Vol. 11: Dispatch from a desolate room
Eye Contact, Anthropomorphized Objects, A Dog Named Derek and Four Other Things
Hey there,
We begin with four tables and eight chairs.
The room that housed them was mostly empty of life, so each object only supported itself. Each was waiting to be given a reason to continue standing at attention instead of buckling into oblivion.
A fifth table and ninth chair held court in the back of the room, offset from the rest.
These had obvious purpose. The proud table wore the liquor bottles it supported the way a spoiled, yet neglected, royal child sports a crown. The chair, possibly the room’s smartest entity, implicitly knew the promise of the liquor bottles. Soon, a bartender would arrive.
The room’s five windows were covered in sheets of white painters paper.
Two lamps loomed over the scene in a state of undress. Each had one bulb. Said bulbs, bright white, were sunlike only in how inadvisable it would be to make eye contact with them.
So I did not, from my perspective on the ground.
You have joined me, paper towels in hand, on the floor in Amsterdam.
My mission was to clean up lukewarm gin that spilled from a lukewarm white paper cup, after it was knocked off of a white lacquer table in the white, regularly temperatured room before eight people emerged into said room in approximately two minutes.
Did you get that? No? This is the story of Real Bar.
The Plan
One night, late, Ryland was on a subway car in New York City after an evening of imbibing in dimly lit rooms.
Public transit in the city is not known for sexy lighting. He could suddenly see the true depth of each train rider’s pores, the expanse of frizz atop their heads and the fjord of make-up smears on their sickly, sweaty faces.
He thought, “Wouldn’t it be funny if there was a bar that looked and felt like this?”
Later, he mentioned the idea to Dan, his favorite co-conspirator, when they were in a similarly lit situation.
“We could call it Real Bar.”
They talked about this idea for years. Idly, they’d ideate about the necessity of white walls, uncomfortably bright white lights and the removal of anything that would reasonably provide social comfort. Music, chatting in groups and pleasant drinks were all out.
Further, they debated questions about the concept. Would the experience lead to deeper conversations, free of distraction and convention? Would anyone want to come? Would people just walk out?
It’s a real bar!
Ryland has a tendency to kinetically innovate and thoughtfully execute. He didn’t quite expect Real Bar to emerge out of the ether, whole and Pinocchio-like.
Dan, however, is made of momentum. So, one day, it did.
In May, Ryland and I went to Amsterdam to visit Dan and Nienke, brilliant mind (check out the academic journal she contributes to here), my friend and Dan’s partner.
Dan secured a space to host Real Bar in time for our visit. Nienke provided guidance and translations to solve the many logistical challenges presented. Ryland commenced upon some last minute generalized scheming.
And… we were in business.
For this inaugural event, the participant list was limited to acquaintances of the organizers. This is the language those invited to take part received:
“In Real Bar there are no distractions, only white curtains, fluorescent lights, bland drinks, and whoever you are seated with. The only sounds are the voices of those around you and their awkward shifts and coughs.
Real Bar offers a raw, blank canvas that leaves you with nothing but yourself. This is a place for intimacy, for discomfort, for conversations of the soul. What do you have to hide?”
Would you have accepted the invitation? LMK.
The Execution
The day of Real Bar arrived. Cut to an extensive set-up montage that included a misguided foray into serial killer suiting for Dan and Ryland. (The outfits were later deemed unsuitable.)
Real Bar was structured in rounds in order to maintain a sense of quiet. Each began with Dan escorting about eight participants into the room and seating them in twos. Some sets of twos were strangers. Others were friends or couples.
Then, the bartender (usually Ryland, sometimes me or Dan) would offer them a drink from the extensive bar menu.
The menu consisted of gin, vodka, tonic and water.
No, ice was not available. Yes, you could have seconds.
My primary task was to reset the room back to an appropriately neutral state after each round, which is what I was immersed in at the outset of this neuesletter.
But, I was pushed out from behind the proverbial curtain.
An extra slot opened up to participate because of a no-show. It was my turn to meet someone else’s open, vulnerable face with my own in the most brightly lit room I’ve ever consented to walk into… for an entire hour.
