Dispatches from the Bar

I've been at the hipster haven known as Woodruff's the last couple of nights for Mittenfest VI and I thought I'd report on two items of amusement:

1. Silly facial hair and kids who don't dance abound at this place. And in this land of vans and skinny jeans, I heard one guy actually say to his friends, "Don't you see him over there? He's the guy in plaid." It was just too much like trying to find somebody at a Dead show in a tie-dye to not get a good giggle out of it.

2. Then last night, I noticed that the guy holding up the wall next to Biscodo was not looking too hot, even though he continued to pull on his PBR. I couldn't tell if he was on the verge of an emotional or phsyical breakdown, but he was definitely not well. I nudged Dr. Friendly, who had joined our party, but he declared that we did not need to intervene until (if) the guy hit the floor. I was considering getting the dude a glass of water and encouraging him to lay off the beer but his friend appeared and seemed to talk him back into some less pained state so I let it go. Five minutes later, when the bands were changing over and Biscodo and Dr. Friendly had toddled off to the bar, this guy, apparently feeling very much better, started to chat me up.... as if nothing had happened. Okay.... I can play along:

"So, what's your name?"

"Georgina"

"What?"

"Georgina" (said very clearly)

"No (laughing), really, what's your name?"

"Yeah... well that's really my name and now I'm really going to go talk to someone else" (Thanks for being near by, Matt!)

Yeesh. Dude, lay off the... whatever the hell it was you were on last night.