Hello and welcome to Part 2 of our Drinks With feature with radio and podcast host Luke Burbank! If you missed Part 1, here it is. Enjoy!

 

“Do you think you have a problem with alcohol?” Hashtag nosy.

“Here’s what I think: yes,” says Luke. “But I don’t think I’m an alcoholic, I think I’m a problem drinker. Which I think is a very different thing.”

“I think that exists,” I say.

“I don’t have a physical dependence on alcohol, I can and have stopped drinking for months at a time, not for some incident, but the previous maybe three years of my life I gave up alcohol for Lent. I don’t even believe in Lent.”

“I love Lent.”

“I just think of it as like a reset button,” he says.

“I give up worrying for Lent every year,” I say.

“I’m impressed you stick with that.”

“Well I don’t stick with it, but the point is that I become more aware of it. I get to realize: ‘I depend on this to get through.’ I realized I feel like I’m doing something productive when I worry.”

“Well that’s a way to manage your anxiety because if you worry then you can anticipate it and you’re in front of it a little bit.”

“Right, and I can control it. So maybe that’s what Lent is about, realizing your control mechanisms,” I say.

“This is a major component of what I talk about with my therapist every week. Trying to manage my anxiety through worrying about things. My brain never stops spinning with things I’m worried about, you know what I mean?”

“Uh, yeah. That’s me too.”

“I heard an interesting This American Life where there was this kid who walked across America…whatever, who cares about that. But he talked to some old lady and he asked her, ‘What would you do differently?’ and she said, ‘I wish I would have worried less because it turns out that the thing you’re worried about hardly ever comes true.’”

“I feel like it doesn’t come true because I worried about it. It’s superstitious of me,” I say.

“I’ve really been carrying that around with me the past couple of weeks, that usually your worst fear doesn’t manifest itself. I’ve just been thinking about that lately because I just quit this radio job,” says Luke.

“You did? Why?”

“Because I’m allergic to money, and also I didn’t like doing it.”

“That’s so amazing that you quit!”

“The only reason I did it was because it paid really well and I had health care.”

“That’s the only reason I do MY job.”

“But you have two little kids. I don’t have any little kids.”

“Hmm,” I muttered.

“I knew that once I had kids I would never be allowed to quit that job. So I quit it while I still could. I may have to go back to that kind of job someday, but for now, I just didn’t feel very fulfilled by it and I didn’t want to keep doing it for the wrong reasons.  But I have these fears. What if no one ever thinks I’m good at talking on the radio again? What if no one ever hires me for side gigs again? What if my house gets repossessed? But I’ve been carrying around that thing that woman said, which is usually your worst fears are not realized. So it’s going to be okay. Also, I might die tonight. I’m gonna try.”

“Have you ever had a panic attack?” I ask.

“No, but my ex-wife used to have them and they’re very incredibly real and intense. I thought they were a made-up thing until I witnessed her having one. Hang on, we’ve gotta go downstairs. Sean’s (De Tore) thing is starting and I’ve got to see this.” We make it out of the bar and into the Pride throng outside. After three more shots of Fireball and Sean’s Mixtape Showcase, Luke calls a car to take us to Goldie’s casino. As we head north on I-5 we pass Calvary Temple where I ask, “Does that building mean anything to you?”

“Yes!” he says. “That’s where I went to church and that’s where Dave Bazan’s dad was the music pastor.”

“I must have heard that somewhere because every time I pass it I think of you guys,” I say.

We make it to Goldie’s, where everyone seems to know Luke. I hear,
“Hey Luke, who’ve you got with you?” from a dude as we stand at the ATM.

“This is my friend Stephanie and I’m not trying to have sex with her,” Luke replies while reading the ATM screen. He takes out $500. We walk to a table and he tries to explain a game to me but I’m having trouble following.

“Thanks, Ronald,” he says to the dealer after losing $50 over a hand. A man at the other end of the table says to us, “I went huntin’ this weekend. Got a deer. Then I just took the old axe and whacked the antlers off.” He says pointedly to Luke, ”Know what I mean?”

