November 3, 2008
First of all “hello” and welcome to my blog…
Second of all be warned that I have no idea what the hell I’m doing yet. In trying earlier today to write and post this profile, I accidentally sent myself a comment. To explain this keen ineptitude (which I promise to soon correct), I’d like to paraphrase Bones from the old series Star Trek… “I’m a bartender for God sakes, Captain, not a blogger!!!” Yes, I’d like to paraphrase Bones but now that I am a blogger that won’t fly. So, onward and upward…
I’ve decided to do this blog, hurl myself into cyberspace, at the behest of a longtime friend and customer who’s been trying to get me to do this for quite some time. I guess he figured instead of regaling just him and his wife with my tales from “behind the stick”, there’s a much larger crowd out there who knows how to yawn. So this past Saturday night (after a stiff jack Daniels and an amiable twist of my arm), my friend created a web site, I dashed off my very first riff, he sent that riff into cyberspace and I’ve never felt so naked in all my life. (Except for that incident in L.A. years ago which legally I can’t discuss.)
And if the site looks pitifully bare right now, like I just moved in and don’t own any furniture, it’s because (technically) I don’t own any furniture. See, all I’ve done on my computer up til now is read, write and e-mail (scary eh?) but this friend has agreed to be my technical tutor. He said he’d eventually walk me through all this stuff… these pings, dinks, links, and winks, widgets, gadgets and gidgets, or whatever the hell those things are grown-up blogs have. But until that schooling is complete (or I jump off the G.W. Bridge out of sheer frustration) all you’ll see when you visit my joint are the stories and lessons I’ve learned from “behind the stick”.
I actually am a bartender in the great city of New York, at a location that for now shall remain nameless. Not because I fear a crush of female fans invading my workspace (Invade! Invade!), but because I don’t want potential readers becoming angry-mob-with-torches to my Dr. Frankenstein. And though I’ll be writing mostly about Barland, I also reserve the right to touch on anything else that life has thrown in my path. Well, not anything. There are some things I just won’t discuss and they are the following…
(1) felt hats
(2) “the meek” and what they’ll inherit
(3) cheese platters (as a concept)
(4) leg warmers worn over golf slacks (as a statement)
(5) tumbling in the workplace
(6) the wrist corsage
(7) S.V.C.S. (Sneeze-Vomit-Concussion-Syndrome)
(8) Mickey Rourke
(9) and of course… the socio-political implications of yodeling in a cab
But everything else I swear is fair game.
So in closing, dear reader, I hope you like what you find here and take each entry you read with a grain of salt. Why? ‘Cause it’s grains of salt when added together and deftly applied to the rim of a frosted glass, that make what many would call “a fine margarita”. See ya’ down the road.
(Now if I can just figure out how to post this thing without steam coming out of my console and my socks sliding down.)
PS: Just so you’re aware… I only post once a week, usually on Saturday afternoon, but I’m sure there’ll be weeks when I crawl in Sunday morning. Cheers!