What’s Playing At The Roxy?

When most folks learn that I once lived above a McDonald’s the reaction is almost always one of these: “Really?  How could you stand the smell?” and “How awful, did you hate it?”  The truth is, I didn’t hate it.  I didn’t love it.  It’s sort of one of those feelings of pure indifference.  Oh sure, there were drawbacks: a constant humming noise from their ventilation system, the annoying night crew that played their radios full blast until the wee hours of the morning, not to mention my rodent problem.  But I guess it is my lot in life to always look on the bright side: I could always enjoy anything off of their dollar menu, I had an endless supply of condiments (our household never ran out), and you can’t beat overindulging in the free refills when you live just upstairs.  So now that I’ve moved above a bar, the inevitable reaction is like déjà vu all over again. Yet, once again I find the regular alcoholics very entertaining.  There’s nothing like a good old fashioned bar fight on a Saturday night which almost always begins with a drunken misunderstanding about something or other and ends with proclamations about kinship, love, and mysterious wisdom.  Cracks me up everytime I witness these sometimes hour-long dramatizations involving longtime friends and family or mere acquaintances.  As I’ve stated before in an earlier post the music selections can be witty and ironic.  I wake up to their latest favorite: Coldplay and wonder at what the song, “Yellow” truly means for drunks.  I’m not quite sure, but I have an inkling that it has something to do with needing to use the restroom. But lo, then the jukebox lit up in front of the alcoholics and beckoned them.  And when they played The Rolling Stones, then it was good.  Or, something. Herbie, I didn’t think you’d be fully loaded: Bar fights often take on three categories: the bitter half at home, the feud between two friends, and the complete waste of time.  Let’s look at this closely, using the 4-star system, shall we?    *    I should’ve stayed home.   **    I should’ve stayed at my mother’s.  At least she’s cool. ***   I should’ve gone to sleep under a rock. **** I’ll drive… The Bitter Half At Home – Is the argument between husband and wife, boyfriend and girlfriend.  Generally, the one who’s been waiting up for the other arrives at the bar looking to tear an arm off with hilarious results.  Hilarious for us of course, not them.  Most arguments begin with, “I thought you said you were going right home” to “Do you know what time it is?”  The response, assuming that the drunk is still able to make a coherent sentence is often, “But babe, I was celebrating ______’s birthday” or some other random occasion.  That, or the elusive, “Don’t be mad, I just stopped here to have a few beers.”  Sometimes, the arguments get physically violent using long-range weapons like beer mugs and shot glasses.  Good times.  I give it **** The Feud Between Two Friends – This is always entertaining because whether the two parties are lifelong alcoholic friends or just-met acquaintances, the result is non-stop funny.  Usually because both are fighting, slurred speech and all and everything’s fair game for ridicule:  Mothers, finances, other friends, family.  The greatest mud-slinging this side of the Mississippi.  In these fights, all dirty laudry is hung out to dry including infidelities, sibling rivalries and old wounds.  From time to time, direct challenges to prove masculine man-strength is also brought to the fore.  This involves skin-on-skin death matches that can result in bloody noses.  Sometimes, depending on the history or the involvement of outside parties reminding the drunks how much they love each other amounts to nothing but big talk and no action.   For that reason, I’ll give it just ** The Complete Waste of Time – I had to mention this because sometimes the funny can occur without physicality at all.  Like the group of alcoholics who frequently sit outside of our building hollering, “Hey, it’s The Party Bus!” to Bayonne’s gaudily pink-trimmed schoolbus charted for parties on the go.  That, or shouting out to the passersby, “C’mon in and have a drink!” I mean, sure they’re alcoholics.  But some seem to be happy about it.  Those lovable alchies…Like the one guy who shows up every morning at the butt-crack of dawn for his daily fix before heading off to work as (you guessed it!) a machine operator!  Yessir, I’m sure part of the fun is making a game outta seeing whether or not he’ll survive another week with all of his fingers or not.  The only way to win the game is to make it to the hospital before he passes out.  There’s also nothing like the nails-on-chalkboard whines of a few overindulged alley cats wailing to jukebox favorites at three in the morning.  Now that’s entertainment! ***

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About Mema

I've been at this blogging thing since 2005, but I don't consider myself a veteran AT ALL. My posts are mostly well-meaning, fun anecdotes with the occasional random thought and a dash of humor for good measure. So sit back, relax, and stay awhile. And if you decide to browse elsewhere, just remember...you're missing out on an opportunity to meet (arguably) THE GREATEST PERSON THAT EVER LIVED. Overstated? Well, why not stick around to find out? Your call, tough guy. Or, gal. Or, martian.
This entry was posted in Nothing To See Here., Wasteland, Angst, and Other Good News. Bookmark the permalink.

One Response to What’s Playing At The Roxy?

  1. Quana says:

    THIS IS SOOOOOOO FUNNY AND TRUE!

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