When inspiration hits

I'm usually thunderstruck by the odd places that I find ideas. The car has always been a goldmine for me, something about the fluidity of thought as the landscape waves by-- no rhyme or reason, just my head working without my thoughts being truncated. That's a rare thing, especially these days when I seem to constantly have five voices in my ear (real ones, mind you) needing something, complaining or asking questions. I never quiet the other stuff enough to think.

And in recent weeks, I have been bogged down. First, with the end of the semester, then with getting the bar ready for summer, then with the 48 Hour Film Project. Now, Sarah and I are full swing into our research and grant writing process for our writing program. But there are still some days when all that I do begs the question of creativity and satisfaction and much of it seems like a band-aid. So, I look for surprises. The other night, while closing down the bar, I was talking with Don Beasley, who never fails to impress me with his mild manner and even temperament. He was telling me about the Compound, a place he and his friend Ben run that records music for local bands-- for free. As Don kept talking and telling me about his projects, I kept thinking... wow, I never knew this.

And so a plan was launched, a late-night, sleep-deprived, sober idea of a South Side project, a project to bind different groups and individuals together, a project to gain greater visibility, to help with networking, and a project that seemed so simple in its idea and yet one which seems to have escaped it all. We're still giving birth, and I don't like to talk about things until they are something I am doing. But this one's been in my head all week, and his too.

The point is, sometimes you just don't know where you'll find the answers. I found mine after cleaning the toilets on Saturday night, in the bar where I always work, with someone whom I often talk to. I think when you look for the surprise, there's always a reward waiting. We'll see if we have something to offer.

Myself, as a photograph

Now, imagine my hair the color of corn in September.

Red Bones

For anyone who reads our stltoday.com blog, you know that all the Royale kids are big fans of Red Bones Den, up on the North side (Kossuth and Vandeventer). Bones' joint is like a drinking contradiction of terms. It's lit up like a Christmas tree and from blocks away, it beckons in the night. The lit palm trees glow in the window. There is a huge garden (not open at night) and a nice sized bar. The tables and chairs remind me of an old style soda shop, those red vinyl chairs with the heart-shaped backs. There's a small dancefloor, a nice juke box, and (Abbie's favorite), a disco ball. Above the bar, there's a picture of Bones with Muhammad Ali in the seventies. Above that, are a bunch of antique farming implements.

The place is gorgeous and immaculate, but it reads like someone's personality: inconsistent and fractured in places, boastful and yet shy, raucous and yet refined. Each time I have been there, the waitresses have been crazy friendly. Red Bones always comes over to say hi to us and talk about business. Last night, Diane came over and talked for quite some time-- about them closing for the summer, about their farm, about the Bonettes (yep, you read correctly), and about boat races. We invited the whole gang down after they close in July-- for a patio party at the Royale.

There is something so great about going into a bar where you are not a regular and being treated by family. There is something even better when, in this city, where the color line is so visibly marked and so many people stay on "their sides" the fact that color does not make a difference. Red Bones is just a good joint. And the people are even better. Everyone came over to talk to us, laugh with us. We even met our new friend Tomcat, and I have a feeling he's been called that since way before Hollywood co-opted the name.

My biggest sadness of the week though, Red Bones is closing down at the beginning of July for the summer. "Gone fishin'" as Diane put it. Won't be back open until Sept. So if you have an inkling, and you should hit, hit Red Bones Den before the bears sleep for the summer. In the course of my bar writing the last several months, few places have affected me like Slo Tom's, Red Bones, and Gino's Lounge. It will make you forget about the South side and want to keep migrating North.