Ramblings Post #14
I like to read. There I said it, I'm not ashamed to admit it and I feel so much better for it. I've been reading since I was little. Comic books, Hardy Boys, Encyclopedia Brown, The Great Brain, Westerns, Science Fiction, Whodunits, Adventure, at one point I was bored and Harlequin Romances, War stories, Novels, Poetry...did I mention I like to read? If it wasn't for pesky ole law school, I would still be reading at a pace of a few books a month. So every now and then, I think I'm gonna review a book. My way of course.
When someone gives you something to read, not a pamphlet or an article, but a book or something of substance it means two things. One, it means they figure that you're reasonably intelligent and will understand or take enjoyment in the reading and Two, that you're actually going to read it. My little brother gave me a book this year for Christmas. I gave him an iPod. I figure we're about equal. But then just the other day Sporty mailed me a book.
One of the things I've always liked about Sporty is that she is a reader. I am stunned at the number of folks I meet, talk to and associate with who haven't picked up a book since the last time a class imposed that duty upon them. And of those who do read, a good number disappoint when I find out they only read "black" literature. Um..., I am black, I don't need to read about the black experience, I'm having the black experience. Okay, a little Walter Mosley from time to time, but not a whole whole lot more.
The book she sent was The Shack, a story of spiritual awakening and personal redemption. If you haven't read it, the story is about a man who has lost a child and is enmeshed in sadness. Then one weekend, he gets a note from God asking him to stop by. Thinking himself crazy he shows up and meets God, Jesus and the Holy Spirit, who turn out to be a old black woman, her Arabic son and an Asian woman, in that order. Not quite was he expecting. What follows after is the meat of the story, his conversations with what appear to be the Holy Trinity and his own personal growth and examination of his own viewpoints . He weekends with God, I mean, how's that for bragging rights?
I read it in one sitting. Okay, in one day...I actually did do some work on my paper, er..brief.
From the blurbs on the back, I expected to moved to tears or re-awakened in my soul or something else epiphanic. It was a good story don't' get me wrong. It had some moments that made you re-read a paragraph or two and made you think about some things, always a sign of good writing, and it certainly gave me a new way to look at some other religious concepts. But it wasn't earth shattering for me. My paradigm didn't shift. I may read it again to make sure I didn't miss anything. The ending was kinda cliche, a little telegraphed I must say, but by then you'd gotten most of the message, so you kind of needed it for wrap up. If it that ending hadn't occurred, what preceded it might have come off a little less spiffy.
Would I suggest it for a read? Sure.
Hey Barkeep, what kinda smoothies you got?
Friday, February 27, 2009
Wednesday, February 25, 2009
That Word, I do not think it means what you think it means...
Ramblings Post #13
Every now and then, I encounter an anomaly of sense that your average person wouldn't have encountered, not because they're not bright, but simply because they're not curious. Everyday I get surprised by folks who not only don't know something, but aren't curious in the least. You ever meet people who've lived somewhere for 10 years, but never been to the restaurant two streets over from their house? I mean they didn't even realize it was there. Yeah, those folks. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but he had a damn good life before that.
So I'm shipping something. You know the routine, you get a box, get some packing stuff and take your time and load everything up, get it all sealed up tight, then reopen the box because you forgot that one thing. You know how that goes. Well, I was shipping something, not big or bulky, and instead of trying to have my folks down in the company shipping department just slap a label on it and charge the company, I went to Fedex to do it myself. Damned ethics.
Fedex Kinkos. Kinkos and I go way back to undergrad. It was there, down in Tallahassee that I went o my first Kinkos party. For those who don't know, a Kinkos party is what happens when you need to pickup a document that was crucial to whatever class it was and the prof had left the only copy at Kinkos. And in those cases, the first available time to pick it up would be 2am. Back then, the big runs of copies would go last, after everything else and that's when they'd finish in T-Town. Apparently more than one student would want a copy as soon as possible, so they would hang out in the parking lot waiting, and it just rolled into a party. Hanging out, get a pizza or two from the spot on the corner, a furtive drink or two, etc. It would start around midnight and end when the started letting you in the get your copy for a $1.
