Mr. B introduced us to an intriguing cigar establishment, where you can buy cigars and sit upstairs among billowing clouds and suck alcohol. Jennifer and I purchased a cigar and that's what we did. We settled on a smooth glass of port and lit our cigar. Damn! That was the best port we've ever had (for those non-alcohol people, "port" is a fortified red wine, in which some other type of other alcohol has been added...it is sweeter and more potent than its dryer counterpart). The problem was that they brought exactly enough for 2-3 good swallows and it was about $6 per thimble. Needless to say, we didn't plan to spend the rest of the evening there. Our cigar, which we only smoke once every few months, was a bit dry when lit and it burned like a bag of dried leaves, but it was still quite pleasing and relaxing.
It was during that time that I bummed a pen and paper from Jennifer and began working on this narrative. Gena and Mr. B have read several of these wordy summations of our travel experiences, but this was the first time that they got to see it from its brainstorming, half-formed beginning. I told them that starting a good narrative is like sex...fun but messy. Yeah, they weren't amused either. But once we started recalling our experiences, everyone sort of chipped in on ideas for heading names. Mr. B contributed several, and we quibbled over the word meanings a little, to which he once said to me, "Well, if you want to be pedantic about it..." That was an unfamiliar word for me, but after he defined it, it became a running gag the rest of the night.
H.) CLUBBING WITH ED NORTON AND JOHNNY DEPP
Since the cigar establishment basically slashed our wrists and bled us to pay for their high-quality products, Mr. B decided to take us to a more casual establishment. We ended up at a nice bar, where we sat outside next to these external heating units and just had a few tankards of Yuengling, a beer much loved in the region. At that time, various and sundry people began trickling in while wearing their own costumes and we amused ourselves by watching them...especially the more racy ones. So many of the women were of college age, and I remember commenting to Mr. B that they made me feel old. But that's apparently an attitude, because he's around my age and he didn't feel that way at all. I guess I've got an old soul. Of course, I felt old when I was in college.
At one point, a drunken guy came up, pointed at Mr. B and made a big deal about how he must be Ed Norton. That generated a conversation about how my own distinctive appearance has often been compared to Johnny Depp and how Jennifer and Gena were out with a couple of inebriated celebrities.
The rest of the night wasn't that exciting and after we had a couple more drinks, we retired for the night.
IV. Sunday October 30: The Morning After
A. Cheek to Jowl for Bagel Chow
1. Frazz and Spazz in the Midst of Belching Jugs
2. Monet, Anyone?
B. On Your Mark, Get Set...Drift!
C. Underwire Buddha
A. CHEEK TO JOWL FOR BAGEL CHOW
Our time in Charleston was spinning down, so to begin the parting of ways from Mr. B on Sunday morning, we stopped first for breakfast at a little bagel restaurant. I don't know if Charlestonians just operate on a different schedule than Lexingtonians, but this place was far more crowded at the time we were there than anything back home. Again, it was like being in a monkey cage to order and get our seat. Although they gave this fine selection of coffee brews (everything from normal black coffee to fancy flavors like pecan), the place was apparently bad about keeping their coffee jugs filled appropriately. Poor Jennifer tried one juicy flavor after another, only to have the jugs belch tauntingly at her, giving air but no coffee. Once she went through enough jugs to get a full cup of coffee, she had to go head-to-head with the sluggish ice machine (she likes her coffee cooled just a bit), which took forever before dumping a chunk of ice into her cup that splashed hot coffee all over her hands and melted them into gummy sludge. Combined with the crowds and the hubbub, that was when she'd stood all she could stands and she couldn't stands no more. Her skin blasted off of her and left a flaming skeleton standing at the condiment stand, one that turned laser beam eyes onto all passersby and reduced a big part of the crowd to ash. Burning bodies. Screams. Scorched drywall. Spectral laughter that sounded like it came from deep in the grave. Not a pretty sight. At risk of my soul, I snatched the coffee cup from her and gave her the space to focus on one task at a time, before anyone else died with the everlasting regret of a stomach lacking in bagel mass.
There was certainly danger in sitting next to a blackened, flaming skeleton that had the very fires of Hell emanating from its ribs and the blood of innocents staining its bony fingers. But I managed until the bagels arrived. Then all was well and everyone was happy. As with all the food, they were divine...this time, it was Cajun spices with egg and sausage. Good tea, of course. The godly coffee helped Jennifer fight off the flames and materialize new skin over her frame. And all saw that it was good.
Just as a side-note, it was interesting how much art was all around Charleston. At this establishment, they had several classic replicas, including a Monet in the restroom. It seemed a strange place for the father of Impressionism. With my personal tastes, I would think that the perfect place for the abstract art.... [facetious grin]
B. ON YOUR MARK, GET SET...DRIFT!
Before we left the city, we had to drop Mr. B off at the harbor, where he was supposed to board a passing boat for a scheduled sailboat race. This is apparently a major sport in Charleston, where the ocean is omnipresent and the winds are high. For those of us in landlocked states, a visit to a lake a few times a year is our experience of water and even then, I personally haven't been on a boat in over six years. So this was quite different.
Despite the historical reputation of sailors as lusty, brawling, uneducated, dimwitted mongrels bent on rape, pillage and plunder, the reality is quite different. Sailing is an intensive, highly detailed, intricate art form that can be dangerous for the uninitiated. These days, true sailors are quite skilled, intelligent, and often wealthy individuals. The sport has many different ins and outs, from the jockeying for the best starting position, to the way the sails are hoisted, to the make and model of one's boat. For those without the understanding, it all looks pretty random and slow. Gena talked us into hanging around after Mr. B jumped onto his ship (literally while it passed the dock without ever stopping!), so we could watch the start. What it looked like to us was a bunch of boats lazily drifting in random patterns around the ocean until the judges fired a shotgun...then they drifted some more. Our ignorant eyes weren't able to discern the nuances, though Gena explained a few of them to us. I used the time to sit and let the salt breeze blow over me, while I meditated and prepared myself for the long journey home. It may be a long time before I again see the sea.
C. UNDERWIRE BUDDHA
Gena has long been lamenting some hurdles in her life, many of which are "up in the air." She had had some breakthroughs on what she wanted during her time with Mr. B and as we drove home, she became increasingly certain about a plan of action to help her get more self-actualized. She was so different going home than she was coming in that I dubbed her developments as Enlightenment. It's always nice to be a witness to someone being born anew. She bounced some of the ideas off of us and I was glad to help her string them together into some kind of coherent picture. It's nice to be a counselor sometimes.
The trip home was long and wearying, but not particularly noteworthy. Seeing the familiar roads of Lexington was nectar and ambrosia...or at least like drinking Southern tea. ;)
And if you stayed with us throughout this entire essay, thanks so much! It was fun again!