With Every A-hole, Some Sh*t Must Fall ...

I wasn't in a particularly good mood last night, so when I went to the Post for a couple of beers, my intention was just that: to sit back, watch some videos and have a couple of beers. Little did I know that my quiet time would be shattered by a drunken asshole named "T".

From what I understand, "T" is a professor of some kind or other. I've known of him for years, but we have never once held a conversation. Correction. Once, he came out of the bathroom and, forgetting where his barstool stood, sat down next to me and immediately threw himself into a conversation with slurred, unintelligible comments. Other than that one time, our interactions were nothing more than sharing the stale air of cigarette smoke that hung above the bar.

"T" is the type of guy who you've never actually seen sober. His eyelids always hang low giving the impression that he's ready to fall asleep at any second. Usually sitting by himself at the bar, he pounds back the martinis like shots until his head dips forward and you start taking bets around the bar on how soon his slackened body will topple to the ceramic tiled floor. Once in awhile, like Walter Mattheau's bit-part character in the 1974 movie "Earthquake", he would raise his head and shout out a series of random words that only form a sentence in his blurred mind. He's the type of guy who's so lost in his liquored up world that if you spoke to him or even looked at him for more than a few seconds, you're now his boyfriend and his run-on sentences are overshadowed only by his groping hands.

There's nothing wrong with sitting at the bar and getting drunk. There's nothing wrong with trying to pick someone up at the bar. The problem I have (and don't really bother myself with) are those who seem to walk into the bar drunk, drink for several more hours, fall asleep at the bar and still think you're better than others. And that's how "T" is.

Last night, I wasn't in a very talkative mood. I went to the Post, sat at the bar and nursed a couple of beers. The bar wasn't that crowded, with only a small handful of people scattered around the room with enough barstools between each to ensure that everyone had their own personal space. "D" was sitting next to me and, although we conversed, my responses were pretty much limited to simple answers or nods. "T", already three sheets to the wind, was sitting off to the left, talking/slurring/groping/making out with someone I didn't recognize. After about a half hour, the stranger left the bar and within a few minutes, "T" was talking/slurring/groping/making out with someone else. His activities didn't interest me but, being a constant observer, I watched with disgusted amusement out of the corner of my eye.

After awhile, the 2nd guy left, leaving "T" to talk/slur/grope/make out with his half-empty martini glass. As per the normal routine with him, every few minutes he would expel a few meaningless words or suddenly start laughing. Maybe the pink elephants sitting with him were entertaining him in a way no one else could relate.

At one point, "T" got up off his barstool and staggered towards the bathroom. A few minutes later, he came back and stood next to "D", who was seated next to me. The two of them were talking about something very random and I was now lightly joking with the bartender. I wasn't paying any attention to the conversation going on next to me until I heard the word "blogger".

"What's a blogger?" I heard "D" ask.

"Heeee'th a bloggerrrrr..." came a drunken response. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a waving, unfocused finger lazily waving in my direction. "I hate bloggerrrrzz..."

"What's a blogger?" "D" asked me, lightly tugging on my shirtsleeve.

"I write on-line." I answered simply. I wasn't about to get into a conversation with the drunken "T", even though I had no idea why on earth he brought the subject of blogging up in the first place. But as I was giving my simple answer, the drunk pushed my button...

"Bloggerrrrrrzz are lazzzzyyyyy..."

"Excuse me?" I leaned across the bar, my voice getting suddenly loud enough for all other conversation to end and all eyes turning my way.

"Shhhhhhh." "D" said. "Don't get upset."

I ignored the comment and leaned closer to the drunk. "You better fuckin' close your shit-filled mouth!" I quickly glanced at the bartender and almost laughed at his reaction; his hand infront of his mouth trying to hold back his own laughter.

"D" tried to justify the drunk's comment: "He didn't say anything about you. He was just stating his opinion."

"Bullshit! He pointed directly at me when he said that. He's a fucking drunk asshole and the whole bar knows it. I'm not gonna just sit here and have him call me lazy."

I guess "D" was just trying to put out a growing fire and I wasn't about to let things get carried away. I wasn't going to get myself kicked out of a bar that I've been hanging out in for years over a stupid drunk. But "T", the drunk, continued his slurred comments under his breath. The rest of the bar sat watching, possibly waiting for fists to start flying, but I wasn't going to let that happen. I let it be known that I wasn't going to put up with that horse's ass and the crap he spewed. I settled myself back down and ignored whatever slurred remarks was coming out of his mouth.

I didn't understand "D" however. Whether he just couldn't let it drop or if he wanted to stir up some trouble, he kept defending the drunk even after the drunk staggered back over to his stool. I just repeated that I wasn't going to just sit back and allow some drunk who doesn't even know me to offend me and tried to close the subject.

A little while later, "T" got up and came back around to our end of the bar. Trying to ignore what was being said, I picked up snip-its of their conversation:

"--you should apologize..."

"--not gonnnna appollllogizzzzze..."

