Breaking Bad is about to get real, yo

Talked About Scenes Episode 501 Breaking Bad: Live Free or Die

I love Breaking Bad the television show. One of my joys in life is posting on the AV Club talk board after each episode. Most AV Club members are like me, meaning juvenile and a bit too clever for their own good. Just thought I'd share that...

The creator of the show, Vince Gilligan, has penned a riveting story rich with complex and interesting characters. I'm not going to describe what specifically happens on the show or why you should watch it. I think it's great television drama only rivaled by the Wire and I'll leave it at that.

I'll admit it, I do "steal" devices from other writers. We probably all do this, like musicians build off chords from other musicians. When writing a screenplay or scene, I'm doing my best to give the actors the food they crave, I'm going to give them words to play with and an environment that enhances their scene. Too often I talk with writers who are immersed in their projects and who refuse to take into the account the reality that their words will be changed on the set or that the final scripts may be faint echos of their original screenplays.

Maybe working as a journalist prepared me for this inevitability?

The first time a journalism intern gets to write a story and see their name on a by-line it is quite the rush working on that assignment and typing that baby up. You dream of seeing your name in a "real" newspaper page and feeling the pride of being a legitimate writer. Then you see the printed piece complete with re-writes and edited paragraphs and you see your name on the by-line and feel embarrassed and a angry. This is not what you wrote! Those are not my words! Why did they take out that quote?!

That's journalism, baby. You had 24" inches to work with, you had specific instructions from your editor on what the story should be, you had a deadline, and more than anything, you needed to understand who your audience was. Far too many writers write only for themselves and that is why they fail in the writing for pay business.

Getting back to Breaking Bad, a reviewer pointed out the similarities between Treasure of the Sierra Madre and Breaking Bad. I see the comparison. Walt is the Humphrey Bogart character who is going insane with greed, Jesse is the Tim Hult character trying to keep the peace, and Mike is Walter Huston, the elder player with experience and wisdom. There are other rhetorical devices used by Gilligan from allusions to the Simpson's, the allegory of Walter White and Tony Montana, repetition of certain words, symbolism (the pink stuffed bear comes to mind), and last week it was forecasting using a Three Stooges episode. But who was the shooting bear? Was that Mike or the Law?

And lets not forget the name of the main character - Walter White. This show is filled with ethnic characters on the bad side and most of the good guys, aside from Hanks partner, are white. I remember the episode in Season 1 where the Native American janitor who helped Mr. White with his mess was later arrested for being in the possession of marijuana. Gilligan with a slight of hand points out the disparity between equal justice for whites and non-whites. Hank represents this disparity yet he is the obvious protagonist in the series. Nothing in this show is television formula.

Next week it looks like shit gets real and the end begins for Walt and Jesse.

I'm still debating whether my new "home bar" is Grassland or Jonell's or another place I won't mention because that is also my secret establishment. I want to make it Grassland but damn it, the place is too clean and the bartenders are too nice!

The last time I drank here I did find poop stains all over the bathroom floor, like someone sat on the floor and dragged their butt around spreading poop...and that was gratifying to see, that the bar could get nasty. I told Cee 1 and she promptly called the dude bartender who had just got off his shift. He didn't look happy but at least he stayed this time and drank some shots with us.

Above is the old front of Grassland with the "WHERE - GOOD FRIENDS & GIRLS MEET" over the entrance. They took that down but kept the ugly yellow and green sign. I recommend they change the sign because this Grassland does not resemble the old Grassland one percent, not even a quarter of a half percent. Plus the sign is sorta ugly and does not convey what lies inside, which is a dark, inviting, clean, and fun little bar.

True dive bars are my favorite places to hang out, and the old Grassland was about as divey as you will ever see or drink in. I've drank in dungy bars in Elko, Nevada, and in old Reno, and well, in a lot of crappy neighborhoods in big cities and small towns and only three or four were as beat up as that old shithole Grassland and none of them were at a location as scenic as Kearny overlooking the Transamerica Pyramid and below Broadway on North Beach.

