The Elterich Cottage in Rhode Island

“Some places are like people. Some shine and some don’t.” –Dick Hallorann, The Shining

For 30 years, the Elterich Cottage in South Kingston, Rhode Island shined. A spacious house tucked away in the woods, within a short driving distance of several beaches, it served as the perfect setting for birthdays, weekends, vacations, spending time with family, partying with friends, or just getting away for a night.

I was 9 when my parents bought the house, set back a good 100 yards from Matunuck School House Road. The dirt driveway, commonly referred to as the entrance to the Batcave, took travelers on a windy path through the woods and eventually opened up to a large grass patch next to a brown, 2-story (including the basement) house and a wooden deck. The deck was massive, large enough to hold 30 years of family gatherings and parties.

A large staircase led from the main deck to a smaller deck and the front door. I always hated sweeping the leaves and sticks off the decks and stairs as a kid. It felt like half of my day was spent sweeping, although it probably took all of 10 minutes. Even on vacation, my parents made sure I understood hard work and responsibility.

I realized early on how lucky I was to have a "vacation" home. It's just not a thing most people have. It took me a little longer to appreciate my parents' openness with the house. When I  was young, it felt obvious that my friends would be able to stay with me for the weekend, and go to the beach and eat burgers and fish and corn on the cob and play ping pong. But not every parent is willing to do that for their kids and kids' friends. My parents also let family and friends stay there when they weren't using it, something else a lot of people wouldn't do, not without charging a crazy amount anyway.

The stairs to the front door of the house have presented a problem in the last few years as my mother has lost the ability to walk. My dad had an electric stair chair installed, which helped for a while. Fortunately, Gremlins never toyed with it and shot my mom up into the night sky, but it was still a lot of extra work to get to a house that was supposed to provide a restful getaway.

More than that, though, maintaining a second house was just too much. We would all have loved to keep the house forever, but the reality is that it cost money and required a lot of effort from my Dad to maintain. Besides, it wasn't getting much use, certainly not enough to warrant the time, money, and effort. We're 90 minutes away, and I'm not really a huge beach guy anyway; one reason I liked the house so much growing up was that it wasn't right on the beach, crowded in with other cookie cutter cottages. My brother and his family are even further away, and the same goes for most of my family. As far as spending weekends there with a big group of friends, it's hard to get a group of friends together nearby, let alone in a different state. Plus people have kids and we're at the age where everyone wants their own bed; sleeping on the floor with some pillows next to three other guys just won't cut it anymore. It's a decent sized house, but long gone are the days when 10-12 people could stay over night comfortably.

Ahh, youth.

It's sad to say goodbye and not have the option of "heading down to Rhode Island" at any time, but it was a necessary step. Moving or selling a house is hard because in addition to losing the house, it feels like losing the memories, too. Every corner of every room contained multiple memories, and being there was like traveling to the past. Each visit also created new memories, stacked on top of the old ones. There was always a special energy in the house, the vibrations of all those cherished moments. Spending time there flooded me with positive feelings. Almost everyone (animals included) I've ever cared for has spent time there.

But of course, memories stay with us, whether the house (or person, or pet) is with us or not. All we can do is cherish those memories.

Although I didn't live there, the house in Rhode Island has been in my life longer than any other home. I lived with my parents in Hartford for 14 years, then West Hartford for about 11 years (my parents have been in WH for 25 years total). But I have been celebrating birthdays and Independence Days, and spending weekends and summer weeks at the house in Rhode Island for 3 decades straight.

Four generations experienced that house, albeit not at the same time. My nieces and my grandmothers both spent time there. I remember being there with my grandmother, E-Mommy, while my parents were out. I jumped off the top deck and somehow hit my chin against my knee, almost biting my tongue off. I ran in crying and she calmed me down, soothed the injury, and told me not to worry about getting in trouble. Exactly what I needed to hear.

Even the things I hated as a kid bring back positive feelings now. When we were down there on the weekend, even when my friends were there, we always had to go to church, where a guy played guitar poorly and everyone sang poorly. But that was the price we had to pay to go to the flea market (which had cheap t-shirts and baseball cards) and the beach, or to get corn on the cob and rent a movie from the local video store.

There was a local video store! I remember watching Ace Ventura over and over for an entire weekend one time with a friend. For a long time we only had basic cable, so we didn't have many options if we didn't rent a movie. I remember watching many episodes of The Commish and Father Dowling's Mysteries. We also had a ton of puzzles and board games. My two favorite were always Pictionary and Pass the Pigs.

I loved being down there with friends, or just my brother and parents. I really liked the solitude as well. I had a lot of time to myself, and I read a lot. I also explored the woods around the house, but I never went too deep because the mosquitoes were monstrous. I loved the little stream next to the house, where ducks and geese would swim by and sometimes come up to the porch for bread. Until our dog Dakota caught one. They found another stream after that.

I also got to drive my Dad's old little red moped around town. I'd spend hours riding. If a friend was down there we'd alternate between the moped and a bike. I only ran out of gas once, and only fell off once. I also burnt my leg on the exhaust once and my hair still doesn't grow there. But I'll always think of the little red moped when I think of Rhode Island.

And the ice cream shop. Tropic Frost. It just wasn't a trip to Rhode Island without stopping there. My mom had to get her black raspberry chocolate chip. I had to get a massive hot fudge sundae. That was always a great way to end a day at the beach.

Early on we put up a basketball hoop in the driveway. Even though the court was mostly dirt and stones, we made the most out of it, until it was too rotted out. We also made the most out of the ping pong table, which was lopsided when we first got it. I don't know how it lasted a weekend let alone 30 years. If you leaned on it the whole thing collapsed. But I honed my ping pong skills there and now use my superior ping pong skills to beat kids at work.

Although I never really got into it, I remember fishing with my dad. Charleston Beach has the breachway, a large rock formation jutting out into the ocean. I liked climbing and walking on that more than the actual fishing, but I appreciate my dad taking me with him and teaching me. Even if I don't take up an activity, it doesn't mean I didn't enjoy or appreciate the experience. I mostly didn't like waking up early. Even though fishing wasn't my thing, there's nothing better than eating fish right out of the ocean. I vividly remember a blackfish he caught and cooked up. Before I really got into eating fish, I always loved eating what he caught, even though I could never join him in cleaning the fish.

I always preferred crabbing to fishing. Moonstone Beach had a great spot for blue crabs. There was a small sand bridge over a lagoon, right before the beach itself. We'd stand on the bridge and drop a fishing line tied to a big chicken drumstick into the water. When we first started, we'd see a dozen crabs scurrying after the chicken. When one grabbed on, we'd slowly pull it closer until we could reach it with a net, then scoop it right out. We'd catch ten in an hour. A couple giant snapping turtles lived in there, and we scooped those bad boys up, too. We'd immediately put them back but it was cool to watch them snapping their teeth at us. In later years, we'd be lucky to catch a couple crabs the entire afternoon. Maybe we overdid it those early years.

