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muckefuckI'm not ashamed to admit that there are some acquaintances I cultivate more for the people they bring me into contact with than for themselves. Evil Santa was like that after a while (before he crossed completely over into "that person you don't want to end up sitting next to on the bus"). One of those couples was over Saturday evening and proved their worth in this regard by introducing me to a very nice couple recently transplanted from the East Coast. Of course, then I was stuck with the dilemma that I probably would've had a better conversation without the middlemen around.
Still, for an event I put absolutely zero effort into promoting, it turned out alright. The new guys were very amenable to being shown the collection and gamely tried some novel concoctions like the King's Ginger, even if they stuck mostly to white wine and vodka. I got to make a Sazerac, but it was a bit rushed and I hadn't a chance to practice first, so I'm sure I got at least one of the steps wrong in addition to leaving out the lemon peel. Still tasted fine, so I supposed I shouldn't mewl too much.
The night at the bar was a bit odd. I ran into someone I hoped I would, an older guy I'd met at Big Chick's years ago. I saw him last month and we had the start of a good conversation about literature which I hoped to continue, but he was more interested in telling me about his life. One of his recent accomplishments was evicting a longstanding tenant who owed him $17,000 in back rent. One of my cocktail guests joined us while he was relating the details (such as forgiving the bulk of the amount so the evictee wouldn't do jail time) and his reaction was, "So you're the guy who evicted Conrad!"
While we were chatting out front, I saw a man I thought I recognised from the Starbucks on Sheridan. There's a group of Eastern European-looking middle-aged men who gather on the patio most afternoons. I see them from the shuttle and assumed, based on my experience in Hyde Park, that they're building engineers or something. He had a squat dowdy woman in tow, and both were wearing flipflops, so imagine my surprise at seeing them pop into Touché. I was relating this later to the DCers when I spotted them leaving. The woman looked agitated and yelled something at the men standing near the door; as she passed by, I overheard her speaking a non-Lechitic Slavic language. Had they only just figured out that the bar was queer? They stood out on the sidewalk for a bit and then one of the new transplants saw them head into Jackhammer. Curious.
And, speaking of Evil Santa, he was in the backroom making a nuisance of himself. So, instead of hanging around back there at all, I just darted in to greet a few friends and slipped back out, meaning I got home at a reasonable time and in a buoyant mood. Confirmation--if any were needed--that the secret to happy Bear Night is to keep one's expectations low.
Still, for an event I put absolutely zero effort into promoting, it turned out alright. The new guys were very amenable to being shown the collection and gamely tried some novel concoctions like the King's Ginger, even if they stuck mostly to white wine and vodka. I got to make a Sazerac, but it was a bit rushed and I hadn't a chance to practice first, so I'm sure I got at least one of the steps wrong in addition to leaving out the lemon peel. Still tasted fine, so I supposed I shouldn't mewl too much.
The night at the bar was a bit odd. I ran into someone I hoped I would, an older guy I'd met at Big Chick's years ago. I saw him last month and we had the start of a good conversation about literature which I hoped to continue, but he was more interested in telling me about his life. One of his recent accomplishments was evicting a longstanding tenant who owed him $17,000 in back rent. One of my cocktail guests joined us while he was relating the details (such as forgiving the bulk of the amount so the evictee wouldn't do jail time) and his reaction was, "So you're the guy who evicted Conrad!"
While we were chatting out front, I saw a man I thought I recognised from the Starbucks on Sheridan. There's a group of Eastern European-looking middle-aged men who gather on the patio most afternoons. I see them from the shuttle and assumed, based on my experience in Hyde Park, that they're building engineers or something. He had a squat dowdy woman in tow, and both were wearing flipflops, so imagine my surprise at seeing them pop into Touché. I was relating this later to the DCers when I spotted them leaving. The woman looked agitated and yelled something at the men standing near the door; as she passed by, I overheard her speaking a non-Lechitic Slavic language. Had they only just figured out that the bar was queer? They stood out on the sidewalk for a bit and then one of the new transplants saw them head into Jackhammer. Curious.
And, speaking of Evil Santa, he was in the backroom making a nuisance of himself. So, instead of hanging around back there at all, I just darted in to greet a few friends and slipped back out, meaning I got home at a reasonable time and in a buoyant mood. Confirmation--if any were needed--that the secret to happy Bear Night is to keep one's expectations low.
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