But I digress.
So I show up at the local Fedex Kinkos and present my box for shipping. Fill out the little form, you know the one that doesn't show through the triplicate, and the guy adds up the charges.
"That will be $41." He says matter of factly.
"Whoa, I filled out the form for three day. Three day is $41? Isn't ground three days?"
"Oh, you wanted ground? Wrong form. You need one of these."
And he pulls out the ground shipping form from the side of the counter I can't get to. Well isn't that a neat trick. No issue, I figure since we're talking, I need to ask the next question.
"How long is ground to there?" I ask as I start filling out the form.
"Let me look. Um, ground is two days."
"And how much is it ground shipping?"
"For ground? It's $12."
"Wait a second, if I ship it three day express it's $41, but if I ship it ground two days, it's $12. Um, how does that work?"
"Well, the three day is guaranteed to be there on the third day. The two day ground might get there in two days, or three days, or maybe four days."
"So for a roughly 60 to 70% discount, I have to live a little uncertainty? But it will still get there. Right?
"Oh yeah. It will get there."
There was a look there that I gave him that I would describe, but it might scare the kiddies.
"You do realize you're charging me the $12 charge right. I just need a tracking number."
I wasn't shipping gold bricks or diamonds, and the stimulus package addendum nor was Obama's next speech wasn't in there, so it arriving at a precise moment in time wasn't exactly a priority. I needed to be there soon, but not $41 soon. Don't they know there is a bad economy?
Oh, yeah. That disconnect. My bad.
Barkeep. Gimme a glass of water, six slices of lemon and ten packs of sugar. What?
Every now and then, I encounter an anomaly of sense that your average person wouldn't have encountered, not because they're not bright, but simply because they're not curious. Everyday I get surprised by folks who not only don't know something, but aren't curious in the least. You ever meet people who've lived somewhere for 10 years, but never been to the restaurant two streets over from their house? I mean they didn't even realize it was there. Yeah, those folks. Curiosity may have killed the cat, but he had a damn good life before that.
So I'm shipping something. You know the routine, you get a box, get some packing stuff and take your time and load everything up, get it all sealed up tight, then reopen the box because you forgot that one thing. You know how that goes. Well, I was shipping something, not big or bulky, and instead of trying to have my folks down in the company shipping department just slap a label on it and charge the company, I went to Fedex to do it myself. Damned ethics.
Fedex Kinkos. Kinkos and I go way back to undergrad. It was there, down in Tallahassee that I went o my first Kinkos party. For those who don't know, a Kinkos party is what happens when you need to pickup a document that was crucial to whatever class it was and the prof had left the only copy at Kinkos. And in those cases, the first available time to pick it up would be 2am. Back then, the big runs of copies would go last, after everything else and that's when they'd finish in T-Town. Apparently more than one student would want a copy as soon as possible, so they would hang out in the parking lot waiting, and it just rolled into a party. Hanging out, get a pizza or two from the spot on the corner, a furtive drink or two, etc. It would start around midnight and end when the started letting you in the get your copy for a $1.
But I digress.
So I show up at the local Fedex Kinkos and present my box for shipping. Fill out the little form, you know the one that doesn't show through the triplicate, and the guy adds up the charges.
"That will be $41." He says matter of factly.
"Whoa, I filled out the form for three day. Three day is $41? Isn't ground three days?"
"Oh, you wanted ground? Wrong form. You need one of these."
And he pulls out the ground shipping form from the side of the counter I can't get to. Well isn't that a neat trick. No issue, I figure since we're talking, I need to ask the next question.
"How long is ground to there?" I ask as I start filling out the form.
"Let me look. Um, ground is two days."
"And how much is it ground shipping?"
"For ground? It's $12."
"Wait a second, if I ship it three day express it's $41, but if I ship it ground two days, it's $12. Um, how does that work?"
"Well, the three day is guaranteed to be there on the third day. The two day ground might get there in two days, or three days, or maybe four days."
"So for a roughly 60 to 70% discount, I have to live a little uncertainty? But it will still get there. Right?
"Oh yeah. It will get there."
