A House In Metro Detroit, An Apartment In Ypsilanti, A Circus in Ann Arbor
When a person hears “the circus” there is probably a specific imagery that goes along with that. For me, it will forever be connected to tonight and Cavern Club’s Circus Bar in Ann Arbor. But, before that, let’s get some back story.
I slept poorly for the majority of the week and, by Wednesday; it began to take its toll upon me. Thursday, I awoke early and began a day comprised of creative collaboration. In the coming weeks I am establishing an independent publication with several partners, finalizing my book for future submission and filming my next project with long awaited professional grade equipment. Thursday was dedicated to these projects while awaiting a phone call. In the end, I ended up sitting with Brett while the original music for my next film was created. I am absolutely certain in his abilities as a musician and, because of this, I am confident that this project can achieve something extraordinary. He would play and I would make suggestions while he catered everything to fit my specific needs. Before long, we were getting somewhere.
James, Byron, Chase and I all piled into Jim’s new truck and headed to Ann Arbor around 9:15 after dinner. They seemed to be in good spirits and laughed as they rode with their faces in the breeze while I sat up front and told stories. I was incredibly tired but determined to remain active until I was no longer capable of maintaining even a semblance of consciousness. We walked around while I ranted and joked before arriving at the Circus Bar. While plain looking from the outside, the interior glowed orange and a stuffed lion burst through a neon ring of flame behind the bar. Drinks were terrible and beer was cheap. The back wall was lined with young women and pool tables. The latter interested me substantially more but it would appear that I was having more luck with the former. Chase and I played game after game while attractive young women giggled and intentionally positioned themselves in our way. With the exception of Ringmaster Zebs’ always interesting performance, live acoustic covers played loudly with occasional breaks where the singer would curse out pool players and bar goers that made fun or tossed small items at the stage. The crowed ranged from forty-somethings and frat boys to hipsters and hippies. I watched a dozen men unsuccessfully bend over backwards to impress and entertain women while these same women tried to flirt with two disinterested men trying to play pool. I was convinced these girls were out for a twenty-first birthday celebration or, perhaps, a low key bachelorette party. Honestly, there was nothing really wrong with any of them, save that they were in my fucking way while I was trying to play pool.
Allison had arrived in Ann Arbor much later than the rest of us, she and Byron drank while James began to buy rounds for everyone. Thanks to James’ friendship, she would not fair particularly well later that night. The rest of us did somewhat better. Well, I do like to drink. Let me rephrase that, I enjoy drinking. However, I do not enjoy being stupidly drunk with anyone but my best of friends and most trusted allies, and then only occasionally. I also maintain most of my cognitive abilities while drinking and practice enough to know my limits. This puts me at an intellectual advantage at most bars. For example, at the Circus Bar a short graying man expressed his genuine distaste for “pool players” by suggesting they all consume rectums. However, the zipper on his pants was fully down and open. As a keen observer, I pointed this out between drags on a cigarette and it seemed to establish a truce that lasted the rest of the night.
Even at my worst, I can muster something that would be deemed clever by anyone who is plenty drunk. Suggesting that someone may want to consider going to “Fuck Town” is a personal favorite of mine and I have used it as a final insult before losing all motor control and collapsing in laughter several times. There is also no appropriate comeback to such an insult either because it is not widely recognized as a proper insult. Still, when in doubt, you can always buy yourself a few moments by flicking a lit cigarette at someone and then sneaking in a quick first blow while they panic. This will give you extra time to think up a snappy comeback or to continue hitting them. I do not necessarily endorse this method unless you are drunk enough, angry enough and the person appears to be “asking for it.” Asking for it includes things like not getting out of your way, having the wrong kind of attitude, pushing, mispronunciation of words, chewing gum too loudly, being inside of a Buffalo Wild Wings, spilling things, general disrespect, whatever you feel like, etc. In the end, it’s never as good of an idea after as it was before the police/ambulance shows up.
