I went to Rich O's after work today for a Cone Smoker (1770), and PhotoDude told me about this:
That's the blackboard over at the Sportstime side of things. Nothing written on the Rich O's side yet, but maybe they've decided to go with neon, or maybe a blimp.
Dancing girls would be cool too.
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I found a picture today that makes me sad. This is good timing because the picture that I used to use for that purpose only makes me happy now.
I'm weird, I know.
On nights like this when the sea is calm and the breeze is cool and the sand is still warm under my feet, I can understand why I came back here.
I walk along the shore and I see what gifts the tide has brought for me. I keep my head down though, or straight ahead. I dare not look to my left, where the jungle's illusions of safety and refuge beckon. I must not look to my right, where the sea still shines with the last vestiges of sunset, and where the reflections of the night's first stars blink at me from each ripple in the water. Speaking to me in code that only I can understand. Calling to me.
Pieces of driftwood deposited at my feet in swirling foam. Some I ignore, and some I hurl back into the water, and some into the trees. Others, others I carry with me to make sure that the next receding tide doesn't reclaim them.
These are my most cherished possessions.
For I know that, on those days when the sea rages against me and sweeps my feet out from under me and pulls me away from my beach, I know that these treasures I've collected will keep me afloat until I can make my way back to shore.
For I know that, on those days when the beasts of the jungle emerge slobbering to attack and devour me, I know that these treasures I've collected can be wielded against them and can fend them off until they tire and move off to seek easier prey.
It's not such a bad life that I find myself living. I walk this beautiful beach and, though I am alone, I am safe.
I can understand why I came back here.
It's paradise, after all.
I see you, you know.
Skulking around. Hiding in the shadows, in the dark places that you helped to create, you crouch and you imagine yourself to be invisible. But, the problem is, you generate your own light. You are a beacon of color in this gray place, and so I cannot help but see you shine.
What do you want? Why are you here?
Are you waiting for something? Are you staying so close because you hope to watch me descend into madness once again, or because you dread it? Do you wish happiness for me, or do you only seek validation for your own ego's sake?
What happens is up to you. It's always been up to you. I'm sure that you don't want that kind of responsibility. I'm fucking positive that I wish you didn't have it, that I was in charge here.
But I'm not, and I never have been, and it's entirely possible that I never will be again.
See, you have something of mine. Something important. I wish you'd either give it back, or at least admit that you have it.
Is that why you're here? Do you have something for me?
I see you, you know.
I wonder. The next time I say the words, I wonder if I'll do so as a whisper or as a shout. Or as a scream.
So many times, I've bitten my tongue and walked the other way. So often, I've rambled on and on about anything and everything to distract myself until that moment, that moment when the words needed to be said, had passed. So many countless fucking times, I've picked up the telephone only to slam it back down to its resting place.
And I write. I beat around the bush. Time after time I bring myself right up to the edge beyond which the words must be written, but I stop myself. Each and every time, I hover my toe over that line in the sand only to pull it back and then pat myself on the back for my great show of resolve.
The words don't give up though. They fester inside me and they wait. For that inevitable moment of weakness. For that sought-after period of clarity. For that first opportunity, that first instant when I've forgotten that they're even there at all.
That's when they'll make their move. That's when they'll escape.
And then I fear that they'll be gone from me forever.
Don't get me wrong. I want to say the words, but I don't want to waste them.
I want to say the words.
I just want someone to be listening when I do.
Today, after work, the Sun was shining.
But that's not all!
When I got into my truck, it was very warm inside.
Almost hot actually!
That was the first time I've been warm in a couple of weeks.
It felt so good that, for a moment or two, I thought about peeling down and molesting myself right there in the truck.
But then I remembered where I was.
There's probably a corporate policy against that sort of thing.
I guess I'm just writing for the fuck of it now.
I overdid my after-work nap, and now it's almost 2:00 AM and I'm probably up for the rest of the night.
Gotta do something, may as well write.
For those of you reading this at barenada.com, you may or may not know that I duplicate my 'blog over at barenada.journalspace.com. Well, that site has been down since Friday morning. Some kind of hard drive crash is what they claim, but I don't buy it. What I think happened is that this chick's new profile picture melted the hard drive.
It's that hot.