There was a look there that I gave him that I would describe, but it might scare the kiddies.
"You do realize you're charging me the $12 charge right. I just need a tracking number."
I wasn't shipping gold bricks or diamonds, and the stimulus package addendum nor was Obama's next speech wasn't in there, so it arriving at a precise moment in time wasn't exactly a priority. I needed to be there soon, but not $41 soon. Don't they know there is a bad economy?
Oh, yeah. That disconnect. My bad.
Barkeep. Gimme a glass of water, six slices of lemon and ten packs of sugar. What?
Saturday, February 21, 2009
Are you sure the Economy is going where?
Ramblings Post #12
Little did I realize that lurking beyond the edges of my own reality, another whole reality lay waiting to integrated into mine. And thus I bow my head and move unto the light of a new day. Or something like that. I just had the sudden urge to be poetic. Or something like that.
So this afternoon, after lazing away the morning not working on my paper, but thinking about it a whole whole lot (really), I went down to Little Five Points to pick up a few odds and ends.
For those not from Atlanta, Little Five Points is our really really small version of the really cool funky neighborhood where all the cool shops are - the ones where you can buy that really odd vase, that painting that looks Mel Gibson as an English lord, and all that other stuff that people ask "where did you get that?" They have the vintage clothing stores, the crystal stores, record shops, coffee houses, pubs, all that. You could kill a few hours here on a warm summer afternoon real real easy.
This hasty BBerry pic doesn't do it much justice.
I figured since the economy was not so hot, I could get in and out without too much hassle.
Wrong.
Are you sure we got a busted economy? Really really sure? Because there were crowds, full parking lots, kids strolling, couples holding hands, one really hot chick in a brown sweatsuit, stores full and folks buying stuff. They even had a line outside of the Vortex. A line. The Vortex sells hamburgers, folks, six and seven dollar hamburgers. I like the joint and all that, but it's really just a localized TGI Fridays. They had folks waiting to eat there!
Since I read the papers...okay the virtual papers...pretty much everyday it's rare a few hours pass where I don't read that our economy is now worth two aisles at Kmart or how we all need to start figuring out how to eat shoe leather. This afternoon I saw a disconnect. I stopped on the way to grab some groceries and damned if the grocery stores weren't full up too! I realize folks got to eat, but I expected less folks at the steak counter.
Am I missing something? Did Obama save us already?
I think I need to read some more news so I can be wary again.
Barkeep. Hot tea with a cinnamon stick. Three drops of Ginseng.
Little did I realize that lurking beyond the edges of my own reality, another whole reality lay waiting to integrated into mine. And thus I bow my head and move unto the light of a new day. Or something like that. I just had the sudden urge to be poetic. Or something like that.
So this afternoon, after lazing away the morning not working on my paper, but thinking about it a whole whole lot (really), I went down to Little Five Points to pick up a few odds and ends.
For those not from Atlanta, Little Five Points is our really really small version of the really cool funky neighborhood where all the cool shops are - the ones where you can buy that really odd vase, that painting that looks Mel Gibson as an English lord, and all that other stuff that people ask "where did you get that?" They have the vintage clothing stores, the crystal stores, record shops, coffee houses, pubs, all that. You could kill a few hours here on a warm summer afternoon real real easy.
This hasty BBerry pic doesn't do it much justice.I figured since the economy was not so hot, I could get in and out without too much hassle.
Wrong.
Are you sure we got a busted economy? Really really sure? Because there were crowds, full parking lots, kids strolling, couples holding hands, one really hot chick in a brown sweatsuit, stores full and folks buying stuff. They even had a line outside of the Vortex. A line. The Vortex sells hamburgers, folks, six and seven dollar hamburgers. I like the joint and all that, but it's really just a localized TGI Fridays. They had folks waiting to eat there!
Since I read the papers...okay the virtual papers...pretty much everyday it's rare a few hours pass where I don't read that our economy is now worth two aisles at Kmart or how we all need to start figuring out how to eat shoe leather. This afternoon I saw a disconnect. I stopped on the way to grab some groceries and damned if the grocery stores weren't full up too! I realize folks got to eat, but I expected less folks at the steak counter.