You've probably read all about it and if you haven't, do a google search. This is about the NEW GRASSLAND where they have daily drink specials, cute and not fake bartenders, clean glasses, beer on tap, and hell, nice flat screen televisions and an internet jukebox. Truly, this place fucking rocks.

I want to like it more, I truly do but every time I'm here, which is pretty much every time I go to Bing's less than a block away, I get the feeling I can drink and watch tv but I can't get *too* drunk or too obnoxious, and I may be totally wrong about that but that is what I sense.

Maybe it's the two cute, Asian, nice, smart, and cool chick bartenders I've met. Cee 1 and I forget the name of the other one but she's very, very cute. There is also a daytime dude bartender and he's pretty cool but I've had a difficult time getting anything out of him, like he puts a wall between he and the customer. But he's still cool. Cee 1 and the other chick bartender, they will drink with you and have a fun time, not in the manner a drinker experiences in a place like a Korean hostess bar where you feel like you're being pressured into drinks. This is not that type of bar; Grassland is NOT a hostess bar or any other type of ripoff bar. The fact that they employ pretty Asian (Vietnamese?) bartender is a coincidence, I think. It's simply a dark, clean little bar located near a touristy area of the City and its still trying to find it's identity.

It seems to be a sports bar at moments, then it seems to be a tourist trap, then it seems to be a dive, then some regulars come in and it seems to be a neighborhood bar, which would be very, very difficult as it's located in Chinatown near North Beach and the neighborhood bars in those hoods have different atmospheres than Grassland. To put it simply, Grassland seems out-of-place, almost out-of-its-time.

My theory and advice is its holding onto the past with the old sign. Take that down and put up a new sign and while you're at it, change the name of the place. That's it. Aside from that, the owner is making the best with what he or she has. Hmmm, maybe that is it? Maybe I need to meet the owner, unless its that dude daytime bartender, and in that case we already met.

Yeah, I like you Grassland but I feel I should love you. Maybe we'll get there over time?

Oh wait, they did change the sign!! I LOVE YOU GRASSLANDS.

Okay, so I'm about to write another bar review and I don't have pictures of the place and I decide to browse the internet for pictures. Yes, I find before and after pictures of the place (the bar was recently renovated and that was going to be the theme of my review). But I notice, damn, there are a shitload of bar reviews on the internet and some of them are pretty damn good. Then I notice the name of one of the reviewers and I'm thinking I know that dude and he drinks as much as me. Actually there's a funny story about that but I'll get to it later.

Okay, I'm reading all these blogs and newspaper reviews of bars and agreeing with some, disagreeing with others. There is always the debate as to what qualifies as a dive and then there is the debate regarding the different definitions of bars (dives, upscale, hotel, neighborhood, tourist trap, clip joint, etc.). My input into these debates is I'll get into them but only with peers. Don't start that conversation unless you've been to drinker college. That does not mean you have to be an alcoholic but you do need to put your time in and there should be more than a few regrets and drinking consequences.

Okay, you do need to be an alcoholic but you can be a functioning alchy or in "recovery".

Back on topic, what I see in these reviews are many novices or people who have lived in insular environments. You get your writer who has only been to frat house bars who judge the place by the quality of loose women and if the bartender will high-five you. Then you get your foodie bar drinker who ranks down the place if they don't have (insert micro-brewed beer of the day) on tap.

There is no sexism when it comes to bar reviews, hell, maybe my favorite bar reviewer of all time is a chick so if one makes the assumption that *she* won't like your favorite haunt because it smells, you are wrong. 

What I'm saying people is I don't go to your favorite vegan restaurant and review the place. You know why? Because I love meat!

Okay (fourth Okay, okay), my reviews are written from the point of view of a bar diver. I'm not chasing tail, I'm not looking for the cleanest lines and smoothest beer (although I do appreciate good beer), and I'm not looking for the best "mixoligist". I'm writing my blog posts as narratives and if I cannot tell a story about the damn place, I won't write about it.

