I have ordered an extremely froofy drink. I'm okay with this. I like a good froofy drink, and I'm secure in my masculinity. Rusty, however, is laughing her ass off. She may be less confident in my masculinity.
We're at Longitude, in Oakland, and we're talking about the future. Rusty gets the future, which has often been a curse: She's the person who got fired from a newspaper in the '90s for telling them, "We should be posting things online." She's that person who said, "Social media's going to be huge!" while all the grown-ups dismissed it as the next pet rock. I do not get the future, which has often been a blessing. My total ignorance of what's coming next gives me an almost awe-inspiring ability to say, "It will be all right" with total sincerity.
"I've got to ask you something," I tell Rusty. "How frustrated do you get by the people who simply don't get it, when you're staring the future in the face and are absolutely correct?"
She thinks it's another joke and waves it off. Suddenly we're talking about the way you monetize an online following. Even I know that's what you're supposed to do these days. But I'm still not on Facebook. Either I'm cleverly waiting for the next big thing to come around, or I'm hopeless.
Longitude, like all tiki bars, has a nautical theme. Drinks are named after Navy stuff and the menu has pictures of African animals in it. But Longitude knows when to stop. The building is gorgeous, the decorations are never over-the-top, and the upstairs hideaway, where Rusty and I are sitting, is a delightful spot in a crowded building.
I'm drinking a Lion's Share Swizzle (Chartreuse, maraschino liqueur, bitters) because who doesn't like Chartreuse? Rusty is drinking a Zawadi Cup (blonde rum, lime, chocolate orange syrup, rose, mint), the proceeds of which are donated to a foundation supporting secondary education in Tanzania and Kenya. We are both quite satisfied. The food is good, too; Longitude seems to have mastered the art of hitting all the essentials and then getting out of the way.
Yet after dive bars, tiki bars are probably the most regressive form of drinking establishment. They are colonialism made kitschy, a longing for simpler times as viewed through the haze of old movies and rum. They are a strange fit for the innovation-obsessed Bay Area. But perhaps the combination of potent mixology and a romanticized aesthetic of a simpler past is irresistible, no matter how advanced you think you are. It whispers it will be all right in your terribly sophisticated ear, and you believe it after enough rum.
As Rusty and I talk about social media, a group of twentysomethings across the room start explaining why Burning Man isn't such a big deal anymore. They aren't coming up with very compelling reasons, and eventually one of the girls says, "I guess I'm just trying to figure out why I don't like Burners."
I exchange looks with Rusty, who was at Burning Man back in the '90s, when it was the future. "How hard can that be to figure out?" I ask her.
She laughs. "Hi, we're Burners, and we're awful!" she jokes. These kids are hopeless, yet in a completely different way than me.
Rusty orders a Cuba Libre, and I order a Navy Grog (three rums, lime, grapefruit juice, spices) which comes with a crazy long straw. This is the second drink I've ordered that makes Rusty laugh at me.
To be fair, it's hilarious, and we start laughing about all the things I can point at with my giant straw. "Why, look at that chair ... all the way over there!" (Point point point.) This will be a recurring joke for the rest of the night.
But the conversation always slips back to work — and how to monetize in a digital economy. Because even in the world that she heralded, Rusty has to work just as hard as everyone else. And me? I'm trying to live a beautiful life in a world where the very idea of transcendent beauty is viewed with deep suspicion, if not hostility.
If you want to succeed, perhaps the tiki bar is the model to follow. Embrace kitsch. Cultivate nostalgia for things that do not deserve it. Say "It will be all right" to people who are already blessed. They will flock to you, and they will not be disappointed.
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