Tag Archives: pbr

Whatever You Say #43

My adventure at the Basement Pub feels like an explanation for why this series has been so difficult.

I am drinking a PBR, alone. I asked a guy at the bar and this was his choice. There was no room next to him so I sat by myself nearby, writing, which is good, drinking a terrible beer, which is not good.

This whole experience would be so different if I was either talking to someone or drinking a beer I liked, or was new to me. Instead I am grinding my own gears, alone, with a beer I hate. When this theme goes right, it’s awesome. When it doesn’t, I feel pathetic.

That aside, I like the Basement Pub. It’s too dark, so if you come here with friends, you pretty much have to socialize. It’s an old smoker’s place, so half the patrons are outside at the tables, visiting with each other over deathsticks. If you come here alone, you can expect to stay here alone, getting a chance to just chill out, relax, be with your thoughts.

The music is hit and miss, some Talking Heads, some Grateful Dead and I’ll let the reader decide which I’d rather not listen to. The patrons are clustered, hanging out and chatting. Even the one who’s separated herself playfully bops someone on the head with a newspaper as she walks past him, asking if he’d like to join her for a cig. Someone has left their laptop on the rail, smoking outside and unafraid of what may happen to it.

I like that and I miss being a part of that kind of scene.

Whatever You Say #26

PBR @ Reel M Inn

I have gone to the Reel M Inn. The man I ask has a hat from an East Coast fishing town and a beard to match. He doesn’t understand my question at first. The bartender helps me out. The fisherman smiles bashfully and leaves soon after, called away by unknowable business.

A woman sits nearby, empty shotglass with a wasted lime peel inside, beer back barely finished but clearly not in need of it, a man nearby who has had a tragic accident with his baseball cap is trying to put moves on her…they’re at about the same level of sobriety: “Everyone else is stupid and we’re so smart” so I’m not feeling like I need to do anything but listen.

New men come in to replace the fisherman: one smells of marijuana and patchouli, the other notes a reality-TV show spotlighting jails and quips, “That’s Multnomah county. Remarkably, I’ve never been there.”

I either need to come here a lot more often, or never again. Currently, I’m inclined to show up more often but without the encumbrance of a computer and camera.

On the other TV; Food Network. While I drink a PBR. It’s not exactly irony, but it’s something and that moment is not lost on me. At the bar is a sign, telling you the name of your bartender for the evening; Scott. There are hooks there, so you always know who’s serving you.

Overheard as I left:

‘Do you know where I work?’
‘Probably some strip club.’
~laughter-the busted kind~

Dear cheapskate hipsters

Ha. Ha.

No really.

I have no issue with people drinking what they can afford. Certainly my own purchases have taken a turn for the cheaper in the past few months. But I wasn’t out there pretending that the beer I was drinking made me part of some kind of inner group; PBR, yeah, {and now we give the headshake}.

No. I like things that taste good and I’m willing to pony up an extra two quarters to get less beer if it tastes better.

Some people actually like PBR. I don’t know them but I am consistently told that they exist. Fine; your favorite beer has gone up in price because a bunch of idiots who want to be cool like your beer and the makers of PBR have decided it’s worth bilking them for it. Now you know how the rest of us feel when the really good beer we drink and want to share with our friends is shanghaied by people who are just drinking it ’cause it’s cool.