“No. I honestly don’t,” says Luke. He loses more. “Ronald! Let’s get it together, buddy.”

“He can’t afford that, Ronald!” says the man at the end of the table. ”He’s just a normal guy!”

“No he’s not,” I say.

“This is my welfare check,” says Luke. “I gotta turn this around.” RONALD!” 
Luke turns to a waitress: Can I have a Jameson? And then a soda with a lime? And for my friend…

“Is that the natural color of your hair?” a man asks me. He seems intoxicated.

“It’s not,” I say.

“Well goddamn, it’s pretty.”

“Thank you!” I say. A compliment from a drunk person is still a compliment, damnit!

“I don’t know if he’s your boyfriend or husband or what,” the man continues.

“It’s neither. How dare you,” says Luke.

“I don’t even know what game this is,” I say.

“Eh, this is a bullshit game,” says Luke.

“It says ‘Progressive’ on it, does that mean that Progressive Insurance sponsors this?” I wonder aloud.

“No, just the more you bet, the more goes into the pot. Hence the pot being progressive,” Luke replies.

“So it’s like Monopoly and landing on Free Parking.” I am awesome at analogies.

“RONALD!” scolds Luke. The man at the end of the table sings to the dealer holding up his Miller Lite as a microphone and then says proudly, “I’m drinking Miller Lite!”

“Not to brag,” says Luke. “I’m gonna have to get some more cash. Ronald! That hurts!”

Miller Lite man suddenly gets serious. “Today my wife finally asked for divorce papers. After 20 years. And I said fine, get the hell out! And she just walked out the door!”

“It’s like a country song,” I say.

“How long has that been brewing for? I mean, you must know, it’s your wife,” asks Luke.

“We’ve been married for 20 years. I hate her,” says Miller Lite Man.

“Aww,” says Luke sadly. Then, “Oh fuck, I wish I had a side bet. Let me explain those. Wait, are you okay? What’s your name?” he says to the Miller Lite.

Miller Lite says, “Roy.”

“I’m Luke. This is my friend Stephanie.”

“Stephanie? You seem like a real kind woman.”

“But 20 years man, that’s a long time,” says Luke.

“Well, it’s not easy but it’s something I’ve gotta do. I just don’t want to be married to her anymore. Hey, nice win!”

“Thanks. Hey, so can I ask you this, would you say that you could maybe untangle this in a way that’s additionally not emotionally crushing to her?” Luke is like a school counselor right now. “When you think about the good things, what were some of those, like at the beginning?”

“Oh, there were a lot of things, but that was 20 years ago and I want a divorce and next week I’m getting it.”

“Is that expensive?” I ask naively.

“Divorce?” says the dealer. “Yes.”

“Well, I used to know a bartender in LA who would say, ‘You know why divorce is so expensive? Because it’s worth it.’” says Luke. The dealer and various people around the table murmur in agreement.

“I figured you used to live in LA because you knew where the Dime Bar was earlier,” I say.

“That’s where I got divorced. I lived in Echo Park,” he says.

“How old are you, about 40?” asks Roy.

“Well I’m 37 but that 40 comment is hurtful,” says Luke.

“I’m 38!” I honk, trying to make him feel better.

Luke admits, “The only thing I will say about my divorce is that, at the time, as much as I thought the woman who was divorcing me was totally crazy, I now see a bunch of ways in which I contributed to how lame that situation was.”

But Roy isn’t moved. He says, “Well, she never contributed anything to me. And I gotta kick her out or she’s gonna stay here till Doomsday.” I thought she served him the papers. Oh well.

“Ahh, no jack! No jack! I’ll take a straight,” says Luke.

“So how much is that?” I honestly have no idea.

“I don’t know, about $800, $900,” says Luke. He takes a moment to pull out his phone. “Oh, I get texts like this from my wife: ‘I miss my husband xo’.”

