We were in a very big, very crowded, very packed establishment. You know the kind. It was frat-boy heaven. The walls were covered with the trophies of mass consumption of hoppy brew, each displaying the name of someone who had managed to taste (purchase) each of the offerings of the place. I think there are about 200 beers available. Big screens played soccer and baseball. Beer was being swilled and spilled. It all seemed silly and juvenile and my friend and I spent a few minutes wondering what the hell we were doing there before we remembered what we were doing there. We were on a birthday pub crawl and we'd come from a fun Irish pub and were on our way to another place we hadn't tried before. As quickly as we'd plunged into that pity fest of estimating that "94% of these people are people we have absolutely nothing in common with", we walked out the door and rejoined the people we'd arrived with - the ones we DO have something in common with.
No doubt alcohol fueled philosophy is a dangerous thing. I'd rather look back on our little psychic foray and pull what I can from it, now that my head has cleared.
Aside from the deep and plentiful laughs, here's what I gained from last night:
1. I still don't like to drink beer unless I'm cooking. I can make it last a couple hours and I don't care if it's warm.
2. Light has a magnetic pull on me. (My college physics teacher would blanch at this sentence.) I am compelled to take a picture when I notice the way light falls on a face, an object, through the air. I become uninvolved in conversation. I border on rude. I apologize to my fellow humans. I'm having an affair with my camera.
3. I've earned the right to say my age and to act it. The thought of going to a rave after a Saturday night of drinking makes me tired. I hold no judgement on those who go. I only know that I can't, won't, didn't. I'm happy with being told I don't look this age. So far, no one's making a big deal about what age I act.
4. I want to buy a tie for someone. I want to see him go to work and know that he's wearing the tie I bought him. (One of the places we went was also a tailor shop.) Seeing all those beautiful ties and knowing that my closet is about half-empty triggered that desire in me to share my life and my space with someone who will let me do nice things for him. Little things, like buying ties. This is kind of funny to me because, really, how many men wear neckties anymore? Statistically, I don't think I should make this a dealbreaker. Even if the 6% we discussed last night is only ballpark, this necktie thing might really narrow my field.
©Michelle Scofield, June 26, 2011 All Rights Reserved
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