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Porn again
 



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post #6
bio: j. wray
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7/25/2003
01:16

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07.25.03
The last two weeks have been crazy -- Kyle and I drove to New York not once, but twice in the last 14 days, the second time stopping off in Burlington, Vermont and State College Pennsylvania.

But I'll talk about that another time.

Instead, I have to take a moment to talk about what I just saw on the tee vee.

I was watching Insomniac With Dave Attell, not normally one of my favorite shows, but this episode was filmed in Columbus -- how could I resist? Adding to the appeal was that Dave was accompanied by a co-host from Columbus, who is a friend of a friend. So, anyway, I was getting annoyed with the show -- as I generally do when I watch it -- the PG-13 Girls Gone Wild antics can get a bit irritating. I couldn't believe it when halfway through the episode they had yet to visit a bar I'd ever set foot into.

But then they went to the St. James Tavern, a hipster bar in a questionable neighborhood with an unquestionably good jukebox and cheap drinks. There was a period where I could be found at the St. James at least once a week. And then I was reminded of why I stopped going for a bit.

A guy in his mid-20s was being interviewed by Dave. The guy flashed Dave his credit card, which read, "Gabe's House of Porn."

Jeebus. I know Gabe. About a year or so ago, I was at the St. James with a bunch of friends when Gabe sat down at our table, chatting and passing around his credit card. He was nice enough, if a bit garrulous for my tastes.

Anyway, a week later, my friend Colleen and I returned to the bar, with the goal of drinking a few $2 pints of beer and being left the hell alone. Gabe was there, again, and this time he was with a friend. They started chatting us up, and attempted to draw us back to the apartment they shared with promises of a cute puppy, premium cable, more beer, and, importantly, a couch.

It was as if they believed the phrase "we have a couch" was what girls spent their whole lives dreaming of.

They kept it up after last call and trailed us to my car, giving me and Colleen their address just in case we changed our minds and wanted to stop by. We didn't change our minds.

Since Girls' Night Part One: Drinking At The Bar had been effectively destroyed by the persistent lotharios, we embarked on Part Two: Smoking Pot That I Found Outside Of A Movie Theater In Dayton. I'd found the pot a couple months earlier after paying for a premium ticket to see Corky Romano at the insistence of friends. Finding the pot made me almost not hate myself for watching Corky Romano. Almost. My friends had gathered outside of the theater after the movie to discuss its finer points, such as the ongoing debate, "Was That Just A Really Fat Cat or Was That A Really Fat Cat In A Fat Cat Suit?" Having made up my mind (I sided with Just A Really Fat Cat), I started looking at the ground, and found a small baggie with something green inside. No one really seemed to notice my quiet announcement of "guys, I think I found some dope," so I pocketed the stuff. It was mostly stems and such, but there was enough for a small bowl. Not being a huge pot smoker, I held onto it, waiting for the perfect moment.

After getting hit on by Gabe & Co., the time seemed right. But there was a problem. Colleen and I, not regular pot smokers or smokers of any other substance did not have rolling papers, a pipe, a bong or any other smoking accessory. And although we had a supply of both apples and potatoes, neither of us knew how to craft a bong out of them. But I did have one skill: I could make a bong out of a soda can. Unfortunately for us, Colleen's roommate, Mollie, had just taken out the recycling, so there were no empty cans to be had. Unfortunately for Mollie, she'd left plenty of full cans of root beer in the fridge. Neither of us liked root beer, so it was dumped down the drain. Then I used Mollie's Sesame Street coloring book to separate the seeds and stems, feeling a little guilty, since Mollie herself has never touched pot. After we smoked the dope, we ate some of Mollie's leftover pizza, and then passed out, the stems and seeds still littering the coloring book, the charred can nearby.

Colleen and I didn't go back to the St. James Tavern for a couple of months after that. I was out of pot, and the thought of running into Gabe and his House of Porn again without the promise of drugs was enough to freeze my heart with fear. I dunno, I probably go back sometime -- guess it's time to start skulking around the movie theaters again.
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