Turn Your Radio On

I recovered enough to meet my factory friends yesterday at the Factory City Brewery.  I got there at four.  It was outside, and it was hot.  I didn't plan on staying long, but I ended up being there for four hours.  The bar was filled with what I learned were "regulars."  Some of my pals have become "regulars" too.  I'd forgotten what that culture is like, hopping from stool to stool, table to table.  I watched with horrified fascination.  Maybe it was the heat, I'm not sure, but things just seemed to be off.  But every time I finished a drink, another would appear.  What could I do?  So I sat and talked to my bruja friend who says she, too, will be leaving the factory at the end of the year.  And she will not be the only one.  

Things change. 

I won't be particular here, but in general, I think the day went sideways.  Some people change when they drink.  Some, like me, get funnier.  Some, though, become morose, and some, argumentative.  All of those things happened, and of course, the different moods did not mesh.  My deft humor had fallen flat with one of my good friends who, in her state of inebriation, took it all wrong.  I was worried, but others said, "She gets like that when she drinks too much.  She'll be fine."  

Bar culture is really just ugly.  

My friend who won't ask me out was there, too.  Whew!  I'm relieved.  I was pretty sure that wasn't a good match, but now I'm sure.  

I prefer a quiet cafe. 

I am attracted to the ones with light hearts.  Even the ones whose hearts are heavy, but who are light in public.  That is probably the majority of my friends, I should think.  You have to be able to get out of your own way and laugh, because I mean. . . what the fuck, right?  Nobody really gives a shit about your troubles except most of your enemies.  Turn that frown upside down, etc.  Singing in the Rain.  As my dead ex-friend Brando always said, "The interstate is just down the road."  

And, of course, when the troubles got deep, he took it.  

One could, however, simply start writing a blog.  

I am locked into seeing "Oppenheimer" this afternoon with some of the group.  After last night, I'm not thrilled, but I bought the ticket, so I guess I'll take the ride.  People I know who have seen both movies already say that "Barbie" may be the better movie, and I'm like, "!!!!!".  I hadn't planned on rushing out to see it, but now I'm deeply curious.  How could that movie be good?  All reports, however. . . . 

I didn't get home until nine, and I hadn't eaten.  It is not a good idea to eat big at nine o'clock for someone who will be ready for bed in an hour.  But I did.  And drank.  And listened to music.  And so, before bed, I sent around a lot of songs to my friends.  There is such glorious stuff out there, and this has been the great benefit of the internet.  It is a fair miracle.  

And so, I will leave you with one that is apropos for a Sunday.  

Amen.