My Night at the Circus (08/26/09)

"Well, show me the way to the next whiskey bar ... oh, don't ask why ... oh, don't ask why."

-The Doors, Alabama Song (Whiskey Bar)




It was a typical Wednesday night. I had just gotten off work and smoked a jay with my roommate Shooter. Both of us had put in a long day at our less then stellar places of employment and needed to unwind. We had been in our new apartment for a little over two weeks and life couldn't be better. I was enjoying a cherry pop sickle, the Flavor-Ice plastic packaged variety (a part of my childhood I may never out grow), while we caught up on the day in sports via ESPN. It was a little after 11 when my phone rang.

"It's Steph and Jamie," the familiar voice on the line said. "Let us in."

I walked over to the wall phone and buzzed them up Jerry Seinfeld style. Stephanie and Jamie were two girls I worked with at the country club where I waited tables and occasionally bartended. They were both students at OSU, in their early twenties, and very attractive. Apparently one of Steph's roommates played bass in a band that was at Circus, a bar less then a block from my apartment. The show was supposed to start at midnight and they asked us to join them. Shooter had to work very early the next morning but I worked nights so I decided to go. I changed into my favorite pair of khaki shorts and threw on a grey t-shirt and we were off.

We walked along High street and chatted about work and the such while I soaked in the atmosphere. It was still hard for me to believe this was my new neighborhood. I had lived at home with mom and dad for over a year and life was dead in the suburbs at night. Here, life hummed in a constant state of action. It felt like there was always something to do or somewhere to go; in stark contrast to the early 10 p.m. bedtime of my old stomping grounds. In the Short North things usually didn't started until after 10 and they stayed cracking till sun up most nights, before the city inhabitants crashed, not to be seen or heard from again untill 4 p.m. the following day.This was defiantly my style. I have Always been a night owl.

Circus was a grimy hole in the wall bar with large windows facing High that were covered by ratty curtains. There was no sign and you wouldn't even know there was a bar there if it wasn't for the bright lights that poked through the cracks in the curtains and the faint sounds of electric guitars being tuned. To my dismay, they were charging a $5 cover that night, which I paid begrudgingly. The inside was one large room, with a bar running the length of the far wall and a nice stage towards the middle. Booths were scattered throughout and on all the walls there were carnival style posters of sword swallowers and bearded ladies. In the back they had a circular, retro vinyl couch that some of the band members were relaxing on. The place stank of dampness and mildew, as most dive bars do. there were a handful of people there, maybe twenty total. I ordered a $2 PBR draft (it's everywhere here) and took a seat in the booth with my friends and some of their crew.

The band was setting up in front of us, They called themselves Bonneville (like the car) and they hailed form the Dayton area. After a few tweaks and some sound checking they started their set. They had qusi-Kings of Leon sound, especially with their chunky guitar rifts and fast drumming. However, their lead vocalist had a distinct sound, very different from the Kings. No one can sound like Caleb Followill but he was a very good singer in his own right. Most of the tracks were very up beat but they could also slow it down.

"Our bass player wrote this progression," the singer told the sparse crowd. He plugged in his Ovation and they jammed out an acoustic driven anthem that was enthralling. The mood in the crowd was stoic but happy and the girls ordered a round of shots to help get everyone socially lubricated. "Pantty Droppers" I believe. One of their friends caught my eye. She was a tall and slender brunette in a leopard print cardigan. She wore here short hair curly and I couldn't help but check out her athletically built body. I would have made her acquittance but my game is poor at best when stoned. Steph and Jamie made fun of me for being such a pussy and told me they didn't think she was that cute anyway.

"Gross Jacob," Jamie said. "She has no ass."

The drummer was very gifted but I found his constant stick tossing distracting, borderline annoying. He would hurl one into the air during his cadence and usually drop it, knocking him slightly off beat, before he could grab a new stick and recover. Too much flare if you ask me. I wanted to tell him, "you're a good drummer, just play." They also mixed some keyboard in and the guitars were always present and heavy. Over all I must say I was very impressed. Check them out at www.myspace.com/bonneville. I finished my fourth beer as they wound down.

After the show we were hanging out front of the bar as the guys packed up their gear. I made some casual conversation and told them I would be writing about the show.

"It's just too bad more people didn't show up," I said. "You guys were great."

"No worries, it's all good," the lead guitar player said. "We'll play for one or one thousand."

Well said. We met up with my other roommate, Tony, who had just gotten off work. The four of us walked back to their place on 8th for a night cap. The girls had some homemade birthday cards for Tony who turned 26 a few days earlier. They were quite funny and we all had a few laughs while we drank and listened to music. Steph would occasionally poor Kroger Vodka (the cheap ass 40 proof kind) into her beer to "spice it up." This made me laugh even harder; I could only imagine how awful it must have tasted.

By now it was almost 5 a.m., so we bid our friends adieu and headed out. After returning home, I sat in my room compiling a massive play list for our up coming house warming party. Later, as I lay in bed and waited for sleep to over take my drunken mind, I looked out my window at High street. The sun was just starting to rise and traffic was picking up as Thursday's rat race silently signaled its start. Part of me felt sorry for all those suckers down there who probably hated their jobs. They had no idea how much they were missing on a nightly basis working 9-5. the other part of me was a little bit jealous because they had the security of knowing they had "real job" with real benefits and guaranteed hours/pay checks. But whose to say they wouldn't be the victims of a poor economy's next set of lay-offs. All in all I called it a wash. I for one was totally happy with where I was at, at that exact moment but only time would tell if I would feel this way six months or two years from now. I watched the lights on the Short North arch outside my window go through their colored sequence (purple, red, green, white) and slowly drifted off to sleep.


-J.R.