"Just drop it." I said, not taking my eyes off the television.

The drunk walked behind me and place his hand briefly on my shoulder. I shook it off and took a swig of beer. Now standing on the other side of me, he leaned in and started talking/slurring in my ear, but still talking to "D" on the other side of me. I set my hand on his cheek and pushed him away. He staggered back into the wall.

"If you're talking to him, don't do it in my ear, you ass."

Without another word, he staggered down out of the bar.

After he left, "D" turned to me and asked: "Are you Irish?"

"An Irish temper has nothing to do with it. You can ask anyone in this bar at any time and they'll tell you that I have never raised my voice in here. I'm not gonna sit here and let the token bar asshole talk about me." I still couldn't understand why "D" wouldn't let it drop.

I finished my beer and said my good-byes, knowing full well that I was going to go home and lazily blog the actual story...

The Age-Old Question ...

How many gay men can you crowd around a laptop to watch "straight" college men having sex in order to win a truck?

The answer: Who cares? There are "straight" college men having sex in order to win a truck!

But it was interesting to find out when, last night, one of the Post's family members arrived with his laptop in tow to get some advice from another patron on how to use it more effectively. We warned him when he decided to take the dive into the world of computers that he would begin to fight the constant pull of the whirlpool current that would take him into the deepest depths of cyberporn (not to be confused with the constant pull when he finally reached those depths). He assured us that he was only going to use it for work. The more knowing ones just smiled and nodded. Who was he really trying to convince here? We knew it was only a matter of time before he would stumble upon some sweaty man-flesh images when we told him that he could google pretty much anything that popped into his head.

Last night:

"Wow! I gotta show you this site! It's unbelievable! I googled 'straight college boys' and I couldn't believe what popped up!"

Aaaaaah....the beginning of the end... Up flips the monitor of the laptop and the soft blue/white glow illuminates that corner of the bar. I was just glad we were on solid ground, what with the way the men jumped out of their barstools and rushed to that side of the room. We would've rolled over faster than the Poseidon had we been on water.

After trying to capture a glimpse of the monitor over the huddled shoulders before me, I sat off to the side wishing someone had brought a camera with them.

Unfortunately, I didn't stick around too much longer...just long enough not make it sound like I wasn't rushing home to jump on-line. I did what every decent red-blooded gay man would do: casually said my good-byes, finished my beer and strolled out of the bar....all the while silently repeating the name of the website in my mind so I wouldn't forget it before I got home...

A Commentary ...

Yesterday morning, a C-5 cargo plane loaded with fuel for an overseas flight and carrying 17 servicemen crashed just short of the runway at Dover Air Force Base in Delaware. After initial take-off, the pilots reported engine trouble and double-backed for an emergency landing. The plane, one of the largest in the world, fell from the sky just short of the runway, the cockpit and tail sections being ripped from the fuselage, and landed in an open field (luckily missing the peppering of housing developments and major highways that encircle the air force base).

This morning, I'm watching the news and two reports, both related in a roundabout way, got me thinking. Now, you may agree with me or you may disagree. I don't know and I really don't care. After all, isn't that what this blogging site is about, letting me post my thoughts and feelings? So, here it goes...

Although, with any plane crash, the NTSB is investigating the C-5 mishap, initial reports are believed to be a flock of birds were sucked into one, maybe two engines. There is a dump not too far from the air force base and birds have been a big problem for planes here for years; so much so that the military is actually in the process of moving the dump to another location. The NTSB and the military are also considering permenantly grounding the C-5 cargo plane and replacing it with the C-17, a smaller version.

Now, I'm not an engineer, so I'm not going to begin to speculate on the pros and cons of replacing one aircraft with another but, after watching the news coverage the last two days, I started to ask myself something.

Most plane crashes, whether it be military, private or passenger, happen either during take-off or landing. The result is often an explisive ball of fire that rips through the fuselage, giving passengers little time for escape. The C-5, carrying 51,000 gallons of fuel crashed in a field, split into three sections and even catapulted one of it's engines hundreds of feet away when it hit the ground. All this with little or no fire and with all 17 passengers suviving, most being able to walk away from the wreckage. Why no explosion with all that fuel stored in its massive wings? Because the plane was designed with the wings (and thus the fuel) above the fuselage. Even though at least one wing hit the ground hard enough to have an engine snap free, the fuel did not explode. This, along with the enormous size of the plane, helped to save the 17 crew members' lives.

Passenger planes, however, are designed with the passengers sitting on top of the fuel, with the wings extending out from the bottom of the plane. When a passenger plane crashlands, in most cases, it's the fuel tanks that touch the ground first, resulting an many many lost lives.

Now again, I'm not an engineer or scientist, just a simple blogger who tries to see things as easily as possible and, in my opinion, to use three words from the great Carlos Mencia...

(tap head) "Da-da-daaaaaaaaaa..."