Am I missing something? Did Obama save us already?
I think I need to read some more news so I can be wary again.
Barkeep. Hot tea with a cinnamon stick. Three drops of Ginseng.
Wednesday, February 18, 2009
Sometimes...
Ramblings Post #11
Since in reality, we live our entire lives inside our own heads, those things we miss are things we saw but didn't see. Or something philosophical like that. I think as I get older, and my body takes more and more time to heal from stresses and overtaxing, I'm getting more philosophical. I sent Shade a message that said, "In life, just as with what you eat, everything is better with gravy." Get it? If i have to explain it ruins the zen.
Ever forget something important?
Last weekend my attentions were split between my paper, my quick thoughts on Valentines in general that I posted and well, the frustration resulting from my paper. At some point I realized I probably could have walked through regular grad school blindfolded, but law school is something else. Okay, maybe not blindfolded, but it wouldn't have been this much trouble because every few weeks or so the folks in grad school part time stop by my desk at work and ask me for help. And when I look at their issues, what they're be asked to do I wonder is this what they're teaching at grad school?
So I didn't speak to Sporty on Valentines. Not an email, or a text message or anything. No contact.
I didn't hit her up until Sunday, and then again when I finish my brief Sunday...er, Monday morning. Which is a funny story, since I finished everything I was going to write around two, but when opened it back up to make one last change all the formatting had gone wonky...and in law formatting is half the battle. Okay, it was funny at 3:25am when I finally got it fixed and emailed. Okay it wasn't that funny then either, but I'm sure time will make it funny. Unless it's as bad as I think it is, then no, probably not.
So at 3:30am, mildly delirious, I wrote comment about something she had said, which has been bugging me and emailed it to her.
For that comment, pretty much saying we're a little bit new everyday, Sporty referred to me such high praise, I was taken aback. I enjoy flattery but I'm thinking what she said was a bit much. (I shant share the actual verbiage here, it's too personal, sorry)
She's been spiritual lately and she sends me little affirmations in the mornings (which I likes), her thoughts on certain things. She says I make her think about things. I'm thinking the ending of the engagement was kinda bad, and she's looking for something. Exactly what I'm not sure. Or maybe she's just found religion, which is okay too. But sometimes she sounds kind of lonely. I've been lonely, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
And we're back to "luv ya" and other sappy endings to our little missives. I still don't know and it's a possibility she could engaged again next week.
But I'm a fool for love. And good sweet potato pie.
Barkeep...yep, sweet damn tea.
Since in reality, we live our entire lives inside our own heads, those things we miss are things we saw but didn't see. Or something philosophical like that. I think as I get older, and my body takes more and more time to heal from stresses and overtaxing, I'm getting more philosophical. I sent Shade a message that said, "In life, just as with what you eat, everything is better with gravy." Get it? If i have to explain it ruins the zen.
Ever forget something important?
Last weekend my attentions were split between my paper, my quick thoughts on Valentines in general that I posted and well, the frustration resulting from my paper. At some point I realized I probably could have walked through regular grad school blindfolded, but law school is something else. Okay, maybe not blindfolded, but it wouldn't have been this much trouble because every few weeks or so the folks in grad school part time stop by my desk at work and ask me for help. And when I look at their issues, what they're be asked to do I wonder is this what they're teaching at grad school?
So I didn't speak to Sporty on Valentines. Not an email, or a text message or anything. No contact.
I didn't hit her up until Sunday, and then again when I finish my brief Sunday...er, Monday morning. Which is a funny story, since I finished everything I was going to write around two, but when opened it back up to make one last change all the formatting had gone wonky...and in law formatting is half the battle. Okay, it was funny at 3:25am when I finally got it fixed and emailed. Okay it wasn't that funny then either, but I'm sure time will make it funny. Unless it's as bad as I think it is, then no, probably not.
So at 3:30am, mildly delirious, I wrote comment about something she had said, which has been bugging me and emailed it to her.
