Welcome to where the seeds of dreams are planted--where one can sip from the charmed chalice of life & meet interesting folk through (hopefully) intelligent conversation.

One never knows nor can expect who will sail into the fray--what we do know is that no soul here is perfect no matter how we try. So let us celebrate & raise our mugs to the idiosyncratic nature of life--to the Kramer's & Norm's of the world, the Roseanne's & Allan Poe's. Some old, some lost, some tortured, some blessed, all souls sharing a drink at the same time in the same place. The ensuing tales are authentic with names trending towards monikers. The flag waving on our doorstep means we're open, so come perk your curiosity in Le Harbor Bungalow Cafe.

Bonjour! Mesherfin! Hasta la vista! Your barista.

Thursday, October 13, 2011

Harbor Fest, Part II

Less than ten hours after leaving Betters of Lead, the barista--now bassist--returns to the stage (corner of the narrow bar, next to the front door where drunk dancing folk can knock over the tip jar and sway the microphone).  But not before heading to le Harbor Bungalow Cafe for un cafe, with room, for Jamison.

"Hey man you all alone?" 

"Yeah, Michelle went to Good Will," fellow barista says while he simultaneously brews coffee, makes sandwiches and serves single order pastries in large bags.

"When did she turn into Otis?" the bassist replies comparing their young coworker's break to an elderly, regular's daily routine of scavenging the second-hand store for lost treasures between cups of coffee. 

"Hahaha!" Laughs all around...including Otis who sits in the background on his laptop computer.

Walking through the square of the Point called Fells with his hot coffee--brewed in the Arabic style from Guatemala and somehow simultaneously a French roast (and soon to be Irish thanks to Jimmy the German bartender)--the barista wearing the hat of singing bassist meets up with his fearless band mates.

"Curt, did you get any sleep last night?!" The bassist had never seen his comrade so loopy as earlier that morning at the end of the 4-hour set.

"Hardly.  Crissy and I got hungry and hit Denny's last night.  Didn't get back till after five in the morning."

So the CR Experience trouped on with mellow numbers by John Prine, the Eagles and Crosby Stills & Nash, when all of the sudden Squeaky from  LHB Cafe peaks his head through the swinging saloon doors.  

"Haaaaaayyyyy! I know you." Squeaky says between songs.  "I'm on break from working the beer tent."

"You're not sneaking any of the beers, are you?" the bassist says.

"No, can't do that," the recovering alcoholic says.

Curt hits the head and gives the stage to Crissy.  She usually picks the banjo, but it happens to be in the shop this weekend. On guitar she slides into the Beatles "Rocky Raccoon" with the bassist ably following along.  Curt had already led "Ticket to Ride" so when the spotlight turns on the bassist, minutes later, he sticks with the Beatles theme turning Crissy's head--having never heard his rendition on solo acoustic bass.

I once had a girl, 
Or should I say,
She once had me.
                                      --from Norwegian Wood

Slowly, as the afternoon drifts along, Betters of Lead fills up to capacity and the CR Experience's hangover washes away kicking the songs into full gear.  Outside the bar, the streets are blocked off to automobile traffic and vending tents hawk all sorts of crafts and clothing.--scarves, paintings, knit hats, necklaces, T-shirts, even hammocks.  People scurry around like ants.  The saloon doors of the bar swing constantly as people filter in and out. As the tip jar fills, the bassist cannot keep up with the line of Loose Cannon beers behind him.  The name of the beer eerily appropriate.  Why is it so hard for the barista to turn down free beer when he is already drunk?  Can anyone out there relate to his predicament?

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