Brain turning to mush

Here it is the 30th of January, and I haven't done anything creative or intellectually stimulating since 2007.

I've got to get to work on some of these back-burner projects. Or find some smart real-life friends.

In which an afternoon stop gets interesting, at least.

After work today I thought I'd stop to try out a relatively new place that opened less than two months ago, a little dive called The Cove. The Cove is housed in a place that formerly was home to a bar called The Beer Joint, and has taken most of its nautical furnishings from Anderton's seafood restaurant, which was reportedly a Memphis institution (read: it probably sucked, but local folks loved it).

The Cove is located in the Binghampton neighborhood, in a stretch of street that was at one time going to be the area where I-40 passed through Memphis. I-40 was redirected around the city, but the neighborhood went to hell anyway. A couple of major traffic projects later, and the formerly busy street is now home to local traffic only, and folks are busy trying to turn the area into an arts district. The bar itself would be difficult to notice if you're moving; a nondescript pale green door with a porthole in it, set on either side by glass block windows, in a row of adjoining buildings that are mostly vacant, or occupied by businesses that do day business only. Walking into the bar you're greeted with this view:

A little eclectic, with nautically-themed paintings on the walls, a bar that's vaguely boat-shaped, and some seriously medieval chandeliers. The TV behind the bar was playing John Waters' Desperate Living, which is not normally something I expect to see in a mainstream bar--I'd look up, and there's be a large black woman removing her giant panties so that a cop in stockings could put them on. I'd look up again, a few minutes later, and nudists and leather fetishists would be wandering around what appeared to be a shantytown. A few minutes after that, and a woman with a twelve-inch plastic vagina on the stomach of her wrestling costume would be fighting some strange man in a wrestling match. They switched to Mommy Dearest before I left, but certainly not before I'd seen WAY TOO MUCH of the Waters film.

The most interesting beer on the menu was Diamond Bear IPA, from Arkansas, so I ordered one and an antipasto plate, both of which were quite good. I was the only person at the bar, and was a little surprised when a man walked in and sat down right next to me, trying to sell something to the manager. He introduced himself as Sam O'Brien, made a comment about the antipasto, and told me to listen as he hit on the bartender, Joy, with his "best pick up line."

He took Joy's hands in his. "Wow," Joy said, "You have really soft hands."

"Joy," he said, "I'll make you make sounds only dogs can hear."

Joy, who'd been at the job all of two days, and had already told him she was married with a three-year-old at home, stared at him. "I've never heard that before. Something like it, though--something about squealing like a pig." Then she went on about her business.

"That works?" I asked Sam.

"If she's interested in you, it does."

"If she's interested, 'Hi, I'm Sam' would probably work just as well."

That pretty much ended our conversation. I paid my tab and came home, to have my daughter tell me what a horrible person I was for not letting her run me out of our bedroom so she could use our shower for half an hour.