2002-10-06 - 11:53 p.m.

And we went to the Country Bar. This is the bar we always go to, the only one in a five mile radius, and one we love. It�s an old, divey bar, attached to a sprawling farmhouse, and is run by a benevolent grouch, an old man transplanted from Brooklyn, where he designed intellectual jewelry and talked politics from beneath his long grizzled beard. He is a purist, runs that bar quietly but with absolute force, refuses television or updated vinyl pub like booths, and he has an antique tarpon, a 6-footer, mounted on the wall with chains. The crowd there is mostly regulars, comprised of a handful of city people with weekend houses, and the rest locals, hunters and hardened women and a few local artists and musicians.

Last night, though, it was packed. The local post-theatre crowd, and a bride in her wedding dress, and the usual assortment of tooth-deficient local drunks. There was a guy, maybe 30, with a busted grill and overalls on, who DROVE HIS TRACTOR to the bar. That�s right, a mere 2 hours outside of Manhattan, there are people driving farm equipment in order to get their drunk on for a maximum audience. There was a local bluegrass band, complete with violins, who gave an impromptu concert. Our friend Nick was there, he�s a crazy, sexy Norwegian hippy, and he brought over someone he knows to our table � a blond woman, also wearing overalls, and a tie dyed tank top and blue platform sneakers. He introduced us, and she shook my hand and said, �I saw you when you came in, you looked so BEAUTIFUL walking through the door, radiant almost.� I was truly speechless, and sputtered, well, jeez, thanks, I�. And I turned to the boyfriend after she walked away and said, wow, I don�t think a woman has ever said that to me before. So I was all happy, because, you know, it actually means much more coming from a (hetero) woman � you know there�s no ulterior motive.

And then we moved to the bar, to let the band move our table to set up, and we talked to her for a bit. And that�s when I realized � she�s a fucking nutjob. Figures.

And the boyfriend spent the rest of the weekend, every time I moved, saying, �Baby, you look so BEAUTIFUL walking in here like that.�

Ah, well. It was good while it lasted.

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