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Jimmy and Katie

I have a sister. The last time I saw her was in May 1994, on the day of my college graduation. Since then, we sort of fell out of touch, what with me on the West coast and her still on the East. Needless to say, I was apprehensive about seeing her again…I mean, five years had gone by! When she found out that we had moved to Hartford, she weaseled our street name (but not the street number&#41 from our mother, and proceeded to basically stalk Avery and me by driving around our neighborhood at random times of day, hoping to catch us outside. Last Friday, as we came home from a dinner out, we were standing on the porch for a couple of minutes when all of a sudden we heard someone yell "Hello..!" It was my sister, successfully stalking.

My sister and I cannot be more opposite. She is super-thin and flat-chested. I am not. She is a waitress. I work in the financial industry. She has a 10-step hair-styling process ("It's all John Frieda! First you wash it with the shampoo and then the clarifying shampoo and after that you have to put in the conditioner, but only after you get out of the shower because it has to stay on for 20 minutes, and then you rinse it, and after that you need to put in the hot oil and then the serum for the curls, you finish up with the hairspray…and after an hour, I'm done!"&#41 and likes to coordinate her outfits down to the last detail (on Friday, it was head-to-toe Tommy Hilfiger. Even the socks. The sneakers too.&#41 I'm lucky if I remember to put my deodorant on in the morning.

We decided to go to the Spigot to have a drink and catch up. With her skimpy tank top, skinny body, fake tattoo, and shiny, long curly hair courtesy of the John Frieda styling line, a lot of men seemed to be looking her way. (That, and she ordered a Zima as her first drink. I mean, what does that say about a girl?&#41 I asked her, "what the hell is a Zima, anyway?" "Clear malt beverage" she replied. A guy drinking a Corona (which, in my opinion, doesn't belong anywhere other than on a beach in Mexico&#41 came over and "accidentally" bumped into her, then started making small talk: "What's your puppy's name?" (motioning to the small stuffed puppy on her keychain.&#41 "Oh, it doesn't have a name" she told him. "OK, then what's yours?" asked the guy, who then introduced himself as "Ed." Of course, she starts talking to him. Then he starts trying to involve me in the conversation. He keeps drunkenly babbling until my sister gets up to get another drink (which Ed offers to pay for.&#41 Avery goes with her to try to coax her away from the Zima, leaving me alone with poor, desperate, pitiful Ed. Good Lord. I position myself facing away from him. He keeps talking. I ignore him. Trying to establish some sort of connection, perhaps, he then starts acting as if he's in the final round of the $10 Million Dollar Pyramid Game, saying things like "Chinatown." "Fisherman's Wharf." "Alcatraz." (THINGS YOU CAN FIND IN SAN FRANCISCO! YES! JOHNNY, TELL ED WHAT HE'S WON!&#41 I keep ignoring him. He starts saying "I know you're ignoring me." "You're ignoring me, huh." You are ignoring me." (Very observant, this Ed.&#41 After annoyingly repeating himself, like, nine times, I finally stop ignoring him. I turn to him and say, "Look, I'm married and she's engaged" which is kind of a lie because my sister isn't engaged, but she's had the same boyfriend for six years, so whatever.

He says, all crazy-like, "I know! I'm not trying to pick up on anybody!" God damn it, Ed, get the fuck away from me! You don't just buy drinks for people out of the blue because you're a Good Samaritan! And you don't keep talking to someone who obviously wants you to Go Away! What's with these men who do that — talk to people who are obviously ignoring them? Anyway, Ed eventually finished sipping his Corona and left, a couple of other guys stared at my sister and she batted her eyelashes at them a few times, but nothing else of Ed-proportion really happened. Maybe we'll just go for pizza next time.

Posted in Barflies At Large.

