Every decade or so I'll have a song that is my favorite song ever. "I wish you were here" by Incubus ranks as the song that defined and informed my teen years. It's that song that always works. It demands to be played and refuses to be skipped in any playlist or cd. The new song that has become emblematic my twenties is Washed Out's "Feel it all around." Instantly calming and energetic at the same time and a certain (make up a word quick, quick, you fool!) vibeability (nailed it!). The song has a fantastic baseline, great rhythm, and Ernest Greene's breathy vocals seem to float in from time to time caressing the track and not overstaying their welcome. The album is called Life of Lesiure and I can't think of a more fitting title or pursuit in my late twenties.
It's pretty clear that I'm being shamelessly selfish. I indulge often in the things that make me happy. The girl (is it a girl?) from the album cover in the ocean at sunset is a powerful and lasting image. We want to be her. We want her life. This album's mandate is to do what you makes you happy. Relax. We're not here for very long.
This is where I think they hipsters have the right idea. Sure they're unwashed (and unashamed!), and have a know-it-all quality that some find repulsive. It would make me a hypocrite to judge them for this. Judge not lest ye be judged said someone of importance (was that a biblical reference?) However, they've got the giving 0.0 fucks about stuff dialed in. There's a certain ballsiness that comes with working a few hours a week at a coffee shop and spending the rest of the time hanging out, drinking PBRs, and engaging in other hipster activities. However, I picture these activities to be largely outdoors in the sunlight, whilst they were oversized sunglasses and just hang out. Probably listening to chillwave songs, or other obscure artists while I'm working 12 hour shifts and dying a little more each day.
Fucking Don Draper. His embodiment of 60s masculinity and preference for whiskey are never overplayed or discouraged. His drink of choice is the very appropriately termed old fashioned. I doubt that choosing was accidental. I ordered an old fashioned at the Armory, an upscale cocktail bar in Portland. I felt part douche and part boss. More boss than douche considering the venue. You can pull off ordering an old fashioned in a nicer establishment, but in those dive bars you're likely to be met with an about face served straight up with a twist of fuck you. After the first sip...
It had everything. The smoky bourbon, the sweet from the sugar, the citrus from the muddled orange, and the crisp bitter from the angostura wrapping it all up. Each sip invited another adding to the complexity and my questions. How did they mix this cocktail? How soon before I can have another before people judge me? And how can I make my own version of this classic?
In perfecting my own old fashioned I stumbled into the humble art of bartending. When entertaining friends, it's more personal and a higher level of hosting to mix them a drink. Granted, always oblige to the guest's preferences, however offering to mix a drink demonstrates a greater level of flair, and a fun skill set. I find it enjoyable to identify the flavors and spirits my guests enjoy and mix a cocktail combining those ingredients into a balanced and unique drink. It's on par with being a mad scientist (albiet one that gets everyone intoxicated).
I joke that regardless of whether I'm a nurse or a bartender, either way I'm pushing something.
After several soirees, I contemplated going pro bartender, but not before I readily identified all the cliches and why John Cusack would make the ideal bartender (another post).
Then again, I'd be no slouch behind a bar but only if it remained a hobby rather than a job. Therein lies the beauty of me potentially behind a bar: I don't need to be there. I can go all half baked anytime I want. That's a very liberating feeling.
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