O, Holy Night...

Over the course of the holidays, I do what many twenty-somethings tend to do, and that is meet up with old friends. Last night, I met up with such a friend. Somehow, after embarking on separate lives at distant colleges and then graduate schools, and finally cities on opposite coasts, we have managed to retain and even strengthen our teenage bond. We go back, way back, all the way to all-girls, Catholic high school. And, because her parents live amidst the rolling hills of a wealthy suburb of our midwestern hometown, our destination for merrymaking was an equally midwestern, so-called "dive bar." Nestled between two major freeways, in proximity to the biggest shopping mall in town and hundreds of beautiful suburban estates, this little spot has a unique and unusual charm. The true pathos of the human condition ekes forth from every cranny. For example, the same bartender has worked here since we have begun frequenting this place as of our 21st birthdays. That is 6 years, at least, of dedicated service to an establishment of many-a-solid Bud Light, fries, spicy ribs and cigarettes. (Please note that as of January 4, however, we will no longer be able to smoke at this historic venue.)