A few weeks ago … Today I missed being a bartender.

It is not an easy job, but as I was being told I’d be in deep shit at a newspaper if it took me two hours to write the piece of shit that I filed at 7:15 pm, staring across the bar at 30 stupid suburbanites, with 30 stupid questions waving 30 different credit cards, seems like a piece of cake.

With bar patrons one usually knows what to expect. Occasionally you’ll have a drunken cocksucker turn sideways on you, or a boozy bitch in too-high, high heels fall down the stairs, but a complimentary cocktail or a quick call to the police tends to fix the problem. It is also a good way to make a living when you are young--if you have the the taste for that kind of lifestyle.

Not so in the trenches of journalism.

I covered another exciting hearing this afternoon. The bill, sponsored by Sen. “so and so,” “would” authorize “enter $ amount here” for this project. The bill now heads to committee.

My horoscope today said that “burnout is the issue to avoid,” but it may be inevitable …

At present … I was supposed to move back into Dickie’s place tonight—into a room this time—but the rain was enough to change my mind. So instead of packing for Thursday’s move, I’m blogging for the first time in a month.

Speaking of a “month,” Frosty mentioned that today was the one month anniversary of daily reporting in DC. For the new guys anyway. For Dickie, Analeed and Hugh, it’s the one month anniversary of weekly reporting.

One month ago I was writing about the spread of noxious weeds in State Parks. Today I wrote about how health insurance is unaffordable for farmers and bartenders—which is true. I was an underinsured bartender for the past five years of my life. I have fond memories of the bits and pieces I remember from that career (cue up George Jones’ “I’ve Aged Twenty Years in Five) and I can give you at least one good piece of advice: bartenders should always have good health insurance—for obvious reasons. But I’ve always been the “do as I say not as I do” guy and my insurance is only good if I am involved in a terrible accident.

Sissy visits to the dermatologist are not covered under my plan so I’ll be sucking it up Thursday, paying out of pocket as it were, to see Ellen’s son’s skin doctor.

This malaise began shortly after my return from the “carny” beach in Delaware a few weeks ago. After diagnosing myself with sea lice, I consulted WebMD and settled on heat rash. It came back yesterday and I as am a little girly about my skin, I made a desperate call.
So I’ll be out most of the afternoon Thursday and knowing my luck something big will break on the white hot hill. Something huge! And I’ll be getting pricked by a bunch of little needles to determine if I am allergic to the starch in my shirts or the oppressive heat and humidity.

I told Christine last week that if I could get away with wearing a skirt and a sleeveless, low-cut top to work, I’d have no problem being the newsroom’s Corp. Klinger.

What do you think? Do I have the legs for it?

Something tells me Ellen wouldn't go for it though. After all, she locked up the cold ones from Tuesday’s seminar in a warm storage closet.

Even if you’ve never been a bartender, one of the first lessons you learn in high school (or college) is that any beer tastes like a fucking Heineken if you let it get warm after its been cold—and then put it back in the fridge!

That is all.

Jazz Corner: Charles Mingus “Town Hall Concert”

Two spiritual, swinging classics, “So Long Eric” and “Praying With Eric,” recorded live shortly before the death of alto sax, bass clarinet and flute virtuoso Eric Dolphy.