Ryan Adams was right when he wrote “The Bar Is A Beautiful Place.” For the past two weeks, I’ve been frequenting Tunnicliffe’s Tavern at Eastern Market, and I have to say it has done wonders for my social life, even if it has left an almost Republican path of wonton destruction through my wallet and sleeping habits.
It’s worth it though, if only for the people I have met. Mike West and I met Melody, a recently repatriated American who has spent much the last decade globe-trotting through exotic locales which were once described as merely “There Be Dragons”.
Caitlin and I met Bruce, an ex-hippie HVAC technician and professional inventor who spent much of Monday night describing his recent patent for inprovements to home air-conditioners. Listening to Bruce wax poetic on EPA emissions standards lent new to the phrase “Whatever yer into dude!” and also made me appreciate the hours my dad made me spend helping fix things around the house.
At 9pm, Bruce remembered that Monday was his 25th wedding anniversary, but only because that’s when I remembered that it was Michael’s birthday. Caitlin helpfully suggested flowers and chocolate, while I put a vote in for apologetic groveling.
Caitlin and I also met Kenyetta, a man who found himself in the much the same situation that I was in last September, except that he got the extra added bonus prize of having to drive his ex-girlfriend to New York the next morning. I helpfully suggested he go home and make sure she didn’t steal his shampoo. Not that I’m bitter. . . I’m just sayin’.
Emily had the misfortune of meeting Brendan, who chain smokes, thinks Trent Lott is really cool, and actually tried to pick her up with the phrase “You’re a tough nut to crack.” No one liked Brendan, even Nick, who likes everybody.
The best find has to be Nick, the is he or isn’t he? Jewish bartending lawyer who keeps my cup filled and just today hooked Karen up with a great deal on a computer.
The moral of the story, boys and girls, is tip your bartender.
Anyway, speaking of Ryan Adams, I saw him recently in a Gap Jeans ad with Willie Nelson. I can understand the Red-Headed Stranger being in a Gap ad, the IRS took all of his money for back taxes and he needs some back. Besides, he’s earned his spurs, and like most crotchety old men, he can do what he damn well pleases.
But Ryan Adams. . .
1. Don’t try to pull the wool over my eyes, I remember back when you called yourself David Ryan Adams, and you know what they say about three name people. Lee Harvey Oswald, John Wayne Gacy, Bill S. Preston Esq. Ted “Theodore” Logan. I sense a pattern here.
2. Drop the tortured artist bit, you’re in a Gap Jeans ad. This is the biggest example of You Can’t Call It This One Thing If It Does This Other Thing since Johnny Rotten/John Lydon, and Ryan, Whiskeytown was your Sex Pistols.
3. No matter what you do, some people are always going to say “I didn’t know Bryan Adams had a new record out”.
That’s it I’m winded.