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ninanevermoreToday on my drive into work, I was still thinking about my evening with The Carney, and everything we discussed and did. I had a much better time than anyone should in the company of Death. Even though we disagreed on some issues, I found I liked him anyway.
By the time I finished my second beer, I had a pretty good buzz. I confess to being a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. I always have been. I have been called a cheap drunk before, but that term sounds so sordid and it offends me a bit. I prefer to refer to myself and Economical Inebriate, instead. From a financial standpoint, it suits my sense of pragmatism that I can get drunk after one or two drinks, whereas I have met people who to have to spend ten times the money on well drinks for what I can get from $7 worth of name-brand alcohol.
Jim and I were sitting next to each other at the bar, slightly turned toward each other. I had a silly grin on my face as I eased into an intoxicated state of mind.
"So," I began, finally feeling comfortable enough to talk to him. "How come you look like a carney to me? What's with the ferris wheel thing?"
He smiled back at me. "You tell me. You're the one who sees me that way," he said. "Most of the time, I get a more agrarian treatment from people."
"Oh yeah, the Grim Reaper thing, with the scythe," I said, "I don't like the black hooded outfit. It makes it look like your harvesting people in your bathrobe. And I don't like the idea of you cutting people down and harvesting us, either. It's kinna gruesome."
He shrugged. "The Druids came up with it. They were an agrarian culture and it made sense to them. The ancient Greeks, on the other hand, saw me as more of a gondolier."
"Oh, thasright," I nodded. "They got buried with coins on their eyes so they could pay you to row 'em across that Styx river."
"Yup," he said.
"You make a lot of money doing that?"
"Enough to keep me in beer and cigarette money for the last few millennium."
"Cool." I held my bottle up and peered into it. "Hey, my beer's empty."
"We can get you another one," Jim suggested.
"'Kay, but I wanna buy it myself," I said, "We're going Dutch tonight. I don't wanna owe you nothin'."
Jim sighed. "Don't worry about it. I've still got plenty of money from the gondolier gig. It's all good." I let him buy my next beer, since it seemed to mean something to him that I let him be nice to me.
"So, you tell me, why am I a carney?" he asked. I was busy concentrating on squeezing a lime wedge into my beer. When I finished, I used my finger to push it down into the neck of the bottle, but I got stuck. I frowned.
"Stir stick," I said. He handed me a skinny straw from a glass on the bar on the other side of him. I used it to push the lime down into the bottle and took a drink.
"You're The Carney," I finally said, "I dunno. It just seemed to fit. You know, when you're on a ride at a carnival, and the guy stops it before you're ready to get off, and it pisses you off because the people before you got to ride longer than you did? Or maybe it's your friends riding, and they got gypped, so you get mad on their account. So you complain to the carney operating the ride that it's not fair, and he just ignores you and doesn't care. I figured you were like that guy."
Jim raised his eyebrows at me. I stuck my tongue out at him. He leaned forward and used his pointer finger to poke my tongue and push it back into my mouth. His finger tasted like his cigarettes. I made a face and took a swig of beer to try and wash the stale nicotine flavor out of my mouth.
"Not fair? See, that's a new one to me. People only started bitching about not getting a long enough ride right about the time almost everyone's ride started getting longer. Much, much longer. Longer than it's ever been." He chuckled. "Five hundred years ago, no one bitched about fair. Hell, a hundred years ago they didn't so much. They just accepted that eventually, things have to end. It's the way things have always been. You people get the technology to postpone my arrival for a few years, and you start whining about how it's not fair that I ever show up at all.
"Take yourself, sitting there right now, looking healthy and strong," he crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back on his bar stool. "If you'd been born a hundred years before you were, you wouldn't have made it to the age of 10. If you'd been born in a poor country instead of a rich one in the present time, you wouldn't have made it much past that. But here you sit, having lived almost 30 years with a disease that has always been fatal since the beginning of mankind, bitching about fair."
"It's still not fair," I agued, "It was just less fair before."
Jim lit a cigarette and took a deep drag on it.
"Whatever," he said with a shrug and turned back toward the bar. He looked at me sideways. "The whole idea of fair is a fairy tale. It's never existed, not in the way you all want it to. The more you people whine and bitch about fair, the more you sit back and expect fair, the further away from it you get."
I mulled over this. I wished I weren't so buzzed. One of the things about alcohol is that it makes you eager to engage in debates, but leaves you less able to debate intelligently. I put my elbows on the bar and rested my face on my hands to think for a bit.
"Want to dance again?" Jim asked.
"Sure." He grabbed my arm and kept me from falling to the floor when I tried to get down off of the barstool. "Sorry, I'm a eco..., an echinatail," I took a deep breath, but found that my mouth still lacked the dexterity to say "economical." I gave up. "I'm a cheap drunk," I said.
"You always have been," he replied, and led me out to the floor.
(To be continued.)
* * * * *
By the time I finished my second beer, I had a pretty good buzz. I confess to being a lightweight when it comes to alcohol. I always have been. I have been called a cheap drunk before, but that term sounds so sordid and it offends me a bit. I prefer to refer to myself and Economical Inebriate, instead. From a financial standpoint, it suits my sense of pragmatism that I can get drunk after one or two drinks, whereas I have met people who to have to spend ten times the money on well drinks for what I can get from $7 worth of name-brand alcohol.
Jim and I were sitting next to each other at the bar, slightly turned toward each other. I had a silly grin on my face as I eased into an intoxicated state of mind.
"So," I began, finally feeling comfortable enough to talk to him. "How come you look like a carney to me? What's with the ferris wheel thing?"