Of course, those weren't the only type of crabs you could catch at Moonstone Beach....I think that was the first place I saw the nude body of a stranger in real life. Going to a nude beach was...not exactly the experience I imagined it would be. Mostly because the beachgoers at Moonstone tended to be members of the AARP. It was one of my first experiences learning the value of limited expectations. But I also learned to appreciate body positivity and that people are entitled to do what they want with their bodies, even if they maybe shouldn't.

As I got older, my parents trusted my friends and I with the house for occasional getaways. We always managed to respect the house while enjoying ourselves. I even willingly swept the decks! Only once, the cops were called on us. Actually, it was twice but in the same night. The vast woods around the house carry every single sound, and apparently our neighbors didn't like our sing-a-long. But we loved it.

It would have been great to always have it as an option for vacations or weekends, but we're not rich, and healthcare is an expensive, tragic joke in this country. The house wouldn't be used enough to make it worthwhile. Holding on to it just for the sake of memories isn't realistic, and it wouldn't be fair, either. Houses are for people to use, not sit empty for 350 days of the year. It's a great house and space, and hopefully some other family or group of people can make the lasting memories that we did.

So, Elterich Cottage, thanks for the memories. Mom and Dad, thanks for providing this amazing place for me and Mike to experience during our formative years, and well beyond. Family and friends, thank you all for helping to make this place special. It will be greatly missed, but it's time to move on. So it goes.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

The Last Grandparent

I never knew my grandfathers. One died before I was born, the other died shortly after. Luckily I had good relationships with my grandmothers, who lived into their 90s. But I was only 12 when my mom's mom died and 26 when my dad's mom died, so although I was lucky to have them in my life at all, I still feel like I didn't get enough time with them.

About 7 years ago, which was about 7 years after my last grandparent died, I received an unexpected gift: another grandmother. When my girlfriend Amy was sure enough about me to introduce me to the family, her own last grandparent, Pauline--Nani, immediately accepted me and loved me like only a grandmother can. I met her when she was in her late 80s, but with her short, grayish-white hair always perfectly permed, and a mind as sharp as her outfits, she looked and functioned like she was in her 60s. Whenever I saw her, she'd tell Amy and I how much she loved us and our relationship. It was always great to sit and chat with her, talking about her life growing up or about the trips Amy and I went on. Sometimes she'd complain about getting older but always with a wry sense of humor. Like many strong willed people, she seemed to resent the aging process, with the constant pain and not being able to function as she once did. Still, at 96, she was in incredible shape mentally and physically. But with that health came a sad irony: she outlived most of her family and friends. She never wallowed in despair, but she often acknowledged the loneliness she felt.

Despite the pain and loneliness of living for nearly an entire century, she seemed to relish her role as the family matriarch and she did her best to make it to every family function, where she'd always be the most highly revered guest, reminiscing with her kids and grandkids and playing with the greatgrandkids.

Recently she was diagnosed with lymphedema. Her time had come, and she was ready. Last week she began the process of entering hospice care, and early this week she passed away.

I was able to visit her a few days before she died. She was still herself, but her health was beginning to decline, and she becoming tired and a little confused. Morphine was also starting to have an effect on her capabilities, but at least it was taking her pain away. As she sat and talked with Amy and I, along with Amy's parents, we asked if she wanted lunch, knowing that it very well could be her last real meal. She looked at me and said, "You know what I want? A McDonald's cheeseburger."

So the 96 year old daughter of immigrants who grew up in Hell's Kitchen ate a McDonald's burger and fries for her last meal. I have never seen anything so American. I wanted to salute her and sing the National Anthem.

In all honesty, it was a perfect meal for the situation. Although I haven't eaten McDonald's in a while, it still reminds me of childhood, when a visit to McDonald's with the family was a special treat. McDonald's has gotten a bad rap over the years, and rightfully so. People eat it because it's quick and cheap, and it's undoubtedly contributed to the obesity epidemic, but it's an undeniable cultural marker and a part of most Americans' lives (maybe even most humans in general now). The meals can be very tasty, but I think we taste nostalgia more than the food itself. Food has the ability to bring us back to a specific time and place and emotion. The burger or chicken nugget is just a delivery system for joyful memories and feeling like a kid again. Nani didn't necessarily want a cheap burger, she wanted the memories of eating McDonald's with her family and friends throughout her life. It's called comfort food for a reason, and at this point, comfort was her number one priority.

I have many positive memories involving McDonald's, and now I can add one more very special memory to the list.

After eating, Nani made sure to tell us how much she loved Amy and I. She had also become somewhat close with my mom over the last few years, a bond formed by their battles with deteriorating health. She told me to give my mom her love and reminded me to always speak to my mom from my heart, a line so perfect it felt like dialogue from a Pulitzer Prize-winning novel.

She cried a bit, and it was clear she was afraid, but more than anything she was ready. I have never been so close to someone who knew they were dying soon. I know how emotional it was for me, so I can only imagine how it was for her. I don't think everyone has her strength in their final days. Having lived a good life helps with accepting death, I suppose. She had previously said that she was ready to die, but it was now an impending reality, and death is still the great unknown. Her mental capacities were working enough to know that death is scary regardless how prepared she was. But she was ready, and I only hope I can ever be as brave.

It's said that people often wait for "permission" from loved ones to finally let go; maybe that's the case, but she was not exactly the type to ask "permission." It felt more like she was satisfied with her life and ready for death, and she wanted her family to be ready as well. She waited for Christmas and the New Year (she made it 11 decades!). She waited until most family members saw her one last time, then she went on her own terms, surrounded by family. That's the best anyone can ask for, and it's what she deserved.

I only knew her for a few years, but I'm so grateful to have had her in my life. Everyone should get the opportunity to spend more time with a grandparent, especially one like her.

Goodbye, Nani, my last grandmother. You will be missed.

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

Prof Thuggy's Movie Reviews

I have written some movie reviews on this blog over the years and it's always fun, and I've always meant to do more, or at the very least, write personal journals or notes about movies, but I never motivated myself to do it. I generally watch movies for enjoyment, a way to relax, and although reviewing movies is fun, it's also a chore. Sometimes motivation needs to come from an outside source; money is a big motivator, but that's not happening for online movie reviews. Sometimes, the necessary motivation can come from something even simpler, like new technology or an app on your phone.

