(End of Summer, 2013, promo flyer for this evening’s festivities. Be there, or be square!)
I was going to talk with you about what those whacky North Koreans are up to with their weapons of mass destruction this morning, but that is in the realm of speculative geo-politics. The whole Carrington Event thing is illustrative about the implications of what the Northerners are up to, and maybe the Iranians, too.
It makes a lot of sense, for those mass destruction programs aimed at us on a shoe-string budget, but there are more important things on the agenda this fine Friday.
No, I won’t comment on the report of the Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change, except to note that the UN bureaucrats have taken the input of the scientists and determined they are even more confident than ever before that their jobs are on the line, even if the models they base their belief system on were a little…well, alarmist. They actually admit it, which is sort of refreshing.
This is getting to be farcical, and I am betting the report- a contradiction- sinks like a stone once the media reports that “things are getting warmer, even if it is not the way we have been telling you, and We Still Need To Do Something Right Away.”
I promise I will get back to the subject of Electromagnetic Pulse, and the potential for real trouble, unlike the IPCC, but I really need to tell you something important.
It had been a busy afternoon. A security investigator, a contractor, of course, had stopped by Big Pink to ask me some pointed questions about a former co-worker who had listed me as a reference on his clearance update. I knew him only professionally, though we did work fairly closely for a few years, but never hung out as buddies.
I ask you, if someone provides you the list of people to talk to about your patriotism, alcohol and drug use, how many of those people are going to dime you out to some contractor who asks the usual questions, the same ones every time every five years?
I was happy to help. After all, every five years I have to provide a list of reliable people, too. Anyway, I got through that with a smile and took a Red Top Cab out to Seven Corners to contribute a grand to the Koon’s Ford enterprise and get the JG’s car back. It ran just fine, and the quickest way home was to jump on I-66, rush hour be damned.
That dumped me off near Willow, and what the hell. I may have to be cutting back to “sustainable” levels of “renewable” cash expenditure, but think of the savings in taking a cab back, not to mention the electricity and fossil fuels required to power the big screen TV I would not watch, right?
Anyway, I found a decent place to park and maneuvered the hulking Explorer to the curve with a certain panache. It felt good to be alive, and the end-of-day foot traffic on Fairfax Drive was moving with spirit and many smiles. Passing Uncle Julio’s, the patio was full, and I saw Tracy O’Grady and her husband Brian surveying the courtyard with concern.
“Hi, Tracy!” I said as I came abeam and stopped. “Looking at the scene of tomorrow’s End of Summer Party?”
She nodded gravely. “I hope we don’t bomb out,” she said.
(Famed local Hillybilly band, Jumping Jupiter, doing it outside.)
“I am telling everyone I know that the whole courtyard will be filled with the aroma of fabulous food and plenty of bargains on beverages and live music by Jumpin’ Jupiter, that fabulous hillbilly band. You are going to have the Grill King with Stachowski grilled brats and dogs, and the World Famous Willow Beef-on-Weck sandwiches.”
(Last month’s Beef On Weck with Barrister Jerry)
“I hope people come out for it,” she said doubtfully.
Brian gave a grin of encouragement. “You always feel this way the first time you do something.”
“I know,” she said. “But I am still nervous every time.”
“The anxiety is what puts you at the top of your game,” I said with a wink. “I told the homeless guy in front of the Seven Eleven on the way over. I will make it the topic of tomorrow’s story, which goes to an exclusive audience of the most discerning readers, world wide. It is going to be fine.”
“Wait until you see what has changed inside,” she said, mysteriously, and I gave her a salute, and headed on toward the patio and the cool refreshing dimness of the bar.
Old Jim was presiding at the apex of the Amen Corner. Jon-without was sitting next to him wearing a jacket and open-collar dress shirt. He looked crisp but casual, and I asked what the deal was.
“Since I got laid off by my old company and hired by Mitsubishi the same day, I have a few days of unemployment between gigs,” he said, gesturing down. “Hence a less formal presence.”
“I am with you,” I said, gesturing at my jeans. “I envy you the opportunity to represent the Mitsubishi Heavy Bomber Works. I am sort of between paying performances at the moment. So what is up? Tracy said there was something new to be seen in here.”
Jim’s formidable eyebrows went up. “Don’t you look around?”
I did a quick scan of the Amen Corner and there it was, big as life: a keg cooler with six taps, but no handles yet. “Holy crap. Draft Beer at Willow? Do we have to bring our own handles?”
“That would be a real innovation, but duh. Tracy bought the unit from the Cowboy Bar over on Lee Highway- you know, the place next to the old Alpine restaurant.”
“My God, this changes everything,” I said, dumbstruck. “I may have to rethink the whole no-carbohydrate thing.”
Jasper slid a glass of Happy Hour White in front of me. “Or maybe not.”
Tex appeared to show off his new bar toy. “I intend to have the very best hand-crafted brews on tap,” He said. “An IPA, for sure, something seasonal, and then a dark and a couple other things.”
“How come you didn’t always have draft beer?” I asked. “What was the name of this bar before it was Willow? They had draft beer, I remember. No one was ever here.”
“Ancient history,” growled Jim. “Willow opened and sold a thousand glasses of wine a week, and few suds. They had excess capacity and the beer went flat and there were fruit flies and crap. So Tracy yanked the taps and went with bottled beer.”
“This is a tremendous step,” I said. “It makes the place complete.”
Tex positively beamed. “Just wait until the End of Summer Party, Friday, 27 September in the courtyard next to Willow. It is going to be dynamite, six to nine pm.”
“I would not miss it for the world,” I said. “I will see you there.”
(End of Summer Shortcake at Willow.)
Copyright 2013 Vic Socotra
www.vicsocotra.com
Twitter: @jayare303