skot AT izzlepfaff DOT com
Friday, 06 February
The Elderly Go Out On The Town
This evening, in a rare instance of non-hermitage (hermitude? hermitization? hermitesse?), the wife and I ventured out to attend a birthday celebration for our friend E. E. turned 29 today.
29. That horrible little bastard. I resent the young. Which is why I offered to buy him a drink. "Jack and coke!" he said, happily accepting the offer. So I bought him poison. Yep. The bartender said, "What can I get you?" I replied, "Poison. What do you have in the way of excruciating poison?" He stared at me for a moment, and then said, "Someone's still under 30, huh?" "Yeah." I started to cry. "Hey, hey," said the bartender, suddenly solicitous. "Don't be like that. You want poison? I understand. You want me to pour him a shot of Jaegermeister?" I thought about it, but in the end, I couldn't do it. It was just too cruel. "No," I snuffled, "just give me a damn Jack and coke." The bartender smiled sympathetically. "You got it." I waited while he made the drink, and then finally said, "Listen. Would you mind spitting in it?"
The place E. had chosen was a genial enough dive up on Phinney Ridge (neighborhood motto: Come For the Torturous Hills, Stay For the Blandness!) called The Tin Hat. Yeah, I don't know either, but I of course immediately mentally renamed it The Tinfoil Hat, and hoped that the patrons inside would be complaining about the influence of the Orbital Mind Control Lasers. No such luck; instead--even better--they had pinball, and seats with duct tape on them, and dubious whore-lighting, and a DJ who spun (according to the posters) "classic country" on Thursdays. Which was only slightly mystifying for those of us who didn't happen to know that the Beastie Boys' "Intergalactic" was classic country. I'm glad to see that our nations's staunchest rednecks are finding their roots again with Jewish white-boy hip-hop, where it all began.
It was a nice evening. I played a few games of pinball, and was horribly reamed by both the vicious magnets inside the board as well as my simply hopeless play; I remember once being pretty good at pinball, but now, at the advanced age of 34, my moaning nervous system is no longer as agile as it once was, so I could only fitfully pound the flippers, erratically beating them in 7/8 time. No longer a good pinball player, I comforted myself with the thought that I could still be a drummer for Primus.
Later, after giving up the pinball debacle, I had a nice discussion with friends L. and P., and we discussed non-actorish people and the silly things they say. I maintained that the worst possible conversational gambit that we normally encounter is: "Hey, you're an actor? That's cool! You know, I did some acting in high school!" Then said person might horribly go on to describe the vertiginous joys of flogging the hell out of their nonspeaking role in The Star Spangled Girl.
Wow! That's fucking great! You know, I did some algebra in high school. It was really rewarding; in fact . . . don't tell anyone, but I can still recite the quadratic equation! Tell me, do architects have to suffer people who say things like, "Architecture? RAD! Man, I once threw rocks at a beaver dam when I was a freshman. You know?"
Maybe they do. I hope so, anyway. Me, I just throw rocks at 29-year-olds and serve them bespittled drinks. It's not much, but I'm content.
Note: Comments are closed on old entries.
I am a psychotherapist. So when I tell people what I do for a living, the usual response is, "So you're analyzing me right now, aren't you?" Yeah, asswad. I don't have anything better to do. Argh.
I see, Stacy. And why did you feel the need to say that twice? Are you upset? Did you feel that we would not understand if you only said it once? How does that make you feel?
(Sorry, I couldn't resist--I'm sure you're a wonderful psychotherapist)
Great Post Skot!
Ok, the repeat comment is gone now...my already sorry excuse for a joke is now even sorrier.
Heh. I deleted the double comment, Jason. BUT YOUR SORRY EXCUSE FOR A JOKE WILL LIVE FOREVER!
I'm a little punchy.
I used to study philosophy.
Man, what a bunch of fancy-pants too-sexy-for-your-attempts-to-find-common-ground people. I'll have to remember next time I ask any actors, psychotherapists, or students of astrophysics what they do, and they tell me, that my response is more along the lines of, "Ooooh, aaaah. You are a fantastic individual!"
(More likely I'll do what I always do, which is not talk to anyone, because for some odd reason when I open my mouth everyone hates me. Just can't imagine why.)
Doesn't everyone do that--the whole 'I did acting in high school' thing? Funnily my philosopher friend used to tell people he was a mathematician to shut people up.
Tin Hat = old-skool logger name for hard hat. I have my grand-dad's, somewhere, and it's shiny alumnium.
Yeesh. Guilty as charged. I was talking with a long-lost-relative last week who recently ran a marathon. I congratulated her and stupidly added, "I ran cross country in high school." I COULDN'T HELP IT. It just sort of burbled out of my mouth and I was left smiling vapidly at her, feeling like quite an ass.
On my way to work, I usually walk through a crowd of hookers, and mostly I just ignore them, but a few days ago one of them said hello, so I told her how I had sex for money a few times back in high school. She might have been offended, but she was pretty nice about it. She asked me what I did for a living, and when I told her that I was a tax CPA, she told me how sometimes her friends get audited, and she represents them. Apparently, she's passed the Enrolled Agent exam, but she usually gets her friends off the hook by giving the revenue agent a blowjob because it's more effective and faster. Then she showed me her financial statements for the past few years, and I got really depressed. But at least I'm still pretty good at algebra.
Geez... you think that's bad? People ask me what I'm studying in college (at the ripe old age of 31), so I tell them, "Anthropology."
"Anthropology, huh? So, what are you going to do with that?"
"Be an Anthropologist."
Or worse, they tell me how much they hated their lone Anthropology class in college. Just underscores why I hate people and try to stay indoors as much as possible.
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