Having a terrible string of bad luck finding new partners in crime for nightcaps at Seidenfaden's. Since Ray has moved to NYC, this has become a priority of the greatest necessity. First, Michael was turned off by the loudness, crowding and, I guess, the general karaoke-ness of Wednesdays at my neighborhood haunt. I must admit, as much as I love being able to have a relatively calm, conversational conclusion to the evening, I do love the chaos of karaoke nights at Seidenfaden's. Maybe I can get Siobh interested in making it a regular appointment after Open Air Transmissions (I rarely seem ready to head straight home from the Rud.).
So, tonight, Kelly wasn't so hip on Erin's suggestion to finish the night at the Dirty Soul Party. Actually, by that time, Erin wasn't that hip on her own suggestion and although I'm always happy to be dancing in a hot, sweaty crowd, when I'm at the Red Lounge I can never quite relieve myself of the feeling that I'm just not one of the cool kids. Still happens to me in most of those "see and be seen" places. So they ask me where we should go and, of course, I take the opportunity to have my last beer two blocks away from home. Seidenfaden's... Erin says, "I've never been there. Let's go!" Better reaction than I could've hoped for, surely. So, we get our drinks and a minute later, a guy Kelly didn't know except as a bartender somewhere else comes up and says hello, has a dizzying carousel conversation consisting of around five "How have you been? Fine. And yourself?" exchanges. He then leaves the bar, Kelly assures us he's very cute and principled when not hopelessly inebriated. Thirty seconds later, he walks back in, bends down to Kelly's ear and tells her, "You are the sole reason... for fighting the death penalty in this state. You are the entire impetus behind it."... and leaves the bar again. I tell Kelly that if that were true about me, I'd want to know it and that she should consider it a great compliment, which would be true if what he'd said had any relevance in this universe. Although Kelly is fervently opposed to the death penalty, I believe that it would be a stretch to say that she's the sole impetus behind any one person fighting said injustice, much less an entire state's movement against capital punishment.
After a few minutes of settling into our conversation, we received another unexpected visitor- this time, a mid-20s I-was-a-nerd-in-school-but-now-my-skin-cleared-up-and-I-bought-a-leather-jacket-and-some-cool-frames-so-now-I-can-talk-to-any-chick-even-though-I-never-managed-to-learn-any-social-skills guy asking the ladies if they wanted to join a band called Three Aces based on the early '90s Chicago erotica movement. I'm sure he thought he was pretty smooth to figure out an opening line that would compliment the ladies ("You think I look cool enough to be in a band?") and slyly introduce sex into the conversation in the first half minute. Of course, both of those tactics always worked well for Prince, but he was cool and brilliant, with balls like cantaloupes. If you're not talented, or at least cool, nobody wants to be in your band, and if you don't have the balls to tell a woman how much you want to fuck her right off the bat, you're better off waiting a few minutes before you start sliding the double-entendres in.
I figured being shot down twice in short order would be enough to send our new acquaintance on his way, and I tend to shy away from actions which might inflame tensions or incite violence, so I didn't automatically puff out my chest and demand we be left alone. He didn't budge, though, so I laughingly remarked that he "just didn't know when to stop." No dice. Made a comment about it being nice that I had two women who actually enjoyed talking to me. Realized that our uninvited tablemate had a finely developed conversational Ali rope-a-dope frequently employed by those with minimal or unpleasant personalities to extend any personal interaction they may be granted. The strategy is to keep feinting, keeping your prey talking by changing subjects or forcing them to defend themselves against subtle, often unvoiced allegations of being uptight, materialistic, etc. until you finally alight on a subject of shared interest or, like Foreman, they punch themselves out, lowering their defenses, giving you an opening.
However, he was no more Ali than he was Prince. After being asked directly by all of us to leave the table, he made one last effort at delaying his exit, asking to just finish his beer. After we denied that request, he began mocking Erin, at which point I puffed out my chest and demanded that he leave us alone, which he did, but only after making a great show of finishing his beer in two almost-manly gulps.
Needless to say, the ladies said that they didn't think they'd be joining me at Seidenfaden's in the future.
What's the moral of the story? Maybe I'll figure that out in the harsh light of day. Right now, I just know that Ray introduced me to a hip, cheap, little hole in the wall within stumbling distance of home, then he moved to the city and left me without a drinking buddy (on Breckinridge, at least). So maybe it's "Rizzo giveth, and Rizzo taketh away." Or maybe it has something to do with a thing my therapist said today... that I've been cursed with or constructed a life in which I can't win *or* lose.
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