drunk nights on bikes: 11.04

30.11.04

Searching for Ray Bradbury

Received an interesting note from my Michael: "RE: drunknightsonbikes. I LOVE the title. Have you read Ray Bradbury's essay "Drunk and in charge of a bicycle" about the creative writing process?"

It would be a logical explanation for my title, but not only have I not read Bradbury's essay, I haven't even heard of it. Until today, the only thing I knew about Ray Bradbury was that he wrote "Fahrenheit 451" (which I loved when I read it, way back when. There may be a direct link between the reading of that book and my book buying/collecting obsession).

Some quick research revealed that Bradbury has, in fact, published over 50 works. His first, "Dark Carnival" was published in 1947; "Fahrenheit" came six years later. "Drunk ..." was first published in "The Stories of Ray Bradbury" (1980) and again in "Zen in the Art of Writing" (1989). It has also been adapted for a stage production of the same name. I found this passage:

"There are one hundred stories from almost forty years of my life contained in my collected stories. They contain half the damning truths I suspected at midnight, and half of the saving truths I re-found at noon. If anything is taught here, it is simply the charting of the life of someone who started out to somewhere - and went. I have not so much thought my way through life as done things and found what it was and who I was after the doing. Each tale was a way of finding selves. Each self found each day slightly different from the one found twenty-four hours earlier."

Are Ray Bradbury and I cosmically connected? Or is this a text-book example of serendipity? I've often wondered if we find art or books or music or if they find us? I may never know ...

As for my blog title, it is a homage to my favorite summer pastime, one Michael described better than I ever could: "I loved drunk biking this summer and I will always remember (among so many other things) you biking up to Greg and I drunk. Sigh ... those were the days ... the sweet summer days when the sun was shining, it was so warm and everything was blooming."

He ends: "I swear to god I will live on a tropical island someday (and leave for hurricane season)."

Mikey, perhaps Ray and I will join you.

29.11.04

Fernet: Italian for mmm-mmm good

I thought I knew a lot about booze until I became a cocktail server. I fell into the job by accident. Just home from three months in Europe, I went to The Best Bar in the World one night to have drinks with K. After a few rounds, our usual server asked if we knew anyone looking for a job. My reply: "Me." I was broke, desperate and drunk. I started the next night.

My first night of work, Cyn told me the job would change my life. And it did. Gone were the days of productive mornings (or early afternoons, for that matter). I officially became a creature of the night, working until 3 or 4 a.m., walking home, cash in my pocket and high on life, as the sun began to rise over the cityscape. I met all sorts of interesting people. The newly engaged, the party goers. The escapists. Baristas who would down two beers on their "lunch" break. The dejected and rejected, looking for a little solace. Artists and musicians and thespians (oh, how I loved when they would get drunk and make out with one another. Even off they stayed in character). And then, there were the regulars.

There was the Man with the Big Book, always reading, sipping coffee and nursing a brandy. Occasionally, he would bring his wife in for dinner and they would talk endlessly about the latest novels and which classics she would teach at a nearby college that term. But every night, wife or no, he would hold down the corner of the bar like it needed him.

And there was the Man with the Big Brain, who can tell you what song was No. 37 on the Billboard Charts in 1969.

There was a woman (whose name is not important, not that I know it anyway) who would come in at least once a week with her husband and order a drink called Fernet Branca. The first time I helped her, I had no idea what it was (something that happened often in the beginning; there are as many drinks in the world as there are people), but I played along. That's what I would do, nod and smile and run to the bartender and hope he/she knew what I was looking for. They did, of course, because The Best Bar in the World has the best bartenders, the kind who'd pour a drink for the customer and a taste for me. They'd say, "You have to know you're product."

I will call this woman The Giver of Fernet.

When I moved to the East Coast, I couldn't find it anywhere. And I missed it, so I convinced my new bartender to order a bottle. When it arrived, I was beside myself. Most of the staff was dying to know what the fuss was about, so we all got a taste. The sting of the semi-sweet, medicinal liquid took me back to crazy nights, shots at the bar, falling in love, dancing with myself.

But everyone else hated it. Everyone, that is, but me. And this guy.

26.11.04

Do something, buy nothing

I need toilet paper, but it will have to wait: http://www.adbusters.org/metas/eco/bnd/

Please join me.

24.11.04

Option B

I can think of at least one friend who refuses to blog under the influence; I understand her conviction, since we all do and say things we might not normally do or say otherwise. But ... I titled my blog "drunk nights on bikes". I mean, would I have called it that if I spent most nights sober? Let me assure you, no. And seeing that my options are:

A) Drunk dial various friends and lovers until someone humors me enough until I fall asleep, or

B) Post to a site not many people know about anyway ...

I choose B!

You have chosen wisely.

Who said that? ...

A few thoughts on my new endeavor:

1. I knew there would be nay-sayers. And I suppose I should say I deserve it (after all, Pez has known me for a long time), but seriously, I don't. Just because I happen to live in place after place without reliable Internet access does not make me unreliable. It makes the Internet unreliable.

2. I'm truly touched that D posted about my blog. She inspires me, and the fact that she believes I might actually stick with this thing is almost enough inspiration for me to do so.

3. I'm pretty fucking stoked about this thing. Getting rid of my old blog was the cyber equivalent of a colon cleansing. I feel like a new person.

Getting back to the point though ... I've been drinking. It wasn't a tough night at work, but it was enough to make me have a few glasses of wine. I should tell you that I work in a restaurant. It's upscale, on a resort island off the East Coast. It's a good job. Good food and wine are important to me, and I'm glad both are part of my daily life. But even nice restaurants are frequented by shitty customers, and tonight was no exception. But I'm not going to rant about how much they sucked. The fact is, I have sucky customers almost every night. Imagine if I let it get to me. I'd have to find a new job, and I don't want to do that. Because even though I complain every once in a while, I like my job. It's low stress, the money is good and I can up and leave whenever I want.

Then why the post? Well, I think Nora Ephron was channelling me. Let's call it a "Sleepless in Seattle"/"You've Got Mail" moment. I was just thinking about what it all means. And even though I know I don't have the answers, I know it's not blogs or dinner out or even good wine. But I'm thankful I have them, you know?

That's Ms. Loser to you

Last week, in the middle of a breakdown, I sent my best friend a laundry list of reasons my life is falling apart. It included, in no particular order, the fact that I have no idea where I'm headed (emotionally and professionally) and that I'll be homeless in less than one month. I then offered her the best example of my inability to accomplish anything: "I can't even keep up my blog!"

That's right. The fact that I couldn't maintain something as simple and (no offense) seemingly unimportant as a blog made me feel like a loser. Today I decided to take control.

Five minutes ago I deleted my first blog. A friend begged me not to, but I rejected her pack-rat mentality, opting instead to Feng Shui my psyche. And I have to tell you, I feel fucking great. I do believe this is what Martha Stewart (God, bless her) would call "A Good Thing."

I started my first Web Log last spring in an effort to keep family and friends posted on my life. I was moving from one coast to the other, and wanted an easy way to keep people informed. This will be more of the same, only different and better. Here's to a fresh start.

drunk nights on bikes