JM, The Roost: Mort à Crédit, 10.28.07
JM, Dave's: Turf Race at Bay Meadows, 10.18.07
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In between points, many points, a while back, I squeezed in a visit to The Roost to catch an inning, any inning. I was sitting next to Rory, who has had a Titian beard for life.
Rory knows Pooch and Pooch has been in the hospital for two months but seems about to get out. So Rory and I exchanged some good Pooch stories. (Pooch, Rory tells me, is 84---his wife died earlier this year).
My favorite was Pooch telling someone, "I'm not serving you because you're drunk," to which the patron said, "You only say that because you're sober," baffling Pooch into pouring him another drink.
The Roost served an old fashioned with what appeared to be a used maraschino cherry. Rory pointed it out to Michael and Michael stood by his product.
I left hurriedly. I was busy.
There was an octogenarian woman with an oxygen tank at one of the tables at The Roost.
° ° ° ° °
At Dave's, there are neither oxygen tanks nor bitters.
° ° ° ° °
Insomniac anyway, but lately I think I'm entitled. The pattern has been three nights of two hours of sleep and one night of nine hours of sleep. The pattern has been to find new things to worry about and to lay in bed as long as possible before getting up, which is precisely against prudent insomniac advice.
I do understand maintaining general silence, but---well, we're not that way. When we feel like talking, we talk. It all doesn't make sense without sharing a little. "Silent to all except those who know" is the way I describe it. Another: We don't promote, but we don't hide either. It's so much there, another dimension, mostly a dominant one.
° ° ° ° °
The refrain that keeps rising like a trout is, "I'm probably showing more character than I actually have." I think of the distance between my words/actions and what goes on inside my head on any given day and there's no question, I'm showing a better me than I in fact am.
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