Friday, February 14, 2014


            Now this topic is incredibly apropos for our celebrated day of love: St. Valentine’s Day. We all know from the myriad of Facebook posts that in fact, St. Valentine, the honorable saint that the day was commemorated for back on February 14th, 269, was beaten and clubbed to death when he tried to get his buddy, Emperor Claudius to follow the teachings of Jesus Christ. Claudius, not digging religion, demanded Valentinus to rebuke his faith in Christ. Valentinus refused. Then Valentinus got beat to death.
            Why in the world this lovely holiday ended up the day in America when we give each other roses and stress out waiters during dinner rush hours, I will never know. But I made a pact with you, dear readers, I would address a serious issue I (and many people at my bar) want answered this week: to Couple, or not to Couple. That is the question.
            We all know by now that New York is a city made and constructed for single people. Maybe it’s the endless parade of the ‘better’, that illusion that people are merely interchangeable objects that can be replaced much like items on the shelves of Wal-Mart. If something is broken, just bring your receipt to the counter and get a similar version without those annoying aliments such as depression, borderline personality disorders, undiagnosed anxiety, or rampant narcissism. And still despite all of the common opinions that New York is a place of sex Olympians, Don Juan’s, and Jezebels, there are still plenty of people who decide to shack up. I’m sure it’s just to get a better deal at rent or the existential abyss that is New York Winters. Or whatever.
            Let’s try, for the first time in The Bartender Knows history, to be even-handed in my judgments of the couple/single thing. I’ll give a series of episodes and we will apply the couple/single filter upon what happens when these life-moments happen.
Here we go.
            You Get A New Job

Finally you have more money to go out and meet people to talk to/fuck/ build intimacy with. Now you no longer have to troll Craig’s List ads at bars (because you don’t have/ can’t afford Internet in your house) and bitch to everyone you know about looking/not finding work. Now both your time and your money is yours. Until you meet someone. Then you have to spend it on them. A lot. On everything from drinks to movies to dinners (or what ever people who don’t know each other do).

            Change is death. Time schedules must be re-arranged. The patterns, the ultimate mark of any couple, now must be altered. Sometimes this is a good thing. Most of the time, change, of any sort, is a cause of serious friction. After all, you bought the person as is when you say the words: “I love you”. The three words stipulate: 1. “I” means you know what you are: 2. “love” is the expression of these feelings: and 3. “you” meaning that you know all there is to know about the significant other to ‘love’ them. However, if any change comes to the structure that you ‘love’, there is a threat to the security of that ‘love’. That’s when the arguments start. And we all know how fun those are.
            Somebody You Love Dies

You are fucked. Yes, some people will give the gratuitous head-down bow and say: “I’m sorry,” but there is no one in the darkness of the night that will hold you when you weep on your pillow. Only alcohol, binge eating, and narcotics will help you through these dark times. Or a true friend, and if that friend is hot, you should probably try to have sex with them. Nothing is more erotic than death-sex. Try it. You’ll see.

Best thing ever. Now any where you go, from bar to restaurant, to shopping mart to dry cleaners, if you start to break down, someone will be there to hold you and comfort you through these trying times. Mourning sex is better with someone you know, and things grow in wildly intimate proportions. Try it. You’ll see.

You Get The Opportunity to Travel

This is perfect. Nothing is better in this world (other than death-sex) than wandering around God’s Green Earth alone. There is a huge world out there, and you are obligated as a human citizen of the world to see every part of it before you bite the dust. Not only do you learn about yourself in ways no yoga class or psychologist could teach you, the utter ‘dizziness of freedom’ is as intoxicating as a bottle of good French wine. No one can explain the feeling of being ‘on the road’ alone, especially in places where you do not speak the language. The utter ‘aloneness’ that washes over a person in this scenario, albeit scary at first, is a revealing experience you will never forget.

Drag. A fucking total drag. If anyone has ever traveled with a partner, unless one person is as passive as a porcelain doll, there’s always the push and pull of where to go, what to eat, where to walk, and how to stay in a foreign city or land. Admittedly, I am a great traveler. I just don’t give a fuck about where I go, unlike my personal life when stationary where I become tense and edgy. I have gypsy blood, so freedom (and others freedom) is essential to my being. But most others, under the time restrictions of ‘vacation’, are caught in a funnel only leading to both peoples unhappiness. Now, if you just want a ‘lover’s getaway’ I can get behind that. You can fuck, drink, and ignore the world together. But when you are exploring another country, there must be no rules. Ever.

You Just Moved To New York City

Good move. Truly. The only way to understand, experience, and actually become a ‘New Yorker’ is to be ALONE in New York for several years. That way you can experience by yourself the ups, downs, lefts and rights that is this fine city (which is unlike any place in the world). And when I say, by yourself, I mean it. Life here can be torturous, insane, nerve-wracking, tense, and can sometimes inspire total nihilism. But without these ‘dark nights of the soul’ you are missing out on some serious life lessons. This town will carve you into what you always should have been.  Otherwise, you should have just moved to fucking Philadelphia. You could have saved a lot of money that way.

You will break up in 6 months. That is a fact. It always happens. Trust me.
You Want To Breed

You are fucked. Sorry. Try

This makes sense. You might have to couple up (I suppose you don’t have to be a couple to get pregnant, but it might be better for the kid) before you actually conceive a child into this fine thing called life. Don’t listen to what the ‘modern’ doctors tell you that one parent is just enough. How else can you manipulate your kid into a good person without the assistance of another human? It takes two to tango, as they say, and breeding is better going Dutch.

Happy Valentines Day!
Till next time!





  1. LMFAO! REading these gives me a new respect for you. Lots of truth, if blunt. But truth is often blunt? that's why we often avoid it. I was a product of divorce too. single parenting was some kind of 70's psychobabble myth. But you had it tougher in some respects than me. One caveat though. I wouldn't toy with "narcotics." I know the temptation to be funny with it. Many people use them recreatiionally and are fine. But as a rule, I would think just not to encourage it.

  2. When I realised we were off to Top Gun,
    all I could think about was that trophy.
    I've got to be straight with you, Mav.
    Right now, I just hope we graduate.
    I got a family to think about.
    I can't afford to blow this.
    I know it's tough. The Academy rejected
    you because you're Duke Mitchell's kid.
    You have to live with that reputation.
    But it's like you're flying against a ghost.
    It makes me nervous.