Monty's Review of the Drinks He Had Last Night
Maker's Mark bourbon, on the rocks: Smooth, just sweet enough, with a little bit of bite. I enjoyed this while chatting amiably with some friends from acting school, in the old bar that used to be our regular haunt during school.
Maker's Mark neat, and a Saranac Pale Ale: My friend Brike and I stood at the bar trying to decide whether to drink beer or liquor, and eventually we opted for both. Sans rocks, the bourbon had a bit more bite; but the cooling beer was a nice compliment. Overall Saranac is a mediocre ale, but it's the only ale this place has on tap. It has a vague, bitterish, generic "brown beer" taste, as if the producers didn't know how or didn't care to come up with a specific flavor. This particular pint tasted a bit sour.
Saranac Pale Ale: This next one tasted much better, or it would seem so judging by the rapid rate at which I drank it. It's liquid nature nicely complimented the greasy nachos I got from the Chinese Mexican restaurant down the street. More friends arrived, and the bubbles in the beer contributed to the bubbly, jovial atmosphere.
Maker's Mark rocks, and Saranac Pale Ale: The goofy bartender, who thinks it's fun to say "O, for a muse of fire" to us because we're actors, thought it would be a good idea to give me a free beer even though I had just bought whiskey from him and did not want a beer. I tasted a subtle accent of trouble in this round, though the warm, woody palette of the whiskey nicely complimented a dicussion of Rosh Hashanah plans with Samantha, who is my dear friend Doug's girlfriend and overall my second favorite Jewish girlfriend, of course besides my own, dear, darling Rosie. The beer tasted somewhat excessive and I gave half of it to Brike, a meaningless gesture towards moderation considering what followed.
Saranac Pale Ale: This one tasted like diesel fuel, and at this point my brain was the diesel engine of the Midnite Express Bus to Hell. Brike and I talked about God-knows-what at the bar, Brike almost getting into an altercation with a couple of knuckleheads who wanted their barstools back. Though of course I tried to calm him, later I would regret that he wasn't there as he is clearly a good man to have around in Times of Trouble. But he had to get up at 4:30AM for work, so he left early.
Chilled shot of Absolut Vanilla: Tasted like vanilla, with a slight hint of self-destruction. This I shared with Betsy, who is quite scrappy. Shortly thereafter I went outside to smoke, and, upon returning, was stopped by a young man, looked about 20, and very drunk. He looked kind of like someone took A-Rod, dressed him up like Nelly and beat him until he was much uglier. This gentleman beckoned me to him, and then asked me for some coke. I informed him that I had none. He insisted that I did, in fact, have cocaine, and that I should be cool and give him some. He was mumbling and slurring. I assured him I had no coke, at which point he grabbed me by the shirt and pulled me closer to him. I told him to let go, and he did not, and we both repeated, a couple of time, our differing views as to whether or not I was in possession of cocaine. At this point, two guys intervened, one being this fellow's older, bigger, and smarter brother, the other being a smaller, older, white guy with a goatee. They pulled this man off of me and separated us. I walked back to my table but I was soon fuming, and so I turned around and walked back to the bar. The mumbling Nell-Rod made as if to continue our conversation, but his brother held him back. The white guy asked me what I had done to upset Nelrod, to which I replied nothing. Nelrod told his peeps that I had offered him coke, and when I said that was not true, Nelrod seemed to want to fight me again. When his brother dragged him out, the white guy stayed behind and made some ineffective overtures towards a resolution. He asked again what I had done that had so infuriated Nelrod, who he said was his cousin. I said I had done nothing, and that Nelrod was insane. This guy then said that it was all over, and that I should go sit quietly in the corner. I approved of his desire for peace, but did not like being told to go sit quietly in the corner when I had been doing nothing but minding my own fucking business, and I told this man as much. He seemed surprisingly surprised. We argued the point a couple more times, and upon finally getting what I was saying, just to be sure, he confirmed, "So you're not gonna go sit quietly in the corner?" I said, "No, I'm not." And he squinted and said "Where are you from?" I said "Nowhere," which I was proud of, for some reason. He said "I'll find out," which seemed stupid, excessive, and not true, and then he said something to the effect that I knew not with whom I was messing. My enemies' and my movements after that confrontation are vague in my memory, but I do know that after several minutes myself and the white guy ended up at the bar. I said something to the effect of "This is ridiculous," and he seemed to agree and we shook hands. In the midst of reconciliation, however, the man had to slip in something vaguely threatening, I remember not what, but I am guessing it had something to do with his notion that I should have taken him up on his suggestion to go sit quietly in the corner, at which point I would have told him he was wrong. At any rate a couple more vague threats were exchanged, and at one point this man whispered something in my ear and I said "What?" because I didn't hear him. I don't know if he repeated it. At one point the bartender was ready to intervene but we waved him off. I ordered a beer. I suggested this man and I do a shot together, and he decided we should drink Southern Comfort and lime, for which he paid.
SoCo and lime, and Saranac Pale Ale: The shot tasted like cough syrup and candy and blood and failure and frustration and violence and everything wrong in the world, which went perfectly with this guy, my friend now, telling me that the reason I would have not wanted to mess with him was that he was a cop, but hadn't wanted to announce this because he was out with his cousins trying to have fun like a normal guy, and whether he was lying about being a cop or not makes no difference to me. It was all shit. Nelrod apologized profusely, mumblingly. Eventually I walked to the L train with Betsy, got off at Bedford and got a slice of pizza, stopped at the store and bought cigarettes and ice cream, took a car home from Bedford, ate some ice cream in front of the TV and passed out, woke up in the living room at 4:30 and came to bed, where I slept fitfully until 7:30.
~Monty
2:45:05 PM 
|
|