Anyway, two games of pool later and it has become all but impossible to shoot from one side of the table. More women came and a sea of freshly shaven legs dug into my back as I make a final last attempt to pocket the nine. I started to hate the bar. I was sleepy and irritable and had no real desire to be drinking. For a moment, I forgot that I loved my friends and started devising a way to block fire exits. I snapped back into reality with Steve, who had helped with the Zeb show, mentioned that his laptop had taken ill. I was again momentarily distracted by a balding twenty-two year old that laughed while he grabbed his crotch and made sexist jokes to his gaggle of friends. Behind him was a sexy woman with a bob cut, thick black plastic spectacles, and a short black and white dress that showcased her hose adorned legs and black stiletto heels. She was alone and she was reading the thickest book I had ever seen, and had been for the past hour. She left later on when an older gentleman, in glasses that I can only describe as partially reflective 1970s director specs, made a move on her. I was sad to see her go as she had become my hero. She had to make her way through a dancing crowd of smartly dressed couples and lone hippies. It really was a bit like a circus.
I recalled two occasions that happened earlier in the week that were definitively unlike my time at the Circus Bar.
The apartment in Ypsilanti smelled like a motel room due to the installation of an air-conditioning unit (waste) and the house in Detroit smelled like sulfur and metal because I had not ran the majority of the plumbing in the house for quite some time. I spent hours alone in both of them on the same day and just reflected on the past and deliberated upon the future. There was much to consider and, when I was finished, it all seemed a little asinine when I realized how much time I waste doing just that. Critical thought is one of the most important things in the world, but it is no longer useful if it doesn’t produce results. This is when gut feelings come into play. I know I have to work creatively to maintain my sanity. I know who I like to have in my life. I know what I need to do to get to the next phase and what things I will need to pay attention to in order to make the best possible choices for myself. I cannot expect to control overly aspect of my life and I would be spoiled if I couldn’t accept that. But I do have my dark side and I have been combating that while dealing with elements in my world that I find truly daunting. I think Nietzsche said, he who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
That seems to be true. I’ll keep fighting the monsters but I’ll be careful where I’m looking during the downtime. Then again, who ever said the easy way was best? It’s never a good idea to gaze into the abyss or stare into the sun but it’s also kind of hard not to. I’ll take it all for what it is.
I slept poorly for the majority of the week and, by Wednesday; it began to take its toll upon me. Thursday, I awoke early and began a day comprised of creative collaboration. In the coming weeks I am establishing an independent publication with several partners, finalizing my book for future submission and filming my next project with long awaited professional grade equipment. Thursday was dedicated to these projects while awaiting a phone call. In the end, I ended up sitting with Brett while the original music for my next film was created. I am absolutely certain in his abilities as a musician and, because of this, I am confident that this project can achieve something extraordinary. He would play and I would make suggestions while he catered everything to fit my specific needs. Before long, we were getting somewhere.
James, Byron, Chase and I all piled into Jim’s new truck and headed to Ann Arbor around 9:15 after dinner. They seemed to be in good spirits and laughed as they rode with their faces in the breeze while I sat up front and told stories. I was incredibly tired but determined to remain active until I was no longer capable of maintaining even a semblance of consciousness. We walked around while I ranted and joked before arriving at the Circus Bar. While plain looking from the outside, the interior glowed orange and a stuffed lion burst through a neon ring of flame behind the bar. Drinks were terrible and beer was cheap. The back wall was lined with young women and pool tables. The latter interested me substantially more but it would appear that I was having more luck with the former. Chase and I played game after game while attractive young women giggled and intentionally positioned themselves in our way. With the exception of Ringmaster Zebs’ always interesting performance, live acoustic covers played loudly with occasional breaks where the singer would curse out pool players and bar goers that made fun or tossed small items at the stage. The crowed ranged from forty-somethings and frat boys to hipsters and hippies. I watched a dozen men unsuccessfully bend over backwards to impress and entertain women while these same women tried to flirt with two disinterested men trying to play pool. I was convinced these girls were out for a twenty-first birthday celebration or, perhaps, a low key bachelorette party. Honestly, there was nothing really wrong with any of them, save that they were in my fucking way while I was trying to play pool.
