Thursday, April 27, 2006

Belly Bar

There’s this place I used to frequent just across the street from Yale in New Haven, Connecticut – its name is Bar. That’s right just Bar. Future Presidents, Congressman and women, Senators, and power brokers congregated there on any given night to kill brain cells. I spent many nights there many nights doing the same.

In the spirit of the Bunions and inspired by Jaye, I will heretofore attempt to create a fictionalized version of that bar populated by the blog characters that I know and love. Hopefully I will not insult anyone to badly.

So there’s this place I go for a drink, conversation, and to ogle the mental musings of some pretty exception folks and the also ogle the asses of beautiful women. Quirky, yes. Opinionated. I’d say so. It’s not the place for the weak of heart. It’s a dirt floor, sock ‘em in the eye, bar where intellectuals, writers, politicians, poets, artists, want-a-be’s, never was’s, never will be’s, the famous, and infamous, all drink from the same trough. The Blog Bar, no place like it on the planet.

It was a firehouse at one time with all the firehouse accoutrements still affixed. On warm summer evenings the roll-up overhead doors are opened to the street and well worn picnic tables are moved out to the sidewalk. The walls and furniture inside is a cross between art deco and late twentieth century house of ill repute. When the wind blows in the right direction, the strong odor of stale beer, urine, and vomit waft through the place and commingle with clove cigarettes and the hint of pot being smoked in the bathrooms. I dig this place though the crowd is rough and fights breakout often.

The regulars are at the oval bar as I take my usual seat facing the opened overheads. I ask for my usual two fingers of Glenlivet on crushed ice as I hear Ivan down at the end of the bar saying something loudly about a Greek God with a large penis. Erik Ivan James nurses an orange juice and looks at Ivan with skepticism.
“Yes, just like the poetry of Dylan and Green Day, there is a Greek God that punished pillagers of fields by sodomizing them.” Ivan says as he sucks down his last gulp of Glenfiddich.
“Seems a bit harsh, don’t you think?”
“He was a God with an enormous penis, he’s just using the tools at hand. Barkeep, another round.”

Sandra enters the conversation but rambles on with a dissertation that goes through the history of Greek Mythology, the average length of an North American man’s penis, comparative anatomy of the New England Newt, and why woman don’t pee standing up and I forgot what Ivan originally was talking about. I guzzled my drink and ordered another.

M.G. long missing from the scene enters the conversation and begins to argue syntax, “ly”, and “was” usage with Sandra. Sandra remains on the penis topic and then implies something about masturbation and bestiality. This peaks Ivan's interest, so he buys Sandra a drink and sits down next to her. To piss M.G. off she starts excessively using adjectives and switch ing POV and tense throughout her lengthy diatribe.

Ms. Snark walks in and is immediately surrounded by writers who hit on her. No, not the trying to get laid “hitting on”, more of a publication mating dance. She is barraged with a thousand unanswerable questions of to seduce an agent, get signed, and get published. She shrugs them off with, “write a damn good book, good query letter, and follow-up. Now get out of my face.”

J.A. sitting at the very end of the bar, having had way too many Scotches, spits a stream of alcohol into the back bar as he cracks up and begins to pontificate about the necessity and benefits of self-promotion and marketing. He ends his tirade with “Fuck SASEs”.

Bernita sits quietly at the bar appart from the others drawing coat hanger cartoons on the bar napkins. I holler across the bar to her , "how's the book coming? Are you putting a lot of sex in it?"
She scowls at me and then smiles, "You men, sex, sex, sex. Is that all you ever think about?"
"Yeah, that and food."
"Well, sex was very prevalent in Medieval times and a time traveling modern woman will have a twenty first century sex drive so I think you"ll like it." She said as she went back to her drawing.
"I'm sure I will."

Microe, Pammy, and 10-8-ious, are all playing pool and talking about having a blog-in that never seems to happen. They are all smoking cigars, drinking cognac, and are in various stages of undress. Wild Bill is sitting in a chair behind it all with a big smile on his face. There conversation turns to hot tubbing.

Jaye walks in with low-rise jeans and a bright midriff shirt. I eye the crack of her ass as she sits down in the open barstool next to me.

“What the hell are you looking at?” She says with a smile.

“A soccer mom wearing low rise jeans? I was looking for your tattoo.”

“Oh, I think you're looking in the wrong place.”

“I couldn’t remember where you said it was.”

“Not there.”

“Sorry, men’s eyes are like a magnet to a female butt crack. You expose it and our eyes go right there. We can’t control it. It’s Pavlovian. Are you going to show it to me?”

“Yeah, right. I don't think my husband would approve. When are you going to start blogging and writing again?”

“I don’t know. Life keeps getting in the way. I’m trying to make a living. I have a new love interest. I’m still trying to figure out what I want to be when I grow up.”

