Lest you think Favorite Bar is frequented by uncultured heathens, I will share with you this little anecdote from Friday night. With Helen and Bob on my left, I was delicately perched on my barstool wondering if I could possibly have ordered a sweeter or girlier drink than the Stoli blueberry cosmopolitan sitting before me. Suddenly a random man to my right broke away from his companions and asked me a question.
Random Man: Excuse me, do you know who wrote Paradise Lost?
Me, without batting an eye: John Milton.
Random Man: Of course, John Milton! Thanks a lot!
He then turned back to his friends to engage in what I could only assume was a witty and spirited deconstruction of the epic poem.
Okay, in truth I have no idea what Random Man and his friends talked about next. A little while later I jumped into a conversation with them about The Stone Poney's "Different Drum." When I offered that Michael Nesmith had written that 1967 pop ditty, I was treated to a horrific rendition of "Valleri" by The Monkees, courtesy of the guy who had asked me about John Milton. After they left, I found myself chatting about baseball with an overly-tatooed fellow who had appropriated the barstool next to mine. While I admit baseball and music are far more likely to be topics of conversation between myself and strangers at Favorite Bar, the Random Man really did ask me about Paradise Lost. How often does 17th Century literature come up during weekend bar chatter? I'd say the exchange was evidence that Favorite Bar clearly attracts a top drawer crowd. Well, except for the dysfunctional drunk regulars.
In other news, after work last night I went to a fundraiser thrown by my friends in AtmosTheatre to support their upcoming production of two John Patrick Shanley plays. It was definitely my kind of fundraiser, complete with snacks, cocktails and free massages. Plus, I got a chance to spend a little time with my friend Victor, whom I haven't seen since my birthday last year. Yippee!
Also, something really big and really good happened last week. On Thursday Gretchen and Paul had their baby! Well, Gretchen had the baby, but Paul helped make him. I've yet to meet him, but based on the photo I saw today, I can tell you that little Isaac Malcolm is awfully cute. Gretchen told me stories which very much encourage my belief that childbirth is an evil joke played upon women, but I still think it's wonderful that she and Paul created this new little person.
And finally, today is my brother Michael's birthday. He's 40. My brother Peter turns 41 tomorrow. Before you ask, I'll just say that yes, being one year apart and having birthdays so close together did cause a little brotherly drama between the two of them growing up. But they are (supposedly) actual adults now, and I am fast closing in on 37. My goodness, how did we all get so old?