Anyway, today after work I stopped by Rich O's and had a small Cone Smoker (1670) and a small Smithwick's (736) while I talked with Roger about DaveFest. It's looking like all of the beers I selected will be available except for the Avery Old Jubilation, so that's cool. I was expecting six taps but it's looking like there'll be eleven.
The t-shirts are still a go I guess. I met the artist the other day and I'm expecting him to contact me again about designs and colors. Or maybe not. Maybe he'll just wing it. He's the artist after all. We're going to order a couple of dozen shirts, and I suppose we can order more if we need to. I really have no idea what kind of interest there'll be.
I'll be at Rich O's both nights of DaveFest's opening weekend, June 2nd and 3rd. This will get me into trouble with my family. Maybe when their favorite hangout decides to honor them with their own festival they'll understand.
Last night seemed a lot longer than it actually was, I suppose. I only arrived at Rich O's an hour early - at 7:00 instead of 8:00.
I went early because HatGirl was going to make an appearance and I wanted to grab some seats in the living room before any strangers could do it. Ideally I wanted to grab the throne, but some old man was already sitting in it. Another stranger was sitting on the loveseat, and WomanRepellant was sitting on the sofa.
I staked out my claim for a sofa seat, ordered a Cone Smoker (1640) and then went out to the special section and talked with Roger and some of the PBDs for a bit. They'd had this brewerania thingy, which I'd missed because of the wedding. By the time I got there a homebrewing contest was going on as the first part of a PBD meeting. Everybody kept asking me to try the beers in the contest but I stood firm. I'd promised myself that I'd be having two 7.5% Cone Smokers, and I wasn't going to let some sneaky homebrew with a zillion percent ABV derail that train.
Roger and I discussed t-shirts for DaveFest. I guess we're going to go ahead and order a couple of dozen. I told him that if he had any left over I'd buy them off of him. I'm hopeful that at least a few of my readers will want one, and perhaps The Smithsonian would like one as well.
Roger also introduced me to the artist who'll be doing the t-shirt design. I'm looking forward to seeing how they come out.
So WomanRepellant and I spent some talking with the old man and the guy who turned out to be his son for a while. The old man looked really familiar to me, and I had a suspicion about who he might be, but it wasn't until WomanRepellant called him by his first name that I knew for sure.
The guy had been my vice-principal when I was in high school.
Small fucking world.
He claimed to remember me, but as I was a pretty good kid I seriously doubt that he remembered me. Plus, he probably met like a gazillion kids in his life, so I bet everyone on Earth under the age of fifty looks familiar to him.
When VicePrincipal and his son left I moved over to the throne. My second beer was a Weihenstephaner Hefeweissbier Dunkel (80). Had to drink something lighter before that second Cone Smoker.
At one point I went to piss and when I came back, both HatGirl and DooRagGirl were sitting in the loveseat.
HatGirl! Yay!
So the next couple of hours were quite nice. HatGirl and I and DooRagGirl and WomanRepellant bullshitted about nothing much in particular. HatGirl and I traded some text messages back and forth. I had my second Cone Smoker (1660).
Oh yeah, when HatGirl had first come in I'd asked the bartender to bring her a small sample of Cone Smoker. She didn't like it, but she at least tried.
I'd planned to try to squeeze in another Weihenstephaner, but by the time I'd finished the Cone Smoker I could tell that I needed to cut myself off. So that's what I did, except for the Guinness (1207) that HatGirl didn't finish.
Once HatGirl left MusicalHippyDude and GlassesGirl and some other chick (ha ha) moved from the bar and joined us.
It was a fun night. No idiots pissed me off, and no strangers got in my way. I got to see HatGirl and DooRagGirl on the same night.
It was fun.
This morning I had an incredible hangover, but it was worth it.
Yesterday my sister Dina finally married Kenny.
It was originally going to be a nice quiet affair in Dina's back yard, but because of the rain, it ended up being more like a Keystone Kops skit, with 8,000,000 or so people all crammed into Dina's living room.
I filmed the thing, as best as I could, with Dina's camcorder, then I took a few pictures with my cellphone. One of the latter is this one:
I left the rest of the picture taking to the other 7,999,999 people.
Also, because of the weather, the happy couple decided to postpone the reception and leave for their honeymoon early.
Guess when they're doing the reception now?
June 3rd.
Right at the beginning of DaveFest.
It'll probably come down to a coin flip for me. DaveFest is a huge honor, and not one I intent to take lightly.