Letterboxd is an app that lets you easily rate and review any movie, and connects you with other people doing the same. Since I downloaded it in October, I've reviewed every movie I've watched. I hope people are enjoying reading the reviews as much as I enjoy writing them, but honestly I'm gonna keep doing them either way, you can't stop me!

I don't know why the app has motivated me so much. I could have easily logged into this site or opened the Notes app on my phone and reviewed any movie. I think a lot of little elements came together perfectly to finally overcome my laziness.

There's the social aspect of Letterboxd. There's a sense of "community" and it's easy to share reviews and find other people's reviews (although the interface could be a lot better). A lot of comedians and historians or just funny, knowledgeable people share their takes on movies. It's an easy to use writing app with a comprehensive movie database. Cast and crew, ratings, reviews, anything you want to know about a movie.

I love the simple 5 Star rating system that lets you easily compare your feelings about a movie to the public's. There's also a "like" button, which is an important distinction from a rating. My ratings aren't based completely on whether I "like" a movie or not. I don't like some very well made movies, but I like some very shitty movies. The "like" button gives a simpler yet more absolute take on the film. Did you enjoy the thing or not? I don't enjoy most 1-2 star movies, but I can definitely appreciate an over the top terrible 1-2 star movie with objectively horrible special effects, a dumb story, and awful acting (like Halloween 3). I may give a well made movie a 3 but I might not "like" it because it's dull or derivative or directed by Woody Allen. Or maybe it's not a genre that I overly enjoy; a beautifully made romantic period piece probably won't get more than a 3 and a half stars from me at best. Then again, I can appreciate most types of movies, from Citizen Kane to Road House (the Citizen Kane of redneck bar brawl movies) and I take into consideration the genre and the purpose of a movie when rating. There are different scales for different genres. I won't rate Dumb and Dumber on the same scale as Dunkirk because they have vastly different purposes. If a comedy succeeds at being funny, it gets a good rating. If a psychedelic mystery thriller succeeds at being trippy and mysterious and fun, it gets a good rating. Then there's horror. The quality of a horror film isn't just based on whether it's scary. A Nightmare on Elm Street is undoubtedly a classic and it's not scary at all. It's uniquely absurd. A horror movie can be considered a classic if it's really scary or creepy, or if it creates an interesting, unique mythos, or if it's extra gory, or if the special effects are really good, or if the special effects are reallly bad, or if it's purposely funny, or non-purposely funny. Horror is the most subjective of all genres. I think originality is the most important thing for a horror movie. It doesn't even need to be a completely original story, sometimes just an original spin on a story, or even an original spin on one part of a story, is enough. Shit, even if it's completely unoriginal but the story is told well, that can be a solid horror movie. Like the remake of Texas Chainsaw in 2003. Horror fans don't ask for much, and sadly, Hollywood still barely meets expectations.

Ultimately, I try to take in to account my personal feelings about the movie as well as the technical achievements of the film, like the acting, writing, special effects, cinematography, soundtrack, what have you, so I would never give something a 4 or 5 that I don't actually "like."

I put a lot of thought into my reviews and ratings. I agonize over a half star. But I'm doing that for myself. I don't care if I'm "right" or if anyone agrees. I try to use my knowledge of films and film history and the fundamentals of storytelling to inform my reviews and ratings, but I am mainly trying to clarify and document my own feelings for each movie I watch, so I rate movies by simply trying to compare each one to every other movie I've ever seen.

And let's be honest, I'm getting to that age where I don't remember every detail of every movie I've ever seen, and sometimes even main aspects of a movie, so this also serves as a reminder. Now to be fair, it's not all age, I've also seen a lot of movies in the last 40 years. I've read a lot of books, watched a lot of shows...it's hard to keep all this shit straight!

I also like the thought of having these reviews to read in the future. If I rewatch a movie I want to reread my review because something I love now might seem shitty in 10-20 years, like most 80's comedies. 

Most of all, reviewing movies is plain old fun. It's just talking movies, man! Show your appreciation, repeat your favorite lines, make fun of the actors, acknowledge some little unimportant but cool thing one of the actors did or maybe some little special effect failure that ruined the whole movie, try to figure out deeper meanings of the story, point out connections between other movies. I love telling people about good movies. The only thing I like more is telling people about bad movies. I also love arguing about movies. It's fun to disagree about whether a movie is good or shitty or The Best Movie of The Decade or The Worst Thing I've Ever Seen because...it literally doesn't matter. It's all entertainment. It's all opinion. It's the best type of argument because there can be no right or wrong. We can watch the exact same thing and even have the exact same understanding of it, and yet we can come to the exact opposite conclusion as far as whether it was "good" or not. I know some things about cinema and history and literature that help me appreciate and understand movies, but my opinion doesn't mean more than anyone else's. When it comes down to it, you like what you like, I like what I like and it doesn't matter, and we're both right. People get upset sometimes because we often identify closely with the entertainment we enjoy, so someone calling your favorite show garbage feels like someone calling you garbage. I assure you, it's not the same. Unless we're talking about the Big Bang Theory. That's a garbage show for garbage people.

But I'm thankful for Letterboxd, another technological innovation that has improved my life. We focus so much on the negative when it comes to technology. We either fantasize about technology taking over society and enslaving, or we complain about every new invention rotting the brains of the younger generation, even as adults use the same things. Think about what different technologies have allowed us to do throughout the ages, and think abut the backlash to each new invention. Internet and smartphones are "ruining" the youth now, but typewriters, calculators, even watches were all going to bring about the end of civilization. And while there certainly can be harmful elements to any technology (hello, guns!) most technology has served its purpose to vastly improve practical functions. I can write a lot more effectively and efficiently on a computer than with a pen or on a type writer. Hell, even guns keep getting better at their main function: killing.

Technology also gets blamed for influencing bad behavior because of ease of access. Again, that certainly holds true for guns, but think about porn as well (guns and porn, this is my most American post yet!). While porn was always huge, more people than ever can watch it or participate in it because the internet. Now, there's the whole argument about whether porn is "bad behavior" or not, but that's for another time. Regardless, I think technology influences behavior in positive ways more so than negative. Technology can provide a stimulant to act because of the ease of function, and while that may lead to more porn, it can lead to more creative writing or research or even healthier living. I'm doing these reviews now because it's easier than it's ever been, and I started exercising more recently because I found a cheap yet quality stationary bike that I can easily ride while watching movies on Netflix on the big screen in my living room . Thanks, scientists and engineers!

If you want to join the fun, download Letterboxd or visit their website. Follow me, Prof Thuggy, at https://letterboxd.com/realearl13/

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

9 Albums That Built Me

The hashtag #9goodalbums was going around social media a while back and I figured I'd finally give it a whirl. This list is supposed to contain 9 good albums that "built me," and generally I stay away from these things because I hate limiting my influences/favorites. 9 spots could never actually cover the albums that had a major impact on me. Inevitably, a few great ones are left off, but so be it. Gotta start somewhere.