Now back to that funny story about my peer drinker. For years he and I would drink at Mr. Bing's (see earlier blog post) and drunk debate and pound shots and have great times...but every time we met we were drunk. I don't mean buzzed or legally drunk or even "that dude is pretty drunk." I mean completely fucked up, like "I'll be right back, I gotta vomit." Then we'd pound more drinks.

We did that for a couple years. One afternoon we both show up at Bings about the same time and we're both like, "I know that dude." We're sitting next to each other ordering drinks and Bruce the bartender asks us if we want to do shots and we're both like, yeah, I guess. Then we both have that awkward moment when we put our hands out to introduce each other and we're both like, "I forget you name, I know we've drank here before but I forgot..." Bruce yelled something like, "you fucking motherfuckers, you fucking been drinking here together doing fucking shots for years, you fucking fuckheads!"

After some investigation we figured out that every time we had met before, we were too drunk to remember anything but blurred faces and out-of-context memories. We truly had never met while sober.

So we got drunk together for the first time and wiped out that awkward memory.

*IMPORTANT NEWS UPDATE*

Just read that the City of San Francisco is looking at micro-apartments. Take a look at the link. I'm not sure this would fix the issue of lack of affordable housing in the City. Maybe the influx of new small studio apartments will create more of a renters market and more available housing, thereby lowering rents at the downtown single-room occupancy hotels?

I don't trust developer-backed non-profits, either, and they are the ones behind this idea. Usually that means cost-cutting shortcuts and requests to change codes and ordinances to support {insert rhetoric}. The place looks like it could cause claustrophobia. Having lived in a couple tiny apartments, I know it is not for most people and requires a bit of mental preparedness. You will want to get out and do something rather then being trapped in your cell.

I do see a couple burners and hopefully there is a freezer/refrigerator. That was the toughest issue with me; having to eat out for every meal was expensive. The freezer allows you to store 3 or 4 meals, which means you have to shop less, freeing up more time for you.

I gotta tell you, if this place was going for $1k, I'd be on that waiting list faster than white on rice.

I was drinking at Vesuvio with a tourist and he and his wife asked me in drunken, slurred voices (at least that's the way I heard their voices), what do I recommend doing to get a feel for the real San Francisco? Of course, that was not the first time I heard that question and usually I tell them stuff like the Ferry Building on Thursday and Saturday, Coit Tower, Chinatown, the Presidio, the Great Highway, blah blah blah.

But that day I was very drunk already at the hour of 1 pm, so I let them know what I really thought. Following is a list of activities and sights that I recommend tourists see or do to get a feel of San Francisco. Nobody is every going to agree on this list and it's okay if you disagree or think I left something off it.

Before leaving for any event, you shall leave your phone(s) in your room. If you get into an emergency situation, yell for HELP and somebody might come to your aid. This is my list.