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By Janet – June 14, 1999

My dinner with the past

One of my concerns with us moving back to Connecticut was the family situation. For the last ten years, Janet and I have lived far away from our parents. It was a 6-10 hour haul to see us in Pennsylvania or West Virginia, and Boston was a long enough drive away to deter our parents from making any surprise visits. Oh, and nobody was coming out to San Francisco without at least a 14 day advanced purchase… so we never got a knock at the door from a blood relative that we weren't expecting ahead of time.

But now that we live in Hartford, both my mother, Janet's mother and Janet's sister all live within a 10 mile radius. Heck, we probably all use the same grocery store, which means that the chance that we'll bump into them without warning is very likely.

Now, I don't want this to come off like I don't like being this close to relatives. It's just that now that we have less privacy than ever before since we've been married. It's not like we do anything illegal or anything (and even if we did, I wouldn't admit it on this public website&#41… but do you really want to bump into your mother-in-law on the way back from the package store or for your anti-smoking mother to see you puffing on a cigar while you walk around the neighborhood? The privacy that we took for granted is now gone.

This brings up another major issue for me. My parents have been divorced for the past 22 years or so, but there is still a tension between them that will probably never go away. I'm not sure what the cause of the divorce was, but it seems that twenty-two years of guilt, anger and hostility has created a situation where neither of my parents seem to care to be in the same world as each other, let alone be in the same room with each other. Living away from Hartford made it easy to keep my relationship with my mother completely separate from my relationship with my father.

But now that has changed.

My father has been making an effort to see me as much as possible. For the last three years, he has come to San Francisco twice a year for a week-long business conference, and Janet and I have flown down to his national futon marketing trade show for the last few years as well. Ok, we went to the show not just to visit, but because the last show was in Las Vegas and the show before that was in New Orleans, but now that we live $125 dollars away from him (Southwest Airlines&#41, he is probably going to come to Hartford more frequently. This increases the chances that my father's and my mother's lives are going to cross again in the near future exponentially… and if they don't bump into each other by chance this year, they'll certainly be in the same room on our 10th wedding anniversary next June.

The indirect contact between my father and mother has already started. At the futon trade shows, Janet and I made friends with Bruce, one of my father's long time friends. He's known my father for 25 years, and used to move in the same social circle as my then-married parents.

Bruce is close friends with Lillian, who is a also one of my mother's good friends.

Since we now live in Hartford, Bruce now lives 10 minutes away and Lillian lives across the street. The four of us went out for pizza last week, and Bruce and I are making a concerted effort to hang out together. For someone who old enough to be my father, we have many things in common: we both like beer and cigars, and he's one of the best read people that I know. Bruce is our personal friend, as well a friend of the family.

See the dilemma now? Lillian is probably going to tell my mother that we went out to dinner, she'll mention that Bruce was there, and suddenly my mother's life is intertwined ever so slightly with my father's… and I have a sinking feeling that this is somehow going to cause bad blood between my mother and me.

Before we got here, my mother and I had a long discussion about expectations on our time and schedules. I mentioned my concerns about her and my father, and she acknowledged that she would try to make things as comfortable as possible. I'm afraid that this sort of relationship with a close friend of my father is going to poison the well, so to speak.

My mother is a trooper, and she'll take my friendship with Bruce in stride… but I just can't bring myself to tell her about it. I'm not ashamed or anything… but the last thing I want to do is hurt her after all the help that she has given us on our relocation. Still, I'm not going to abandon a friendship just because she might be sensitive about it. I mean, we're all adults now. Right?

It's funny, no matter how grown up you are, you always feel ten years younger when you're around your mother.

Posted in Observations.

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By Avery – June 14, 1999

Goodbye…

Well, here it is: the highlights of the party and our final farewell to the Toronado.

May 21 – The Party

As goodbye parties go, this went exactly as I planned it. No loud music or overly drunk acquaintances milling around and mooching free beer off of us… just a handful of good friends enjoying a last Friday night together.