“Don’t we all.” She says as she shakes her head. “Don’t we all. Hey bartender, what’s a gal gotta do to get a drink around here…”

Saturday, April 22, 2006

Tides: a poem...sort of

Tides roll,
as prisms reflect unseen hues,

Winds whisper and hint,
of dreams
that batter shores and shoals,
with a journey beyond conception,

Fate fades,
precious reality rests
where the Sun sets

Thoughts of youth subside,
reside and resolve

the ultimate,
the inevitable,
will occur,

as tides roll,

sun sets,



and fades. . .

by RJB

Saturday, April 15, 2006

The Big Litter Box in the Sky

Once there was a cat in my life and now there is none. The once was a woman in my life and now there is a new one. The cat was one its ninth life when it entered my life, the woman was, well…

Mystery writers seem attracted to cats for what ever reason. Perhaps it’s their independent nature with uncontrollable personalities that border on neurotic.

My cat was originally revived with an oxygen acetylene torch at the manufacturing plant I was running at the time, after a young child had flung the poor kitten from the hayloft at a nearby barn. I thought if it had the spirit to survive it deserved a good home, so I had it for the last seven years.

I had a love hate relationship with it. Its name was Dino after Dean Martin, though I mostly called it Honey. A mutt, orange and white, with the temperament of a pit bull. Honey began as an indoor cat until I was held over in China a week and I came back to a very pissed off cat that had torn up parts of the basement where I had left it. So Honey became an outdoor cat from then on, only venturing back inside when I felt sorry for it on brutally cold days or I was good and drunk and it was the only thing on this planet that cared about me.

It fought constantly with anything; raccoons, possums, other cats, me. It would come home bloodied, with shredded ears, fur of unknown animals in its claws. It developed a Elvis sneer. Its tongue stuck out constantly. It developed a flatulence problem that would usually rear its head around the female in my life. It all fit its attitude. It became quite the hunter bringing me all manner of critters and leaving it at my doorstep.

It used to disappear for a couple weeks at a time and I feared each time it would not return. It’s been gone for about two months now and this time I think it has finally gone to the big litter box in the sky. I miss that battered cat. It’s funny how an animal can enter your life and change it. Much has changed for over the time I had it.

Jobs, women, life.

I never really thought of myself as a cat person but that cat filed a void in my life for many years through many relationships and many ups and downs. I hope where ever it is something or someone does the same for it.

Thursday, April 06, 2006

Life and Writing, an assessment

Why does life seem to get in the way of all plans?

I had intended to be well on my way towards completition of my novel, have several short stories submitted for publication, have the business book that I am co-authoring nearing completion, finish a play that I'm in the second act of, etc., etc., etc.

Life interviens. Work. Dating. Career. Pursuit of love. Dissappointments. Triumphs.

The creative flame that was once burning brightly is flickering, the heart still beats, but the hand no long writes. The interest and passion is still there and my mind turns to it briefly during the day but demands for other things sidetrack me. I can see why Raymond Chandler was not too prolific. To live to write, you must live.

The life I wish to live is no longer nine to five, punch the clock, get the pension. Money, for sure, is very important but relationships are more so. The American dream, as advertised, no longer holds any interest.

So, off I go, chasing dragons to slay, damsils to save, and to write.

To write.

I am recommiting to writing every day. If it's any good, I'll post some here...

Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Quotes of the Day: Love via Sally

"if i love you with all of my heart, she said what will you give me? and then she stopped and said i didn't have to answer that because she was going to do it any way." -kahlil gibran, the beloved

"the thought of you sings, smiles,shines, and dances like a joyous fire that gives out a thousand colors. and penetrating warmth."
-gustave flaubert

" was just saying ah what the heck and letting go, and accepting,...yes, love was accepting."
-rick bass, the watch

"once the realization is accepted that even between the closest human beings infinite distances continue to exist, a wonderful living side by side can grow up, if they succed in loving the distance between them which makes it possible for each to see each other whole against the sky."
-rainer maria rilke

" the greatest weakness of most humans, is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them."
-o.a. battista

"what is a friend?
a soul dwelling in two bodies."

"silence is holy. it draws people together, because only those who are comfortable with each other can sit without speaking. this is a great paradox." -nicholas sparks

"the brain may take advice, but not the heart, and love, having no geography, knows no boudries: weight and sink it deep, no matter, it will rise and find the surface: and why not? any love is natural and beautiful that lies within a person's nature; only hypocrites would hold a man responsible for what he loves, emotional illiterates and those of rightious envy, who in their agitated concern, mistake so frequently the arrows pointing to heaven to the ones that leads to hell."
-capote, other voices, other rooms

Tuesday, April 04, 2006

Quotes of the Day: Changes

The changes in our life must come from the impossibility to live otherwise than according to the demands of our conscience not from our mental resolution to try a new form of life.
Leo Tolstoy

Nature gives to every time and season some beauties of its own; and from morning to night, as from the cradle to the grave, it is but a succession of changes so gentle and easy that we can scarcely mark their progress.
Charles Dickens

For me, a landscape does not exist in its own right, since its appearance changes at every moment; but the surrounding atmosphere brings it to life - the light and the air which vary continually. For me, it is only the surrounding atmosphere which gives subjects their true value. Claude Monet

Colors, like features, follow the changes of the emotions.
Pablo Picasso