1. You must ride the 30 Stockton from Chinatown starting on Pacific & Stockton going toward South of Market. This trek shall give you the real feel for Muni and will toughen you up for your "vacation". You can get off at Union Square, that should be enough for you to get the idea. Side Note: as an extra, on the way back walk through the Stockton Tunnel if you're going back that way.
2. You must eat lunch at a table of a restaurant with a large window in the Tenderloin. Your table must be close to the front door and the restaurant must be below O'Farrell Street. When a homeless or crazy person sits next to you and the smell brings tears to your eyes, you must grin and bear it until all of your food is gone. You must get out of your taxi or bus at least two blocks from your destination. If you drive a rental car and park, you are stupid.
3. Bar crawl in the Castro without your camera. You must have at least 1 mixed drink at each bar and you must dance at least once in a bar or club. If you go as a couple it's okay to dance together but extra points if you dance with a third hard body or if you dance on a stage by yourself and make new friends. This activity may take up your whole day so best to start early.
4. Rent a bike from Blazing Saddles, Bay City Bike, Bike Rental San Francisco, or another bike rental business and ride around the city checking out spots. Don't be afraid of those hills and ride all around Golden Gate Park all the way to the Great Highway.
5. Get some Mexican food in the Mission and walk over to Dolores Park and eat and hang out/picnic. Ice cream or a sandwich are also fine; you want to do this on a sunny or warm day. If you're lucky, check to see if you're here during a movie night and check that out in the evening.
6. Go to a Giants game if it's baseball season and they're in town.
7. You must go to a transgender karaoke and listen to a hot-mess trannie sing "I Left My Heart in San Francisco" during the late evening. Another similar ballad will qualify and it can be from a transsexual but it must be a poignant, inspiring version. I recommend Diva's or Aunt Charlies Lounge. AsiaSF will also qualify.
8. Hang out in Japantown reading magazines, shopping, get some pics taken at that little place. Maybe get some sushi? Later, walk over to the Kabuki Theater and check out a movie.
9. The little taco stand outside the DMV office on Divisadero. Eat.
10. Check out the Richmond restaurants on Clement. Walk over to the Abbey Tavern or 540 Club and have a few cold ones for me.
11. Walk. Walk the street of Nob Hill and SoMa and Ocean Avenue and Market Street and the Fillmore and West Portal and Van Ness and Noriega Street. Walk. San Francisco is a walking town.
12. Check out the Ramp in China Basin or Pier 23 or Zeitgeist any other place with an outdoor patio on a sunny day. Drink and enjoy life.
13. Most importantly, grab a News & Review or Guardian, grab some breakfast, and find out what's happening today and check it out. Even better, walk and let life take you to new adventures and don't be scared of the locals, most of them won't bite.

It is common to see a doggy or other pet in the Nite Cap on the corner of O'Farrell and Hyde in San Francisco. One time I accidentally kicked the dog dish in the back corner of the bar, spilling dog food all over the floor of the bar. The place was so loud and packed it took me 10 minutes to get the bartenders attention and another 5 minutes to articulate to him what I did. He was not pleased with me. Then I attempted to pick up the dog food and in the process I knocked over the bartenders bike, which was leaning on the back wall. The bike hit another customer who preceded to cuss me out. The bartender was very displeased with my clumsiness.

After he cleaned up and got back behind the bar, he was a total professional and asked me what I wanted to drink. I ordered a draft of something, probably an ale. I knew I was walking on eggshells and the bar was too packed and loud for my tastes, so I made the decision to finish my one beer and take off to another saloon. Then I spilled my glass of beer while putting it back on the bar.

"Dude, you gotta go," said the bartender.

Jeez, I did not realize until now what a clumsy drunk I am. Note to self: work on that sloppy thingy.

That was 5 or 6 years ago. The time before the last time I went to the Nite Cap, I was hanging out with my old, old drinking buddy, who's name I always forget but he says, "good, good, good," to just about any comment. Well, on this night I said something to the effect of, "{insert dudes name} you gotta get a new catch phrase." That sorta pissed off all the other drinkers around me although I was buying rounds for all these chaps. One of the guys pointed at a picture of my drinking buddy on the wall behind the bar, which had the caption, "Good Good Good." Yeah, not a swift move by me. Then the bartender, sweet Emily, took offense and I felt ashamed and cornered. It was one of those occasions which showed everyone what you are truly made of, whether you are man or boy, hero or victim, gentleman or asshole.

I ran out of the bar and grabbed a taxi without paying for the last round of drinks.

Picture courtesy of Vic Gedris

For almost 6 months I was scared of going back into the Nite Cap, and that damn place is one of my favorite watering holes, not because the place is awesome or cool, it is neither, in fact it sorta sucks, BUT I'VE BEEN GOING TO THAT PLACE FOR 15 YEARS. Finally, I got up the nerve to visit again and I put some extra cash in my wallet to cover my unpaid bill. So I'm walking up O'Farrell and who is the first person I see in front of the bar? It was Emily the bartender smoking a cigarette outside. I did what most people would do (I think), I walked right past her and the bar, hiding my face, and quickly crossed Hyde and then O'Farrell to distance myself from my shame.

