I have this friend in Chicago named Jim. Jim is a little punker friend of the bartender's. He also happens to be a pretty talented musician. He plays guitar and piano, sings way better than he thinks he does, and writes beautiful, although slit-your-wrists-depressing lyrics. For those of you taking notes at home, Jim is the guy who took offense when I called him a tortured artist at my birthday party. Thing is though, he really IS a tortured artist.
Jim has a penchant for dating evil, heartless women who treat him like dirt and then rip his heart out. Apparently he enjoys this, because every time he gets hit with the bitch stick he comes back for more. This is where the tortured artist comes in: every time a new girl breaks up with him, he goes on a song writing binge. The bartender will be catching me up on the latest bar-gossip, and when Jim's love life comes up, he'll say "I think Jim's going to write another album," without a hint of irony.
The latest rock opera inspiration was a petite, dark-haired little waif of a thing who looked for all the world as if she had been surgically attached to Jim at the crotch. The relationship was on a fairly regular pattern of them being together for about 3 days, breaking up for 12-24 hours and then getting back together again. I am told this went on for months. Jim spent this tumultuous period, as usual, pouring his heart and soul into letters and song lyrics. He had apparently built up quite a bit of material.
Well, it seems in the last couple of days that the final bell tolled on this disfunctional episode and the girl broke up with him. Jim was in the bar last night with all the lyrics to his new masterpiece, and of course, the newly-minted ex shows up. For reasons that were not immediately made clear to me, Jim gives her all of this stuff to read. BAD. IDEA.
She scoops up the original, and only, copies, walks into the back room, and TEARS THEM UP INTO TINY LITTLE PIECES. Being a writer myself, I was absolutely sick to my stomach when I heard this. I tried to picture losing 6 months of my own stuff and nearly burst into tears just imagining it. The bartender, also a song writer, felt the same. "Needless to say, Jim was not pleased," he said. "I would have spit on her."
"At a minimum!" I replied. "Someone should stab her in the eye."
Oh what an evil, evil, evil little biotch. But I bet the album he writes about her ripping up the album he wrote about her will rock.
4 comments:
It's a mystery, and that's why, so is mankind.
I ventured into said bar last night, about 9:30, with the regular crowd of Gongolas, Janet, the Bartender, Bosco, the voice of the Hawks/Sox/Blue Demons/Final 4, Jim, and Jackel. Sometime around 11:00 or so the little waif (who is actually pretty hot for a punker) showed up and I thought Jim might actually reach behind the bar for a bottle to smash over her head, or worse yet run her through with a pool cue. However, by the end of the night it seemed as though they were together again. And once again the world is normal in Chi-town.
ce qui est a moo-moo ?
BWAHAHAHAHA, I'll have to call the Bartender and get his take. Jim seems to only be able to handle life when he's miserable. She is a quite a little hottie though, I agree. She'd probably make out with you, if you can catch her in between break-ups with Jim. ;)
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