The nostalgia trip:

Getting Ready:
Whenever there starts to regularly be holes in the schedule, it’s time to hire a new person. This is daunting as we have so many complicated systems that training takes forever and I have to spend several weeks going over things with a fine toothed comb. The immediate point of this ramble is that I work today from one until nine pm. Knowing this in advance, I thought I might go out last night as I could sleep in today. I called the usual suspects and all were in for the evening and I was exhausted myself. I steam cleaned the upstairs hallway with a machine I borrowed from work, a fact I am reminded of each time I walk through in my stocking feet. After the chemicals, the noise and the dirt, I want a shower.

There are lots of places to take quality naps, the bathtub is not one of them. I like to turn the shower on and sit down in the tub. Last night I put conditioner in my hair exhaled a deep breath and fell fast asleep. I woke up as the water began to run cold, how long is hard to tell. I got out of the shower & went downstairs and put a DVD in, which promptly started to skip. I reached my hand up to remove the towel from my head and realized that I’d really deep conditioned – my hair was still full of conditioner – after the water heated back up I had to re-shower & by that point I was wide awake and definitely going out.

I don’t really go out in the loop ever. I don’t really go out that much anymore – there’s bowling at the Saratoga, but I’m generally home by eleven. Brad agrees that he’s also been fairly restless lately and we should go out more, but not tonight. It’s hard to meet new people and have new experiences in your living room. Angela is taking tomorrow off work as she has the flu. She’s asleep long before I decide to go out anyway.

An older version of me gets control of my body and it’s ville flashbacks. In the ville it was not really necessary to call anyone to go out. You would simply go to the Dukum and if your friends were in the mood to go out they would either be there, or show up later. If you want to have a party, tell one or two people and thirty show up. If you want to have a dinner party you cook a big fancy meal and then, as an after thought, you call whoever might be hungry in your neighborhood. Ah the Edenicly social ville.

Here in St. Louis you book in advance, everyone is way to busy not to schedule. Friday I have Angela’s parent’s fortieth wedding anniversary dinner. Saturday my parents will be at my sister Sandy’s on their way south to New Orleans. Sunday Britany’s National Guardsman husband, who just got back from Kosavo, will be the recipient of a surprise party, and Monday I bowl, tonight I work and later I’ll clean, Thursday at 6pm I am meeting a new potential roommate, at seven I am helping Nicole revise her Color Purple paper (which was supposed to be last night, but her dog was hit by a car…Kathleen’s dog was put to sleep yesterday as well, a bad day for dogs and their humans), at 9:30 I’m meeting Eric and Tyler for pool. This schedule is typical and took a lot of getting used to after ten years of ville living. This place wore R and I out. The stress of this transition was a factor in our demise, when you’re worn out you aren’t your best you. Even as I type this, cars and busses are rushing by outside. I only notice because the rain alters the sound of the rubber on the pavement. Each vehicle has a Doppler of wooooooshhhhhhhhhhh.


Going out:
I park behind Starbucks and briefly consider Cicero’s. I don’t really like that bar so it’s a left turn when walking into the loop proper. Fitz’s is empty so on to Blueberry Hill. I do a walkthrough and don’t see anyone I know – I walk up to the bar and order a Guiness. I bought cigarettes on the way out to give me something to do, I don’t really smoke and I am paying for that today in lung trauma. Half a cigarette later I realize I’m watching a subtitled news program on one of the bar sets. Too depressing. I move to the dart room where I can at least play pinball. This is definitely an older version of me, this reminds me of going to Ryan’s at twenty five to play Monster Bash, or the laundry mat at fifteen to play World Cup Soccer. I play The Shadow, and I do quite well, I win three free games on score and I match twice, so my seventy-five cents goes a long way. During that time I finish my pint, but no one I know arrives. Bar hop.

I walk down the street to Riddles Penultimate. On the way I note dancing at The Red Sea, but I’m not in that space, they started long before I did. There are three people walking in front of me, one of whom is quite drunk and attempting to try on the clothing in all of the shop windows by pressing her body against the glass and assuming the pose of the manikins. She is laughing and doubling over. Her friends are pleasantly steering her to their car. I cross the street and encounter the grift, “I just need fifty cents to get downtown.” I don’t give him any money, but I do give him two cigarettes and he says, “Well, at least I’ll be relaxed on my way.”

I used to know a grifter down here whose girlfriend lived next to Mike. He always called me Chief when he saw me in the loop, “Hey buddy, my car broke down and I need to get downtown can you spare… oh, it’s you Chief. Hey, how ya doin.” He’d shake my hand and move his story down the street. The need to get downtown is a powerful driving force in this oral tradition. He didn’t have a car and lived north of the loop. His girlfriend’s name was Linda and she had a nice place on welfare money. She had a ceiling fan and cable TV. She was proud of that place and had the, “I can’t afford to get a job” rap. She once said to me on the back fire escape, “Life is like a shit sandwich, the more bread you got, the less shit you gotta eat.” Her daughter was seven or eight months pregnant when she was shot in the face and killed in a drug deal gone bad. I saw her on the stoop a few weeks before that. I remember the high curve of her belly and her braided hair.

I’m into the next bar and the Gods have heard my call – a fabulous Jazz trio is in full swing. There is a drummer, a guy on the upright base, and a wizard on vibes. There are several couples at tables, some winding up their meals, some there for drinks and music. A big guy at the bar is lecturing a woman wearing a t-shirt with a tuxedo print on it. He seems to be talking about martial arts and I get the feeling he could make me an object lesson if I looked at his girl again. The rowdy French Wash U students leave soon after I get there and I order my next pint. I smoke. I call my home phone with my cell and record the band on my answering machine so that in the morning I will be reminded how great these guys are. Fabulous.