A couple weeks later, while kicking back at a dead Jonell's, I said to myself, "man, it's time to set things straight." I get off my warm bar stool and stomp my way back to the Nite Cap; a man on a mission.

I bound into the bar, see my old drinking buddy, who I always call Jim but that's not his real name. He smiles and pats my back, "good, good, good." I sit at the bar and Emily walks up to me. "I haven't seen you for awhile." I tell her an edited version of the above tale and she goes, "I don't remember, what can I get'cha?" Later that night, I call my drinking buddy "Jim" again. A guy close to us goes, "heeey man, his name is {insert real name}," and he points at that same picture. This guy is pissed off and looks like he's going to punch me. My drinking buddy got between us and went, "it doesn't matter, let it go, {my name} and I go way back," and Jim smiles and we sit back on our bar stools and talk about the old days at the Nite Cap before it turned into a hipster neighborhood bar. We talk about the buzzer, boys town, and wild, crazy decisions made due to alcohol.

Later that night I saw the old Asian owner and she walked up to me and asked, "I know you from somewhere, where do I know you from?" I go, "I've been coming to this bar for 15 years!" And Jim (not his real name) goes, "good, good, good."

Daydreaming while looking out windows is one of my favorite pastimes. Rain, fog, overcast, sunny, super hot, or snow, it does not matter. Only hail is different because there is action and noise involved with the scenery making it difficult to daydream and not laugh at the people getting pelted by cold water rocks.

At home or work I'm dreaming about being somewhere else, looking outside another window. Maybe it's a Starbucks in a downtown area, or maybe a window in a plane on my way to another adventure, or maybe it's the big window at my favorite bar.

At my favorite bar, I'll turn and people watch and inevitably that will turn into daydreaming about friends, family, people long gone, or people I just met.

I always know and appreciate where I am. The daydreaming is not about being happy with where I'm at, what I am doing (to paraphrase Yoda), it has to do with letting my subconscious mind wander and I find that relaxing. When I tell people about my daydreaming they give me looks that say, "what the hell is wrong with this guy?" But I suspect many people daydream as much as I do.

This blog is a mix of bar reviews, my ramblings, movie and television reviews, my struggles as a writer, more, less comprehensible ramblings, and from time to time some posts from a very drunk me sitting at a bar giving you news updates. They'll come in as **IMPORTANT NEWS UPDATE** but they'll only be important to me.

Today I'm rambling about my struggles as a writer. I can combine two because this is my fucking blog.

I'm working on a screenplay which is turning into a novel. I have four such unfinished projects not including this one. Rarely do I bring them up in conversations because most of my friends will laugh and tell me something negative or if it is an acquaintance they will offer their 2 cents and either say something negative or give me undeserved praise, which aggravates me the most as the work is unfinished.

Thousands of ideas have floated through my noggin over the years. I recently gave up on a project; saying good bye to a character is a sad decision when the piece is not viable. Some of them get second lives with different characteristics, like the reincarnation of a young Vietnamese girl to a 40-year old Basque cowboy. Nobody but I knows they share the same soul.

The ideas come to me like waking dreams. Often its during a long walk when I see someone and wonder about their story or an event on the street like an argument.  I see the opening scene, I see the players, I see the locations and the planned shots, I see the action, I see the tragedy, and I see the ending. It's a gift to do this in such little time and it is a curse.

Getting my lazy ass to work on the project is the most difficult phase of the work plan. When I sit through readings or similar "meet so-and-so" events at book stores and conventions, I ask the writers, "how do you motivate yourself?" Pretty much every time I get, "I just do." Gee, thanks, that helped!


The young Vietnamese girl really didn't reincarnate into the cowboy, it was a gay businessman who became the cowboy. That damn girl is still alive and breathing and I'm writing her tale right now. It's a science fiction piece about a group of super hero kids but they don't have any real super powers aside from their brains and bodies. It takes place over 30 years and main characters die and good people make bad decisions and bad people win most of the battles and look like the heroes.