He smiled back at me. "You tell me. You're the one who sees me that way," he said. "Most of the time, I get a more agrarian treatment from people."
"Oh yeah, the Grim Reaper thing, with the scythe," I said, "I don't like the black hooded outfit. It makes it look like your harvesting people in your bathrobe. And I don't like the idea of you cutting people down and harvesting us, either. It's kinna gruesome."
He shrugged. "The Druids came up with it. They were an agrarian culture and it made sense to them. The ancient Greeks, on the other hand, saw me as more of a gondolier."
"Oh, thasright," I nodded. "They got buried with coins on their eyes so they could pay you to row 'em across that Styx river."
"Yup," he said.
"You make a lot of money doing that?"
"Enough to keep me in beer and cigarette money for the last few millennium."
"Cool." I held my bottle up and peered into it. "Hey, my beer's empty."
"We can get you another one," Jim suggested.
"'Kay, but I wanna buy it myself," I said, "We're going Dutch tonight. I don't wanna owe you nothin'."
Jim sighed. "Don't worry about it. I've still got plenty of money from the gondolier gig. It's all good." I let him buy my next beer, since it seemed to mean something to him that I let him be nice to me.
"So, you tell me, why am I a carney?" he asked. I was busy concentrating on squeezing a lime wedge into my beer. When I finished, I used my finger to push it down into the neck of the bottle, but I got stuck. I frowned.
"Stir stick," I said. He handed me a skinny straw from a glass on the bar on the other side of him. I used it to push the lime down into the bottle and took a drink.
"You're The Carney," I finally said, "I dunno. It just seemed to fit. You know, when you're on a ride at a carnival, and the guy stops it before you're ready to get off, and it pisses you off because the people before you got to ride longer than you did? Or maybe it's your friends riding, and they got gypped, so you get mad on their account. So you complain to the carney operating the ride that it's not fair, and he just ignores you and doesn't care. I figured you were like that guy."
Jim raised his eyebrows at me. I stuck my tongue out at him. He leaned forward and used his pointer finger to poke my tongue and push it back into my mouth. His finger tasted like his cigarettes. I made a face and took a swig of beer to try and wash the stale nicotine flavor out of my mouth.
"Not fair? See, that's a new one to me. People only started bitching about not getting a long enough ride right about the time almost everyone's ride started getting longer. Much, much longer. Longer than it's ever been." He chuckled. "Five hundred years ago, no one bitched about fair. Hell, a hundred years ago they didn't so much. They just accepted that eventually, things have to end. It's the way things have always been. You people get the technology to postpone my arrival for a few years, and you start whining about how it's not fair that I ever show up at all.
"Take yourself, sitting there right now, looking healthy and strong," he crossed his arms across his chest and leaned back on his bar stool. "If you'd been born a hundred years before you were, you wouldn't have made it to the age of 10. If you'd been born in a poor country instead of a rich one in the present time, you wouldn't have made it much past that. But here you sit, having lived almost 30 years with a disease that has always been fatal since the beginning of mankind, bitching about fair."
"It's still not fair," I agued, "It was just less fair before."
Jim lit a cigarette and took a deep drag on it.
"Whatever," he said with a shrug and turned back toward the bar. He looked at me sideways. "The whole idea of fair is a fairy tale. It's never existed, not in the way you all want it to. The more you people whine and bitch about fair, the more you sit back and expect fair, the further away from it you get."
I mulled over this. I wished I weren't so buzzed. One of the things about alcohol is that it makes you eager to engage in debates, but leaves you less able to debate intelligently. I put my elbows on the bar and rested my face on my hands to think for a bit.
"Want to dance again?" Jim asked.
"Sure." He grabbed my arm and kept me from falling to the floor when I tried to get down off of the barstool. "Sorry, I'm a eco..., an echinatail," I took a deep breath, but found that my mouth still lacked the dexterity to say "economical." I gave up. "I'm a cheap drunk," I said.
"You always have been," he replied, and led me out to the floor.
* * * * *
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
You always have been,
Date: 2006-05-17 08:43 pm (UTC)he's right, entitlement is going to be what makes new rome fall before the march,..o.0
Re: You always have been,
Date: 2006-05-18 04:40 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 08:47 pm (UTC)Did this really happen, or is this fiction.
It's really good either way.
Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-18 04:46 pm (UTC)Oh, and part 1 of this encounter (http://neanahe.livejournal.com/62552.html#cutid1)might answer some questions. :)
Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-20 11:37 pm (UTC)You are such an excellent writer.
Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-21 05:28 pm (UTC)Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-22 08:11 pm (UTC)Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-22 08:32 pm (UTC)Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-23 11:27 am (UTC)Seriously, though... all hero-worship and family-bias aside, you've been my fave poet since the first time you let me read any of it --which was shortly after your Mom died, I think. Which reminds me... where are "The Salesman" and "Days of the Weak?"
Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-23 11:28 am (UTC)Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-23 02:47 pm (UTC)All of those works are somewhere in a box or a file folder, somewhere in my house. I think. Pack rat that I am, I don't think I would have tossed it out.
Hell, I'm having a hard enough time finding most of the stuff I wrote in college. I need to turn on my old word processor that I had in college and see what's on there (besides term papers) and re-type it into a format that a modern computer can read.
Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-23 03:05 pm (UTC)"And he always, ALWAYS, has the nerve to thank me for everything I've shared with him!"
Re: Explanation, Please!
Date: 2006-05-23 03:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-17 09:47 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-18 04:46 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-18 04:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-05-19 03:45 pm (UTC)