Bryan Brown in the middle of the 1980s was the actor's version of the latest Replacements album; he made you think there was still hope, that pap would not overshadow depth, and that somebody would show Tom Cruise what 'charisma' truly is. Check out "Breaker Morant" to see what I mean.

When I saw "Cocktail" in 1987, you knew Brown was the only thing worth watching in the movie -- he had the best lines, the best facial reactions, and the best possible seat in the house: behind the bar, watching the circus build up to its fever pitch. Even now, as you get the chance to view it for the upteenth time on OCN, it's one of my favourite bad movies of all time.

In retrospect, I realize that the 'bartender' is one of the greatest character parts in the movies, or life. He/she is borne of low-maintainance, stability, familiarity, and (if you're lucky) ends up becoming a part-time oracle.

One night at Dong-Ha's new bar, it was getting so busy as to be unbearable. I'm somewhat claustrophobic at the best of times, and when you're not drinking, a thousand elbows and 'people whose mouths will not close' quickly cease to entertain. So I went behind the bar for a bit, if only to get some breathing space. But I noticed that the staff was running around frantically washing glasses, filling pitchers, mixing cocktails, changing kegs, sweeping broken glass, so I decided to give them a hand.

This isn't unheard of in Pusan. Marshall was behind the bar at Soul Trane when I arrived here for the first time. Much later it was JD, and although one breathed fire and the other personified (to a lot of the female contingient, anyway) it, I had no aspirations to become the third installment in the pyro trilogy. I did express an interest to spin some tunes every now and then at Crossroads, but nothing more.

Anyways, over breakfast that morning, the staff decided to make me an honourary member. I was honoured, to say the least. So every so often, I can be found over the counter at one of bars just doing my best to keep up with the gals and guys who supply the expats with liberally poured glasses of hangover. I have to say that it's more fun than I thought it would be, although it does have its heart-breaking moments.

From the vantage point of the bar, even though you're mixing drinks and chit-chatting during the quiet moments, there's not much you can miss throughout the course of any evening. For starters, unlike the rest of the crowd, you're not drinking. Clarity beckons from start to finish, and at times you wish like you had sucked back a fifth.

Almost everybody is flirting; some of it casual, some of it habit, most of it, whiskey-inspired. Lots of cursory glances the minute somebody walks in the room. More than a few frowns, a sly introduction (and even a little decorum), a lit cigar. Dancing -- LOTS of it--name dropping, queues upon queues for the sake of Mother Nature.

In Ken Dryden's excellent TV series "The Home Game", there is a 30-second shot of a Claude Lemiueux's skates as he glides around during one shift. At a bar, any bar, people are doing both; floating from table to table, and fixating on any singular person for great lengths of time. Every now-and-then during the evening, you can sometimes get a great sense of this.... the regular bar staff see the same actions repeated ad nauseum, and may therefore become somewhat jaded, but I couldn't help but find it fascinating.

I'd been a Bartender before, back in Canada, but only very briefly for charity events. What comes out of it is a tremendous sympathy for the people who work in bars; insert whatever country you like here -- bars are the same all over the world. If you're lucky, you can stumble upon one that becomes your "Cheers". If you're lucky with ice, you become "Norm". When that happens, it's time to step back and throw your glass in the sink.

The worse part of the job is the nasty drunks, without question. Twice in two weeks the staff has had to deal with guys who got completely blotto and harangued them at the top of their lungs about either having lost their precious gems or else demanding more alcohol in the wee hours of the morning. Generally this all passes without much incident, and I agree; it comes with the job. But I believe most inebriate expats would think again about giving similar crap to their watering holes back home, lest they got their heads busted open. Merry Christmas, indeed.

Eventually people do filter out and go their separate ways. Open up the door and watch the light flow in just in time for Sunday Mass. Sweep up the debris, tally up what's loading down the coffers, play a little wind-down ditty or two. The wiped-out staff is wiping their eyes, their hands, the tables.... This week we'll make it "Sundown". Last week it was "Sleepwalk", and next week?

Stay tuned, stay awake, stay free, and if you're lucky, fate just might stay its hand.

Bear witness; the bar is now open.