...And all around mad eyes are rolling
I just keep flashing back to my trip back to the home town. I think i'm suffering from culture shock. The people, the decay, the gray. The unfriendly eyes wondering who i was and what was I doing in "their" bar or on "their" streets. They used to be my streets, and i guess in some strange way, i hoped that people would remember me in some small way.
I mean, most of the 35+ crowd would have remembered partys at my house for my HS thru college years and my sister carried the torch for a few years after that. Even if they didn't attend them, they were on the recieving end of hear-say about the activities that went on and if the police showed up. They were famous years, good years, blurry drunken years.
Maybe that's the issue. It has been a good 15 years since the last party and if observation serves me right, people haven't stopped getting blurry. Just judging from who i saw out on the town last Saturday and even last November when i was home for my cousin's wedding. Take Dwyer's Irish Pub. Formally a bit of a hole in the wall, now a larger hole in the wall that from the outside looked reformed and, dare i say it, urban metro. They must have some serious brawls on the weekend judging from the bouncer to patron ratio. 2 at the door and i think i counted 3 roamers. People must really get it on and get roudy after a week of the grind. Here in Colorado, a bar of equal stature on a Saturday night would register 1 skinny bloke at the door checking IDs and 2-3 bartenders dealing the local fare. That in itself is a selling point for the west. Come experience the mellow blurriness in reletive safety.
N. Tonawanda is home to a good class of blue collar worker and educator. It always reminds me of the Prancing Pony scene in LOTR. People getting blurry. People trying to forget. People trying to get out but having tights bonds to their family and not being able to get away.
I know a few who've succeeded and those who get out but get sucked back in like a dull addiction. Nothing like shooting a needle full of hopelessness and gray into your vein every now and again. Don't get me wrong, I like to go home and see the relatives that grew up in a town that was triving in the 60's and early 70's, but they have a tempered depression about them if you bring up the town. They are all retiring and moving to the country to spend their days in isolation, perhaps remembering when they too were known throughout the county for whatever they were known for.
I need a drink.
I just keep flashing back to my trip back to the home town. I think i'm suffering from culture shock. The people, the decay, the gray. The unfriendly eyes wondering who i was and what was I doing in "their" bar or on "their" streets. They used to be my streets, and i guess in some strange way, i hoped that people would remember me in some small way.I mean, most of the 35+ crowd would have remembered partys at my house for my HS thru college years and my sister carried the torch for a few years after that. Even if they didn't attend them, they were on the recieving end of hear-say about the activities that went on and if the police showed up. They were famous years, good years, blurry drunken years.
Maybe that's the issue. It has been a good 15 years since the last party and if observation serves me right, people haven't stopped getting blurry. Just judging from who i saw out on the town last Saturday and even last November when i was home for my cousin's wedding. Take Dwyer's Irish Pub. Formally a bit of a hole in the wall, now a larger hole in the wall that from the outside looked reformed and, dare i say it, urban metro. They must have some serious brawls on the weekend judging from the bouncer to patron ratio. 2 at the door and i think i counted 3 roamers. People must really get it on and get roudy after a week of the grind. Here in Colorado, a bar of equal stature on a Saturday night would register 1 skinny bloke at the door checking IDs and 2-3 bartenders dealing the local fare. That in itself is a selling point for the west. Come experience the mellow blurriness in reletive safety.N. Tonawanda is home to a good class of blue collar worker and educator. It always reminds me of the Prancing Pony scene in LOTR. People getting blurry. People trying to forget. People trying to get out but having tights bonds to their family and not being able to get away.
I know a few who've succeeded and those who get out but get sucked back in like a dull addiction. Nothing like shooting a needle full of hopelessness and gray into your vein every now and again. Don't get me wrong, I like to go home and see the relatives that grew up in a town that was triving in the 60's and early 70's, but they have a tempered depression about them if you bring up the town. They are all retiring and moving to the country to spend their days in isolation, perhaps remembering when they too were known throughout the county for whatever they were known for.
I need a drink.
