Sunday, September 6, 2015
Cheyenne and Wine
I was hanging out at Wendy's place next door yesterday when I shot this with my phone. I think Cheyenne was contemplating whether her mom's glass of wine was half empty or half full. Or maybe wondering if anyone would notice if a little bit went missing. I just loved the shot:
Wednesday, August 26, 2015
Missing the Sun
I'm a little disappointed today. Actually, I have been for a few days.
Everyone knows you can't change the weather, and if you could it would be incredibly selfish to monkey with it, right? We have had a very, very warm spring and summer here in Washington State this year, and I have enjoyed the hell out of it. I am solar-powered, so unlike most people I talk to, I like it hot. It means less or no clothing.
Which brings me to the topic of my disappointment.
Every year I look forward to the end of August for a particular event called Nudestock. It's an amazing day in an amazing place, with a lot of very laid-back people. The forecast for the weekend this year? Cool and rainy. Argghh. Sure, they have a nice, heated pool, a couple of nice hot tubs, and a fire pit, but what about the in-between times? It's funny to see nudists wearing shirts and nothing else, but it happens a lot during those cool times. It's like a refusal to give in and admit defeat. Don't let the weather win.
Click here for my coverage of last year's event. It was stellar!
I'll hope for a last-minute reprieve in the weather, but I doubt it will happen. It's close enough to Saturday right now that the weather nerds will likely be dead-on with their forecast. Oh well. I'll hope for next year. In the meantime, I guess I'll try to make use of any nice weekends that happen from now on.
If warm sun on skin I feel
my clothing I must quickly peel.
Wednesday, April 1, 2015
R.I.P. Dad
Dad died the other night. Just like that. One day he was there, spewing his disconnected train of thought at full volume to everyone within earshot, and the next day not.
My phone rang at 2:01 this morning, obviously rousing me from my slumber. When I saw who the call was from I knew. She confirmed it when I answered.
"The medics are here with your dad.” She said simply.
"Okay," I answered, "are you going to follow them to the hospital?"
"He's not going anywhere," she said, simply.
"I'll be right there."
I rushed down there as fast as I could, covering the 8 miles in record time. Traffic is very light at a little past 2am. As soon as I turned the corner onto their street I saw the flashing red lights four blocks down. When I walked into the house, mom was sitting fairly calmly at the table. There were two EMT's and two policeman there. As I walked in the door they greeted me with looks of solemn respect, knowing I must be a relative. He was already gone by then of course. He died peacefully in his chair–the chair he ate, slept, and did pretty much everything else in. It was his 'home base.'
The cops were going through the necessary ritual of writing everything down, when they came to the point where they had to take some pictures.
"You might want to leave the room," the officer said gently, "We have to take some file pictures, and we'll have to to roll him over." he said, apologetically. Mom went into the bedroom while they did their work. I stayed. I don't know why, but is felt I had to stay. It was weird. I felt a sort of detached pity for him as they turned him the best they could. Then they they opened his eyes for a picture. That must have been the part that disturbs people. It was definitely a weird sensation to me. I could have done without it.
The EMT's left first, followed not long after by the two policemen. With everyone gone mom and I sat down at the table, just a few feet from dad lying peacefully beneath his old scruffy orange and black Harley throw with only his feet showing. We sat talking and waiting for the fellows from the funeral home to show up. It was strange. We both felt it and commented on it. It was like if we made too much noise we would wake him.
She seemed at rest with the notion that he was finally gone. She had wondered several times in these past months how he had managed to survive the ravages of cancer and dementia that had plagued him. But as comfortable and strong as she tried to portray herself while she was sitting there she also seemed very vulnerable.
I watched the two guys from the funeral home transfer dad's body over to the gurney as mom again retreated to the safety of her bedroom. I gazed at him sadly as they went about their business. That is, until the zipper. The long, drawn-out zipper of finality. The sound I had heard on so many television shows. It seemed so different here. It seemed suddenly very, very real… As if I had been in denial up until that time. I wasn't stricken with a sudden wave of grief, but rather, the situation before my eyes suddenly seemed underlined and italicized. It was real and it was happening.
