And He’s Got Some Skill At Baritsu

I turned up at JA’s on Wednesday. A clean-up crew works overtime removing what looked like the aftermath of a food fight from the ceiling and walls. The bar’s mirror has several hamburgers still plastered to it. I give Pettus a nudge and ask what's gone down. He winces, chokes out something about Goldberg’s blog, the anti-Christ and hamburgers, then continues ordering and pounding down beers as if it's last call during the Apocolypse.

Other men sit sullenly, lower lips thrust out, meaty fists clenched so tightly that their thick frosty beer mugs creak in protest. The hell?

I peer around the bar and notice an unusually large herd of unrestrained feminine wiles are off the leash. The sharp scent of freshly bleached hair contrasts with the dull tang of newly waxed legs, minty-breathed freshness, the heady - almost earthen - whiff of recently applied mascara.

The rumours are true then. There’s a new boytoy in town. I spot him in the corner talking earnestly with a group of political junkies. On all other sides tables are packed with sighing, mooning ladies. A harried waiter heaves trays of fruity drinks over to the new guy’s table.

“Courtesy of the Bunions, and the red head in the corner, and the open-minded Chinese lady on your left, and the brassy blonde lying on the bar with the 12 pack of donuts, and the limber brunette…”

I vaguely hear the guy next to me thump his fist on the bar. “Two posts! The bastard!” His tears liberally salt his beer. “Just two bloody posts and they’re all over him like stink on a skunk. It’s effing worse than high school!”

After a few moments, I scrape my tongue off the floor, rip my eyes away and lean on the bar for support. Ric rubs his faceful of newly cultivated stubble. He eyes my reaction philosophically. “Picture’s worth a thousand words, isn’t it?”

Uncharacterically, I change my order to a lite beer and desperately try to recall if I’m having a good hair day or not. It’s not often you see a guy so good-looking you’ll put on make-up just to read his blog.

A wave of girly giggles precedes a woman in a deep purple merry widow outfit as she steps up to the mike. Wielding a 12 string Ukulele she softly sings:


I am just a Cyber Vixen
I am a naughty girl
Oh, I play poker for pills
Until I lose or hurl.
Now, ladies in the blogosphere
Beat a fast path from here to there
This blog, so hot and fine
You’ll hang on his every line

His name is Barry Eisler
Ex-CIA, this guy
It seems that he was born
To make the ladies sigh
Barry could read a phone book page
And yet he’d still be all the rage
This scruffy lad into martial arts
Who talks what matters to our hearts

We are surfing to Barry Eisler’s blog
A world away from rambling whines
Surfing to Barry Eisler’s blog
To drool online
Cuz he looks so Ralph Fiennes

Now you're a good commentator, Eisler
But I swear you make me mad
Beware blog seppuku
You scruffy, stubbled lad.
You’re talking of Da Vinci
Can the Internet stay free?
The laws are changing in this Frey.
The blogoshere controlled? No way…


Now hold your head up, Eisler
See America will hear
Without freedom to speak, we’re doomed
As you are well aware
Log on and speak your mind
We need far more of your kind.
To speak these things and feel no fear
I pray your blog helps guide us there...


We are surfing to Barry Eisler’s blog
Political punditry’s best shot
Surfing to Barry Eisler’s blog
Boring, it’s not
….And he looks so damn hot.

The ladies whistle and cheer, but Barry sits oblivious, his hands busy as he illustrates how you can kill a man using only a pickle and a yellowed copy of SPY magazine.

I finish my beer and attempt to sashay toward the ladies room to check my hair, but I slip on a damp patch and break my fall on a small twelve-stringed instrument.

Did I mention I hate Wednesdays?

_____________

( for the curious…Sailing To Barry Eisler’s Blog is sung to the tune of Sailing to Philadelphia, by Mark Knopfler)