Be forewarned, I am not a writer. I am not a lyrical poet; I am not inclined to use the words vociferous and loquacious. I will not be participating in any spelling bees, poetry slams or any debate that does not involve sports, movies or music.
I use simple words like great and pretty good to describe any of my favorite moments in life. It is not that I have nothing to say; I just don’t know how to say it. My mind is always ten steps ahead of my mouth.
I mean to say that you look beautiful, and it comes out “you look kind-of good tonight.” Doesn’t sound so bad now, but when talking to a woman with a desirability complex it comes off as, “I am surprised you have the ability to look attractive.” This is my curse, and everybody knows it.
I am not ashamed of my disease, even though I wear it like a giant scarlet A. You can spot my kind a million miles away. We are the guys who walk into swanky neighborhood martini bars wearing weathered baseball caps, dirty American Eagle sweatshirts, and tattered khaki shorts.
Can you picture us as we slowly make our way towards the bar, wading through finely clothed marketing execs and aspiring lawyers. We whip out our Camels, we put them in our goatee-surrounded mouths and we light them with matches from the local Circle K. We take wrinkled dollar bills out of our front pockets and throw them down on the bar. Then we ask very politely, “Bud Light, please.” We will even throw the bartender a couple of extra bucks so that he/she will remember to keep them coming.
"Chuck, Porterhouse, Rib eye, I know exactly how you guys are feeling right now; in fact, I can think of only one thing that would lift my spirits right now...Beer." - Jeremy Piven.
We drink our beers at a rate that hovers around obscene. In fact, we could save money by getting dosed on a couple of Grey Goose Gimlets, but we equate good drinking with speed and quantity and not aesthetics and taste.
Don’t get me wrong; in my mind Bud Light is the nectar of the gods. However, living in the microbrew capital of the universe makes drinking Bud Light as socially acceptable as kissing your sister. In Seattle, there are “tap houses” that pride themselves on having all 50 of your favorite bitter winter stouts, peach flavored ambers and banana nut wheat crunch ales. I would venture to say that Seattle has the highest ratio of Tap Houses to Starbucks in the country, and that is saying a lot coming from the land of the mocha.
Not to say I don’t like Microbrews, I enjoy the Black Jack Licorice Porter as much as the next guy, but 12 or 15 of those will give you quite a hang over.
“Why don’t you go in the back and Microbrew me up a batch of Budweiser.” - Dennis Leary.
We have our own language; we speak in sports, movie lines and bad jokes. No matter what the occasion, a good Tommy Boy or Happy Gilmore reference is never far off. Whole conversations can be completed uttering only phrases found in a Saturday Night Live alumnus movie. Almost always, these conversations end with a tag line from some new Comedy Central show. I don't feel that it is necessarily from the lack of an original thought or even the need to show off each other's intense knowledge of current pop culture.
It is our insatiable need to laugh, and to make others happy that fuels our "quotespeak." I could carry on a conversation on the evils of George Bush, backing it with facts from the countless news websites I visit, but why would I want to? Why would I subject myself to the resulting anger and frustration that such a conversation carries, when I have a perfectly good chance to utter phrases like "Beefcake" and "I'm Rick James, Bitch."
Now what was my point? Oh yeah, my point is that throughout all that I have told you about myself and my jockstrap-toting friends, there has always been one standard theme. We don't need to be reminded of the type of people we are, because we already know. When I step up to the bar to order my Bud Light, I don't need to be sold on the fact that Red Hook tastes better.
Taste is something that I am not without; it is something that is my own. After a hard workout, I'd rather drink something that can be rightly compared to having sex in a canoe than a big thick glass of Guinness Ale that goes down my throat like frozen molasses. And to those people who say quality and not quantity, I offer up the following: "I've never heard of someone refer to money as quality and I sure as hell want a great deal of quantity of it". I certainly have never walked up to someone and said, "you know you really should try the Miller High Life, because Glenfiddich is so overrated." It's my taste, my choices and my life, and I don't need somebody to figure it out for me.
"You don't tell me what to do, okay? Don't tell me what we might do, don't tell me what we're supposed to do, don't tell me what we maybe should do, don't ever tell me nothing!" - Ben Affleck
You see, I am the beer swilling, movie watching, sports playing, video game loving, cigarette smoking, steak eating, hard working sex machine that everybody loves to hate. Especially in this politically correct, organic eating, Mocha loving, martini drinking one Subaru Outback town called Seattle. But the thing is that I love these people - they're why I live here - and they tend to think of me as simple and uncultured.
However, that's not the truth. I like all the things that they like, it's just that I love the things that I love more.
So, like I said, I am not a writer but I had something to say, and hopefully I said it. So next time your in your local martini bar and a guy walks in with a smile on his face and a camel light swinging from his lips. Tell him that his choice of the crisp cold Bud light was an excellent selection.
“I am what I am, and that’s all that I am!” - Popeye
I have spent the better part of my life trying to figure out just who I am. Im a Seattlelite, with just a touch of New Yorker and North Carolinian. Im a soft-talking, fast-driving, rain-loving son of a bitch that refuses to believe that he is getting older. However, each day I awake to the sound of my child's laughter, and slowely realize that getting older might just be a good thing.