The other story I heard on the news this morning (and this is something slightly more delicate and readers may be more up in arms over) is the soon to be released Hollywood big-budget film based on September 11th and, more directly, the passengers aboard Flight 93.

Although this isn't the first movie about these heros, it is definately the one that is making the biggest impact. Back in January, A&E aired its version of the flight and I found myself glued to the television with so many emotions surging through me. I was angry. I was frightened. I was saddened. The film's dialogue was taken directly, capturing every word, tone and emotion, from recordings and transripts. Ultimately, as the closing credits scrolled up the screen infront of me, all of the emotions I had felt watching the movie seemed to converge within in me, creating one growing sense of pride. Pride for those who gave up thier own lives to save countless lives on the ground.

The rest of the country during those fateful hours on that blue-skied morning, had witnessed the falling of the towers, the flames and smoke surrounding the Pentagon, and we all knew by this time that there was still at least one more plane unnacounted for, while all others were being grounded. The Capital and the White House were being evacated live on television as Americans across the country held their breath, waiting for cameras to capture a growing grey image in the cloudless sky, aiming itself at yet another target. The feeling that, collectively, we were all watching some movie unfold before our eyes, seemed surreal when reports started drifting in on the wires that a plane may have crashed somewhere in western Pennsylvania.

Initial reports stated that the terrorists had lost control, but it wasn't until a few days later that more information on that fourth plane, Flight 93, began slowly building a picture of what had happened. Family members of the passengers started talking about their last conversations and how the passengers, now well aware that the country was under attack, were planning to regain control of the plane and survive or not, not allow the terrorists to take another cheap shot at Americans on American soil. With a trolley cart as a battering ram and hot water as a weapon, with rumors of fighter jets closing in and air force pilots preparing to do the unthinkable in U.S. airspace, the passengers took charge.

It will always remain unanswered as to what actually took place in those last few seconds in the air over Pennsylvania. We will never know if the terrorists drove the plane into the ground in a last ditch effort or if the passengers did it to save America. But one thing's been proven. They didn't just sit on their asses. They fought back. They weren't ordered to fight, they decided. I am in no way putting down the military. I commend all those fighting in Iraq and Afganistan (although Iraq is...well... :-X ), but our true heros, in my opinion, are the men and women who were having a glass of orange juice and a cup of coffee while enjoying a beautiful morning flight one minute and thwarting a terrorist plot the next. These are true heros.
These two words have been emblazened in our minds. High school text books have been republished to include the attacks on September 11th. Bumper stickers are permanently placed on cars throughout the country. Memorials of one kind or another are erected in town squares. And, on a more negative side, National Guardsmen are stationed in airports, restaurants beyond the security checkpoints no longer stock silverware, people are being asked not to photograph tall buildings and Muslims (American citizen or not) are still being looked at more cautiously. If you're in an internet chatroom and say something against the war in Iraq (again... :-x ), you're automatically labeled "Un-American" by people who chant/type "we will never forget".

Now Hollywood is showing trailers of its new movie about a group of true heros and people sitting in their seats watching the trailer are crying "Too soon!!" When will it not be 'too soon'? When the majority of the people who have lived it are long gone? I remember sitting in the theater watching Titanic. Sure, the love story was kinda cheesy, but I remember having to listen to laughter and rude comments from kids to how people on board reacted to and handled the situation of facing a cold and watery death. Even when Pearl Harbor, with Ben Afflack, was released, it was viewed to many as a high-explosion special effects mega-movie, with little regard to what they were actually watching, the lives of hundreds of American sailors...sailors who actually existed over 60 years ago...being killed on a beautiful December morning. I myself cried when the USS Oklahoma capsized and all of those sailors, some of whom had never even realized they were under attack, had all drowned. I cried because I knew it was real. I cried for those men. I cried for the families. I cried for the sailors who straddled the hull of the ship and tried desperately to break through to get at those trapped inside.

The Titanic has become more of a legend in folklore than an event, and Pearl Harbor will soon become something that happened "way back when". Hollywood, in creating this movie about Flight 93, isn't just out to make a buck. The producers have already stated that 100% of the proceeds in the first 3 days of release will go directly to the funds to build a memorial to Flight 93 in that little patch of farmland in Western Pennsylvania. It's already projected to be a blockbuster hit. That's alot of money to go towards the memorial. The producers didn't just wake up one morning and say "let's do this". They sat down with each and every family member of those aboard Flight 93 and asked them basically for their permission and guidance in making the film. Not one family member refused. They want these heros to be remembered. The rest of the country (at least those who will stand outside theaters in a couple months and picket) seem to want to remember (or rather "never forget") as long as there's nothing there infront of them to remind them.

There are some people who, as emotional as it will probably be, want to remember and want to witness how a small group of passengers managed to save the lives of others on a September morning.

I have two words for those who choose to put September 11th into that little black box tucked way in the deepest corner of your mind while you stand out infront of a movie theater and protest Hollywood for making a movie that deserves to be told...

STAY HOME!!!