I found myself in front of Alberto,* an Italian man in his 30s who I hadn’t met before. Alberto is a member of the Amsterdam chapter of Writing Under The Influence (WUTI), an arm of the writing group I co-lead in Brooklyn.
We both opted for a gin and tonic, no ice, and cheers-ed with matching grimaces.
Our conversation started out as simple as the drinks in our paper cups. The room. The people we knew in common. The projects we’re working on.
As the hour ticked away, though, I felt truths that belonged to both of us unfurling.
The story of his move to Amsterdam from Italy. His dream video game design concept. Struggles I’m having with writing. Predictions about AI’s impact on our respective industries. Our thoughts on how people talk about abortion, regionally and culturally. What it means to leave a job (or an established way of life) and rebuild.
Dan announced the end of the experience, and it was hard to find our conversation’s natural end point. We blinked, as if the past 60 minutes had been a dream, and mumbled pleasantries as we left the room. A new reality had emerged and left our old one trapped inside a wardrobe, just out of reach.
The most salient thing I remember about Real Bar, beyond Alberto’s face, is the way the room demanded eye contact.
In life, we’re often placed next to each other, poised to look out at the world. That night, the lighting and the sparse surrounds made us poised to look at each other.
The Aftermath
After my round, I walked out of a bar with an Irishman, a German, a Dutchman and an Italian (the aforementioned Alberto). That isn’t a set-up for a particular joke format, but it did feel like living inside of one. All were friendly members of WUTI Amsterdam, though, so they taught me the word for “woof” in each of their native languages before we settled in to debrief.
I noticed that now, even outside of Real Bar’s confines, Alberto seemed more inclined to make eye contact with me. It was easier for us to laugh together, united by overcoming mutual discomfort in a bright room. It also, true to Real Bar’s name, felt easier to talk about real things within the group because of all the broken metaphorical ice.
Later on, I resumed my duties within Real Bar (this time, as interim bartender) and overheard something delightful.
Every table in the room seemed to be having a similar experience to the one I had — some awkwardness, some laughter and finally some depth. That is, every table but one.
Two friends sat at it, but they had been swallowed by silence since the moment they sat down. Finally, one broke through.
“Look, [redacted], I like you, but I just don’t have anything left to say.”
Their silence resumed. The same man broke it.
“How do you feel about death?”
They hit their stride. And… promptly lost it again. Back to silence they went.
I suppose Real Bar, like most things, is really what you make of it.
You joined me today, as you might recall, on the ground.
I was in a new place that looked strange. I discovered new dimensions of both friends and strangers alike. And, I suddenly had a reason to revive this goddamn neuesletter. Onward.
Now, I’ll wrap this up with Four Things:
Something old (ish): Friend of the neuesletter Noelle (who just got married at a marionette theater… so cool) and her band, Infinity Rose, released this music video a million years ago, and I’m still excited about it. Listen! Watch!
Something New York: I have two very cool events coming up. On July 13, come to the Ménage à Trois mic (it’s just a clever title, relax) celebrating all things three! Becka’s organizing, I’m reading a poem about the number in question, Ryland’s doing a 5-minute play with three actors, other talented people are in it… what’s not to like?! MORE INFO + TICKETS HERE. Then, on July 25, Jaime’s hosting a Show & Tell Storytelling Night! Bring an object to expound on. Enjoy. MORE INFO + RSVP HERE.
Something borrowed: A child recently introduced me to The Duck Song. Have you heard The Duck Song? You will feel very left out until you hear it. So, go! Waddle waddle. Bom, bom, bom.
Something woef (woof in Dutch): A Dutch dog named Derek. Derek, pictured above, is the mascot of Writing Under the Influence Amsterdam, which kindly hosted us during our stay. If you’re ever in town, go pat Derek at his bar, Vice Versa, and indulge in some additional hair of the dog.
This neuesletter has no attempted schedule anymore, so I’ll see you when I see you.
And, when I do, of course, it’ll be nice to meet you tomorrow.
—N. Graney I
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I loved every second of this. I especially love that one of those “wouldn’t it be funny if..” ideas actually got to become real!