That is all I'll share because many writers are superb technical writers and can edit the crap out of your best work but they lack the ability to see. They cannot chisel the rock to get to the statue that was always there and like the coworker who knows how to take credit for everything good that you do, these writers will steal your ideas and they will envy you and they will hate you.

When it comes to your creations: don't trust anyone.

The corner of Jones and Ellis is infamous. There have been more than a few shootings at that corner, and many more shootings and violent crimes within screaming distance. On one corner stands a line of hungry people who are either homeless or $2 dollars away from shivering in the cold San Francisco air without a roof over their heads. They wait to be fed from a soup kitchen and for the most part the majority are well-behaved and friendly; they are simply human beings fighting demons of addiction or poor decision making or bad luck with no support group. And lets face it, some of them are just batshit crazy.

Across the street is Cinnabar, which is a combination of an Asian hostess bar and a cowboy bar from the old west but instead of cowboys you get groups of short Mexican or south Asian men. The bartenders are mainly Thai and it is a roomy bar with many tales of ill-repute. But today I'm not writing about that saloon, today I am talking about the bar across Jones, I'm talking about Jonell's Cocktail Lounge.

Fate led me here one hot afternoon in 2009. I was climbing Jones from Market on my way to god knows where in the tendernob, but I was beat and a foul sweatmeister. The open doors of ye establishment called me in and I felt the air-conditioning, that was also a key reason.

Like Mr. Bing's, Jonell's has a horseshoe bar and also like Bing's, the bar is of a no-bullshit, unpretentious nature. The bar patrons are TL locals and pimps and prostitutes - yep, I shit you not, pimps and prostitutes. Again, this is Jones and Ellis, this ain't no Marina tourist trap with blended foo foo cocktails and loud frat boys hi-fiving and yelling at the tv. This is the Tenderloin, right here, Jonell's is the TL.

Oh, and it also has Bonnie; Jonell's has Bonnie.

Now Jenny is the owner, lets not forget her. We all love Jenny and lets face it, it's much more challenging and stressful managing a business than working at it and that reflects on your work. Jenny will tell anyone, and I mean anyone who gets out-of-line to, "get the fuck out!" I don't care if you are President Obama or Paul Newman or Queen Elizabeth the First, if you go over the line, your ass is out. Of course, you can always come in the next day after you sober up.

But Bonnie, sweet Bonnie is my bartender. My new bartender now that Bruce has retired. First time I met Bonnie she spent 10 minutes explaining to me and another patron how her boobs aren't the same now that she's *ahem* middle-aged. She squeezed them together to demonstrate her assertion.

Bonnie loves Korean wine and wrestling and men with big cocks who know how to use them (she said this). She's a bit in-your-face and tough but again, this is Jones & Ellis and if you show any weakness, they will be on you like me on a cold bottle of  beer. For example, take the bathroom. For a true dive bar, it ain't that bad. In fact, it's pretty damn good. It's unisex and has one standing urinal and one sit down toilet. The door locks and you need the key to get in. The key is attached to a big piece of oak wood. This means if one is homeless or if one is far from home and one needs to do a Number #2, this is the place to go. It's cleaner and more secure than any other bar or restaurant bathroom in a half-mile radius. Jenny and Bonnie know this fact and they watch that bathroom like hawks on a telephone line. Why? Because this is Jones & Ellis and motherfuckers will shoot up, do tricks, and god-knows-what-else in there if you don't watch them.

When drinking at Jonell's, I recommend facing the door. You don't want a hustler creeping in on you like a submarine on a battleship. I recommend being respectful to the pimps and hustlers. Think of Jonell's as a safe haven where the player and the mark can break bread and drink as equals but if the mark gets mouthy, well, this is Jones & Ellis and you have to walk out those doors.

Last year I was drinking away, back to the door, because the place was filled with working girls celebrating one of theirs birthday. I was buying shots for the girls and got a free OTPHJ and Al Green blasted from the jukebox and Bonnie was cussing up a storm and outside police sirens screamed and the hustlers hustled and the homeless waited anxiously for food and the lights turned on in the City.

