An Evening at the Bourgeois Pig and Some Thoughts About Ben Affleck
I’m sitting at the Bourgeois Pig drinking my sixth gin-and-tonic. Frank’s on my left. I’m at the far end of the bar, so there’s nobody on my right except occasionally an Eastern European type who’s been coming over every twenty minutes or so to pick up and closely examine the various candies for sale, only to put them back without making a selection.
Frank and I are talking about the upcoming semester, and conversation drifts to paper-writing and then intense discussion of Faking a Good Paper Through Adoption of an Academic Tone. I’m minding the girl at the end of the bar who I’d like to pick up, but Frank and I are having one of those rare Truly Enjoyable exchanges so I’m neglecting the fox hunt. Ten minutes pass and a rival in a mal-fitting polo starts chatting up my interest. Four hours ago I saw this girl ridiculing one of her friends in the bank parking lot at 9th and New Hampshire, pointing at her and making fun of her gaudy outfit and disheveled hai — and was enamored. I’m supposed to be at the Taproom to meet friends, but I’m still waiting for an opening. Twenty minutes later with no lull in their conversation, I tell Frank I’m ready to go. I invite the girl along even though polo shirt’s next to her and we don’t know each other’s names. She passes, and my thoughts drift to Ben Affleck.
Earlier in the afternoon I’d been watching Good Will Hunting on the Superstation. I’m baffled by the fact he’s People magazine’s Most Beautiful Man In The World, and for a few seconds I think about how I would like to cook pancakes with his former fiancée Jennifer Lopez. I call Alicia and asked her to quantify how much better looking Ben Affleck is than me. Barely, she said, and I would edge him if I worked out. I ramble to her about my disdain for Affleck, and continue walking with Frank toward the Taproom. I wonder aloud whether J. Lo is the kind of girl who squeals like a sissy when you throw a spoonful of batter at her, or if she’s plucky and would chase you and try to pour syrup in your hair. Affleck is Wonder Bread. I hope some sweet lady in Toldeo or Branson sent a note to Benicio del Toro and apologized on behalf of her fellow People magazine reader-voters, for not electing him.
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This story gives me such a wonderful sense of place. I mean, I feel like I’ve been there before. Hey, did you take those movies back yet? Talk to you later.