Pity don't come cheap

Evan and I went to visit my mom and dad this past weekend to give Andrew some quality dissertation-creation time. Soon, I won't have to worry about leaving home to guarantee Bacon's productivity. What I mean is that he has an official date for his dissertation defense: 01/29/07. I'm planning on throwing a wee soiree in the dissertation's honor-- but I'm not making concrete plans yet, because I have other more immediate concrete planning to tend to, such as: researching recipes for lamb shanks-- I bought some very cheaply while in Troy; grading--mid-terms and in-class essays (another SuperFun weekend ahead); and thinking about what to serve Sue Murphy, who's coming to dinner this evening.

The title refers to an incident totally unrelated to the intro paragraph:
While home, I went out for some catch-up drinks with my friend Sexy Ann. We were talking it up when the bartender came over and asked us what we wanted to drink. She asked for my ID, so I dutifully handed over the driver's license. The bartender gazed at it for a long time-- and all the thoughts running through my head are things like, "She thinks this ID is fake; she doesn't believe it's a real license, etc." She finally looks up at me and says, "You look familiar to me. Where'd you go to high school?" I tell her. After some discussion, we figure out that she graduated with my older sister and used to play in orchestra with her. Even better, the bartender graduated from CMU!

It was a very slow night at this bar. The bartender stayed chatting to Sexy Ann and I for about half an hour. During this time, we heard all about how once she turned 30 she decided she needed to experience life, and quit her job in banking and moved out West-- spent a year bartending there and realized she needed to come home to grow up, and now her career plan involves bartending and finding a man to take care of her. Her delivery was very comical, Molly-Shannon style, almost-- but, listening to this girl talk I have to say a lot of what I felt was, well, pity. (In my journal, I wrote: "the tables you wait the drinks you pour/ out the heart of a real girl/ with a serious case of the should-haves/ the supposed-to-have-dones"). And, I don't know if she knows it yet, but, if the reaction you incite in others involves pity to any degree, that isn't terribly alluring.

I wanted to give her a little lecture, like: "Look here, Wee So-and-So, your attitude toward life needs a facelift." (Again, better summarized in my journal--maybe: "your best life is the one you choose most to live in"). It makes me really sad when people fabricate their lives around the assumption that what's around the corner has got to be infinitely better than what exists at present. I'm not saying people shouldn't plan for the future or have goals to work toward-- people should do both these things, to a degree. But, when your attitude toward the present is kind of shitty and defeatist, you can't really plan or set goals because your ability to act is hindered by consistent longing... and you lack motivation to go forward.

Long story, one short point: we got our drinks for free. I did leave a hefty tip. I won't hope our bartender spent it on a bus ticket outta town or something else lifted from a Bruce Springsteen song. Instead, I'll hope she laid it carefully on a pile of crumpled bills in a secret lockbox, part of a reminder that she will do something with her future by recognizing the riches of the present.