The castle hight of Indolence,
And it’s false Luxury;
Where for a little time, alas!
We liv’d right jollily.
James Thomson
The Castle of Indolence
1748
Here’s to all those with whom i’ve tippled. Whose names i’ve
forgotten, whose names i never knew or whose names i could
never remember.
To those who amused me, to those who annoyed me, to those
whom i annoyed. To the happy, to the sad, the laughers, the
grumps, the angry, the stunned, the confused, extrovert and
introvert alike.
To the pool players, the juke box tenders and music triviasts,
the artists, philosophers, the cab driver, the bouncer, the
school teachers and the principal, the butcher, the baker—was
there a candlestick maker?
To the nurse, the gyno, the yoga teacher, the gymnast, the sex
worker, the scientist, and the tech dropouts. The actors, the
cameraman, and let’s not forget all the folks who earn their
keep by the sweat of their brow in the heat of the kitchen all
over town.
To all the baseball fans, old and new, the band-wagon crowd
and the wizened who knew a thing or two. To three World
Champions and a perfect game. To afternoons of old movies;
gaslight mysteries, back alley noir, even now and then, the
occasional musical comedy. (Dream Girls, anyone?)
To raucous conflabs; the din of the tavern’s false laughter.
And to long silences when one or all were simply lost in
thought. To the space itself, a sometimes last refuge where it
were possible to loll—yes, to “lay in a beatitude of indolence.”
To those who had their final final. Left without farewell.
Went home and never returned. Their spirit stayed.
And of course, To the Bar Keeps extraordinaire, who held
things together, directing a cast of an epic serial who showed
up nightly to perform their part. Sometimes even fed us; oft
was the evening’s repast the bubbling quesadilla, a grilled
cheese sandwich, or the humble hot dawg. No finer supper
could be had. They listened to the gripes, laughed at the bad
jokes, and put up with us. And most of all, kept our glasses filled.
And to our Publican premier exemple who hired the right
people and kept the store stocked (most the time; that’s ok,
kept the riff raff out), charged a fair price right and knew the
wherefore and why of what it takes to captain such a harmless
den of thieves.
We’ll likely never all be together again, but let our auld lang
syne be “We were there.”
And so a final toast to the whole Cimmerian crew, all the
nullifidians, all who reveled in the dim light, who took their
place, come weal or woe, and never batted an eye (tho would
proffer mud in their mate’s). And toasted, “Here’s How.”
Cue juke box:
When the music’s over
Turn out the lights.
—The Doors
poetastrophy 