Mourning a Tragic Loss

Is there anything in this world as sad as the closing of a neighborhood bar? As human beings we all come with an expiration date. We all know that we have to go at some point. Bars don’t have to die and when they do it is simply from our neglect, pure and simple. Whenever a bar closes I am tortured with the thought that perhaps I could have done more for it. I see myself as sort of the Florence Nightingale of drinking establishments although I don’t wear the uniform these days because I think that it makes me look fat. I visit my patients as often as I can.

Nikko’s is this sort of Greek restaurant slash sports bar that catered to the crowds from the basketball arena across the street. It’s not like I even really liked the place but it lies directly between my apartment and the gym. It was a decent place to catch an inning or two of the Mariners while having a beer. The food was decent. When you eat out almost every night you need all of the choices you can get.

I went there last night to watch the Tour de France and get a bite to eat when I saw that they had closed. There is another option for a sports bar on the next block but I liked Nikko’s because it was rarely crowded and the light is good for reading.

There were enough TV’s at Nikko’s so that I could get one turned to the Tour de France without having some knucklehead complain about it. This may come as a surprise but there are actually people in this world who are less than obsessed with the Tour. Thank god that today’s race was a stage for the sprinters and Lance wasn’t likely to make a move up in the standings.

Nikko’s is gone now. I hope that you are happy. Perhaps if you had one less Blockbuster night, and went out and socialized instead, this tragedy could have been avoided. Did you really need to see Sister Act again? What is it with you and that movie? A perfectly good bar lies dead out in the street while you sit and watch the exploits of a woman pretending to be a nun. You really make me sick. At least you could have had the decency to attend the wake with us last night at the Mexican joint down the street.

For today’s bonus essay I am going to bore the shit out of you by talking about classical music again. If you have ten dollars to spare and wish to greatly improve your lot in this fleeting existence I would suggest that you buy Mozart, The Piano Sonatas, volume I as performed by Glenn Gould. There is really nothing that I could say about Mozart’s sonatas that hasn’t already been said by some dead guy somewhere except to say that I can never play this CD without being completely distracted by practically every note. It is never just background music.