A Perfect Evening - A Nail in the Head

One of the more perfect evenings, or unfortunately too often these days, start of an over the top perfect evening, is to divert from my normal route home; jump the L instead of the V-G and head over to Zaplodzky's on North 6th in Williamsburg. Two dollar Ying Lings, Lisa the pretty bartender and an mp3 jukebox that always seems to be playing the exact song you want to hear at that exact moment. I started my evening at Zaplodzky's last Friday.

Started it in the usual fashion, sat there drinking the cheap beer, reading the book the lovely Ms. Veronica had send me that day. Veronica is truly a magic friend who, although she's on the other side of the country, seems to be acutely tuned to my every mood, and seems to know exactly just what I and need exactly when I need it. She had sent me the book I was reading at Zaplodzky's. The book arrived the exact day I had finished my last book, AND reading a slightly left, perhaps more libertarian, definitely cynical jab at all the right wing pundits I've been following since long before that last circus we called a Presidential Election was exactly what I needed to be reading at this very moment. So far this book is a bang on good time!

I sat there, reading "Skipping Towards Gomorrah", and investigation of American contradiction with how we talk/rant on about the seven deadly sins and how we actually live with respect to these sins. Greed/gambling, lust, sloth, hey these sins have been very good to me in the past, eh, pride and envy well, OK, others, I can do without. Anyhow, as I sidled up to the warm wood of the beautiful wooden bar, I gave a quick, sorry fella glance to the guy next to me, basically politely telepathically mentioning I was there for a read rather than a chat. [not mention, I still hadn't quite got used to talking with the new chompers, enough said about that]. I was getting close to the end of my third beer, my usual limit, I mean $2 a beer, a $4 tip, a $10 ride all done within the two hour limit required to still make my free transfer on the B61. I was finishing up the last beer when something struck me in the conversation my neighbor was having with Lisa. I decided that this would be a good conversation worth busting in on.

Busting in on a conversation, politely, is a talent I'm quite proud of, wink. There was an easy in here as he was chatting with Lisa, not only the bartender, but also a friend; bartenders and friends make great springboard to leap from into the warm refreshment of a good bar-convo. They'd been talking professions, what caught me was this guy's claim to being a circus freak. Hey body modification was on the top of my mind that evening, so thought I might learn something. Unfortunately, although he is good friends with "The Enigma", and knows "Lizard Man", he himself was not a modifier, well nothing beyond the standard issue tats and earrings. No, my friend was a pounder... a driller, a cutter and a lifter

He had a wonderful selection of scars [well healed] where he carved himself up with shards of glass. He told great little stories about pounding nails up his nose, or how he'd drill into his nose with a power drill. You may have caught this act, I'd caught stuff like this on TV. We talked for a good hour, and about three more beers, so much for that transfer. He told me how most of his gigs were between acts at Metal shows, and that he was making a perfectly good living off this. His best crowds were in the Midwest, his best story was of how he once dissed a heckling dude by picking his girlfriend up on the jumbotron, getting a little back stage pass action...

I guess I'm not really going anywhere with this frikin empty story. I've been sick the last three days, and well, I just had to get back to monkeying around with these little dirty keys again. It's good therapy, almost as good a therapy as a perfect evening at that perfect little bar talking to perfect strangers. I'm obviously taking the L train home tonight.