On Thursday, after class, I went downtown in search of… stuff. I found that B Street, from Foothill to Main, was blocked off for some kind of festival. I also found that I had just missed it, as people were dispersing and vendors were taking down their booths.

First I went to Buffalo Bill’s Brewpub. It was packed, more people than I’d ever seen there before. It had the usual Hayward crowd–mostly yuppies and thugs. I walked inside.

I weaved through the crowd and made my way to the bar. And I waited. Forever. Pretty girls flanked me and got served immediately. I found myself wishing I was back in Chico where my favorite bartenders in my favorite bars knew me well, and knew that serving me quickly was worth the tip I would leave behind. After waiting far too long I decided to leave.

On my way out I ran into The Kraken. This guy basically took over the pizza joint I used to work at when I left for the Navy. He knows people. The Kraken got me a beer in 3 seconds flat. I was impressed. I left the barkeep a nice tip and leaned into the bar, and sipped the overpriced ale.

The Kraken and I chatted. Another cat I know, Aaron, joined us. We played a quick version of catchup and then they went back to their conversations with their entourages. I drained the pint and left for The Bistro.

Here’s where things start to get a little interesting. As I’m approaching The Bistro, just down the street from Buffalo’s, I hear some rockin’ tunes. A wailing guitar solo. The crowd goes wild. “Is that Hendrix?” I wonder. My step quickens.

Inside The Bistro is the usual scene. Ex-hippies and dropouts, disaffected youth, punks, and all of society’s unwanteds filled the room–my kind of crowd. I feel much more comfortable in this setting. Buffalo’s yuppies make sick, and the thugs make me nervous.

On stage is a very plain looking 3-man band: drummer, bassist, and guitar/lead singer. Plain, every-day looking guys. Not too good looking, no rock-star vibe. The crowd looks very plain too. I feel at ease. I buy a pint of Bear Republic Ale and again, lean into the bar.

I’m starting to relax. The purple and pink flavored lights behind the stage look a little fuzzy. I can smell the cigarette smoke wafting in from the patio. The band begins. I could smell that characteristic leather-and-perfume smell that always reminds me of an old girlfriend.

Purple Haze. Yep, it’s a Hendrix tribute band. This guy’s got his playing down tight. His very long, drawn out solos reaffirmed my feeling that the other 2 members of the band were there for one thing–to back him up. The lead strained and wailed and sang in near perfect Hendrix style, clearly in the spotlight, while the bassist and drummer sat in the background.

“The Ralph Woodson Trio” (the sign behind the band read). They whipped the crowd into a near frenzy with their familiar tunes played effortlessly. I ordered another beer.

After the third Hendrix tune the lead paused to thank his mother, pointing her out in the audience, and his sister for coming. The crowd went wild and his mother swelled with pride. The next song began and I recognized it immediately. Not another Hendrix tune, but Santana.

Black Magic Woman. I’m brought back to my high school years. Kevin Berkowitz’ house, Santana on the stereo, all my friends dancing and drinking and drunk. When the band finished with Black Magic they immediately segued into Oye Como Va. Goosebumps ran across my skin.

A pretty thing wearing a t-shirt that read “Italian Girl” smiled at me on her way to the dance floor. Yes, I talked to her. We danced. Married. I thanked her for the dance, wished her a good evening, and politely backed off.

My beer glass is empty. I wanted to stay, but I had to leave. I knew that if I stayed I wouldn’t be able to drive home. Once again I found myself wishing I was back in Chico, where I could walk to all my favorite bars, drink as much as I wanted, and not have to worry about DUI’s.

Is Hayward growing on me? Maybe.

I met Spicoli, his girlfriend, and some of his old buddies at Buffalo’s Brewpub at around 10pm tonight. When they kicked us out at midnight we went to The Bistro for more brews. Hayward still sucks ass. However, it was nice to hang with old friends again.

Drinking the “good stuff” is a lot different from drinking Silver Bullets. I can drink Coors Light (2.5% alcohol) all day and hardly feel any effects. But drinking a dark beer (6% alcohol or better) and I’m feeling it after the first pint. Tonight I had too many…

Spicoli’s new girlfriend is a hot little number with a thick Boston accent. She is an electrical engineer for Raytheon, and a bazillion times smarter than I am (and Tim too!). I spent a good amount of time picking her brain about the NASA and JPL projects she’s worked on. But I was drunk so I don’t remember what we talked about. At any rate, Tim has done well!

It’s almost 2am and I’m wide awake. Drunk, and yet wide awake. It’s times like this that I wish I was still in good ol’ Chico, where I could simply walk across the street and chat with some friends, stay up until dawn, tell stories, and drink beer.

I’ve always liked to write. When I was in elementary school I loved making up stories and spending the whole afternoon putting my ideas down on paper. When I got to high school I found that I liked writing in a journal. In college I found that I really, really liked to write papers. And today, still, I write in many forms–email, blog, irc, and IM.

It’s something that just comes easy and naturally to me. In other subjects like math I have always struggled. Memorizing formulas and doing the same problems over and over again (and getting a different result every time) is pretty frustrating. And yet, I can pick a topic and write about it 10 different times and come up with 10 different essays–and not be bothered by it at all. Weird…

I’ve always been a person that spoke more softly than others and had trouble putting my thoughts into actual spoken words. When I write, I know that I can make as many modifications to my statements as I want. The final draft, the one I present to the world, is the written version of my thoughts modified to perfection. I could never say what I feel the first time. I have to write it down.

In my last semester of college I was asked to give a presentation on “writing with a strong voice”. I wasn’t exactly sure what my professor was asking me. I thought it might have something to do with some small part of the readings I was supposed to do but forgot or skipped. When I asked her to elaborate she simply said to do what I felt was best. This was in May of 2004.

Fast forward 10 months and I find this post by one of my favorite writers. In his brief essay he states everything that I’ve come to believe in over the last 30 years of writing. Interestingly enough, just about everything Mr. Graham writes in the above essay was everything that I mentioned in my final college presentation.

If you have any interest at all in writing well, I highly recommend that you read the entire essay (shouldn’t take you longer than 4 minutes).

Below are what I believe to be the most important ideas:

Write in a conversational tone
Don’t try to sound impressive
Use simple, germanic words

And finally,
Learn to recoginize the approach of an ending, and one appears, grab it.