For that comment, pretty much saying we're a little bit new everyday, Sporty referred to me such high praise, I was taken aback. I enjoy flattery but I'm thinking what she said was a bit much. (I shant share the actual verbiage here, it's too personal, sorry)
She's been spiritual lately and she sends me little affirmations in the mornings (which I likes), her thoughts on certain things. She says I make her think about things. I'm thinking the ending of the engagement was kinda bad, and she's looking for something. Exactly what I'm not sure. Or maybe she's just found religion, which is okay too. But sometimes she sounds kind of lonely. I've been lonely, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.
And we're back to "luv ya" and other sappy endings to our little missives. I still don't know and it's a possibility she could engaged again next week.
But I'm a fool for love. And good sweet potato pie.
Barkeep...yep, sweet damn tea.
Saturday, February 14, 2009
Notes on Valentine's day
Ramblings Post #10
It is that day of days, that mass media driven span of hours we must open our mouths and say something special. To someone special. Unless of course you're alone, in which case you're a complete waste of humanity...or something along that vein. Well I'm single, and speaking for the wastes of humanity, do you ya'll think chemistry.com or eharmony would be a better fit? Because NO, I don't enjoy being single.
As we all grow older and find ourselves in the awkward position of being sans relationship despite our "obvious" greatness, or if we're just cheap, I've heard again and again the disparagement of Valentine's day. Those of with somebody just be quiet for two minutes, geez, us single folk is pontificating. Valentines has been called a purely commercial holiday or one less worthy of our attention.
Well, I'm single, and looking, but Valentine's day is hardly commercial.
Think of it as an okay, or permission to be somebody you are not for one day. A kind of romantic version of Halloween, which we all seem to get excited about because we get to play other people if only for a few hours. It's a chance to do something you wouldn't normally do - and get away with it because it's Valentine's day. Any excuse in the storm.
As most men - and lately a lot of women - have problems voicing true feelings due to the fact that most of us are untrustworthy, selfish, hedonistic....,okay, I'm losing my point here. What I'm saying is we all have these grand dreams of how life and love should go, usually from when we're sixteen years old, and Valentine's is the day we can create those realities (temporarily) with someone "we currently think is special." Just like dressing up at Halloween. True the candy is much better in the fall. Now Valentine's need not be expensive, or elaborate. It maybe as simple as six hours of watching the movies they like, eating popcorn and talking with that certain someone. And by talking, I mean actual conversation, that is not a euphemism. Love has no cost. The accessories can rack up a bill though.
So for a couple of hours be that smooth guy, or that vixen, or that caring cooking just apron wearing beauty, or whoever. And let that "someone special as of today" know that in your heart, you might actually have some kind of feeling for them. Provided they feel the same way. Otherwise, you just playing. Ha ha.
Because most of us aren't gonna do it again anytime soon.
So go forth, be fruitful and ...well you know the rest.
Barkeep...a tall glass of intimacy. It's the new fruit juice from Costa Rica. Big Orangey looking bottle...
It is that day of days, that mass media driven span of hours we must open our mouths and say something special. To someone special. Unless of course you're alone, in which case you're a complete waste of humanity...or something along that vein. Well I'm single, and speaking for the wastes of humanity, do you ya'll think chemistry.com or eharmony would be a better fit? Because NO, I don't enjoy being single.
As we all grow older and find ourselves in the awkward position of being sans relationship despite our "obvious" greatness, or if we're just cheap, I've heard again and again the disparagement of Valentine's day. Those of with somebody just be quiet for two minutes, geez, us single folk is pontificating. Valentines has been called a purely commercial holiday or one less worthy of our attention.
Well, I'm single, and looking, but Valentine's day is hardly commercial.
Think of it as an okay, or permission to be somebody you are not for one day. A kind of romantic version of Halloween, which we all seem to get excited about because we get to play other people if only for a few hours. It's a chance to do something you wouldn't normally do - and get away with it because it's Valentine's day. Any excuse in the storm.