I sat with mom for another hour or so. We talked and drank coffee. During that time I started contacting everyone. She didn't want to have to deal with it and I couldn't blame her. I didn't want to do it either, but better me than her. Little by little, I got hold of everyone at the “base” of the family triangle, some by phone, some by text. By this time Mom was getting tired. She seemed anxious to have some time to herself. She didn't say, but I sensed it.
I left and went home. R.I.P. to the Old Man on the Porch.
My phone rang at 2:01 this morning, obviously rousing me from my slumber. When I saw who the call was from I knew. She confirmed it when I answered.
"The medics are here with your dad.” She said simply.
"Okay," I answered, "are you going to follow them to the hospital?"
"He's not going anywhere," she said, simply.
"I'll be right there."
I rushed down there as fast as I could, covering the 8 miles in record time. Traffic is very light at a little past 2am. As soon as I turned the corner onto their street I saw the flashing red lights four blocks down. When I walked into the house, mom was sitting fairly calmly at the table. There were two EMT's and two policeman there. As I walked in the door they greeted me with looks of solemn respect, knowing I must be a relative. He was already gone by then of course. He died peacefully in his chair–the chair he ate, slept, and did pretty much everything else in. It was his 'home base.'
The cops were going through the necessary ritual of writing everything down, when they came to the point where they had to take some pictures.
"You might want to leave the room," the officer said gently, "We have to take some file pictures, and we'll have to to roll him over." he said, apologetically. Mom went into the bedroom while they did their work. I stayed. I don't know why, but is felt I had to stay. It was weird. I felt a sort of detached pity for him as they turned him the best they could. Then they they opened his eyes for a picture. That must have been the part that disturbs people. It was definitely a weird sensation to me. I could have done without it.
The EMT's left first, followed not long after by the two policemen. With everyone gone mom and I sat down at the table, just a few feet from dad lying peacefully beneath his old scruffy orange and black Harley throw with only his feet showing. We sat talking and waiting for the fellows from the funeral home to show up. It was strange. We both felt it and commented on it. It was like if we made too much noise we would wake him.
She seemed at rest with the notion that he was finally gone. She had wondered several times in these past months how he had managed to survive the ravages of cancer and dementia that had plagued him. But as comfortable and strong as she tried to portray herself while she was sitting there she also seemed very vulnerable.
I watched the two guys from the funeral home transfer dad's body over to the gurney as mom again retreated to the safety of her bedroom. I gazed at him sadly as they went about their business. That is, until the zipper. The long, drawn-out zipper of finality. The sound I had heard on so many television shows. It seemed so different here. It seemed suddenly very, very real… As if I had been in denial up until that time. I wasn't stricken with a sudden wave of grief, but rather, the situation before my eyes suddenly seemed underlined and italicized. It was real and it was happening.
I sat with mom for another hour or so. We talked and drank coffee. During that time I started contacting everyone. She didn't want to have to deal with it and I couldn't blame her. I didn't want to do it either, but better me than her. Little by little, I got hold of everyone at the “base” of the family triangle, some by phone, some by text. By this time Mom was getting tired. She seemed anxious to have some time to herself. She didn't say, but I sensed it.
I left and went home. R.I.P. to the Old Man on the Porch.
Friday, January 9, 2015
The Hot Tub is Fully Operational!
As we speak the hot tub has been in full operation for a couple weeks. It works awesome! Let's back up...
I spent a week staring at it as it sat on the back of my truck, staring at me like a roadside billboard. Every time I looked out my bedroom window, my living room window that's what greeted me. Driving home from work and turning into my driveway, there it was, like a beacon of WTF... wondering when I was going to do something with it. I'm sure it got more than its share of looks from passersby, too. I couldn't wait to get it off my truck and into place. I wanted to try it out!
That's where friends come in.
I put the word out and got my helpers all lined up for the following Saturday afternoon. As I tend to be somewhat of a "Nervous Nellie" about things, I fretted over it--hoping it would come off without a hitch. My anxiety ramped up a notch when Wendy said the landlord would be showing to fix her toilet (oh no--what if he shows up and sees this giant tub on the back of my truck!) that afternoon. Well, everything went super. Everyone showed up right on schedule, and there were enough of us that it made the move super-easy. It was done in 15 minutes. To top it off, it was in place a full hour before the landlord showed up next door, so that ended up being a non-issue.