The night started with my ex-work crew who showed up a little after 4pm. Judy, Rick, Adriana and Molly were there waiting for me as I went to get ice for the two kegs of Speakeasy beer that Forest and Steve had generously donated for the event. Earlier in the evening, I bid farewell to Dave (the owner) and Jennifer (his fiancee and afternoon bartender)… but Dave was only there in spirit for the party, because in real life, he was suffering from a bronchial infection.

A little while later, Carlos showed up with cigars and music. Fireman Ted and Jimi D the chef also showed up and stayed for a beer. Throughout the night, bartenders would stop in and pay their respects. Todd, Pauly, Tad, Steve and Johnny all came by to say their final goodbyes.

Jeff from the sausage shop even supplied us with sausage and kraut (at a moderate discount from his normal rates), and as most of us tore into the sausage with toothpicks, Janet decided to go to Pasta Pomodoro (which we had protested for almost a whole year) and bring back some angel hair pasta with garlic. We avoided them until the bitter end, but when you drink, sometimes pasta is the only thing that you crave… and staying sober outweighed our personal vendetta with Pasta Pomodoro for one night, and one night only.

Toshi was the next to arrive, as well as Rachelle and her Mr. Marina boyfriend (who didn’t stay too long). Toshi, Carlos and I repaired to a quiet corner of the room and shared a quiet cigar as we reminisced about the last few years. Jocelyn and Paul were the next to arrive, followed by Shawn, who came from a softball game just to pay his respects.

The Speakeasy Crew (including Forest, Julia and Steve) were the last to arrive and they came in hungry from the Giants [baseball] game. Their suggestion to get a pizza to combat the White Lightning and Untouchable lager’s soporific effects was well received by the few of us who were remaining at that time.

At the end of the night, it was just Janet, Jocelyn, Paul and me packing up the chairs and cleaning up the used plastic cups… and then it was just Janet and me in a dark, empty hall. Then it was just the two of us in a dark, empty apartment.

May 22 – Goodbye

Since Ian didn’t have a chance to stop by the night before, we decided to make a quick 9pm trip to the bar to say goodbye. I didn’t ever think that going to the Toronado one last time would have such an effect on me, but when we finished our last pints, I would have given anything to change my mind and stay in San Francisco. I left the bar with tears in my eyes.

For the last four years, aside from Janet, the Toronado has been the one constant in my life. It was where I went to relax, to hang out with my friends, and at times to be alone. Now it’s gone… and there’ll never be anything like it ever again.

Posted in The Barfly Chronicles.

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By Avery – June 14, 1999

In search of Rye Bread – A Scowler Leaves San Francisco

There are certain things that I really missed when I lived in San Francisco. I think that it's best summed by this letter that I sent to my management on my last day at work:

PRODUCT MANAGER LEAVES SAN FRANCISCO IN SEARCH OF BETTER RYE BREAD

In a startling move, Avery Glasser, Product Manager for <name of company deleted>'s wildly successful Network Voice Response offering, ended his five-year tenure at <company name> and decided to persue opportunities outside of the company.

The reason cited: "I just can't get good rye bread in San Francisco." Glasser, a Connecticut Native, and lover of good, hearty rye bread has been lamenting the lack of good bread products in San Francisco for the last five years. In a press conference at the Toronado (a local establishment in the Lower Haight district&#41 last month, he presented his case for leaving the West Coast:

"San Francisco just can't seem to do a decent job on any of their bread products. Sure, you can get a damn good Sourdough batard almost anywhere, but once you try to find a rye bread or [even] a pumpernickel…   good luck. All you'll find is mushy, flavorless bread that could barely stand up to peanut butter and jelly, let alone a substantial Corned Beef and Horseradish sandwich. Then again, you can't get good Corned Beef, Pastrami or even something as simple as good mustard or horseradish out here…"

Glasser then obtained another pint of Prohibition Ale, and after taking a hearty sip he continued:

"…and don't get me started about those circular sponges that they call bagels out here. But hey, it's not like people out here know a damn thing about bagels, lox or baked salmon anyway."