“Aww!” I say, adding, “Can you even check your phone at the tables or is that just blackjack where they won’t let you?”

“The fact that you even say that shows how much you don’t know,” Luke tells me. “Hey, I want to press those side bets. Eight! Where’s my eight? Oh my god, are you kidding me? I can’t even play this. (Dealer turns over more cards) Aww man! Steph, you have no idea what all this agonizing is about. Actually, can I get 50 of red? Someday I’ll explain to you, Stephanie, why that was so agonizing just now.”

“It’s okay. I could sense the tension, that’s all I need,” I say.

“Welp, I’m shoving off,” says Roy, waddling towards the door.

Luke holds up his keys. “You’ll need these.”

“Is he okay to drive?” I ask.

“I’m not here to judge,” says Luke. “I just really want to focus my energy on where we’re going for karaoke. So, how did you put your mojo on David? Like when you read a story he wrote and said I’m going to meet that guy and I’m going to marry him, what did you do?”

“I don’t think I really did anything,” I say.

Luke starts mocking me, which I deserve. “Oooh, cause you’re the best! I’m so awesome I didn’t have to do anything!”

“I think I tried not to make any moves and not control the situation so I’d know for sure we were supposed to be together. That probably sounds dumb,” I say.

“We just won $800!” says Luke.

“I like how you’re saying ‘we’. As if I’m going to get any of it.”

“Aren’t you supposed to be writing all of this down?” he asks.

“I’m recording it. That’s good, right?”

“It is. It’s not as good as a straight but I’ll take it. So how did you put your mojo on David again?”

“I never did, I don’t think.”

“You said you stalked this guy…”

“Well, I subversively stalked him. He didn’t know what was happening. How did Carey put her mojo on you?”

“Six…six…TEN!” Luke says to the cards. “Okay, how did Carey put her mojo on me? It didn’t hurt that I was crazy attracted to her. And it also didn’t hurt that she’s a really, really kind, thoughtful person. (Now to the dealer) This is a silly game, but it’s a silly game I like!”

“Are you two together?” asks the dealer, pointing at us.

“No,” says Luke. “Her husband is not here but he has at times been a professional blackjack player, a card counter.”

“Hmph,” says the dealer.

“Okay, we’re gonna have to go in a minute,” says Luke. “We’re going to the Mandarin Gate for karaoke.” He’s just received a text.

“So how much is this? Are you up? I still have no clue,” I ask.

Luke looks over his chips but is interrupted when ‘Better Man’ by Pearl Jam comes on in the casino. “Oh, I can’t handle this song. Pearl Jam I hate, Soundgarden I hate, Alice in Chains I hate.”

“Oh I loved Alice in Chains, I was so in love with Layne Staley for so many years.” I can’t hold it in.

“You loved a guy who wrote the lines, “Yeah, I come to snuff the rooster?” asks Luke.

“Jerry Cantrell wrote that. Layne only sang it.” I masterfully defend Layne’s honor.

“You loved the guy who sang that song?”

“I loved his voice. I loved his face. I didn’t love Jerry.”

“He lives in Bellingham now,” the dealer says. “His girlfriend works at Fred Meyer with my sister.”

“Stop it,” I say. “Jerry Cantrell’s girlfriend works at Fred Meyer? This is the best information I’ve ever gotten!”

“Oh my god,” says Luke, grossed out by me.

“The Rooster song rules!” says the dealer.

“I can’t be with you guys on that one,” says Luke.

“I’m okay with that,” I say. “Because you were asking the driver before to turn the radio to Kube 93 on the way over here.”

Luke’s phone rings just then. He answers, saying into the thing, “Hey buddy! Yeah, we’re coming out in five minutes.” He turns to me, “Okay, our car is here.”

In the car, Luke says to me very seriously, “Now I am going to tell you why your affection for Alice in Chains is misguided…” But I tune him out, leaning over to ask the driver to turn the radio station to Kube 93 Seattle’s Hits & Hip-Hop as we drive down the highway to a karaoke joint I’ve never been to.