It sat in its new home, staring at me out the back door. Now it was time to figure out the wiring and try to find a decent cover for it. At first I was going to put the cover on hold until such time as the tub was fully operational. I just wanted to make sure everything worked before I invested in a new cover. Then I said to myself, "Self... If there's something on the tub that doesn't work you're going to fix it anyway, right? Find a damn cover!" Makes sense. I contacted the place in Seatac where Sue and I bought the new cover for her hot tub. The guy says, "You're in luck. This is the time of year when all our covers are on sale!" Well, believe me--the term "sale" is relative. That became obvious when he told me the price: $350. I'm pretty sure the last cover I bought from them was less than that and it wasn't even on sale. He says, "They're normally $420. Everything went up pretty substantially a couple years ago." Jeez. That's only $80 less than I paid for the hot tub! I thanked him after confirming I had until the end of December to still get that price. Then, after hanging up the phone I remembered Craigslist. I had been checking for covers but hadn't checked for a few days. Imagine my surprise when up popped an ad for an unused (new a year or so ago) cover my exact size! That was a Friday night, and the guy said they were leaving on a trip and wouldn't be back in the area until after Christmas, adding that if I could get there that evening he'd give it to me for $90. The ad had it listed for $125, so I hopped in my truck right away. A gloomy, rainy, dark evening drive to the outskirts of Renton/Issaquah to get it, and the guy let me have it for $80. Score!
I managed to get a little done each day on the installation. Changing the control box over to 110, putting the conduit boxes up, making a power cord--that sort of thing. Then I got to a point where I couldn't string the wiring through the conduit without some sort of fish tape thing. I tried everything too. I didn't want to buy one for one-time use, but fortunately, Wendy's daughter is an electrician, and she dropped one off for me to use a few days later. I got all the wiring strung through and hooked up to a new breaker. I already had the hot tub all cleaned out and ready to fill, so when the power was all hooked up and everything had juice, I put the hose in it and filled it up. It took about 50 minutes to fill... not bad.
When I turned the power on it took right off, humming smoothly. Cool! I went into Nervous Nellie mode again as I fretted over how slow it was heating up. When it powered up the water showed 48. After running for a couple hours it was only up 3 degrees. Seemed awful slow to me! Throughout the evening it ran, making progress, creeping up slowly. The next day I unplugged it when I got home from work--knowing something must be wrong. It seemed like Sue's hot tub got hot way quicker than that! (Of course, I think it was always summer when we filled it.) I did some electrical testing on its circuitry (I found a service manual online) and found nothing wrong. Then I got on the internet and did some more digging and found that it is just slow to heat due to it's heater. Apparently, it's standard 4.0kw heater all right but it only operates at 1.5kw when it's running on 110. Hmm. Okay, I decided to give it another chance. When I got home from work I plugged it back in. I gave it a little time, and a couple days later it was up to temp just fine. I wasn't finished yet though because then I fretted because it kept running. Seemed like too much. Come to find out, it has a default "filter mode" setting that automatically turns the pump on low every 12 hours. But get this: The default is 4 hours! WTF? That means it defaults to running for 4 hours every 12 hours just for filtering?! After digging around, I finally found out how to manually set the filter mode and have it down to running 1 hour every 12 hours. Much, much better.
For those that wonder, it's a Nordic Sport model. It's not your typical hot tub with angled, reclining-type seats built in, so it's not a "fall asleep comfortable" hot tub. It's just got what is basically a circular bench as you can see from this picture (not mine). I guess most of their tubs are geared toward entertaining and conversation. The manual says it's good for 5 people. You could probably put 6 in it if you were really close friends, but the water might go up too high and overflow. That's okay--I don't have that many friends anyway.
I've been in it several times, morning and evening, and I love it.
I spent a week staring at it as it sat on the back of my truck, staring at me like a roadside billboard. Every time I looked out my bedroom window, my living room window that's what greeted me. Driving home from work and turning into my driveway, there it was, like a beacon of WTF... wondering when I was going to do something with it. I'm sure it got more than its share of looks from passersby, too. I couldn't wait to get it off my truck and into place. I wanted to try it out!
That's where friends come in.