The following albums are mostly from my youth. There have been incredible albums in the last 20 years, but I've found that with most people (myself included) the most "influential" music is generally that which you first fall in love with.

Motley Crue - Girls Girls Girls

A "Best of The Beach Boys" cassette is one of my earliest memories of music. I think it was my parents' tape, but I grew very attached to it. I loved their intense positivity and vocal harmonizing. It always felt like I was being whisked away to a California beach when I listened to them. I even had a Beach Boys windbreaker. 

My Dad also had several "Best of Motown" cassettes, with the greatest hits from each year of Motown's heyday. Between that and listening to the Oldies station on the radio during long car rides, I was exposed to a lot of older music, which I'm very thankful for. As I grew up, I was able to see the influence on current music, and even recognize some samples and reconfigured melodies.

Most of the stuff I listened to as a very young kid could be described as "pretty" and melodic. Then came Motley Crue. I saw a video (probably Smoking in the Boys Room, from their previous album) and it opened up a whole new world of possibilities. It was the anti-establishment, don't give a fuck attitude I didn't even know I needed. These were hard rocking, long haired weirdos with motorcycles and girls all around them, the essence of cool to a prepubescent boy. 

I loved Motley Crue for a while. They rocked out, they had singable hits, they were fucking crazy...Nikki Six was literally dead from a heroin overdose, paramedics revived him, and he went right back for more heroin! That's a rock star!

I don't think I was even "into" girls when this came out, but this album let me know that liking girls was cool. It also told me that long hair, leather, motorcycles, and smoking in the boy's room were cool, but somehow, those things never caught on with me.

DJ Jazzy Jeff & The Fresh Prince - He’s the DJ, I'm The Rapper 

This album changed my musical direction for good. I had enjoyed some rap songs before this point. I liked Run DMC, some Biz Markie, Tone Loc. But I was still mostly into Motley Crue and Van Halen. When this album and its videos came out, hip hop took over my musical preferences completely.

Will's charisma and humor always got the spotlight, which coincided with the larger trend in hip hop of MCs starting to take the spotlight from the DJs, who were always top billing up to this point. Technically, Jeff even had top billing in this group, and with good reason: he was a phenomenal, one-of-a-kind DJ. Without his backing, Will Smith may never have been the global megastar he is today. The Fresh Prince persona brought people in, but Jeff kept them coming back. Despite the success of Will's solo music career, the quality of his later music just never compared to his Fresh Prince days.

This album has the obvious hit singles (Parents Just Don't Understand, Nightmare on My Street) but the album cuts are the true gems. Here We Go Again, Brand New Funk, Charlie Mack - First Out the Limo. Insanely fun jams that still hold up. Then there was Human Video Game with Ready Rock C doing beatbox versions of Sanford and Sons underwater....just awesome stuff. Live at Union Square gives a good glimpse of how well Will and Jeff rocked a crowd, and how well they represented the fundamental elements of hip hop.

As silly and "commercial" as Fresh Prince could be, this album is truly iconic, a highlight of 80s hip hop that withstands the test of time.

Leaders of the New School - A Future Without a Past

This was an incredibly influential album in my life, which I purchased because I thought Scenario was on it. I ended up buying The Low End Theory for Scenario, and that is one of my favorite albums of all time (which I didn't include here because I talked about it enough already) so it all worked out, and I learned two things: always check the track list, and you can never go wrong when Busta Rhymes is involved.

Ok, maybe not never.

Similar to Fresh Prince, these guys were funny as hell. This album took on some serious issues (Just When You Thought It Was Safe, Too Much on My Mind), but always with a smirk and a snap about your mother. They all had their own identity and style, but on this album everything meshed perfectly. There's a 12 minute outro where they thank people in their lives and shout out other rap groups, and I could still sit and listen to the whole thing.

A few years later, Busta Rhymes began his ascent to hip hop superstardom. Sadly, they only have one other album together, which is also good. I always loved Busta (he blew my mind on Scenario) but Chalrie Brown may have been my favorite. Pinocchio's Theory is such a bizarre and awesome song. And Dinco D is still underrated.

Gang Starr - Daily Operation

I heard Take it Personal on BET Rap City and I was transfixed. How could this mellow, smooth-voiced short dude sound so menacing? My head was bobbing uncontrollably and I wanted to hit someone over the head with a pool cue for stuntin on me. The scratches on the chorus were beautiful; besides Jazzy Jeff, I had never heard scratching sound so majestic. The beat was hypnotizing, with those interjecting piano keys looped throughout.

Then I heard Ex Girl to the Next Girl, with those horns? I had to have the tape.

But there was a problem. It had an Explicit Lyrics sticker (Thanks Tipper Gore!) and I was 11 years old. When I went to the mall with the family, I split off and went to Sam Goody, where I quickly purchased it (thanks, non-caring Sam Goody employees!) with the money I made weed whacking. Then I carefully peeled off the sticker before showing it to my parents. Honestly though, it was barely explicit. It had a few swears, but I think labels were just tossing stickers onto every rap album.

This album also introduced Jeru the Damaja and Group Home, artists I loved for a while. Gang Starr made a couple classics after this (Hard to Earn, Moment of Truth) but there's a special place in my heart for this album.

Wu-Tang Clan - Enter the Wu-Tang: 36 Chambers

Whew. Enter the Wu-Tang. What the hell was this? Do people understand what it was like to hear this album in 1993? Like nothing I had heard before.

I heard M.E.T.H.O.D. Man a few times, including once at a roller skating jam at Bulkeley High School that my mom must've been chaperoning because I was still in middle school. It was cool, and Meth had that star charisma, but it didn't stand out that much. But then came Mystery of Chessboxin. The video. The beat. The lyrics. Mindblowing. It was like the comic books I loved and kung fu movies I had seen on Saturday afternoons coming together to create an atomic bomb of awesomeness. They had the same attitude and vibe as Motley Crue, except with timbs, jeans, and hoodies instead of leather pants and long hair. They had the same energy and cohesiveness as Leaders of the New School and A Tribe Called Quest. There were so many different styles and voices that you were bound to connect with at least one.

This album was hard as hell, but what often gets overlooked by hip hop albums deemed "gangster" or "street" is the humor. Try not to laugh during the "torture" skit. The Coen Brothers can barely do dark humor that well (one of my favorite movies ever is Fargo, which came out 3 years after this). There is wit and a dark humor throughout the album that better illuminates the tragic realities these guys were exposing. And the music...the grittiness, the grooves, the sound effects....everything combined to create this pure, unique musical experience that has still never been matched.