Glasser then commented about his search for a blueberry muffin that didn't have oatmeal, wheat germ, or some other "absurd excrement" added to it, and then proceeded to make his way towards the door muttering something about needing a "schwarma" [ed. schwarma is a syrian dish made up of roasted vegetables, grilled meats and sesame sauce, wrapped in a piece of lavash, or middle-eastern flatbread].

When asked about the press conference the next morning, Glasser responded that he "didn't remember" stating his departure to the crowd assembled at the Toronado, but after four or five pints of something called "Arrogant Bastard Ale" he couldn't remember even getting the aforementioned schwarma.

Glasser then commented that he had "tons of stuff" to complete before shutting down his laptop for the last time, and as he headed for the door, he commented:

"Yeah, it sounds like me to say something like that. I stand my my initial statement that the bread here…   well… it sucks. Still, I am sure that there will be enough food stuffs out in Hartford [Connecticut] that will suck as well.

"At least I'll finally be able to get a decent pastrami sandwich whenever I want."

Yesterday, I had decided that I had been without any good Jewish soul food for too long, so we decided to make a pilgrimage to one of the best delis in Connecticut: Rein's Deli in Vernon.

Rein's is the quintessential deli for New York City ex-patriates. Here, you can get anything from baked salmon to bialys to a pastrami on fresh baked rye with Hebrew National mustard and fresh horseradish… actually, I did get an order of baked salmon, a bialy and a lean pastrami sandwich on fresh baked rye… and an egg cream and a Dr. Brown's black cherry soda. Sure, my eyes were bigger than my stomach, but it was time for me to indulge in one of the joys of being Jewish and living in the Northeast.

It's funny. Some people have told me that you can't go home again… that every fond memory I have is just that, a memory. Nothing will ever live up to the memories of my childhood. Maybe for some people that's true, but right now I'm thinking of that perfect pastrami sandwich and I've realized that I really have come home.

Posted in Smirks.

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By Avery – June 13, 1999

Introducing the Spigot

Upon our arrival in Hartford, CT, Janet and I set out to explore our neighborhood. The first thing that we looked for was a good bar to hang out in. We were lucky, because right around the corner is a great bar called The Spigot.

The Spigot is a "Beers of the World" sort of bar. They have 19 taps and 150+ varieties of bottled beers, but unlike the Toronado in San Francisco, it is not a micro-brew focus. Still, they happen to stock a number of local craft beers, as well as many favorites from San Francisco.

When we walked in, we noticed the first difference between Connecticut bars and San Francisco bars: they have a cigarette machine, and people were smoking cigarettes and cigars without fear of the police coming in and giving them a ticket.

Unlike the Toronado, The Spigot offers munchies (popcorn, peanuts, chips and frozen pizzas&#41… which is necessary, because unlike the Lower Haight strip (which is replete with restaurants&#41, The Spigot is in a no-mans land with the only surrounding restaurants being a Papa John's Pizza and a TCBY yogurt and ice cream stand.

We immediately checked out the tap list. Unexpectedly, only one beer available on tap was the typical "Macro-Brewed" beer, specifically: Bud Light. Dundee's Honey Brown and Killians Red, both produced by large breweries, but moderately more interesting than Bud Light were also available. Then you have the Fosters (Bud of Australia&#41 and Labatt's Blue (Bud of Canada&#41 which appeal to the Bud drinkers who want something a little different. Following those beers were a number of British/Irish beers: Guinness, Beamish, Boddington's, Newcastle and Tetley's. Add a couple of pilsners (Staropramen, a Czech pilsner and Warsteiner, a German pilsner&#41 and you have space to put up a number of local craft brews (Magic Hat #9, Brooklyn East India IPA, Sam Adams IPA, Sierra Nevada&#41.

But what I wanted to check out was the bottle selection which won the Best of Hartford designation for the last 8 years. I asked the bartender for a list, and he coolly responded that I should just go to the coolers and look for myself.

