Drinkin' a beer and singin' a country song.

 Journalism is a beast that lives in the Now. It doesn't have time to linger on the Past and is too busy to concern itself with the Future. The next edition has to be laid out. The next story has to be filed. The next show has to be planned and the next interview scheduled. It comes and goes so quickly you barely have to think, and if no one gives you grief for screwing up - for real or by their standards - then it's a Good Day. However, it's just a day, tomorrow is another one, and you have White Space to fill.

 I think that's one of the things that attracted me to Journalism. I don't dwell much on the past if I can help it. Sometimes I can't, granted. Sometimes in the wee hours, I remember an insult I let slide or one I made, a come-on I passed on or an attempt that fell flat on its face. It's all blurry and hazy, though. Part of that is the copious amount of weed I've consumed over the past two decades but most of it is I simply don't want to remember.

 Since moving home, I have absolutely nothing to do with my friends from school days. Part of that is because I know from experience that the different paths led have made making any sort of connection damn near impossible. Part of it's resentment for always being treated like the oddball that I was and am. It is what it is, but I don't have to like it.

 And part of it is sheer laziness. But not all of it. People asked me why I quit drinking, and I tell them it was because it ceased being fun enough to deal with the hangover and upset stomach. That's the truth, as far as it goes, but it's not the whole story. I never liked drinking alone, even just that beer with supper or after work. Anytime I'd bring a six-pack home, it'd sit the refrigerator for at least a month, getting drunk mainly because I was embarrassed it was still there.

 Maybe it's because of my dad. Back when he drank, Daddy would bring home a case on Friday intending it to last the entire weekend. When Momma would go get groceries the next day, though, he'd have her buy another case because the first one was gone, son. And after he got hurt and weekends no longer meant anything to him, he could drink as much as he wanted whenever we wanted. He did, and it really didn't go well for none of us. Drinking alone at home just doesn't sit well with me.

 But I don't think it's all that. I like bars. I've always liked bars. Not too fancy, not too sleazy, not too hip, not too dingy. Just a place where I can drink a few beers, get some reading done, and, most importantly, watch humanity without having to participate. When I lived in the French Quarter, I achieved a modicum of fame for being the Guy Who's Always Got A Book. That's how I chose my bars, which ones were the best lit and the most bar space for reading room. I'm not kidding. Bartenders from different joints talked about me - I'm an excellent tipper - and it was a matter of slight concern, I'm told, when I dropped off the map one day, as I'm wont to do.

 But I didn't read all the time. Nope, sometimes the book was a shield between me and the rest of the patrons so I could watch them live life without having to interact with them. Some people like to go to malls, some people like going to parks, but in vino veritas always worked for me. The dance of humanity is all that more fascinating when people are a bit lubed up. I've seen relationships come and go, friendships rise and fall, lives come to a dead stop only to spark back to activity with the next shot.

 It didn't always work, though. I must've had That Kind of Face. People have always opened up to me for some reason. One of the few things I did well as a Journalist was to get people comfortable enough to talk to me. Didn't matter how long my hair got or how frazzled my overall appearance got, I seemed to calm folks down. Granted, there's only so much you can do with outright assholes, but just being Me has kept my ass alive in some seriously hairy situations. My brother says, "Your lucky [rednecks/bikers/gang bangers/chullos/frat boys/etc.] like you."

 There's something to it. Even today, with my scraggly beard and the bluebird of youth long gone, complete strangers still feel comfortable telling me how life is going for them and I've never mastered the art of getting them to leave me alone. It's one of the reasons I don't leave the house anymore.

 But I was talking about drinking. Like I said, in vino veritas, and sometimes when it's an hour till closing time and there's no one in the bar but you, the bartender and someone who's got some shit they absolutely have to get off their chest but can't tell anyone they have to deal with on a daily basis, well... I've heard some shit, let's say.

 I'm a bleeding heart and a soft touch, that also plays into it. Women have told me about instances of sexual abuse. Guys have told me when they've broken their parents' hearts. Vice versa, more times than I can count. I've talked suicides down. There's been a number of times I think I may have been the only thing that stopped a shooting. I've talked wives out of leaving their husbands, even if just for a night with me, and I've helped husbands understand that they may not have meant to do it, but it's done and they have to live with it. Parents whose kids were dead or dead to them, and grown-up children still waiting for Momma to come home for good.

 Night after night, bar after bar, I heard so many stories. And you know what? I don't remember them, almost to a one. It's all lost in a green haze, an alcoholic buzz, and the determination to not remember that horrible shit this otherwise admired, desired, smiling Darling of the Scene just told me she's never told anyone else. Journalism deals in the present. Cover the Story, Write the Article, and move on because the Presses Don't Stop.

 And that's why I don't drink anymore. I'd still stay stoned if I could get good smoke on a regular basis without having to worry about the state stormtroopers kicking down my door. Same thing with mushrooms, I'd do those every day if I could get away with it. But that's not how life is and we find our fun where we can. I don't miss drinking and I don't miss bars. I certainly don't miss hearing the deepest secrets of someone I barely know. Being straight under duress is a drag but at least it's quiet here.

 Can't ask for much else, so I don't.