out of the house


So I went to a bar. This bar had a jukebox.

Unremarkable, yes; but I haven’t been out much of late, for obvious reasons. In fact, I think the last time I was even in a bar (for a snack) was October. Sitting there with Sardonic Artist, who was back from New York on a weekend visit, and a few old compatriots, I have come to realize that drunk people are far less entertaining when you’re not one of them.

Sitting around in one of those generic closet-aisles of linoleum that pass as a restaurant in some bombed-out immigrant  neighbourhoods: somewhere you’d expect to find little Eastern European women scrubbing down the Formica tables with bleach at 6am so they could serve breakfast to sedentary, grumpy, chain-smoking old men; I marveled at how it has somehow become trendy to simply move into these abandoned spaces, cobble together a bar, get a liquor license, and somehow become a destination to be seen at. I mean, they haven’t decorated at all.

The place was packed.

So after consuming a Red Bull (which may or may not have been a good idea) I entertained myself with the jukebox. For one shiny dollar I subjected the entire room to the following:

  1. Walk on the Wildside – Lou Reed
  2. Summer Wine – Nancy Sinatra*
  3. Car Song – Elastica

Which tidily covers three generations of musical endeavor, none of which are current. (I like to think of myself as educational.)

I stayed until my companions were drunk enough for conversation to slow to unreliable pace, and I had the time to ruminate on how much more likely it was to get randomly hit on in Sydney; which made me nostalgic. At which point I did my kiss, kiss and went home, in the really-fucking-cold Toronto night.

Maybe this is what Fun is like now.

♦ ◊ ♦

* It should be noted that “Summer Wine” induced some limited dancing. Yes, our Nancy’s still got it.


~ by A Mundi on March 6, 2009.

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