The Raconteurs

His name was Brian, an Irish-American guy from South Ozone Park in Queens. Her name was Barbara and she was from Perth Australia even though she had been in New York City for a long time. They met almost twenty years ago whilst they were on jury duty together when Brian was kicked off the jury for being drunk and they went to the pub together afterwards. They've been drinking and living the life ever since.

I was just leaving the bar to go home when Brian grabbed me.

"Hey! Are you Scottish?".

"Eh.... yes I am"

"Do you know Bobby Carlyle?"

"Eh... not personally, no. But I know who he is".

"Well, let me tell you a story......"

This turns into a tale about how he met Robert Carlyle in a bar and that led to the to the fact that he is Thomas Carlyle's great great great nephew (or something like that, I'm not sure how many "great's" to put in there). This then led to a discussion about Thomas Carlyle's Sator Resartus and it's take on religion.

Now, I've never actually read Sator Resartus (though it has been on my list of things to read for a while), but I know what it is about and the general gist of it. What amazed me here was, that this guy Brian was steaming drunk, and I mean really steaming, and he was not only able to recall the story but actually quote some of it word for word. When I am steaming I can't remember my own name never mind some philosophical text written in 1833.

I turned to Barbara and asked: "How does he remember this stuff?".

She said: "I haven't got a fucking clue!".

"Hey, let me do a poem!" said Brian, now loving that he is well and truly the center of attention.

He starts reciting an Oscar Wilde poem (there's nothing like a hearing it from a drunk Irishman) which I can't even remember the name of now (I'd only had about 3 beers at this point). It went on for a good 20 stanzas and he kept stopping at end of each stanza to emphasize some line or word.

Everytime he stopped I kept interrupting because I thought he was finished. The poem went on and on. When he was finished I felt compelled to buy him a pint and he downed half of it in one go. Barbara rolls her eyes because she is obviously sick of listening to the same Oscar Wilde poem over and over again....

I'm not sure if the Robert/Thomas Carlyle connection is true (there is no mention of it online anywhere), but it was a good story. As the saying goes: "When legend becomes fact, print the legend". (Well, I thought it was an old saying but apparently it is a quote from the 1962 film "The Man Who Shot Liberty Valance" which just goes to prove my point).

Why am I writing about these people? Well, to be honest, I don't really know. I guess it's a rare thing when you meet a real drunken raconteur, at least in America. It's rarer that you meet one who is so well versed in literature and history.

There is a skill to this kind of storytelling that I've always admired. I can't do it myself. If I get drunk and start telling a story I will more than likely lose my place halfway through and forget what I was talking about. It's not a coincidence that Brian was Irish (American). The oral tradition of storytelling and drunken poets and philosophers is strong in that culture.

These people are my Jesus's and Allah's and Buddhas. They have a better grip on reality because they can see how absurd it is. They appreciate great art and literature but they treat it as a thing to be shared over a beer, not some elitist crap hanging on a wall.

Speaking of elitist crap, the Pope arrives in New York next weekend. I have burned all my time off so I will be working for the whole thing. Arrrrrrgggh! Here is a New York Times article that gives you an idea of how busy I am going to be.

The busiest times in my job are always when the UN General Assembly are in town. This visit is still a week away and I see more and more new equipment being installed. It's going to be horrible............