Society Wag Wandering - adolescence renaissance
Dateline: High School Nostalgia
We enjoy going to get a quick beer with our high school friend. Because we know that 'quick beer' actually means eight beers and a fist fight or an indecent proposal later. We pop over to the local smoky taproom. Just us and the bartender for the first couple rounds. Our friend smokes and we are jealous but must admit, we feel so much happier now that we have given up the evil weed.
How many times can high school friends tell the same story before we get bored of it? If we are in the story, never. So we reminisce a bit. About the time we were drunk and driving, that party where we were drunk and abusing people and when we were drunk and driving and throwing up while driving.
Then our high school friend demands we confess all our problems. We do in such a way as to mitigate the intermittent periods of institutionalization, incarceration and other assorted incapacitation. High school friends really make one dish. We almost want to disclose a recent sex fantasy of a disturbing nature. Decide to wait until a little bit later.
High school friends never seem to want to go home. This is why we chose them to be our friends in the first place. Why go home when there are more beers to drink, smokes to smoke and the bartender finally puts on some better music? We are at one of those unrepentant boho bars where there is usually good art on the walls, but the music can get a little 'indulgent.'
We see the owner of this bar. Have not seen her in awhile. She is with a couple people and they all look to be injured. One guy has a walker, a lady has a limp. Do bar owners and their friends lead more injury prone lives? We believe yes.
Now comes the love life confessions part of the evening. We listen to and tell about recent conquests, screw ups, fast encounters and what we sniff around now. We ask our friend how many dates before the love is typically given up. Our friend says it is all about how you feel, but err on the side of caution because sometimes you give it out and people get real mad when you cut them off.
It is sad, but our high school friend now has other friends, and so do we. We cannot hang out with the same group of delinquents every day forever. Can we? No, we go out into the world and meet other freaks. And sometimes, if we have a little mojo going, at the bar we will see our friend from work and our friend will see work friends. So we are sitting at the bar. More people start coming in. We have already insulted the bartender's musical taste. Thank god he is about to get replaced. The service has deteriorated markedly.
Then this lunatic we know from work shows up. He just finished a very long day, gets a beer. He buys us a beer. He wants to know all about our high school friend. Our high school friend has a special way. This way attracts a lot of people. Unstable people with delusions of grandeur are especially attracted to our high school friend. This guy is no different. He has a notebook full of cryptic drawings. Our high school friend demands to see them. For the moment he is shy, will not give up the goods.
Then our high school friend's friends from work show up. We intermingle. It turns out that our high school friend's best friend from work also carries a notebook full of strange and disturbing drawings. He is a lot more forthcoming about showing them and we behold something quite rare, a real artist. We cannot believe how good this guy is. He does these naked female figures in odd positions. They wear masks and their hair looks to be made out of a mop. We keep saying, "This shit is good." We make everyone around us look at them.
This makes the other guy open up his notebook. He specializes in nice colors and naively rendered bugs. We like it. The place has filled up now. Friends of the friends of friends join in. We get a lurching cluster of about 10. We are a very loud and thirsty group. Somebody starts finishing every sentence with, "...you filthy whore." Like, "Get me a beer you filthy whore." We think back to those drunken party high school nights and darned if we have not recreated it. A little bit. In high school a girl would be crying and one of the guys would be unconscious.
Like old party pros, at just the right time we and our high school friend make eye contact. It is time to split. Always leave at the party top. Not that we are going to stop partying. We will find other mischief to get into, as long as that mischief involves contraband and cigarettes. We accept business cards and make tenuous promises of future meetings with the people we just met.
We stagger outside. We have been in that place a little while. It is fun nipping out to get a quick beer with our high school friend.
We enjoy going to get a quick beer with our high school friend. Because we know that 'quick beer' actually means eight beers and a fist fight or an indecent proposal later. We pop over to the local smoky taproom. Just us and the bartender for the first couple rounds. Our friend smokes and we are jealous but must admit, we feel so much happier now that we have given up the evil weed.
How many times can high school friends tell the same story before we get bored of it? If we are in the story, never. So we reminisce a bit. About the time we were drunk and driving, that party where we were drunk and abusing people and when we were drunk and driving and throwing up while driving.
Then our high school friend demands we confess all our problems. We do in such a way as to mitigate the intermittent periods of institutionalization, incarceration and other assorted incapacitation. High school friends really make one dish. We almost want to disclose a recent sex fantasy of a disturbing nature. Decide to wait until a little bit later.
High school friends never seem to want to go home. This is why we chose them to be our friends in the first place. Why go home when there are more beers to drink, smokes to smoke and the bartender finally puts on some better music? We are at one of those unrepentant boho bars where there is usually good art on the walls, but the music can get a little 'indulgent.'
We see the owner of this bar. Have not seen her in awhile. She is with a couple people and they all look to be injured. One guy has a walker, a lady has a limp. Do bar owners and their friends lead more injury prone lives? We believe yes.
Now comes the love life confessions part of the evening. We listen to and tell about recent conquests, screw ups, fast encounters and what we sniff around now. We ask our friend how many dates before the love is typically given up. Our friend says it is all about how you feel, but err on the side of caution because sometimes you give it out and people get real mad when you cut them off.
It is sad, but our high school friend now has other friends, and so do we. We cannot hang out with the same group of delinquents every day forever. Can we? No, we go out into the world and meet other freaks. And sometimes, if we have a little mojo going, at the bar we will see our friend from work and our friend will see work friends. So we are sitting at the bar. More people start coming in. We have already insulted the bartender's musical taste. Thank god he is about to get replaced. The service has deteriorated markedly.
Then this lunatic we know from work shows up. He just finished a very long day, gets a beer. He buys us a beer. He wants to know all about our high school friend. Our high school friend has a special way. This way attracts a lot of people. Unstable people with delusions of grandeur are especially attracted to our high school friend. This guy is no different. He has a notebook full of cryptic drawings. Our high school friend demands to see them. For the moment he is shy, will not give up the goods.
Then our high school friend's friends from work show up. We intermingle. It turns out that our high school friend's best friend from work also carries a notebook full of strange and disturbing drawings. He is a lot more forthcoming about showing them and we behold something quite rare, a real artist. We cannot believe how good this guy is. He does these naked female figures in odd positions. They wear masks and their hair looks to be made out of a mop. We keep saying, "This shit is good." We make everyone around us look at them.
This makes the other guy open up his notebook. He specializes in nice colors and naively rendered bugs. We like it. The place has filled up now. Friends of the friends of friends join in. We get a lurching cluster of about 10. We are a very loud and thirsty group. Somebody starts finishing every sentence with, "...you filthy whore." Like, "Get me a beer you filthy whore." We think back to those drunken party high school nights and darned if we have not recreated it. A little bit. In high school a girl would be crying and one of the guys would be unconscious.
Like old party pros, at just the right time we and our high school friend make eye contact. It is time to split. Always leave at the party top. Not that we are going to stop partying. We will find other mischief to get into, as long as that mischief involves contraband and cigarettes. We accept business cards and make tenuous promises of future meetings with the people we just met.
We stagger outside. We have been in that place a little while. It is fun nipping out to get a quick beer with our high school friend.
posted by RSS Spirit Combine | 12:00 PM
1 Comments:
Very damn funny.
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