon, but I found occasion to paraphrase a sage friend of mine, "F" Wayne: "If a man wears womens underwear because it feels good, that's alright..........but if he wears them because it turns him on, that's sick!"
I'm not sure what he would have to say about buggy whips and motor oil.
Thus endeth the entry............
It took about a beer and a half to determine that my first instinct, to stay at home with a book, was the correct one.
I sat, briefly, at the bar next to a youngish sort of fellow who was absorbed in a book. It's fairly odd to see someone other than myself take a book to a bar................so, when he had laid the book down to order a fresh beer, I asked him what he was reading.
It turned out to be a compilation of blurbs about strange and freakish deaths, gleaned from news stories from all over the world.............ooooooookay.
His drink replenished, he went back to his reading, but from time to time until I left the bar, he would hand the book to me to read whenever he found someone's demise to be particularly chuckalicious.
Among them, two that I recall:
A couple in eastern Europe who were run over by a train while having sex on the tracks.
A lady who collapsed and died at her husband's funeral. It seems one of the friends of the deceased was a ventriloquist who thought it would cheer up the mourners to hear, "Let me out!!!" issuing from inside the coffin. Police had to let him go because: "Throwing your voice isn't illegal."
I had intended to be up fairly early this A.M., but over the past few nights I've sort of drifted into a 3am to 9 or 10 am sleep pattern. Not nearly so idiotically distressing to the brain chemistry as the up all night routine I was following from last August until this February, but still not ideal.
At any rate, this morning didn't go as smoothly as I'd planned, but it worked out okee-fine, as I am now the possessor of tickets to see Willy Nelson and Bob Dylan on Aug. 25, 2004.
I got two tickets for my son and his lady (sort of a late birthday present), two tickets for my daughter and a guest of her choice (sort of an early birthday present), and a couple of tickets for myself. I don't really have anyone in mind to take at the moment, but I left myself the option. It's not likely, but at least possible, that, between now and August, I might meet someone who has a fair degree of control over her gag reflex and can hold my interest for more than 15 minutes outside the confines of the posture-pedic.
As a venerable and antient hippy, even I am surprised that I haven't seen Dylan before the middle ages of my life, but I suppose it's better late than never.
I have an old photgraph of a woman that I once kept time with.......I still, from time to time, look at it and feel that old sensation of seeing as beautiful a lady as I've ever known.
I see her from time to time around town, and though she has aged and faded, I see only the girl in the photo reflected in her face. I think its like that with the musicians of our youth. A young friend of mine once remarked that it was time for Fleetwood Mac to hang it up and write a book........I didn't contradict her, but to me they still make magic with their intruments and their harmonies. Likewise the Moody Blues, or Roger Daltrey, or Stephen Stills. God knows their voices have suffered from exertion and excess and time...........but the echo is still there, and memory does the rest. (The only exception to that rule may be Mick Jagger, who stikes me as a prancing, cartoonish old fool........but then I regarded him as a prancing, cartoonish young fool at best.)
I hope to still be around, and talking to my young friend when she hits fifty. Then, with her cocksure, judgemental,youthful chauvinism laid to rest by a long look in her own mirror, perhaps she will remember and understand.............and believe me when I tell her how beautiful she still is to me.
I'm not sure how the subject came up at Tomcat's this afternoon, but I found occasion to paraphrase a sage friend of mine, "F" Wayne: "If a man wears womens underwear because it feels good, that's alright..........but if he wears them because it turns him on, that's sick!"
I'm not sure what he would have to say about buggy whips and motor oil.
Thus endeth the entry............
posted by captn | 6/26/2004 06:10:00 PM
1 Comments:
I saw it just the other day, of course it was a quiet weekday in an out of the way swanky mountain restaurant... but it was a guy with a book at a bar nonetheless.
-Endless Rob
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