I put the word out and got my helpers all lined up for the following Saturday afternoon. As I tend to be somewhat of a "Nervous Nellie" about things, I fretted over it--hoping it would come off without a hitch. My anxiety ramped up a notch when Wendy said the landlord would be showing to fix her toilet (oh no--what if he shows up and sees this giant tub on the back of my truck!) that afternoon. Well, everything went super. Everyone showed up right on schedule, and there were enough of us that it made the move super-easy. It was done in 15 minutes. To top it off, it was in place a full hour before the landlord showed up next door, so that ended up being a non-issue.
It sat in its new home, staring at me out the back door. Now it was time to figure out the wiring and try to find a decent cover for it. At first I was going to put the cover on hold until such time as the tub was fully operational. I just wanted to make sure everything worked before I invested in a new cover. Then I said to myself, "Self... If there's something on the tub that doesn't work you're going to fix it anyway, right? Find a damn cover!" Makes sense. I contacted the place in Seatac where Sue and I bought the new cover for her hot tub. The guy says, "You're in luck. This is the time of year when all our covers are on sale!" Well, believe me--the term "sale" is relative. That became obvious when he told me the price: $350. I'm pretty sure the last cover I bought from them was less than that and it wasn't even on sale. He says, "They're normally $420. Everything went up pretty substantially a couple years ago." Jeez. That's only $80 less than I paid for the hot tub! I thanked him after confirming I had until the end of December to still get that price. Then, after hanging up the phone I remembered Craigslist. I had been checking for covers but hadn't checked for a few days. Imagine my surprise when up popped an ad for an unused (new a year or so ago) cover my exact size! That was a Friday night, and the guy said they were leaving on a trip and wouldn't be back in the area until after Christmas, adding that if I could get there that evening he'd give it to me for $90. The ad had it listed for $125, so I hopped in my truck right away. A gloomy, rainy, dark evening drive to the outskirts of Renton/Issaquah to get it, and the guy let me have it for $80. Score!
I managed to get a little done each day on the installation. Changing the control box over to 110, putting the conduit boxes up, making a power cord--that sort of thing. Then I got to a point where I couldn't string the wiring through the conduit without some sort of fish tape thing. I tried everything too. I didn't want to buy one for one-time use, but fortunately, Wendy's daughter is an electrician, and she dropped one off for me to use a few days later. I got all the wiring strung through and hooked up to a new breaker. I already had the hot tub all cleaned out and ready to fill, so when the power was all hooked up and everything had juice, I put the hose in it and filled it up. It took about 50 minutes to fill... not bad.
When I turned the power on it took right off, humming smoothly. Cool! I went into Nervous Nellie mode again as I fretted over how slow it was heating up. When it powered up the water showed 48. After running for a couple hours it was only up 3 degrees. Seemed awful slow to me! Throughout the evening it ran, making progress, creeping up slowly. The next day I unplugged it when I got home from work--knowing something must be wrong. It seemed like Sue's hot tub got hot way quicker than that! (Of course, I think it was always summer when we filled it.) I did some electrical testing on its circuitry (I found a service manual online) and found nothing wrong. Then I got on the internet and did some more digging and found that it is just slow to heat due to it's heater. Apparently, it's standard 4.0kw heater all right but it only operates at 1.5kw when it's running on 110. Hmm. Okay, I decided to give it another chance. When I got home from work I plugged it back in. I gave it a little time, and a couple days later it was up to temp just fine. I wasn't finished yet though because then I fretted because it kept running. Seemed like too much. Come to find out, it has a default "filter mode" setting that automatically turns the pump on low every 12 hours. But get this: The default is 4 hours! WTF? That means it defaults to running for 4 hours every 12 hours just for filtering?! After digging around, I finally found out how to manually set the filter mode and have it down to running 1 hour every 12 hours. Much, much better.
For those that wonder, it's a Nordic Sport model. It's not your typical hot tub with angled, reclining-type seats built in, so it's not a "fall asleep comfortable" hot tub. It's just got what is basically a circular bench as you can see from this picture (not mine). I guess most of their tubs are geared toward entertaining and conversation. The manual says it's good for 5 people. You could probably put 6 in it if you were really close friends, but the water might go up too high and overflow. That's okay--I don't have that many friends anyway.
I've been in it several times, morning and evening, and I love it.
