Daily Archives: July 3, 2004

A Pair of Brown Eyes

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The bar at the Montana Ale Works is a rectangular version of King Arthur’s round table. The beeristers and beeristas scurry about inside the beerena, flashing smiles to the regs when they can afford the time. Kristin is one of those in the middle. She remembers my name, she remembers my beer. But by now, that’s not a surprise. I have achieved accelerated regularization with the help of John.

One the other side of the elongated rectangle is a pair of brown eyes. Dark eyebrows arch. Long hair cascades over bare brown shoulders. Between the expressive eyes and the spaghetti straps crossing the graceful shoulders is a giant horizontal stainless steel pipe, punctuated with taps. The space between her graceful neck and her intriguing eyes is a mystery.

In front of her is a drink of tantalizing color. The simple amber of whiskey. She dangles a finger into the hooch with languid nonchalance, swirls it around, then lifts her graceful digit, pregnant with suggestion, to her lips. At least I assume that’s where it ended up. We can only imagine what that was like when her finger reached her lips. It was slow. It was beautiful. It was all in my head.

Still, sitting where I was, I was finally privileged to see her smile. Toothy. Confident. Happy. I bought her another scotch. Anonymously. I made extra-double-sure that Jen would not rat me out. Why, why would I buy a woman a drink and work so hard to make sure I gain nothing from it, not a thank you or even a glance in my direction? (There certainly were no glances my direction, either before or after the drink arrived in front of her.) Why? Because I’m stupid. Or maybe I’m just chicken. I’d never sent a drink over to a stranger before, so maybe I just need practice.

No, it was just stupid. I’m just not a buy-a-drink-for-a-stranger kind of guy. Buying a woman a drink is step one to picking her up, and that’s something I’m hopeless at. My style is more the wear-her-down-over-the-course-of-weeks kind of style. It doesn’t work very well, I can tell you that.

Thanks!

Snapshots

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I went to yellowstone again a couple of days ago, and I took about 325 snaps on two different cameras. I’m pretty happy with the results. I’ll put the best of them up soon enough. There are some good ones, if I do say so myself. Of course, you’ll be able to judge soon, and more objectively than I.

A woman to her daughter, who was trying to rescue a dragonfly foundered in the hot, acidic water: “I bet he’s already laid his eggs.”

You know already that I like bartenders. You know I’m a sucker for a friendly face that will give me beer and all I have to do in return is give them money. Call it a weakness if you want, I’ll accept that. Here in Bozeman, there’s Tori, Kristen, Joe, Pete, Jen, Molly, and, of course, Nicole. Here’s to them. Honest, hard-working and friendly people who have made me feel at home here when I have no home. I raise one to all of them. Keep doing the Lord’s work!

Breakfast at the Town Cafe in Gardiner, the gateway to Yellowstone. Two eggs over easy, hash browns (Tabasco! I’m back in civilization!) and toast. Half a dozen overweight men are sitting around a table, yucking it up. They’re going fishing. As usual. They’re in a jolly mood. Fishing. Beats working, so I’m told.

I didn’t mention one thing about the Crystal Bar. Angry employees eventually cooled, goofy old guys played pool while their wives heckled. Hilarity ensued, while I got the perfect buzz. Ah, the perfect buzz. Not drunk, no, not that. The perfect buzz is a delicate balance, with rational thought on one side, and the fairies on the other, lifting your thoughts on gossamer wings, making them greater than they were before. Colors are a little more true, and jokes are far funnier. It is a beautiful world. The weakness of the perfect buzz is in it’s own creation – it is alcohol that got you there and the idea of having more is just like everything else. Perfect. But there is no maintaining the perfect buzz. You can choose to stop drinking, and soon feel sleepy and enjoy a good night of sleep and wake the next day feeling good and remembering what a nice time you had the night before.

More often, you chase the perfect buzz with another one. After that you’ve crossed a line, and “one more” is not one more. It is simply the next. You remember the perfect buzz and you want it again, but you’ve passed it now and you’re heading the wrong direction. The perfect buzz is as fleeting as it is rare. At the Crystal Bar, I had the perfect buzz and I sat, enjoying it, enjoyed the craziness all around me, reading the profane sign again. Life was good. “Do you want another?” asked Caroline (rhymes with gasoline). “Yes, I do,” I said. “But I’m out of money.” That’s one form of restraint. I wouldn’t have had another anyway. That place was making me tired. I took a walk. Of course, I walked to Montana Ale Works. They take plastic, and beer is cheap until six.

The fishermen drink their coffee, tell their jokes, and discuss where they’re going go go today. My head is fuzzy and my stomach wobbly, but the tea helps, and the hash browns. It’s time to go take some pictures.

Thanks!