And
for one reason and one reason only: No one gives a fuck. They don’t. The people
of New Orleans care a great deal about a great deal of things, but hell, odd
behavior is just another feather in the hat. Preventing sad unnecessary
violence, yes they care about that. Having a fine meal and drinking all too
much with friends, check. Pissed about Drew Brees not pulling out a passing
game in the first three quarters against Seattle? Yes, add all that on the
list. The new sound ordinances up for legislature trying to cripple the music
scene in the Quarter (yeah, I got wind of it!):
Definitely
a bad idea.
But in reference to the bartending topic of the week, I’ll have to go
with “Not Bartending”. After working this particular profession for over 10
years, it's odd that in any given moment I’m not asking someone how they are,
pushing a Vodka Tonic across the bar, or cleaning up some indescribable nasty
off the lip of a toilet. No one is asking me for drinks, my opinion, my advice,
nor am I handling money at any given time (going back to my theory that
bartenders/service industry/preschool teachers are probably the healthiest humans because of the insurmountable amount of bacteria we come across on a daily
basis).
Not
that I would trade it for the world. Even if someone handed me a million
dollars right now I would still need to bartend one shift somewhere in the world and work.
It’s kind of like how Bill Murray randomly shows up to bartend in Bushwick,
Brooklyn, forcing everyone to only drink Tequila shots no matter what they
order.
I
have got to be near people. I love it. I do love listening to people troubles,
being a part of the celebrations, and simply existing around life in the dive
bar universe. There’s an honesty I don’t think I could ever find in the sober,
square world. That’s just me.
That’s
why the Gods bestowed upon me to be able to stay down here in New Orleans, Louisiana
with some lovely friends. Friends who happen to be teetotaling at the moment.
What
drunk would be happier, upon walking into a lovely home, seeing a couple bottles
of untouched Ketel One and Hornitos, hearing:
“Have
at it, Matthew. We chilling these days. All yours.”
Some
days I play part psychologist. Some days I play part businessman. Some days
part doorman.
Today,
friends, I’m playing the part of the lovable homeless vagrant working on a
novel in a house full of booze and teetotalers (in the nicest sense) in the
city of New Orleans.
Porch
Life! 4LYFE!
PS: Speaking of bad decisions, I did eat a penny the other day. Not on a dare, no, nothing like that. I’m not going to go into why, but I can say it
was for a damn good reason. I suppose everyone can say the mistakes they make is for a damn good reason. But I’m not going to tell any of you why, not until a couple blogs from now. But I will
tell you this. Money makes you sick. Bad.
THE BARS NEVER CLOSE…
THE WRITING NEVER ENDS...
PORCH LIFE!
4 LYFE!
After working this particular profession for over 10 years, it's odd that in any given moment I’m not asking someone how they are, pushing a Vodka Tonic across the bar, or cleaning up some indescribable nasty off the lip of a toilet.
ReplyDeleteMobile Bar Solutions
Good friends are one of life's main joys. Love to you brother.
ReplyDeleteHere's a poem I came up with last night:
Love is one with wholeness
who says "I will always return,"
like the refrigerator that stays purring
alone in a cabin in the middle of the desert,
where it is visited only once a year.
Inside are the remnants of the last celebration,
jars of olives, a slab of butter, a loaf of bread,
even a half gallon of milk that actually tastes OK.
Everything seems to have been in stasis since you left.
Nothing really decayed, it just died when you were
no longer there to sustain it with your life force.
Even the agents of decay died.
Even the potato still has green shoots.
Maybe I could become an action hero?
"Rambo's estranged son goes to Afghanistan to kill the Taliban he killed in Rambo III." lol.
whoops...."Rambo's estranged son goes to Afghanistan to kill the Taliban he fought for in Rambo III."
ReplyDelete