You see, unlike any other bar I have ever seen, the Spigot works on a fixed-price honor system for bottled beers. Every beer is $3.00 (except for the Sam Smith imports which are $4.00&#41, and the case is open for you to pick your own. You grab the beer you want, go to the bartender, and he opens it up for you… and upon request will even furnish a glass.

The 150 beers were, as mentioned, beers of the world. Unfortunately, these beers of the world included such drinks as Zima, Seagrams Wine Coolers, Bud, Coors and all of the beers of that ilk. Still, even if you leave out those swill-like beers, that leaves over 100 types of interesting beers. Notable beers included Anchor Steam (and Porter and Liberty Ale&#41, Sierra Nevada Wheat (and Stout&#41, 15 or 20 locally brewed beers (Cotrell's, Shipyard, Hammer and Nail, Geary's, Wolaver's to name a few&#41 and a great selection of German beers (Salvator, Paulaner Lager, Optimator, Franziskaner, Dinkel Acter, Wurzberg&#41.  No Belgian beers though, but a quick trip to Crazy Bruce's (a local liquor supermarket&#41 supplied us with enough Chimay and Duvel to stock our fridge.

I don't think that The Spigot will ever become as fond in my mind as the Toronado is. The bartenders are nice here, and there's enough beer to keep me happy for years, but the're no replacing the bar where you had your first pint of Anderson Valley Boont Amber.

Posted in Barflies At Large.

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By Avery – June 12, 1999

Muggy Days and a Futile Search for Shorts

When we landed in Hartford on May 24, it was drizzling and muggy. Muggy! I haven't been in muggy air for five years! San Francisco temperatures always seemed to hang out somewhere in the upper 50's to mid-60's, and I needed to wear my leather jacket nearly every single day. Connecticut in June during a heat wave (I say "heat wave" despite Channel 3 weatherman Bruce DePrest's statement that it's not really a "heat wave" until there are 3 or more consecutive days with temps in the 90's&#41 is quite a shock to the system after five years of fog. First of all, it's just damn hot. And we live on the 3rd floor of a 3-family house, which is essentially an attic. The first thing we bought was a window fan. The second thing was a matching set of ice cube trays. And then there was the quest for a sinple pair of shorts, which is still on-going.

San Francisco doesn't ever get very warm, and it hardly ever got hot enough to wear shorts for any extended period of time. Consequently, I didn't own very many pairs. I owned three, to be exact, as I discovered after I pulled garment after garment out of packing box after packing box, looking for all the shorts I could have sworn I owned at one point or another. Alas, there were just three pairs: one pair drastically out of style, one pair way too short for my taste, and the third…well, the third pair seems to be really tight. Really uncomfortable when you manage to button the button. They must have shrunk. Yeah. Shrunk.

So, off to Old Navy for a couple pairs of inexpensive shorts we went. Oh, Old Navy, your siren song disguised as a catchy jingle keeps luring me in…and leaving me smashed against the sharp rocks of the dressing room. Every time I go into that store I try on 8 different things and wonder if they're sown together by 90-year-old blind people, because no two garments fit the same way! One skirt is baggy, while another of the same style has a crooked hem.

And every single pair of the shorts in the women's department is a short-short pair of shorts. Trying the men's selection is no help either, because every single pair of the shorts in the men's department could practically double as a pair of pants on me, they're so long. I still haven't bought any shorts, simply because (and this is true for other stores as well&#41 the men's are just too big and I refuse, just refuse to buy a pair of women's denim shorts that just barely cover my ass. I want to be able to wear a T-shirt and still have the shorts show, thank you very much. So, I'm still wearing jeans on the hot days. Old Navy will eventually break me down, though, I just know it. One more catchy jingle and they just may have me walking out of there, wearing the short-shorts, pulling and tugging at them and damning those blind Old Navy sewing-people all the way home.

Posted in Scowls.

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By Janet – June 4, 1999