11:47 AM 4/16/2007

I got home after work last night to find the ceiling was leaking in my apartment. It wasn't a major disaster, but the water was dripping on some equipment - a speaker cabinet, guitar amp, synthesizer, and some old computer monitors. I mopped up a little and moved a few things to make room. Since the rain had already stopped, I wasn't sure how much more dripping to expect - as it turned out, not very much. It's probably going to do that every time the roof gets wet from now on, so I put in a call this morning. They redid the roof years ago when I first moved in, and it's been trouble free until now. Naturally, the leak was near the skylight in the stairway.

I was thinking about watching TV at 8, so at 7:15, I went to get a quick beer at the Reef. That's not how it worked out, though. I should have stuck to my plan - at the decisive moment, it seemed like staying at the bar would be more fun, but in the end I knew sitting at home watching TV would have been better. I brought "New Art City" just in case I got bored - I could browse the paintings at the very least. First I was talking to this guy Colin, who does web page graphic design for a non-profit. He had left his copy of Wired at the bar the night before, so he was able to retrieve that. We started talking and I flipped through the magazine. He told a story about somebody sailing from Florida to Maine who came to them looking for funding/support. They offered to host the blog as part of their site, but people were not communicating well, and there was nothing he could do about it.

I was about to leave when two strange women with accents arrived and sat next to me. I forget their names, but one of them was probably called Sarah. The accents were Scottish and Australian. They seemed lively and entertaining at first, but they turned out to be boorish. Either they had been drinking before, or they were just bad people. If you walk into a bar and get upset about cigarettes, then beer, in rapid succession, then I think there's something wrong with you. They were upset because they couldn't get a pitcher. They insinuated themselves and presumed upon me - they suggested that I buy them two beers. I told them it would cost them a good conversation. (They were drinking Yuengling, after all. It's one of the cheapest beers sold at the Reef...) The Scottish one started railing about what a terrible country America was that you couldn't get a pitcher. And then, she became upset about having to go next door to buy cigarettes. And then, when I said I worked for a bookstore, she started namedropping poets. When I didn't know the names, she got upset about American schools not forcing people to read real literature. Lemmesee... what was her example of a great writer?: Henry Miller. But don't worry about me, because they lost interest in me quickly - and good riddance. They found like-minded boorish men to talk to. I really thought that thing about buying them a beer was just a joke - and then, there it was on my tab. Usually when I buy six beers and an order of tamales, one or two drinks mysteriously disappear from the bill - but not that night. The money doesn't bother me so much, as the final realization that they didn't hold up their end of the bargain. They weren't even very nice people. When I want to be a self-indulgent complainer, I can sit at home and do it for free. And I don't inflict it on others. When I go out I like to be open minded and observant. I wish other people did the same thing.

I went downstairs, and crossed 18th, where I found Shawna. She worked at the Reef for a while, and we had some business school classes together. She was the reason I got interested in going to the place again, and then she started working somewhere else. Her big news was that she was headed to Alaska for a while. So I won't be bumping into her in the middle of 18th Street anytime soon.

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