A Good Imagination and a Pile of Junk

I was talking with Jenn on Tuesday night last week, enjoying myself out, sitting at a bar, knocking back a few, eating some spectacular finger food and just generally having a good time when I said “Ya know, I wish there was some way I could just do this without all the drinking. I’d be out every night.”

“But… you can’t.”

“Well, I know that.” It’s not a big source of conflict for me, but it certainly is a little one. That kind of social environment, when you can be there without any context or pretense other than wanting to be there and interacting with whomever happens to show up, is really just wonderful. It’s one of the few situations involving other people where I’ve begun to grow quite comfortable. There’s just this pesky alcohol issue attached to it.

The alcohol issue isn’t the standard alcohol issue (drink too much, escapism, depression inducing, yadda yadda) it’s just that it’s expensive and doesn’t feel good enough to want to do it to excess. (This is one of the few reasons I’m down to one modest “night out” every two weeks.)

I tried for a while to capture that sort of environment downstairs in Grand Central Terminal. It’s a great melting pot of people coming and going, grabbing something to eat for a few minutes along the way. I would sit there with a laptop and write for an hour or two (usually I was transcribing eavesdropped conversations, much like I do in a bar.) But people are generally not terribly sociable in that kind of environment. Sure, you can drum up a conversation with one out of every few, but it’s always a minute stolen from the middle of a commute. Not quite the same thing.

Perhaps that’s what people use Starbucks for nowadays. I don’t know, it’s tough to tell. Especially since it’s just as expensive as going to a bar. Eh. Probably worth a shot.

There’s something here though, just beyond my grasp. I just don’t quite know what it is. I feel like I’m chasing someone and all I ever see of them is their heels disappearing around the next corner.