Thursday, October 16, 2003

A hero's homecoming

Although returned to New York, I was not yet fully returned until I showed up at my local. (Note to non-alcoholics: I am referring to a bar, not a union hall or fire department.) In fact, difficulty getting back on the sleep schedule I was never very much on to begin with prevented me from non-essential activity for a few days. This prompted an actual latenight phone call from the bartender, saying that I was to have been away two weeks, and the two weeks were up, so where was I? This is service. It’s also sort of depressing. So I went down to the bar.

It wasn’t very crowded, but, except for the people on dates, I knew everybody. I was embraced with open arms by my friend the bartender. People got up to shake my hand and hug me. Those who arrived after me gave large smiles and approached to do the same. Of course, that’s the secret of camaraderie: go away for a while. I believe that’s also a paraphrasing of a rule of vaudeville.

In fact, in the course of events no fewer than three people offered me “a bump,” which despite my hedonistic bent is not something I generally involve myself in, at least not in what is generally known as a beer-and-booze joint. Maybe we are getting culture. By the time the pretty girl telling me her life story came along (I am categorizing this as a Drinking entry rather than Drinking & Women because it was not a very romantic relationship) and asked me if I had “a bump” for her, I realized I should have been collecting them all night and hiding them in the secret compartment inside my nasal cavity. We could have Eskimo-kissed and tripped the light fatalistic.

Anyway, whatever happened to the word “cocaine”?

So we drank a lot, me and my pals. I spoke to a girl who lives in a room with exclusively red décor and had recently bought some yellow sheets. She hates them. Also, a man is trying to get involved in local politics by sleeping with interns at various campaigns, which I thought was an interesting inversion. Also, some time was spent clarifying the distinction between “fat asses” and “big butts” (it turns out that there is a negative connotation to the former, but that the latter is highly prized indeed). Also, I was questioned as to the nature and extent of my sexual conquests in Japan. It only recently occurred to me that the reason most people travel is to have sex with strangers, but in New York you can do that on your own block. In other words, a gentleman never tells, not even his blog. (I didn’t get laid, in other words.)

In other words, everything turned out to be vaguely related to sex, if you include the fact that yellow sheets go onto a bed, and you know what those are for. The fact that everything is vaguely related to sex is beginning to disturb me. Why can’t it be overtly related to sex? Americans are truly doomed, the horniest Puritans ever.

It was recently suggested to me that in most places, people hit on you because they want to sleep with you, but in New York they hit on you if they think you might advance their career. This is a great insight by a very smart young woman. She left town.

Anyway, they were glad to have me back at the bar. Supposedly.

by Jack, October 16, 2003 7:19 PM | More from Drinking

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2 Comments

Meg said:

This story is much better. I think the girl who left town had the right idea, considering all the fuckwaddripbitches in NY.

and hey, mr. author-ego-man, can't you come up with a better description than "pretty." What, all of your girls look like petunias? get a thesaurus man or learn something about descriptive writing. Damnassshit.

Jack said:

I say "pretty girl" and you get the idea. What does it matter what she looked like? It doesn't matter what you look like, if you're pretty. Surely you're familiar with this phenomenon.

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