Gil S. from Yelp eloquently wrote in his review of Jonell's: "There's serious magic on.  First, it's real.  But that's just front door.  They sit on photon cosmic dark anomaly.  However bright out, doors open sunbeam, serengetti gamma ray beams of reality, a calm void blankets their most cave beyond any explanation of cold photon physics.  It's a black hole of perception.  All with many moneke nekkos (sushi bar arm cats)."

I've met Gil before and we interacted on Yelp, so I hope he approves of me using his words. I hope you visit Jenny, Bonnie, and the other girls, just stay away from my Mongolian infatuation. You'll know when you meet her.

What do you want out of life?

It's the late 80's and I'm walking North Beach in San Francisco like a cop on his beat. It's mainly dancing I come here for, either at the Palladium or the DNA in SOMA.  My close friends aren't much for dancing to house or similar type heavy dance music so I'm already, in my early 20's, becoming a lone wolf.

The rain forces me into a tiny bar on the corner of Pacific and Columbus. This is my first time into Mr. Bing's. The owner, Bing himself, is bartending this quiet evening. I'm not a bar person, though, for me its dance and strip clubs in the City. But the weather has led me here for safety and I need something to do so I check out the jukebox, which is one of those old machines that plays 45's. You drop in your money, usually 4 plays on the dollar, and the mechanism grabs the record, flips it up, moves it over to the record player, and drops the record down to start the music. The music selection is mainly old big band jazz music and Motown rhythm and blues.

We talk for awhile, me and Bing shooting the breeze. This happened a long time ago and I don't remember the context but it was memorable and I had fun. A few months later I, this time with some close friends, returned to Bing's while window shopping the strip joints on Broadway and taking posed photos with the strippers who tried to lure us into their dens. I preferred the smaller, intimate ambiance of Bing's over the loud and crowded nearby Vesuvio.

For a couple or three years I would peek into Bing's and slam down two or three drinks while taking a rest from the strip clubs or the Palladium. Around 1992 or '3 I met a new, old bartender named Bruce. We automatically hit it off and slowly my infrequent peeks into Bing's turned into common 3-5 hour expeditions. Because he cared, Bruce would let me sober up for my long ride home to Sacramento - by doing shoots of Crown with me after hours. It is a miracle my dumb ass never got caught on a DUI or that I did not injure another or myself.

Somewhere around that time Bing retired. His son Robert and a new bartender named Mike, who many called Scooter, which I never understood, brought new life to the bar. Through the years many local regulars have come and gone, the jukebox changed a couple times as did the television, the Golf machine came and went, but basically the bar remained the same for years and in fact, my most memorable times were from 2005-2010.

But now the bar is different. Bruce has retired, Robert is retired, and Mike is the last one standing. Newer bartenders Dickie and Conson do good work but for some reason the magic is almost all gone. Maybe it is the new influx of tourists due to the bar appearing on Anthony Bourdain's travel show? Maybe it is the reasons Bruce and Robert "retired" that fill my heart with sorrow? Maybe I'm just getting old and rejecting change?

To answer my question, what do I want out of life? I want to kick back with Bruce and Robert and the whole gang and do shots and laugh and blast 80's R&B and play dice and stagger out of the bar at 3 am looking for cheap, greasy food.

That ain't going to happen ever again. That is the past and now I sit at the bar watching the tube wondering where everyone is. Then Big D. walks in, and Jason and his crew start a dice game, and Ryan blasts in on shore leave, and Jaime is doing shots with a stranger, and Chandra is hugging everyone, and Conson is wondering whether to play the over or under on the game. Meet the new boss, same as the old boss?

Then I remember that I do like chilling in Dickie's bar during Saturday afternoon watching his strange but funny friends argue about trivial San Francisco history and I do like and have faith in Conson, the new Sheriff in town, and Mike is still there being the old holdover veteran from the old championship team, acting as the link from the past to the future. Maybe this is the beginning of a new marriage, like when Richard Burton remarried Elizabeth Taylor?

Wait, I think that ended in another divorce.