November 10th, 2005


One HELL of a Good Bartender

There isn't much to do in San Jose airport while waiting for your flight - especially when said flight has been delayed from 10:00pm to 2:20am.

In fact, it comes down pretty much to drinking.

Fortunately for us, we've run into one of the best damn bartenders we've ever dealt with. One should actually come here, to the old terminal building, and taste the drinks made by Jay of the Martini Monkey.

He's normally here M-F noon through around 10:00pm.

Absolutely amazing. We've tried a whole range of drinks, and they've all been delicious.

I'm on my second Bloody Mary. I normally hate Bloody Marys. timenchanter has had a Tokyo Tea that tastes like ambrosia.

I realize that yes, I'm drunk. But I still have taste buds, and I'm serious: You should come here and try this guy's drinks. It will change your view of mixed drinks. And possibly make you hate sweet&sour mix.
  • Current Music
    Who Cares?


I've been sitting here in my seat for several hours, with timenchanter's head on my shoulder (Bastard fell asleep almost as soon as he sat down. My situation has been quite a bit more fitful). I've been musing on "things".

We talked for a bit earlier with a very beautiful - and nice - woman named Shannon. A model and/or actress (I didn't bother asking, but it came up that she may be doing a commercial shoot soon, and apparently she's a friend of Daphne Ruben-Vega). She was apparently out in the Bay Area to say goodbye to someone who was dying.

Which made me start to think about my relationship with my father. I know I'll never truly resolve things with him - we're just not a "resolving" family. More of a "smile and change the subject" family.

One of the things I found difficult growing up with him was that he had to "win" every discussion. We'd end up taking positions on something - anything - and start to discuss merits, which was fine. But in the end, it would be about him proving himself right,independent of the truth.

If his position was losing, he'd start in on a whole list of maneuvers, including making diversionary jokes, ridiculing me or my position, or as a last resort finding some way to change the subject.

But he'd never, ever admit he was wrong.

I hated that about him. It always made me feel totally worthless. And as I grew older, I hated the fact that I was the same way.

I'd find myself in random conversations, defending some position to the death, despite the fact that I knew I was wrong. I couldn't help myself - the castle walls had been breached, and all would be lost if I didn't repel the invader. It was painful to watch.

And I just realized that I can't remember the last time that happened. I certainly still like to be right, and I pontificate like crazy, but I can't recall the last time I was unable to say I was wrong.

With any luck, this means it's gone away, and I'm generally able to admit I'm wrong, now.

But I feel a sense of loss - not at the change in behavior, but at not having been able to note its passing.
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