Their next album is also a classic (and the two after that are good) and several of the members have classic solo albums, but nothing could ever match this album's impact and appeal. Soowoo! 

Redman - Dare iz a Darkside

This is one of my all time favorite albums and Redman's entire persona and discography is hugely influential to me.

From the album cover (a reference to Funkadelic, which I didn't even get until years later) to the red cassette tape, to Redman's frenetic energy, absurdist humor, and magnetic charisma, I can't say enough about this. It came out my freshman year of high school which was not a good year for me overall. Redman provided me with a much needed release. I could lose myself every time  I put on my headphones and listened. But I could also find myself. Thanks to Redman and especially this album, I realized I could be different and weird and upend expectations. This was a departure from his previous album (which is also great) and was met with a lot of skepticism and criticism. But the music and the man were undeniable. This was who he was and the music he wanted to make, and you were going to love it.

After this album, he made several more classics, which sold even better, and he shot to superstardom with Method Man. When Redman made it, I felt like a part of me had made it. I mean, watch his Cribs episode and tell me you don't love that guy and want to root for him forever.


Outkast - Southernplayalisticadillacmuzik

For a while, I didn't want to believe Southern rappers were good. I liked Geto Boys but that was about it. Hell I barely gave West Coast rap a fair shot. Nothing could beat the East Coast!

Then came Andre and Big Boi, putting all that to rest. Their accents and their vibe and the local references I didn't quite understand drew me in. All of a sudden, the notion that geography mattered when it came to music seemed absurd. At 13/14 years old, "cool" meant more than anything, and these motherfuckers were cool. They had taken the mantle from Motley Crue and rock stars. They even made Atlanta Braves gear seem cool and I hate the Braves!

They, Andre especially, grew increasingly weird over the next albums (all verifiable classics) but the quirkiness was apparent here. They embraced their black, Southern culture completely and wore it as a badge of honor. And they were so cool and confident that the mainstream had no choice but to embrace them eventually.

I love all their albums (except the Idlewild soundtrack, which was still decent) but this and Aquemini are by far the most influential. Aquemini was a staple at college. They had grown so much as artists and people, yet the're chemistry together was even better; they were diving deeper into personal and social issues, and they were even weirder. To be honest, I could have put Atliens or Stankonia here, too. But this is where it all started, so it gets the nod.

Mobb Deep - The Infamous

I was 14/15 years old, unhappy at school, going through puberty...I needed something, I didn't even know what it was. It turns out, I needed two teenagers from Queensbridge to make one of the most sinister, neck-breaking, face-punching hip hop classics of all time.

Mobb Deep had Outkast's coolness but with a side of menace. There wasn't much quirkiness or humor either. This shit was dark. The beats somehow made you want to simultaneously zone out and think about the meaning of life while punching everyone who ever wronged you. I refused to wear any boots besides Timberlands for a decade because of this album. This album sounds like a harsh winter spent in an alley playing cee-lo for shots of Hennessey. This album sounds like teens working through depression in an unbelievably harsh environment...because that's what it was. And it is beautiful. 

Danny Brown - XXX

I had to put this on here because this album was the beginning of a new era in hip hop to me. The late 2000s were particularly slow/weak for hip hop. There were some solid acts out there, and some veterans still making good music, but it had grown pretty stagnant. I had gotten really into downtempo/trip hop/instrumental acts like Bonobo and Blockhead. Rappers were starting to bore me. It was on Blockhead's blog where I first heard of Danny Brown. Blockhead was raving about him. I then saw a few other blog posts doing the same, and I finally checked him out.

He was definitely unique. I didn't take to his music right away, and I think he purposely makes it not easily accessible, especially beginning with this album. But I dug his originality and wit and overall vibes. Then I gave this album a focused listen, and it finally hit me. This was what and who I had been waiting for for a decade, at least since ODB passed, or since the last proper Outkast album dropped. Hip hop had life again. Excitement. It was breaking boundaries.

During the recording of this album, Danny was dealing with turning 30 and reflecting on his life...at the same time I was turning 30. I can't exactly say I lived a similar life, but I could definitely relate to the emotions he was expressing about getting older, worrying about running out of time, worrying about whether he'd ever be good enough, etc.

Plus he was just funny as hell. And once I got used to his high pitched yelp, I could hardly listen to any artist with a regular voice anymore.

Although Danny was 30 and had been making music for years, he was still part of a "new school" of rappers that I discovered around this time. After hearing XXX, I wanted to check out what other new artists were doing, and I discovered Schoolboy Q and Black Hippy, Roc Marciano, Freddie Gibbs (all artists who Danny has worked with). My faith in hip hop was restored. Thanks Danny!

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

Reactions, Retractions, and Re-reactions

So we've all seen the videos of the MAGA kids and the Native American man in DC, then we've all seen the pushback claiming we didn't see what we saw, then maybe you saw the main kid making the rounds on TV saying he has nothing to apologize for, or you saw Trump tweeting they did nothing wrong. The entire incident is mind-numbing and such a perfect microcosm of the bullshit we've all endured for the past 2 and a half years.

Let me start with this: in my opinion, the longer videos change nothing. The MAGA *cough cough Klan cough* hat wearing kids were disrespectful and mocked the Native. The initial angry response to the incident was a response to that, and the fact remains that many people see it as disrespectful. But, "disrespect" is a matter of opinion. Maybe you saw the kids' actions as racist and disrespectful, maybe you saw their actions as simply typically assholeish for a group of kids, or, maybe you didn't see them as disrespectful at all. I don't see how that's possible, but it's still all a matter of opinion.

And yes, there was more to the story, and more is added to the story every day because as a society we'd rather focus on shit like this than something more meaningful. Part of it is that we feel helpless to change meaningful things (all of my calls to Senators and angry videos have done nothing to end our government's treatment of immigrants or our multiple wars) so we rant and rave about shit like this. And here I am, still doing it. But I think that as ridiculous as the whole situation is and how far out of hand it has gotten, the incident is illuminating, and I'll try to make my final say right here.

First off, there was a group of Black Israelites harassing everybody there. Black Israelites are out of their minds in general and they were definitely in the wrong here. As anyone who has walked past them in NYC or any other major city, the best way to deal with them spouting nonsense is to ignore and walk on by. They initiated the entire problem, and that is important to understand, but again, doesn't change anything.

Secondly, some people responding to the initial videos absolutely took it too far. There is no reason to post these kids' names and addresses online. For what? Are you going to go harass kids? Threaten them? They were being little shits, they didn't hurt anybody. I'm all for protesting at Mitch McConnell's house, he's a public official doing harm with his policies, but you don't harass and threaten dickhead kids. You make a video yelling at them and keep it moving!

