Karl Klockars

I’ve never been accused of plagarism, until about a week ago, and you’d think I’d be pissed off about it. That’s the sort of thing that’ll kill your career, destroy your life, and poison your dog. An author or a writer can steal, beat up your mom, and embezzle your life savings and if they’re good enough, people will say “but he’s so talented!” Plagarize, and you might as well be upselling your customer to the larger entree and the better bottle of wine.

I was sitting in class and we were in the middle of a break. The teacher comes up to me and says, “I’ve been meaning to talk to you…” which usually isn’t a good thing, but between emails I knew this was coming. I had wanted to ask him about a piece I was working on, and had been wanting to sell to anyone who’d buy it. We were in the middle of discussing some other work when the proverbial shoe dropped.

I had handed in a story about a museum that I had finished all of a half-hour before it was due. One of those last minute, thrown together, get it done pieces that you don’t really think about but you want something to hand in. It wasn’t terrible, but it wasn’t the first chapter to the Great American Novel either. In any event, I guess he liked it. Got an “A” on it, so he must have thought it was pretty all right.

The conversation started with some chitchat about how it was a good piece, and how I could be a working writer, and that the museum piece was really very good – here it comes – “if it’s an original piece, you didn’t get that from anywhere else, did you?” What? Huh? It’s so good it had to be stolen? I guess that’s a weird way of dropping compliments. It’s publishable, so it couldn’t come from a student? See, I don’t know which way to go with this.

There was some more conversation about goals and where to sell things and how to write query letters to get things published, but I just ambled through it a little stunned. I didn’t know if I had been slammed nicely, or complimented poorly. He mentioned he had been in surgery a couple days ago, so perhaps it was the Oxycontin talking. But if a song is good, do you accuse the writers of ripping off the Beatles? Probably not. Well, unless you’re Oasis.

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In less whiny, more sauced news, I saw a story in the paper the other day that struck near and dear to my overworked, odd-houred heart. Seems beautiful Berwyn doesn’t want people drinking at sunrise. Why do you hate Freedom! There’s a push to make early-morning bars close up until a more civilized time, like 10 or 11 am. How dare they.

For a period of time, I was working overnights. Check the timestamp of some of my posts from a couple months ago or so. 4am is a fantastic time to write – it takes a lot of the filters off and you just spew your bile onto the keyboard. Whatever happens, happens. And often times, I would come home jacked to the gills on bad coffee and general will, accompanied with emptyheadedness and a tired giddiness.

And sometimes you just don’t want to fall into bed at 6am. You’ve been up for so long, the natural inclination is to see how far you can push it. And maybe you’ve got a sixer in your fridge, and maybe the Today show has a segment coming up about a new diet. Put two and two together, and all of a sudden you’re 4 cans of Old Style deep, and Martha is making a bundt cake with Martin Short.

Those can be very good mornings.

From the story: “It’s not yet sunrise, and Daniel Shields is lingering over a $1.25 can of Hamm’s beer and a hand-rolled cigarette. The 64-year-old man begins his days, several mornings a week, at George’s Tavern in Berwyn, a pub two years older than he is. He comes to beat loneliness, to roll his Drum tobacco, to grumble about politics.

But his routine might have to change. Berwyn aldermen are considering prohibiting bars from opening before 10 a.m., four hours later than George’s now opens.”

Those low down, no good…

“Victor, a retired Chicago firefighter who said he served in World War II, comes in every Friday morning after giving his wife a ride to the beauty salon. He didn’t give his last name, explaining that his wife wouldn’t approve. “I think it’s a stupid thing to do,” he said of cutting the early hours. “A man who works all night long? He needs a drink to get to sleep.”

Ald. Santiago “Jim” Ramos checked out George’s on a daybreak bike ride and said he didn’t have a problem with the early hours. “To me, it’s just elderly men having their beer and watching TV,” he said. When the change was first proposed, Ramos helped fashion a compromise: 10 a.m. instead of 11 a.m.”

Victor sounds like the kind of guy who’s got some stories to tell.

There are a couple places downtown that I’ve found who open up at about 7ish. Now they cater to the pre-work drinkers and the 10am coffeebreak drinkers. Some small joint in Berwyn? Lighten up, man. If some of these places had opened up at 6ish, maybe I would have stopped in for a couple before shuffing home on an el that was otherwise populated by people on their way to work, while I laugh at them and they laugh at me.

And believe me, there’s a certain sense of rule-breaking in enjoying a nice frosty bottle of malted goodness bright and early, watching the sunrise. Brightness coming up over the lake, a nice warm morning spent in front of the caring glow of the television and basking in the glow of an August sun…ambrosia.

Turn things on their ear sometime and you get new, exciting results. Who wants to go to sleep when you’ve got the light of a brand new day on you, and the chance to see the sun to its height as you enjoy your own personal happy hour? It’s almost worth getting a third-shift factory job just to–

Wait. Not worth it at all. Not even close. So why take away the one small pleasure an old man has. Why do you hate freedom!