For example, I walked in to Jack's Bar & Lounge tonight and took a seat at the bar near the corner. I looked up from hanging my coat on the hook beneath the bar to see Swearengen aka Travis setting a beer down in front of me.
I said thank you, then paid him.
Thing was, Swearengen was looking over at the man sitting next to me (that is, the big, husky, white long sleeve shirt wearing to make room for the muscles beneath, crush me to death with his will alone man) who had just about finished with his beer, which was a Sierra Nevada*. We'll call this man Gigantor.
I looked from his beer to the one I thought was mine and saw it was a Sierra as well.
Questions immediately came to mind:
- Did I just take Gigantor's beer?
- If so, did I look the fool in front of Travis?
- Or did Travis just forget I drink PBR and not Sierra?
- Also, had I lived a full, fruitful life?
- Would Gigantor show mercy by visiting a swift death upon me?
- Or would death come slow, by way of my bones being broken one at a time between Gigantor's meaty eyebrows?
In all seriousness, I haven't gotten permission to use his name and Gigantor was an extremely friendly fellow; he got up close and personal and talked to everyone and then some (right James aka kla-klow bang-bang?). People knew his name, so there's a history to him I need to learn.
Let's just hope he does not read blogs. ;)
As always, Christian's arrival enhanced my evening. He suggested that I follow the style of the English writer, P. G. Wodehouse, who wrote of meeting people at Gentlemen's Clubs as follows, "I met a tall Gin and Tonic."
So, I could have written Gigantor as "I looked over at a wide shouldered Sierra Nevada, clad in white shirt that did little to hide the broad slabs of muscle beneath, and I knew fear" or some such.
The San Jose Sharks managed to snatch defeat from the jaws of victory with a loss to Detriot after racking up a 2 goal lead (I hate the Red Wings more than I hate the Ducks) and there were at least two Shark's Jerseys being worn at the bar.
The informal society of the Four Bearded Men (of which I am a proud member) will become the informal society of the Three Bearded Men by tomorrow. Grant, I'll miss your beard. Save the clippings and donate them to charity, I say.
My favorite overheard story of the night was the one about the midget bodyguard who could walk standing up inside a limo. When the driver hit the brakes unexpectedly the little man flew through the cab and was caught mid-flight by a limo occupant before he could go crashing into the glass separating the driver from everyone else. Cool.
I also overheard a woman say, "I used to work here when they first opened" but I did not get a chance to talk to her, nor get much of a look at her face. Hrm....lots of people to talk to, still.
New artwork has arrived at Jack's in the form of four beautiful photographs hanging from the walls. I agreed with Christian that the two pieces closest to the entrance seemed hung a bit too high.
I found myself wanting to make direct eye contact with the woman laying on her back, her face wreathed by her own hair with flowers scattered around her. The use of color over black and white grabbed my attention, to be sure--oh those eyes! But she was too high up for it to "work".
Anyway, that one's my favorite, though the picture of Matt aka James Dean embracing a woman comes in a close second.
The opening of this particular show of art is this Friday at Jack's. Come down and take a look!
*That's one of the bar skills I've learned: i.e., how to tell the tap beers by their particular shade of color, even with the lights down.