There still exists a romanticized version of The Bar, one whose sparse patrons restrain rich histories with liquor and silence. But by the aid of free rounds and a free ear, those histories spill. The romanticized bar is a smoky place of bonds melded by story.
It has been my experience that more often the romantic bar mirage gives way to a sad reality, one of loud, obnoxious chatter with radio-friendly (re: conversationally-unfriendly) music pumped in to dilute any intellectual connection in favor of the visual/physical. Here, women dress as disco balls in hopes of MySpace photo ops. The real bar is a smokeless place of subverted and repressed stories.
This isn’t a case of Norman Rockwell nostalgia; it cannot be. I am not ready to quit the dream.
How to make a bar better, while maintaining profit (warning: to make this happen, compromises have been made):
1. The jukebox
Perfection: If a song has the words booty, bling, cowboy, ass (in a sexual conquest sense) or is by Nickelback, remove it from the jukebox.
Compromise: Turn the music down a smidge. The relatively recent introduction of internet-abled jukeboxes satisfies my need for bar-perfect spots like Waits, Cave, Boxcar Saints, and Bauhaus…yes, Bauhaus. So, if the trash is quieter, then maybe the sensible among us can talk over it.
2. More jukebox
Perfection: free jukebox! Give out a song token with each drink purchased, thereby rewarding those who buy a lot of the bar’s product.
Compromise: Lower the prices of the internet-abled jukebox songs. Or at least, allow each purchased song to remain in the jukebox harddrive, so that subsequent purchases are done at the standard song rate. I understand this restriction may be a song rights issue. If so, simply lowering the prices will do just fine.
3. Books n’ such
Perfection: Book up the place. There’s a bar in north Kansas City, Mickey’s, I think it is, that has walls filled with books. I suffered a New Year’s Eve there once, and spent the night coveting a bound collection of Camus writings that sat imprisoned behind crepe paper streamers and balloons, slowly deflating, as was I. All I wanted was to silence the crowd and free the book. I would have purchased liters of beer to do so.
Compromise: Sell the books. Sell more than just beer and shitty food. Sell coffee. Sell cigars.
4. Smokeable
Perfection: Let people smoke. I’m not a smoker – aside from a cigar here and there – but I love smokers. There’s an implied social need with smokers, a personality befitting conversation. Now, I understand smoking bans have all but extinguished indoor smoking. But like with most good things, there are loopholes available. A place near me, The Keyhole, has claimed a “club” status, and charges “members” a nominal membership fee ($1 per year, or something amazing like that). Once equipped with the club designation, patrons are free to smoke away. If you don’t want to be around smoke, don’t go/work there. Simple.
Compromise: Divide the establishment into smoking and non-smoking sections, or have smoking and non-smoking hours/days. I’d be interested to see this happen on a small scale as a test for possible wider adoption. Do the patrons/workers like/dislike the set-up? Are the shifts confusing to patrons? What is the profit difference between times of smoke and times of ban.
Who’s with me?
A chapbook, for all who may not know, is the e.p album of the writing world, acting as a taste medium of things to come. CHARACTERED PIECES will consist of eight stories, four of which have been previously published (in print journals, so not many people have read them).
So went the impetus for my story “Vertigo Unbalanced,” which has been recently reprinted in the Gold Dust Magazine anthology, 
