The Future Is That Mountain

Trying to write this thing about Ghostbusters

for The Neave but I’ve had all this coffee and I’ve got a million things on my mind. Not bad things, just things, one million of them. Also there are like, babes here. Crawling. This place is crawling with them. I can’t focus. Disregard this.

Meeting People From The Internet

Is always awkward, because you’ll assume (as I did) that the person you’re meeting would be taller. The Whiskey Monologues, a mid 20’s anonymous blogger who’s true identity is known only to me, and the staff at Tumblr (if they were paying attention) is perhaps slightly taller than I, if only because of the shock of wheat-brown hair.

This guy and I had been talking for what, nine months or more, ever since he started following me. He found my blog by searching tumblr tags for Whiskey, which apparently I mention frequently. I immediately followed back and submitted to his cause. Shortly after we began emailing. Back and forth, until I finally asked his name. He told me where he “Might be able to be found” on facebook, etc. Next came text messaging, and I know this is starting to sound really Bromance-ey, but fuck it—sometimes you just meet someone and know you connect. It’s interesting, too, because I don’t think we would have become friends 5 years ago, I think we were both too different. 

Anyways, so I’m on this street corner in Soho, meeting him outside of his hotel, and I see the dude, hand shakes are exchanged and we start to walk. Let me tell you, there’s no better way to meet someone, learn about them than by walking. I’ve always said this; Job interviews should be conducted while walking down the street. You’re side by side, equal, and you can learn so much about a person by the way they walk, and how they talk while walking. You’re focused on avoiding all the people on the sidewalk you just naturally talk. This is how I knew that this was a guy I’d like. We get lunch. It was delicious and interesting. The Whiskey Monologues (TWM further), is a gracious, cultured, and sophisticated person. He’s smart and knows a lot about good food. You’ll have to fight him to pay for a bar-tab, but you’d lose that fight, because he’s fit, and has the look of a man who’s been hardened in the streets, yet educated about the difference between types of olives, and how to properly prepare and consume charcuterie.

We walk a few blocks to a bar. And pass this business that I swear I’ve seen before. See, I’ve got a pretty photographic memory, and sure enough I remembered, “This is where Young Manhattanite lives!”. I don’t know if Krucoff was home or not, (or if it’s even Krucoff or another member of YM who lives there) but part of me wanted to stop and ring the buzzer and say my hellos. Possibly solicit YM to follow my blog ;) Anyway, so we get to the bar, The Whiskey Ward, a place right up our alley and it’s closed. Not open till 5pm. 

“Let’s go to Tumblr” I said. TWM agreed. Having been to the tumblr offices before, only viewing it from the outside, too scared to go in I got us on the right train, walked into the building and said to the guy at the desk, “Is this where Tumblr is?” and he says yep, go right on up! (David, you may want to have him screen who comes calling, to keep the riff-raff out) I knock, someone calls out COME INNNN! and in we go.

I’ll say right now, for transparency, I was fucking nervous. I mean, this is the place my blog lives, they’re the dudes! Anyway someone comes over and says, oh you’ve just so happened to visit while we’re holding some rare, top secret meeting. (I got the scoop, but can’t spill the beans). We wait around for a minute, just taking it in, I spied Topherchris, wanted to hug everyone, and after a few ticks John comes over and says, yeah, bro’s sorry important meeting, usually you could hang but… then he stuffs our arms full of tee-shirts and stickers pats us on the head and sends us on our way. Sated.

We make way over to P.J. Clarke’s I’m fucking elated. So much history in that room. Jackie O. Sinatra, Richard Harris, Buddy Holly, Nat King Cole. Unbelievable. Then back to the whiskey joint. Great whiskeys.

Leaving Soho, making our way to Brooklyn, over to Black Rabbit. Dennis wasn’t there, but fine young man, Kent was. Shots of bourbon with a pickle brine back, amazing.  Sliders, virginity stories. Ex-girlfriend insanity stories. How To Not Be A Pussy talk.

I’ll mention that by this point I was feeling drunk. A good solid Drunk. See, you may have sent a person 1million text messages and emails but when you finally meet that person there’s a lot of obligatory stories that have to get told. Growing up, girlfriends, etc., so it’s hard to weed through all that initial feeling-the-other-person-out talk, but once you’re through that it’s easy to relax and just enjoy that other person. Alcohol speeds that process up. It’s rather nice.

Jake West (who is also on my short list of tumblr men to get drinks with) suggested tersely that perhaps in order to keep up the charade that I am TWM I paid a strange man to pose in a few photos with me. Not the case. The way to prove this is to notice that TWM is a much better writer than I. I really mean that. If that’s not proof enough then you’re just jaded and convinced that someone who’s also much better looking than me is actually me—ha! 

I believe that I blacked out a bit on the cab ride, and do not remember taking off my socks in the bathroom, but that’s where I found them. I was pretty hungover this morning. So hungover in fact that I went over to the SeamlessWeb website and ordered Tacos. I had tacos delivered—fuckin’ A, man, who knew that was possible. Now I’m pounding the coffee at Boneshakers.

But yeah, friendship can be found in so many different places, and we’re lucky when we realize that. Though TWM and I live on opposite ends of the country I’m sure that I’ll be seeing that guy sooner than later. You just don’t let quality people slip through your life. Some people enrich you, and if you can take anything away from this it’s this: it’s easy to surround yourself with those who let you get away with being a half-assed human being. You’re better to find those people who challenge you to be a better person/friend/employee/human being, you’ll thank yourself for that in the long run. The Whiskey Monologues is such a person, and I’m glad to have met him.

SO…

whiskeymonologues:

Mike Waskom (or M. Dubs as I affectionately refer to him) and I kicked it in Soho / LES / Greenpoint yesterday to prove one and for all we are not the same person / we give a fuck about our livers.

There was beer and (lots of) whiskey, shots of whiskey chased by pickle brine (surprisingly wonderful), sliders, charcuterie, the Tumblr offices, more whiskey, beer and whiskey, trivia moderated by a spiteful Jew, Japandroids, and whiskey.

All and all, I couldn’t ask for more from New York / Brooklyn / Mike Waskom.

“Well, we all have stories.” Semi-full recounting of the day/night to come.