Thirdly, there is a larger societal problem with people reacting to things without fully thinking them through or knowing the whole situation. On social media there is an imperative to be the first to say or post something, which means a lot of people don't fully verify what they are saying or posting. Of course, that's usually what goes viral, not the facts. However, the facts of this incident don't change my response to the kids' behavior.

Fourthly, the media and people on social media did get some things wrong. Many people thought Nathan Phillips was just sitting there and the kids surrounded him. That didn't happen (that certainly would have been worse). Some outlets called him a Vietnam vet (I did as well) but he said he was a Vietnam-era vet in his interview. CNN then ran with "Vietnam Vet." Hey, maybe Trump is right about CNN being shitty? *insert broken clock metaphor*



So now for the incident in question. Nathan Phillips was there for an Indigenous People's March, and the MAGA kids were there for a March for Life. They both had a right to be there. (There's a whole other article to be written about Catholic schools letting kids wear political paraphernalia on a school sanctioned trip, and the fact that Catholic schools bus in kids for an anti-abortion event, but that's for another time.) Black Israelites were there (maybe for the March for Life? they actually hold beliefs that align much closer with Trumpers than liberals or any other group) to start shit, because that's what they do wherever they go.

As I see it, Nathan Phillips walks up between the two groups (MAGA and the Black Israelites) to diffuse things which seemed to be getting out of hand. Some people think he never should've done that, but that's what peacemakers do, take initiative before things get worse. No other adults were being responsible, so he took it upon himself. He's clearly not aggressive (unless you really hate drums, I guess). Now, the main kid (Smug Smirker) claims he was personally trying to diffuse things. So he stood in Phillip's face smirking while the rest of the kids chanted and laughed and acted like asshole kids. It's certainly possible Smug Smirker wasn't trying to disrespect him, but that's exactly how it looks, and many other kids are actively mocking Phillips, so it's hard to separate one possibly non-disrespectful kid from a group of his disrespectful friends right behind him.

It’s also impossible to disconnect the MAGA hats from what it has come to represent. History and culture and politics frame the situation,which is what mostly caused the outrage. The kids can claim they're not racist (despite mocking Natives) but the hat is definitely a symbol of racism. People have literally used the words “Trump” and “MAGA” to taunt minorities across the country (and a study showed that areas that voted for Trump saw an increase in bullying in schools). Also, Trump’s policies are directly harmful to minorities, including Natives. Not to mention, Trump himself constantly insults people, even using Native names as insults. Teens and kids may not make those connections, but it’s the same as wearing confederate flags on their clothes: they might not fully understand the implications but that doesn’t erase the implications. I'm sure part of wearing the hat is being seen as rebellious (although supporting a guy who controls the federal government is not exactly rebellious) but it’s not like they're wearing a weed shirt or an offensive band name. MAGA means something specific. Trump has been consistently racist throughout his life and as President, and if you search #MAGA on Twitter, its not exactly a bunch of people talking about equality and world peace. So for most people, its impossible to separate all that hate and actual harmful policy from a kid wearing a MAGA hat.

I know many people treat politics like a reality show or sports and just cheer on their “team”, so to them, getting offended by a MAGA hat just means you're too sensitive and they "won" somehow. But politics actually affects people. People aren't upset by the obnoxiously ugly hat, they're offended by the obnoxiously ugly policies and worldview it represents. Kids acting like obnoxious brats wearing that hat is an ugly spectacle, and again, none of the longer videos or hand-wringing articles change that.

Let's give the kids the benefit of the doubt and say they weren't trying to be racist (despite the school's history of racism). It doesn't change they fact that they were being little dickheads. And not understanding how white privilege works doesn't mean you don't benefit from it. These little white kids, even with chaperones from a Catholic school there with them, are allowed to be little dickheads with no recourse. In fact, not only are they allowed to act like that, their actions are then defended by their parents and the entire right wing media industry. The smug smiles and laughter just symbolize that white privilege that they will always be able to use to belittle people with no accountability. I don’t like to always compare and say “what if this was a group of black kids” but in this case I think it’s enlightening to picture that. A group of minority kids surrounding a white veteran and acting like dicks would have brought the National Guard out. Laura Ingraham would still be ranting and raving about the failure of the entire black culture.

So that's my reaction and response to the initial situation. The kids were acting like dicks and were representative of the shitty behavior of the political movement they support.

But of course the story didn't stop there. Conservative media was not going to let these white kids get ridiculed and judged! It's not like they were in a school shooting or something: it's perfectly okay to mock school shooting survivors, or even call them actors! It's not like they were killed by a racist loser, it's perfectly ok to mock that dead kid, too!

An avalanche of defenders came through immediately. There was a longer video that claimed to tell a different story (it doesn't) and right wing media sites published articles about how the media got it wrong again (it's hilarious to me how right wing media outlets claim that they are not a part of the mainstream media. Guys, when you have White House press credentials, YOU ARE THE MAINSTREAM MEDIA! Fox News still claims its not part of mainstream media, and it gets the highest ratings!). Then, because mainstream media is obsessed with "both sides-ing" every single situation no matter how obviously one-sided something is, they all published articles claiming that "we all rushed to judgement!" (we didn't). CNN was on the front lines pushing back against criticism of the kids. Of course, CNN neglected to mention that the Smug Smirker kids' parents hired a PR firm started by a CNN pundit. Whatever! The story now became "Media got it wrong! White kids can't be racist!"

Other media sites were quick to publish a retraction so they could claim to be objective: "We show both sides of the story, you can trust us!" they all rushed to say. Except, this "non-biased objectivity" doesn't always lead to the truth. Think of the Obama birther conspiracy. Instead of just saying it's bullshit, mainstream media always framed it as "many people think that Obama was not born in the US" because they didn't want to upset crazy conservatives. In this incident, they rushed to say there was more video, but didn't explain how that changed anything. They just wanted to cut off any criticism for "not showing the whole story."

So the kid is now making the rounds on the talk shows, and the President himself chimed in (of course) to say that media is the enemy of the people. He even invited them to the White House! Sarah Sanders said she's never seen people try to ruin kids lives like they did with these kids from Covington. This is a woman who works for an administration that tore toddlers away from their parents and locked them up in cages. This is a woman who works for a man who called for the execution of 5 black teens despite them being found innocent. Spare me the tears over these asshole kids.


All of this just serves to solidify the issue that most people had with these kids in the first place. We knew, (just like they know) that these kids would always have this cloak of invincibility, the white privilege that would defend their right to act like assholes. That is what the "smirk heard round the world" symbolized: "We're gonna do whatever we want and we'll get away with it; in fact, we'll be considered the victims." And here we are.

