First, I must thank you for being there when I needed you. Honestly, you came as a surprise. At the beginning of the night I couldn't have predicted we'd run into each other. You really stepped up and I thank you.

You see, Bloody Mary, the reason why this column has been on hiatus is because I've been defending my life - Daniel Miller style. The only things missing were the curly hair and funny robe. If you follow social media, you know the Weekly Volcano alternative newsweekly is now the Weekly Volcano awesome entertainment guide. Apparently, the South Sound doesn't support alt rags. Who knew? I did ... since the early '90s. It's one reason I'm imbibing on your spicy goodness, Bloody Mary. Anyway, I fought hard to keep it alive, with the help of a skeleton crew of talented writers and red-face sessions with an appointed ombudsman. To no avail, the news and asterisks are gone, once and for all. It's cool, Bloody Mary. It was a helluva fun ride, and the future of the Volcano looks just as exciting as the entertainment section of The Ranger and Northwest Airlifter.

Which brings me to you, Bloody Mary. I wanted to celebrate my new position of editor of all our media - wrapped in camouflage on one end, and flannel and year-round shorts on the other. I thought I'd gather a few buds, and make it a night that would make Bryan Fischer scowl and pule and seethe with quiet jealousy. There would most definitely be bourbon. And cigars. And motorcycle racing and yelling and laughter and ringing the Hotel Murano's doorbell and running, and there would be music and drunkenness and all-night whoknowswhat and massive hangovers that require you, Bloody Mary, the next day, almost certainly.

It didn't happen. There wasn't beer-bongin' alphabet belching. There wasn't head butting. There wasn't anything dangerous or illegal or naked or else.

No, instead I spent a chill evening at The Mix drinking bartender Jesy's absolutely fabulous Bloody Marys. And it was awesome. Surprisingly, dance-y music videos from Olympia band Gossip and Portland-but-always-in-Olympia band Yacht were on the tube. Not surprisingly, impromptu dance-y real life music video scenes were acted out around me. It was a good mix.

You were steadfast through the night. You with your lime, two green olives, onion, three pickled asparagus spears and slated pint glass. Oh you threw that horseradish my way - as well as the worcestershire, pepper, celery salt and Tabasco. Yet, you weren't overly spicy. Your goop, as Jesy describes it, of tomato juice and secret herbs and spices (hello garlic!) gave balance. And the vodka worked, my friend.

Maybe you're on to something, Bloody Mary. Maybe balance is the key to life. Maybe underneath it all is the notion that man moves through stages and levels of self and awareness and ultimately might just find himself full circle - albeit Tarantino style - in the arms of a scappy Situation Room, maybe, and that makes it all somehow whole, and luminous and complete.

OK, maybe it wasn't completely chill. I did wake up the next day with a few boa feathers and a mighty hangover. But hey, what can you do.

THE MIX, 635 St. Helens Ave., Tacoma, 253.383.4327