ABOUT DREW WRIGHT
more about drew wright
10.15.04 @ 9:18a
yo andrew! don't let the snobby haters get to you. They do things their way, you do yours your way.
And don't worry about not being a writer. I'm not either, but people still listen sometimes. You can put together good enough sentences to get your point across.
and I hope you're still be playing drums!
10.15.04 @ 9:56a
A writer in "everyman's" clothing? Careful, I think the writer is trying to sneak out!
10.15.04 @ 10:16a
Yeah, there are some nice turns of phrase in this column. Don't sell yourself short. But lose the goattee. You'll feel better about yourself. I do.
10.15.04 @ 10:41a
Sorry, can't lose the goattee. There was this one time when I messed up and had to shave it, and I realized that my chin is missing. Just lips and then straight to neck. Although, if any more gray invades my furry facecarpet, I might have to finally face facts and either buy some gray out, or go chinless for the rest of my life. But thanks for the suggestion anyway.
10.15.04 @ 11:19a
No skin off my face, pal. And a word of advice: maybe just avoid martini bars altogether, yeah? Less conflict that way.
10.15.04 @ 12:59p
I would avoid the martini bars if i could but it is usually those same snobby haters that invite me out there in the first place.
10.15.04 @ 2:31p
Then they get what they deserve when you shove your broken beer bottle into their face, Begbie style.
10.15.04 @ 4:10p
You see... this is what I am saying!
10.15.04 @ 5:04p
Keep dreaming, pal. You're better off changing the venue if you want to change the demographic.
10.16.04 @ 2:28a
No, I got it!
10.16.04 @ 10:17a
In all of snobdom, beer snobs are the most amusing. How does one cultivate a palate for yeast piss? And the goatee police as well. They only knock them because they can't grow a respectable one themselves.
But Mary is probably right, we all feign something. The outspoken snobs just celebrate it more openly. And make you paranoid. I half-thought you were one in disguise, satirizing my persona with this column. And then I read your bio about a sloppy drummer with fastidious frontmen, and thought, damn, coincidence, but in any case, there's no way he's making this up.
Nice read, keep up the rock, bro!
10.16.04 @ 1:27p
Actually, I would have to say that I only wear what I consider to be comfortable. There is nothing like the feel of a good pair of broken in cargo shorts and lightly worn t-shirt. You know how a t-shirt gets when some of the material just feels a little weak. I love that. And ask Joe if I ever had a pair of matches, let alone a lighter (or cigarettes for that matter. Maybe I do it unconsciously so that I can ask somebody for a light or a smoke and strike up a conversation, but more than anything I just like to keep it loose. I guess the funny thing is that I care what people think about me, but I would just rather they base it on conversation and interaction, rather than what type of clothes I wear and how well I accessorize..
10.17.04 @ 12:46p
YOu don't even know...
10.18.04 @ 4:29p
He's a Rebel Without Pause, ladies and gentleman!
10.19.04 @ 12:30a
but I would just rather they base it on conversation and interaction, rather than what type of clothes I wear and how well I accessorize.
Hmm, I smell a disturbance in the force. Real not-so-famous ex-sloppy drummers would never use the word "accessorize." All that "conversation and interaction" horse-puckey gives rise to suspicions as well.
Just who the hell are you, Drew? What you representing? Some previously uncatalogued sub-species of drummer? Thrashius Sensitivalus?
10.19.04 @ 3:42p
10.19.04 @ 3:43p
harsh critics! Is this anger over not getting a feature recently?
in fairness (or actually, non-fairness - more nepotism), Drew is the ex-drummer for Mr. Procopio and I. If you want a feature spot that bad, try sucking up to Joe.
10.19.04 @ 3:47p
SOMEONE CLOSE THEIR ITALICS!
10.19.04 @ 3:58p
Well, one of two things happened along the way. Either Joe liked it because he knows that this is the person I am, and he thought it to be funnier than it really is. Or Joe just thought that me writing something was noteworthy enough to put in front of all to see. Either way, I have confirmed the fact that I am and never really will be a writer. Thanks.
10.19.04 @ 4:21p
hey, sucking up works. it gets you in close enough for the BIG BACKSTAB! LOOKOUT!
10.19.04 @ 5:59p
I have confirmed the fact that I am and never really will be a writer. Thanks.
Wright, man, easy does it. Not critiquing your piece, just playing with your comments man. You said ACCESSORIZE for Christ's sake!
Your piece generated comments, no? We're in here discussing stuff, no? I said it was a good read above.
It's all a head trip anyway, and you have to write more than one confidense-shattering piece to say you're a crappy writer. You can't give up that easy. I've sucked for like, 20 years!
10.19.04 @ 6:43p
You see... play the pity card and everyone plays nice!
I actually knew and still know that I'm not a writer. However, even a blind squirel finds a nut every once in a while. And this nut was just a little bit tasty I guess.
10.19.04 @ 7:00p
From Big Brother 5?
10.19.04 @ 8:43p
Omigod, when I like see you guys, I'm going to like, choke you with a like, Barbie Doll leg!
Like, that sounds--what's the word--promising?
10.19.04 @ 8:55p
10.19.04 @ 10:16p
And nobody ever comments on my stuff
I must be nobody then.
10.20.04 @ 1:25a
10.27.04 @ 2:28p