Watch as my life spirals into control
Not much to report today other than to say it’s a good thing the weather’s been so shitty. Not much of a desire to be outside. Even if it is just to walk to this bar or that. So I spent the day working in my office, got home late and now I’m just staying in. Last night however was a big test for me.
It was my friend Deb’s birthday. Me also being her boss, I overcame my temporary fear of being sober in a bar to hang out. I was joking during the day that I’d be drinking Shirley Temples all night. Well I did have one. It was in a very tall, fancy glass. It felt like a cocktail but then I decided to stick to water for the rest of the night. Other than the two cigarettes to calm my nervous jitters, I’d say the night was a success.
We were at a place called Pop (127 4th Ave, NYC). A hip place with wood and fabric woven chairs, small round tables with candles and amoeba shaped red benches with tubular blue pillows. Along the walls behind the benches is a wooden border that looks like the edge of movie film with rainbow backlighting. The red metal drop ceiling is accented with die-cut ‘X’s. In the center of the room is a large faux snakeskin platform hugging one of the several large slate-blue columns. A description on CitySearch.com said they have a generous display of pop-art. I don’t know where they saw that.
They walls were pretty much bare save the Bessie Smith, John Gotti and one or two other images. All in all it was a very fun night with friends and I did not really miss the booze. Although one glaring reminder of how tough this is kept screaming at me from atop one particular shelf. As fate would have it, the only evidence of booze in this room away from the bar itself were six precisely posed bottles of Jack Daniels. Oh and I like my whiskey, that’s for sure.
Afterwards, the walk thru the city streets and subsequent ride home on the PATH train was surreal to say the least. It felt as though I was the only sober human being, the only sober creature on the planet. I’ve had this feeling before. There is nothing quite as comical of trying to maneuver your way thru the throngs of crooked walkers, loud mouths, heavy sleepers and others stricken with drunkenness. It makes me wonder, “Was I ever this bad?” Yes, I’m certain I was at some point or another. Then I’m thankful for not remembering entirely. Who would have thought memory outages could translate to a good thing?