Even many liberals are buying into this new narrative because they don't want to be seen as biased (this is a weakness that conservative media always exploits: conservatives are not concerned with bias in their favor). They also want to believe that these kids couldn't be that bad. They want to believe that the younger generation will always be more progressive. They also see their own kids in these kids. Revising the story  reassures them that these kids weren't actually all that bad. They need to believe that everyone is redeemable. Well, I believe that kids are redeemable, but only if they are taught how they were wrong in the first place. That's not happening here, and it's also a larger problem in society. We seek to forgive people before they've actually earned our forgiveness.

Since we're all taking a deep dive into this story to remove any "bias," let's keep diving. Take the reaction of one of the parents: they immediately blamed “black Muslims.” Again, the Black Israelites were in the wrong, but its says a lot about people who can't distinguish religions and label a fringe Christian/Hebrew religion as "Muslim." It says something about the mentality of the parents, which is reflected in the kids. (The story I linked to earlier about the school's basketball fans in blackface also says a little about their mentality: some people really don't see blackface, or saying the n-word, or doing tomahawk chops at a Native, as racist.) There were also videos showing the same MAGA kids harassing girls. But we don't need to know any of that to know that what they did in the original video was wrong.

I think a lot of people deserve criticism here (the Black Israelites, parents, kids, chaperones) but it’s interesting to me how quick people are to excuse the actions of young white men, whereas minority teens are held to adult standards (minorities are charged as adults way more often than white kids). That's actual racism, but to many white people, there's a belief that being called racist is on par with actual racism.

These kids act like assholes, then act like victims and say they have nothing to apologize for, and their parents and entire media outlets agree. On the one hand, they say kids need time to grow and learn from mistakes, on the other hand they're saying these kids made no mistakes. Which is it? I absolutely think kids need to have room to make mistakes and learn, but the problem is, judging by their response and their parents’ response, they will never learn. They did nothing wrong, people judged them wrongly for it, now they are the victims: that's the lesson they're taking.

If you take all politics and history out of the situation (I mean, you can't and shouldn't do that, but let's do it for sake of argument) it's just a bunch of kids being asshole kids. Shitty, but not enough to become a viral video or to write an article about. The situation became bigger because history and politics and culture do matter and are involved in every situation whether we recognize it or not. There's a reason people get offended by a white guy saying the n-word and not a black guy. That's because of history and culture and politics. One is acceptable and one is not. A white guy can certainly try to go around saying it and using black people's use of the word as a defense (some guys do!) but most people will see him as the clueless dickhead that he is. These white kids can say they were just laughing and chanting and staring at a Native man while they’re all wearing MAGA hats, but to most people who have paid any attention to what Trump has done, the MAGA hat itself is a provocation.

So I do think it’s important to look at the whole picture and situation before judging, and in this situation, the more I look at it and look at the history and politics that are intertwined in the moment, it still pisses me off even more. The more I look at the media's reaction, the less hope I have for Truth in the future.

But yeah, the kids lives shouldn’t be destroyed, and they wont be. I can't wait to watch Smug Smirker's inevitable daily show with Tomi Lahren!

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

The Arnold Palmer part 7

Read the previous chapter here:

Part 6


---Begin part 7

Steve pulled into his apartment complex, tires screeching as he sped around the curb and into his designated spot. He parked the car and jumped out, leaving his keys in the ignition and the car running. As he slammed the door, he realized his mistake and looked at the closed door in horror. 

"No, no, no, no," he said, but deep down he knew the door would be locked. He began to feel panic creep up the back of his neck. He almost let out a violent scream and was a moment from kicking the car when he reached for the handle and pulled the door open. 

"Oh," he said, looking at the open door in confusion. "Ok." This act, forgetting to turn off his car and keys, somehow seemed like the highlight of his day simply because it didn't turn out to be as bad as it could have. He turned off the car, grabbed his keys, slammed the door, hit the alarm, and sprinted to his apartment.

He nearly ran over his neighbor carrying a garbage bag to the dumpster in the parking lot. 

"Whoa!" the older man said as he jumped out of the way. "Watch it!" 

"Sorry!" Steve sputtered. "So sorry, man. Been a long day." 

"No problem," the man said. "I know exactly what you mean. This morning I..." he stopped mid-sentence as Steve sprinted away. 

"In a rush, have a good one!" Steve yelled behind him. 

"You, too," the man said, then, under his breath he added, "jerk."

Steve turned the key in the lock and shoved open the door to the apartment complex. He ran past the mailboxes, then stopped for a moment, thinking maybe he should get his mail. Then he thought about all the bills waiting for him and continued on his way. 

"They're not going anywhere," he muttered. His day had been long enough. He didn't want to think about how much money he owed. He didn't want to think about anything except the delicious refreshing drink he was about to finally pour himself. A smile came across his face as he envisioned the sound of the ice cubes hitting the bottom of his glass. When he thought of the sweet mixture of iced tea, lemonade, and the finest vodka the local grocery store provided, a tear slowly rolled down his cheek. 

"No time to get emotional," he said as he wiped the tear with his sleeve. "Stay focused."

He ran past the elevator directly to the stairs. The elevator was one of those old ones with the iron gate. It always felt like he was traveling back in time when he pushed the gate aside and stepped in the small box. To be honest, looking out of that little porthole window to the inner machinations of the elevator as it descended and ascended freaked him out a little. His nerves couldn't handle it tonight.

His shoes barely touched the steps as he ran up to the 3rd floor. Any pain from his toe was hardly registering. He opened the door to his apartment, unbuttoned his pants and threw his button down shirt on the ground. His roommate was asleep on the couch, also with his shirt off. Empty pizza boxes, plus a few empty cans, bottles, and glasses were spread out on the coffee table. Apparently he had missed some kind of gathering, because the apartment was not like this when he left in the morning. Not to say it was clean when he left it, per se, but there were only 2 empty glasses on the table at most. Maybe one empty pizza box, too.

Steve walked to the small kitchen and looked for a clean glass in the cupboard, coming up empty handed. The dishwasher had been full of dirty dishes for a couple days and neither roommate had the determination to put detergent in and run it. Instead, they'd grab a dirty glass, rinse it out, use it, and put it back in the machine, just as Steve was planning to do now.

He grabbed the cleanest looking glass, placed it under hot water for a few seconds, then dried it off with a paper towel. 

"Perfect."

Now for the moment he had been literally fantasizing about all day. He opened the fridge and took out the bottles of lemonade and iced tea. There was just enough lemonade for a tall Arnold Palmer. He'd have to go back out to the store if he wanted more; after the day he had, he'd either fall asleep after one drink or need 8. He wasn't thrilled about the idea of going back out, but if he needed to, there was a corner store 5 minutes away. 