Allison had arrived in Ann Arbor much later than the rest of us, she and Byron drank while James began to buy rounds for everyone. Thanks to James’ friendship, she would not fair particularly well later that night. The rest of us did somewhat better. Well, I do like to drink. Let me rephrase that, I enjoy drinking. However, I do not enjoy being stupidly drunk with anyone but my best of friends and most trusted allies, and then only occasionally. I also maintain most of my cognitive abilities while drinking and practice enough to know my limits. This puts me at an intellectual advantage at most bars. For example, at the Circus Bar a short graying man expressed his genuine distaste for “pool players” by suggesting they all consume rectums. However, the zipper on his pants was fully down and open. As a keen observer, I pointed this out between drags on a cigarette and it seemed to establish a truce that lasted the rest of the night.
Even at my worst, I can muster something that would be deemed clever by anyone who is plenty drunk. Suggesting that someone may want to consider going to “Fuck Town” is a personal favorite of mine and I have used it as a final insult before losing all motor control and collapsing in laughter several times. There is also no appropriate comeback to such an insult either because it is not widely recognized as a proper insult. Still, when in doubt, you can always buy yourself a few moments by flicking a lit cigarette at someone and then sneaking in a quick first blow while they panic. This will give you extra time to think up a snappy comeback or to continue hitting them. I do not necessarily endorse this method unless you are drunk enough, angry enough and the person appears to be “asking for it.” Asking for it includes things like not getting out of your way, having the wrong kind of attitude, pushing, mispronunciation of words, chewing gum too loudly, being inside of a Buffalo Wild Wings, spilling things, general disrespect, whatever you feel like, etc. In the end, it’s never as good of an idea after as it was before the police/ambulance shows up.
Anyway, two games of pool later and it has become all but impossible to shoot from one side of the table. More women came and a sea of freshly shaven legs dug into my back as I make a final last attempt to pocket the nine. I started to hate the bar. I was sleepy and irritable and had no real desire to be drinking. For a moment, I forgot that I loved my friends and started devising a way to block fire exits. I snapped back into reality with Steve, who had helped with the Zeb show, mentioned that his laptop had taken ill. I was again momentarily distracted by a balding twenty-two year old that laughed while he grabbed his crotch and made sexist jokes to his gaggle of friends. Behind him was a sexy woman with a bob cut, thick black plastic spectacles, and a short black and white dress that showcased her hose adorned legs and black stiletto heels. She was alone and she was reading the thickest book I had ever seen, and had been for the past hour. She left later on when an older gentleman, in glasses that I can only describe as partially reflective 1970s director specs, made a move on her. I was sad to see her go as she had become my hero. She had to make her way through a dancing crowd of smartly dressed couples and lone hippies. It really was a bit like a circus.
I recalled two occasions that happened earlier in the week that were definitively unlike my time at the Circus Bar.
The apartment in Ypsilanti smelled like a motel room due to the installation of an air-conditioning unit (waste) and the house in Detroit smelled like sulfur and metal because I had not ran the majority of the plumbing in the house for quite some time. I spent hours alone in both of them on the same day and just reflected on the past and deliberated upon the future. There was much to consider and, when I was finished, it all seemed a little asinine when I realized how much time I waste doing just that. Critical thought is one of the most important things in the world, but it is no longer useful if it doesn’t produce results. This is when gut feelings come into play. I know I have to work creatively to maintain my sanity. I know who I like to have in my life. I know what I need to do to get to the next phase and what things I will need to pay attention to in order to make the best possible choices for myself. I cannot expect to control overly aspect of my life and I would be spoiled if I couldn’t accept that. But I do have my dark side and I have been combating that while dealing with elements in my world that I find truly daunting. I think Nietzsche said, he who fights with monsters might take care lest he thereby become a monster. And if you gaze for long into an abyss, the abyss gazes also into you.
That seems to be true. I’ll keep fighting the monsters but I’ll be careful where I’m looking during the downtime. Then again, who ever said the easy way was best? It’s never a good idea to gaze into the abyss or stare into the sun but it’s also kind of hard not to. I’ll take it all for what it is.