Monday, December 8, 2014
Hot Tub!
I never knew how much I would like having the option of soaking in a hot tub until Sue bought one several years ago. The best times (to me anyway) were nights when it was really cold--cold enough to leave icy footprints on the frozen deck after getting out, and times I had morning coffee while the light of new day slowly spread across the sky. I've missed the hot tub option.
For a few months I've been scouring the ads--not in any particular hurry--looking for one that was that perfect mix of size, quality, proximity, and price. I believe I responded to four ads during that time, only to get that all to familiar reply back: "Sorry, it's sold." Well, I realized over time that I needed to stop being choosy with location. The odds of one being near home were slim. Well, I finally got one, way the hell over in Aberdeen.
Even this time I was not first to reply to the ad. When I contacted the guy, I was 4th in line. That was Friday. He replied that he was going to be out of town Saturday, and would be back in town midday Sunday. Apparently, none of the others could make it over there until Monday or later. "If you can come Sunday afternoon or evening, I'll move you to the top of the list." Well, that got me moving into action. Normally, I would have been off work this weekend, but on Thursday I volunteered to work for a coworker on his weekend rotation so he could enjoy his little girl's birthday. That meant I had very little time for the usual logistics that go along with something like this.
I got on my email and chatted up my old friend Greg, asking him if it would fit it in one of his trailers. After multiple emails back and forth, it was determined that it could not, and we might be able to place the hot tub across the top of my truck bed if we did it right. Greg said he'd rustle up some boards and come by my place the next day when I got off work. So Saturday I get off work and drive home, and there he is with a custom-built rack system already done and installed in my truck! I couldn't believe it.
All screwed and interconnected, it could not come out unless it was disassembled. It was sweet!
When I got off work Sunday, we hopped in the truck and drove the hour and a half it took us to get to Aberdeen, arriving at our destination in the dark. Lucky for us the guy had assembled a team of friends (in varying stages of sobriety), so when we got there we had no trouble carrying it from the back of the house all the way out to the edge of the front yard. There, we hoisted it over the short chain-link fence that separated the yard from the street and right onto truck which I had backed up to the fence. Greg screwed a few wood cleats alongside of it to restrain it from sliding, and we assembled a nice weave of tie-down straps across the top.
We stopped at a little eatery in Aberdeen and I treated us to a couple beers and a a good meal.
I know for a fact we got a few looks from people on the way home (there was waving out one car window), but it went well, and I got home just about at bedtime.
Here's a shot of what it looks like sitting in front of the house right now:
Now I just need to arrange enough help to get t down off the truck and around the side of the house to its new home.
I can't wait to put it into operation!
For a few months I've been scouring the ads--not in any particular hurry--looking for one that was that perfect mix of size, quality, proximity, and price. I believe I responded to four ads during that time, only to get that all to familiar reply back: "Sorry, it's sold." Well, I realized over time that I needed to stop being choosy with location. The odds of one being near home were slim. Well, I finally got one, way the hell over in Aberdeen.
Even this time I was not first to reply to the ad. When I contacted the guy, I was 4th in line. That was Friday. He replied that he was going to be out of town Saturday, and would be back in town midday Sunday. Apparently, none of the others could make it over there until Monday or later. "If you can come Sunday afternoon or evening, I'll move you to the top of the list." Well, that got me moving into action. Normally, I would have been off work this weekend, but on Thursday I volunteered to work for a coworker on his weekend rotation so he could enjoy his little girl's birthday. That meant I had very little time for the usual logistics that go along with something like this.
I got on my email and chatted up my old friend Greg, asking him if it would fit it in one of his trailers. After multiple emails back and forth, it was determined that it could not, and we might be able to place the hot tub across the top of my truck bed if we did it right. Greg said he'd rustle up some boards and come by my place the next day when I got off work. So Saturday I get off work and drive home, and there he is with a custom-built rack system already done and installed in my truck! I couldn't believe it.
All screwed and interconnected, it could not come out unless it was disassembled. It was sweet!