He opened the freezer and dropped 4 pieces of ice into his glass. Maybe he could make the lemonade stretch into two drinks after all. He reached for the most important ingredient, the bottle of Smirnoff...only to realize it wasn't where it was supposed to be. He moved the ice trays and the boxes of frozen pizza and chicken nuggets around in the freezer. Still nothing. Frantically he opened the fridge and moved the milk and eggs around, pushed the cans of soda to the side, pulled the box of baking soda out, knocked over the cartons of leftover Chinese food, only to find....nothing.

"No."

It was 10:45pm and he lived in Connecticut. Because of the Puritanical values that still pervaded this New England colony, the liquor stores all closed at 9pm. When he was in college less than 10 years ago, all liquor stores closed at 8pm and didn't open at all on Sunday. People would have to plan their drinking ahead of time like some kind of scientist, it was outrageous. Unfortunately, the extra hour wasn't doing him any good tonight, and he hadn't talked to the bootlegger he went to as a teen since...he was a teen. Maybe he could find his number somewhere? Even if he found it, dealing with that guy usually took hours. Who knows if he still even bootlegged. It would be pretty sad if he was still doing it 15 years later. Steve expected more ambition from his bootleggers. So that wasn't a realistic option. No, if he didn't find the bottle, he'd have to go to a bar. The closest bar was 25 minutes away, and it always smelled like used kitty litter. 

"No."

He looked back in the freezer, hopelessly moving everything from one side to the other in hopes that it would somehow appear.

"No."

Back to the fridge. Then back to the freezer. Then he turned around and scoped out the kitchen counter. Nothing. The kitchen table....nothing. He almost jumped into the living room where his roommate remained snoring loudly on the couch. He scoured the coffee table, the floor, the entertainment center, he lifted his roommates feet and looked under his legs. Still nothing. 

"No!"

He hopped back into the kitchen. He opened the stove just in case. He checked the sink. He checked every cabinet. He ran to his room and looked under his covers, in the closet, in his dresser, then in his bathroom. There was no vodka to be found.

As he ran back to the kitchen, he spotted a white garbage bag near the front door. It was stuffed to the brim, and right at the top, near the red drawstrings, the red top of a glass bottle poked out. He ran to the bag and pulled out the bottle. 

Smirnoff. Empty.

"No!" The vein on his forehead looked like a railroad track crossing from temple to temple. He opened the bottle and tipped it back, hoping for any little bit to drop on his tongue. He didn't realize how much he resembled a cartoon caricature of a drunkard, and he didn't care. He was furious. He had come so close to his cherished Arnold Palmer and it had been taken away from him. 

Before he could think he screamed and kicked the front door with all of his might, then immediately passed out from the pain that shot up from his toe.

"Steve?" his roommate murmured from the couch. He pulled the couch pillow off his head and looked towards the heap of flesh on the ground. "Dude, we're gonna get complaints from the neighbors if you keep yelling. Chill out man." He placed the couch pillow back on his head and resumed his alcohol fueled snoring. 

---End Part 7

I Love You All...Class Dismissed. 

Dark and Stormy

It was a Dark & Stormy Night; that was the name of the drink he received from the tall, thin blonde with over-sized round glasses. She smiled as she handed it to him. He assumed it was an attempt for a better tip and not an attempt to make an actual human connection. He hadn't had one of those--an actual human connection--for some time, so he wouldn't know what it looked like anyways.

As he sipped the drink, he put a $20 bill on the bar. Not too long ago, he would've waited for change, but he'd come to the conclusion that he'd rather be broke than be looked at like a pariah. He wouldn't have enough money for a cab, but he wanted to walk home tonight anyway. It's not like anyone was waiting for him.

He took the drink and moved from the bar, his back facing the blonde bartender as she asked about his plans for the night. She hoped the others at the bar didn't witness her embarrassment. It seemed the guys she wanted to talk to never felt the same, and every guy she didn't want to talk to felt an unstoppable urge to converse with her for the entirety of her shift.

The man reached the open stool in the corner of the bar and placed his drink on the counter that ran the length of the wall. As he placed it on the coaster with a local brewery's logo, he heard the first notes of Taylor Swift's new song playing loudly overhead.

He was dumbfounded. This was a bar. For adults. Why was this happening? He looked around the crowded, small space. In the opposite corner there was a digital jukebox, with a group of 5-6 young men in baseball caps with college names embroidered on the front, drinking beers and laughing loudly. Two were mouthing the lyrics as one belted out every other word.

He couldn't tell if the guys were truly enjoying the song, or if it was "ironic," but either way, it was beginning to make him gag. He swallowed the knot in his throat, a physical embodiment of the anger he felt brewing inside, then sucked down the rest of his drink. He waked to the bar and put his empty glass down. The bartender asked, "Another round, handsome?" but once again, her words went unnoticed by their intended target as he walked towards the door.

"Sure, I'll have another one, sexy," a middle aged man with an unkempt mustache and eyebrows that stuck out in every direction said as he jiggled the ice in his glass in her direction. She heard the door closing, sighed and went to make another Screwdriver for Eyebrows. As she walked to the end of the bar to take a glass from the shelf, the other bartender, Stinky Steve (the busboys weren't that clever with their nicknames, but they were accurate) walked behind her, forcing her to turn to the side to fit through the narrow area behind the bar. She faced him as he passed and leaned backwards so her breasts wouldn't rub against him; she knew what he was doing and wasn't going to give him the pleasure. She told her boss about his obnoxious behavior plenty of times, but apparently Stinky Steve was related to a family member.

"Excuse me, hon," Stinky Steve said as he passed, lifting his arm towards the shelf, grazing her shirt but not making the contact he desired. A clear look of dissatisfaction crossed his face.

The man who chugged the Dark and Stormy stepped outside into the crisp, early winter air. He muttered to himself, "Really, that's the fucking song you choose? There's other people at the bar, you know. Assholes."

He walked a few paces and took deep breaths, letting the cold air fill his lungs. His mood started to improve as he thought about the blonde bartender.

"That drink was damn good, though. That bartender..." his mind wandered off to a warmer locale, where the sun beamed down on him and the blonde bartender, enjoying drinks with umbrellas in them by the ocean. It was the first pleasant thought he'd had in weeks. A vague semblance of a smile crept onto the corner of his mouth.

Then he remembered the Swift fans. He literally growled, startling the older woman walking past him carrying plastic grocery bags (she avoided grocery stores in the day to avoid dealing with crowds; the downside was that she had to deal with the growlers at night). She tightened her grip on the bags and quickened her pace. She loved this town, but wasn't sure how long she could put up with its residents.

--

I Love You All...Class Dismissed.