existentialism: shaken not stirred
so my recurrent monday night shift at a particular noho arts district bar is usually pretty mellow. this area of the valley is also known as "industry-wood". the random birthday party will spontaneously erupt, but it's typically a night that I am able to alternate my preferred reading material in between rounds and bond with the patrons.
there is a group of regulars who frequent this drinkery. they cabal in the west corner of the bar. these are the kind of guys who compete with the planters as fixtures of the business. loyal pillars of their local watering hole; this is a staple element of their social life. I know most of their drinks like the back of my hand and have it ready for them before they even sit down. they sit, smoke, and shoot the shit but rarely pick up on chicks or start trouble. (with exception for the occasional politically charged kerfuffle) they usually talk about their jobs, current events, recount their crapulent memoirs, and gossip about the other regulars and staff. most of them are pretty nice and intelligent guys, but I tend to leave the boys club to their own devices and let them entertain themselves without my interference, aside from the intermittent interpolation for a replacement libation. I'm not well crafted in the art of small talk, although, this bar has inspired me to improve on my performance of the intrinsically worthless convivial skill. I don’t work in the "industry", I detest high profile spectator sports, I don’t have cable and I rarely watch movies. there isn't enough common ground between me and these dudes for weekly conversation at length. I know some of them think I’m just retarded and socially inept.
there is one regular in particular with whom I have a friendship beyond the parameters of duty. he's older and certifiably more formally educated, having a collegiate background in both philosophy and law. we both favor anarchistic ideals, but disagree on several fundamentals of tenet. I totally respect his well informed wit. it's a fine tuned and double edged sword he uses as a weapon to wield dominance and control. he is argumentative for sport. everyone else is wisely impervious to his provoking; knowing any dialogue with him when he's feeling litigious is futile. but I always get into it with him. especially when I'm bored and/or feeling a bit bibulous myself (yes, that means I've been drinking on the job. it's no secret, working in a bar spurns pilfering of the establishments fine potables).
so I was perfectly content silently reviewing my word of the day flashcards, but he threw out the bait and I bit. he was teasing me about being more interested in a little book of words than talking to him. the taunting took a detour to the preference of ideas to people, how fantasy compares to actuality, and the limitations of masturbation. the badinage quickly turned into a contentious verbal exchange on existentialism. he is a seasoned squabbler but his techniques are at times hostile and immature. he often resorts to ad homonym attacks (uh-hem: name calling). his favorite insults are: imputing arguments as "sophomoric" or "clichéd", and people as "sociopathic" and "racist". he interrupts and will talk right over you. he'll nit pick at insignificant semantics, bloviate a barrage of padded and/or rhetorical questions that he then wont let you finish answering before he finds fault with another triviality.
I've seen him rightfully put a fool in his place and cruelly crush unwitting dupes. tonight, once again, I willfully threw myself on his chopping block. I'm a fun playground sparing partner for him because I’m as stubborn as he is intransigent. half the time I can’t get a word in edgewise, am thrown off by his tactics and distracted by other things at the bar, but I stick to my guns knowing I've got a point even if it's not getting across. another reason I'm sure the regulars think I'm an ass.
I was unsuccessfully attempting to describe what difference, if any, there is between me and the rest of the world and what the "me" is that I refer to. I said something about us all being temporal manifestations of thought form and each of us at the bar in this time space continuum a projection of an idea in my own head. he, of course, disagreed, insisting I'm wrong and that's just my opinion which doesn't dictate his reality. I responded by saying that's his opinion, he's validated in having one, and both truths can coexist in the same space because the basin of reality has a holding capacity for an infinite number of perspectives, and truth is all circumstantial anyway, having varying degrees of relevancy. he called me something to the effect of "wishy-washy" and said I'm just spinning my wheels. upon hearing which, I defensively asserted my position as superior because I have a broader range of understanding and compassion for multiple points of view. it would have gone on like this but the debate was cut off by my needing to address another customer. note: in the actual colloquy I stuttered a lot and was much less cogent than it appears here in the text.
well I get the last word in my story.
my final thoughts on the topic:
the eye that is "me" is "not nothing but is no thing", a process that is occuring, and merely a reference point, which is but another flavor on reality's palate.
man, I always think of the perfect things to say after the fact.
speaking of reality: the skinny/effeminate dancer guy with the frizzy/light brown/medium length hair, who was one of the finalists in the reality series, "bromance", recently aired on m.t.v. came in with three friends. he stayed for just one beer. not much of a partier for a reality t.v. star. maybe that's why he didn't win in the end.