When I got off work Sunday, we hopped in the truck and drove the hour and a half it took us to get to Aberdeen, arriving at our destination in the dark. Lucky for us the guy had assembled a team of friends (in varying stages of sobriety), so when we got there we had no trouble carrying it from the back of the house all the way out to the edge of the front yard. There, we hoisted it over the short chain-link fence that separated the yard from the street and right onto truck which I had backed up to the fence. Greg screwed a few wood cleats alongside of it to restrain it from sliding, and we assembled a nice weave of tie-down straps across the top.
We stopped at a little eatery in Aberdeen and I treated us to a couple beers and a a good meal.
I know for a fact we got a few looks from people on the way home (there was waving out one car window), but it went well, and I got home just about at bedtime.
Here's a shot of what it looks like sitting in front of the house right now:
Now I just need to arrange enough help to get t down off the truck and around the side of the house to its new home.
I can't wait to put it into operation!
Wednesday, November 26, 2014
I Don't Write Any More!
What happened?
I still have fleeting moments of inspiration, and sudden bursts of creative thought, but not like I used to. It actually worries me (of course, a lot of things worry me). I mean, I have been writing stuff for years. Why did it stop?
In an effort to figure out what caused this shift in my life, I've thought about it quite a bit from time to time. I kept having these bouts of guilt--like I should be writing stuff down. I should be documenting things, re-living things, thinking about things, experiencing things. I thought, "Now that I'm divorced and on my own, I should be writing twice as much. After all, I don't have to find the time to squeeze in a little here and a little there when I have a chance."
After thinking about it, I started to wonder, what if the reason I wrote so much before was because I felt the need to break out of my daily confines? Maybe I was writing so much before because I liked the challenge of sneaking in a little writing here and a little there. Maybe I was escaping. Maybe now that there are no confines of any kind, no challenge of trying to find time to myself, maybe now my mind has gotten so relaxed that I no longer feel the need to put words down.
I don't quite buy it, but there might be something to that.
I have gone through a lot recently--that's a given. I have weathered the emotional turmoil of divorce, the challenges of moving and setting up my home, realigning my finances, and all sorts of things that come with going solo again. During all that, it's no wonder that there was little or no writing done. I was either busy or drained--both physically and mentally--much of the time. Now things have settled down, and instead of writing about things, I will put a movie in the DVD player and drift away into someone else's world.
I had this blog started right after I moved. Then one day I had this feeling I was under the microscope and everybody was watching me, and I took it down from public view. I didn't delete the blog because I really liked the layout and colors, and thought maybe I'd use it in the future. Well, I was just paranoid. I just wanted to keep Sue from reading it, and that was a stupid reason. The old, "cut off your nose to spite your face" saying about covers it. Yesterday I decided to resurrect it and see if it prompts me to write again. Just the fact that I jotted this down means the desire to write is still there--stewing beneath the surface and waiting to re-emerge as before.
And I don't care who reads it.
I still have fleeting moments of inspiration, and sudden bursts of creative thought, but not like I used to. It actually worries me (of course, a lot of things worry me). I mean, I have been writing stuff for years. Why did it stop?
In an effort to figure out what caused this shift in my life, I've thought about it quite a bit from time to time. I kept having these bouts of guilt--like I should be writing stuff down. I should be documenting things, re-living things, thinking about things, experiencing things. I thought, "Now that I'm divorced and on my own, I should be writing twice as much. After all, I don't have to find the time to squeeze in a little here and a little there when I have a chance."
After thinking about it, I started to wonder, what if the reason I wrote so much before was because I felt the need to break out of my daily confines? Maybe I was writing so much before because I liked the challenge of sneaking in a little writing here and a little there. Maybe I was escaping. Maybe now that there are no confines of any kind, no challenge of trying to find time to myself, maybe now my mind has gotten so relaxed that I no longer feel the need to put words down.
I don't quite buy it, but there might be something to that.
I have gone through a lot recently--that's a given. I have weathered the emotional turmoil of divorce, the challenges of moving and setting up my home, realigning my finances, and all sorts of things that come with going solo again. During all that, it's no wonder that there was little or no writing done. I was either busy or drained--both physically and mentally--much of the time. Now things have settled down, and instead of writing about things, I will put a movie in the DVD player and drift away into someone else's world.
