Gordon’s

Alex Berkley

Note: Real names have been changed to more fun names.

It was a bright but cold afternoon. Me and my buddies, Bozo the Clown and Teddy Ruxpin, had just wrapped up browsing every CD at New World Record and we decided to mosey on down Delaware to Gordon’s for a couple of pints and popcorn, as well as to catch a little bit of the early rounds of March Madness. I had purchased Pet Sounds, a Joanna Newsom album, and a Sun Kil Moon album that I already had (I had an addiction and New World was closing soon so I had to buy up as much as I could). Of course, it was Bozo’s idea to get beer, and of course after Teddy and I had bought our beers, Bozo got something ridiculously girly and non-alcoholic.

The three of us were in bad shape, emotionally speaking. Bozo had broken up with his lying cheating girlfriend some time ago, Teddy desperately wanted to break up with his, and I had not been in a relationship for nearly three years. Things were looking up though, at least for me. The night before, me, Bozo, Teddy, and our good friend Steve Irwin had been out at Mr. Goodbar and we started playing pool with this gorgeous lesbian and her male friend who probably did some modeling for Old Navy. Having no sexual prospects with this lesbian, I had no qualms telling her how pretty she was. She acted very flattered and as the two of them were leaving, she wrote down her number and handed it to me, saying, “You should call me.”  It suddenly occurred to me that maybe she had been joking about her sexual orientation. I told Steve Irwin what had happened and he said she was definitely joking, and I trust Steve more than just about anybody. This was of course fresh on my mind as we sat down at a table in Gordon’s, listening to the frat boys at the bar comparing their brackets.

When the games started, we started debating whether or not John McCain was, in fact, the Devil. Teddy was quite convinced the old bastard was an alright guy, but he wasn’t fooling me or Bozo. Pretty soon, in walked Baloo the Bear, who just so happened to be in the neighborhood. He took off his headphones and we exchanged hellos.  I asked what he was listening to and he told me it was a podcast called Radiolab. He told me about the story they were telling, perhaps about a scientist studying a snake or something…I mean, every episode of Radiolab has scientists and snakes, don’t they?

Baloo and Teddy got talking more about politics while Bozo and I started discussing an upcoming concert. We were always playing shows back in those days, at Soundlab, Mohawk, Merlin’s, and this next show was at Nietzsche’s. Baloo said he wanted to go check out the sale at New World, so we left Gordon’s and Bozo and I got a good head start on Baloo and Teddy. I told Bozo about this idea I had for the show, where in between songs I would throw candy and cigarettes into the crowd. We had a good laugh about it, then decided it was something I absolutely had to do.  We were laughing and talking so loudly and enthusiastically that we didn’t notice when the yelling behind us began.

Baloo was screaming at Teddy, and I started to laugh because I was sure that they were kidding. See, in the six months since I had moved to Buffalo, I had never seen either of them truly upset about anything. But now I saw real rage in Baloo as he yelled obscenities at the nonchalant Teddy Ruxpin, who seemed to think he had done no wrong. I found out later that he had told Baloo that his entire Buff State education was a waste and that he should have gone to UB, which infuriated Baloo because it was too late, it was too critical, there was no reason for the comment, and Teddy always made these insensitive comments without remorse.

In a heartbeat my whole vision of Buffalo was shattered. This city  had seemed so utopian to me when I first arrived. It was where young people got part time jobs at Mighty Taco or Spot and spent the rest of their time reading fascinating books from Rust Belt, piled high on every surface of the apartment, recording hours worth of songs on four-track recorders, drinking 22oz. Labatt cans from Wilson Farms, smoking terrible flavored cigars, and having endless discussions about politics, philosophy, and how fucking amazing Kid A is and why. Suddenly it occurred to me that the jobs were temporary and unwanted, the books were unread, and the songs went unheard.  Was the drinking the only thing that remained real?

And when I asked myself that question, I thought, “Well, that works!”

Baloo and Teddy made peace.  Bozo and I bought tons of CDs from New World. I met the love of my life, who had no ambiguity about her sexual preference, at McGarrett’s. The Summer was blissful and sweetened by Taco Tuesdays and a miraculous number of 40s and cheap whiskey shots…