I bellied up to the little downtown bar intent on proving the hard drinking journalist cliché true. My peripheral vision spied out my territory, two big haired brunettes straight out of a The Real Housewives of New Jersey episode to one side, and two checkered dress shirted financial types to the other. The proverbial rock and hard place. Soon it further dawned on me that I had happened to sit between an ongoing discussion between the two different groups of people. The kind of argument not held directly, but manifested in loud conversation seemingly directed at no one in particular. “No one with any class drinks blended Scotch,” said one banker type to the surrounding air. “Blended Scotch is so smooth,” said one of…