I had this blog started right after I moved. Then one day I had this feeling I was under the microscope and everybody was watching me, and I took it down from public view. I didn't delete the blog because I really liked the layout and colors, and thought maybe I'd use it in the future. Well, I was just paranoid. I just wanted to keep Sue from reading it, and that was a stupid reason. The old, "cut off your nose to spite your face" saying about covers it. Yesterday I decided to resurrect it and see if it prompts me to write again. Just the fact that I jotted this down means the desire to write is still there--stewing beneath the surface and waiting to re-emerge as before.
And I don't care who reads it.
Saturday, October 11, 2014
Dance of the Dive Bar
Every town probably has one. The ubiquitous "dive bar" that is the
destination for so many people--the proverbial dangling carrot that
helps them through their day or week of drudgery in a dead-end job. In
the evenings they drift in--the lonely, the desperate, the people
that can't stand to drink alone, or the just plain thirsty people that
have no social expectations.
I was in the mood for a beer and a burger Friday night. I decided I would stop in on a place I had wondered about since moving here. I found that Dave's of Milton on a Friday evening is the kind of place where I am the best-dressed person in the entire establishment, and I don't dress very well.
It's a place where, unbelievably, Bud Light is the best choice on tap. I opted, instead, for something called Irish Death. I'd say the brewery nailed the name perfectly. It looked Irish, but it tasted... well, not good. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was as if something they hadn't planned on spilled into it during the brewing process.
Although they had things other than burgers, the burger page was the part of the menu I was interested in. While I hoped for something unique, it contained only the usual fare you find on every bar menu. There is always one half-pounder, one chili burger, one sandwich bread patty melt of some kind, one regular cheeseburger, one burger with something BBQ on it, and one dip burger. I'm sure I forgot something, but that pretty much covers it. Same menu--different place. In all fairness, the burger I ordered was good.
As I sat there at my little tall table in the bar area, I noted things that caught my eye:
The women seem to be on the hunt. They are the divorcees or the working single moms that managed to get away from their home life for an evening. They do their best to stay attractive and desirable by sporting bottled hairstyles of their youth, which they have lovingly shaped and reassembled for their "night on the town". They stroll in like alumni, at once saying hello to the other regulars and letting their eyes sweep the room--sizing up the crowd for newcomers.
Like the theme song from Cheers, a bar really is a place where they can go, where people will greet them by name. It's a place where they can be comfortable, have a good time, and be treated well.
I was in the mood for a beer and a burger Friday night. I decided I would stop in on a place I had wondered about since moving here. I found that Dave's of Milton on a Friday evening is the kind of place where I am the best-dressed person in the entire establishment, and I don't dress very well.
It's a place where, unbelievably, Bud Light is the best choice on tap. I opted, instead, for something called Irish Death. I'd say the brewery nailed the name perfectly. It looked Irish, but it tasted... well, not good. I couldn't put my finger on it, but it was as if something they hadn't planned on spilled into it during the brewing process.
Although they had things other than burgers, the burger page was the part of the menu I was interested in. While I hoped for something unique, it contained only the usual fare you find on every bar menu. There is always one half-pounder, one chili burger, one sandwich bread patty melt of some kind, one regular cheeseburger, one burger with something BBQ on it, and one dip burger. I'm sure I forgot something, but that pretty much covers it. Same menu--different place. In all fairness, the burger I ordered was good.
As I sat there at my little tall table in the bar area, I noted things that caught my eye:
- The walls of the dining room (it's a bar and a restaurant), once pea-green, but now leaning more toward brown.
- The brightly lit but silent dart machines that lined the wall at the far edge of the dark bar room, hoping someone will step up to play their beer change and wake them from their twinkling slumber.
- The black-painted ceiling, dotted with rectangles of scotch tape from decorations past.
- The fire extinguisher standing behind the bar, trying its best to fit in inconspicuously among the liquor bottles.
The women seem to be on the hunt. They are the divorcees or the working single moms that managed to get away from their home life for an evening. They do their best to stay attractive and desirable by sporting bottled hairstyles of their youth, which they have lovingly shaped and reassembled for their "night on the town". They stroll in like alumni, at once saying hello to the other regulars and letting their eyes sweep the room--sizing up the crowd for newcomers.
Like the theme song from Cheers, a bar really is a place where they can go, where people will greet them by name. It's a place where they can be comfortable, have a good time, and be treated well.
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