There are numerous wall signs, old and new, as the primary decorative feature of this bar/restaurant. There is a Denny’s style “please wait to be seated sign” and to the immediate left there is a large black man sitting, above him is an ancient sign, twenties style, with a flapper in full dress, “Hostess station.” He’s the hostess. When they finish their set and begin to pack up, I down my beer and head up the street. The bars I have been at all close at 1:30. I pass under the Golden Lion “Leaving University City” sign and I’ve moved into the three am district.

There is a new dance club, pumping base in what was once Altered Skates skate shop, and before that I think it was a motorcycle dealership. I walk past it, into the residential area to check it out, it’s nearly empty, but it will be full when the other bars up the street close. Bars together in a district help each other through synergy. They pass their patrons like batons in the race to the closure till. The staff of the bars up the street will soon be drinking here and when this closes the surviving combined staff and patrons will go to the east side where the bars don’t close until well after sun up (if they close at all). The wanderlust of the night out is best served by these districts, that’s why I didn’t go to the Saratoga. Sure, there’s the Focal Point and Atomic Cowboy, but I can’t walk home from there.

So this new club’s theme is black, everything is painted jet black – barstools, the bar, the vinyl embankments. Everyone inside is dressed in black. It reminds me of the clubs down on Washington in the late eighties that were always reopening under a new name. 1227 and Fahrenheit, The Alley – I saw The Toasters there, that was the first time I’d seen Beetle Bob at a show – fourteen piece Ska band – god what a show – I was chewing ginger root with Becky and Nathan on the theory that it was a natural way to help us dance all night. What was that three story one where they always had the Raves? The Warehouse? No, I think it had “world” in the title. Anyway, as this new place has no pull for me right now I turn around and head for The Delmar.

The Delmar provides a good contrast. The primary color of The Delmar is glossy English phone booth red. Time to change chemicals. I walk in and the doorman tells me there is a dollar cover. As I pay him the buck I say, “That’s silly.” He and I are going to be friends. He’s a full head and shoulders taller than me and I’m five ten, he has to stoop when he opens the door. The bar itself is shotgun style like the old Dukum. I get a Gin and tonic and find a good lean far from the door so I can people watch. Right in front of me is a cute girl who looked me over as I got my drink. She’s talking to a tall guy who looks familiar to me. I watch him for a while and eventually I walk up to him and say, “Excuse me, can I just say two words to you?” He says, “Sure man, two cigarettes and he fumbles for his pack.” He’s misunderstood me in on odd parallel with the grifter – I’m on a companionship grift.

I say, “Tim XXXX, it’s Karl from High School.” And suddenly it’s’ “Holy shit, I never would have recognized you, how did you know it was me? It’s been more than ten years since I saw you. What are you drinking? Can I buy you a drink?” “I say no, I’m just staying for one, and we catch up. He is enthusiastic and friendly, I set my drink down and go to the bathroom and when I come back he’s bought me another one anyway. We start to really talk about the people we still see, exchanging info. Tim actually lived in the ville for two years (vortex of all my identities), but he got busted in the sunken garden for smoking dope. I imagine Tim’s arrest overlaid in space with R’s awards ceremony for graduating with honors, and a wedding I went to once, and kissing Melinda and even Mary in the white gazebo – all the same place all years apart.

Tim used to work at The Delmar, he’s been in restaurant work for years. He knows all the staff, we go and sit with his girlfriend, not the cute girl who has since had to leave – bored by our bonding. His girlfriend and her friends are playing dice, reminds me of Yumi at the coffee house & it’s about the same vibe – the bubbly friend with the pigtails who isn’t really listening, she’s just bubbling. The doorman is part of this group and I’ve moved to fully sanctioned through the connection with Tim. I probably won’t have to pay the cover if I come in when he’s working. The people who work a bar are the most important part, take care of them and all will be well. Tim buys me another drink and we move to a different table where we can talk. Angela told me slyly last week when I was feeling very broke, “You can always find someone to buy you a drink Karl.” This is true, I feel like Fred Exley, author of The Fan.

Tim managed the tennis courts in Tower Grove Park, the sister I know is getting married, he used to run into Debbie on the east side, he went on a date with Julie not to long ago, he knows Kate’s brother well, he loves his job because he’s proud of the quality at this restaurant, and he knows his wine – I get a crash course from him and tell him he should be a wine seller professionally. I worked the restaurant game for more than ten years so we have plenty to talk about there. His girlfriend comes over and right out – no small talk, she says, “Whose your favorite author.” And we’re off, we end up talking about Plato and the realm of forms – she’s reading something – art history I think – and she’s trying to grasp the philosophy behind it – this is a wonderful night for me. I give them my phone number. They would both be great to have over.

James walks in with a gorgeous woman. She has a fresh face and shoulder length dreadlocks. I throw a cigarette and hit James in the head to get his attention. Cigarettes are apparently my fishing tackle this evening. He joins us and buys me a drink. Tim and girlfriend Jennifer have to go. So it’s James and I – sorry that he can’t get out of his lease and that he hasn’t been the best about calling as he’s going through a crazy post Diane period – as the new girl – the very young girl who is bouncing socially about the place – is evidence of. We talk about being jaded cynics who are at least cynical about our cynicism. About how he saw the end of his time with Diane coming the moment they met. That’s the way of it, everything ends, but everything also begins. James is on a negative ark.

Around two thirty I’ve had my fill, say my goodbyes and begin the long cold walk home. It hasn’t started raining yet, but there’s a chill in the air. My heavy coat is not back from the cleaners. I turn up my collar on my black corduroy, Mary calls it my professor pose, I fold my arms and trudge. Tomorrow I’ll walk back down in the rain for my car and a coffee.