Darbarians

It has been a while since I have blogged. I would like to do it more often, but internet access is not as abundant here in Montana as it is in other, more civilized places. Which brings me to my first point of interest. I recently learned through one of the locals whom I work with that a nickname for people from Darby is "Darbarians." Upon hearing this I couldn't help but laugh right in her face. For all of you who have never been to Darby, I feel obliged to let you know that the name is a perfect fit. People from Darby are, for the most part, classless, shallow, simple-minded, and completely void of culture. I think this is pretty much the definition of a barbarian, which is why the name, "Darbarian," clicks so well. So yeah. I live with a bunch of Darbarians. I drink where they drink, shop where they shop. Sometimes I even touch them. But not without soap and water handy.

Ok enough of that. So this week I have done a few cool things. I went fly fishing for the first time which was pretty cool. I wouldn't mind doing it again. I also climbed a mountain. Trapper Peak to be exact. 10,157 ft. So what did you do with your summer? I bet you didn't climb a mountain. I have to admit, it was pretty awesome. If you ever get the chance, you should climb a mountain. Hmmm...oh yeah. Some old guy died on the river right next to where I live. I guess he caught a fish and had a heart attack. Not a bad way to go though.

What to do?

Hmmm...its my day off. I always have a hard time coming up with something to do. There are the obvious things like laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping. But that stuff sucks. The next idea that always comes into my head is to just give into alcoholism for the day. Just get completely smashed. It would kill the boredom. But then there's the guilty feeling the next day and the question of why did I get drunk for no reason. Right now I have to admit though, it doesn't seem like that bad of an idea. I have nothing to do. No plans. The day is half over. I have plenty of booze. Ok blog, you talked me into it. But if I wake up tomorrow morning with vomit on my pillow and a racoon in my pants, I'm blaming it on you.

Let's Go Blogging

So about a week ago I was in the Sawmill Saloon. It was a crowded Wednesday with the same familiar, dirty faces. I found a spot at the bar to order a drink. I sat down on the stool and this guy comes walking towards me staring straight at me. Now I've grown accustomed to strange looks in the Sawmill. Anyone who is somewhat well groomed and doesn't have dirt on their face is considered an outsider. But this guy was weirding me out just the same. He mumbled something to me which I couldn't hear over the din of rowdy drunks. There was an empty stool next to me and I gestured towards it and said, "Have at it." I think he must have misunderstood me 'cause he responded with, "That's my seat." He was referring to the empty stool to my right. "Ok," I said. Then as he sat down he looked at me and said, "You got a problem with that?" Now this guy must have been pushing forty and he had the kind of face you get from years of hard labor and a steady diet of cigarettes and shoe leather. He wasn't as intimidating as he was ugly. *From this point on I may stray a bit from the truth of the events of this specific evening in order to provide a more entertaining story for my blog readers.* So I stared the guy right in his glassy eyes and said, "Yeah. I got a real fuckin' problem with it!" Then I stood up before the ugly bastard knew what was happening and busted a half-full bottle of the High Life over his head. The blow sent him sprawling to the floor. A trickle of blood seeped through his ratty grey hair. The entire bar turned and stared straight at me. I suddenly realized that I was far outnumbered. 20 drunk rednecks to my broken bottle and me. The brawl that followed will go down in Sawmill history as one of the greats. After the first few blows were thrown, it didn't matter who you were hitting. There were no sides, just a complete melee. Many brave men fell. Blood streamed out the door into Darby's empty streets. By the end I had escaped to my vehicle and tore off leaving the rest of the yahoos behind for the Darby Marshall to deal with. All in all it was a good night.