As most men - and lately a lot of women - have problems voicing true feelings due to the fact that most of us are untrustworthy, selfish, hedonistic....,okay, I'm losing my point here. What I'm saying is we all have these grand dreams of how life and love should go, usually from when we're sixteen years old, and Valentine's is the day we can create those realities (temporarily) with someone "we currently think is special." Just like dressing up at Halloween. True the candy is much better in the fall. Now Valentine's need not be expensive, or elaborate. It maybe as simple as six hours of watching the movies they like, eating popcorn and talking with that certain someone. And by talking, I mean actual conversation, that is not a euphemism. Love has no cost. The accessories can rack up a bill though.
So for a couple of hours be that smooth guy, or that vixen, or that caring cooking just apron wearing beauty, or whoever. And let that "someone special as of today" know that in your heart, you might actually have some kind of feeling for them. Provided they feel the same way. Otherwise, you just playing. Ha ha.
Because most of us aren't gonna do it again anytime soon.
So go forth, be fruitful and ...well you know the rest.
Barkeep...a tall glass of intimacy. It's the new fruit juice from Costa Rica. Big Orangey looking bottle...
Wednesday, February 11, 2009
You got an overflow of women where exactly?
Ramblings Post #9
I'm taking a moment resting my brain from my brief for a very important matter. One crucial to thousands, nay, perhaps hundreds of thousands of lives. I'm talking about the ratio of single men to single women in Atlanta. Now if that don't put the this recession bidness on hold, I don't know what will.
I've lived in Atlanta a while now, 10 years to now that I think about it. Had some good times and some bad, but recently I read that I'm apparently sitting on a gold mine and didn't know it. Fellow blogger Da Vinci (and I'm guessing all around great girl) has expressed the belief that the ratio in fair Atlanta is 21 to 1, women to men. Okay her post was a while ago but I just saw it looking for Atlanta stuff.
And yet just a few weeks ago I went to a party where the ratio was 60/40 in favor of the women, i.e, more guys. So where are the other, let me get out my calculator...here, if we assume 30 or so guys...which means we were short...let's see, carry the two, about 610 girls. Which would have made the house my man held it in very crowded. Okay, very fun but very crowded. Would have needed more cheese dip.
I find that statistic almost laughable. Okay, it is laughable. Or maybe I'm just going to the wrong places. Some very very wrong places. Seriously girl, I need a list! Email me! For every party or club I've been to stocked with women starving for attention because of a dearth of men, I can think of one or two parties where you walked in and had to take a quick look around to see if the theme of this function wasn't really "Men's Locker room".
Looking for fair ratios of men to women on a night out? Try:
Castleberry District on a Friday Night.
Midtown on a Thursday - Leopard Lounge.
Verve or Barley's
Buckhead...it's still hitting if you know where to go.
Dekalb County Nightspots
The whole south side.
There are apparently 11 guys and 231 women in this photo. Can you find them all?
Photo from Old School Saturday last month
Don't get me wrong. I think a lot of the women in Atlanta just don't go out. At all. They go out when they first get here, and because of the conventional wisdom of Atlanta doesn't gibe with how things are supposed to work - "why aren't all the guys in here checking me out?" - they get discouraged and leave the scene. Because most guys in Atlanta believe that same silly statistic and aren't going to put up with most of the "foolishness" because they figure another woman is right around the corner. And sometimes they're even right. Now I can't tell you how many women I've met that "used to go out," retired from the club scene at 25 or 26, but now confine themselves to the house, job, gym and one diversion. Or like I espoused in another post, they insist on long distance relationships which are more manageable.
People who leave here want to come back. The city is something special. The vibe is like nothing else, not Chicago or New York or Miami or anything else on the east coast. And Charlotte is a pale imitation.
That ratio is probably closer to 7 to 5 or something. Now it may really be 3 to 1...if you're looking for good men, I think just started carving men out of their equation too soon. I know a whole lot of single guys looking for good women. They're not male models or rich...but most of ya'll ain't either...but they have decent jobs and well, could stand a little gym time, but they're heck of fun.
So just come out and try to have a little fun. We won't bite....unless you're into that.
Barkeep, a round of water for the ladies...on me!
I'm taking a moment resting my brain from my brief for a very important matter. One crucial to thousands, nay, perhaps hundreds of thousands of lives. I'm talking about the ratio of single men to single women in Atlanta. Now if that don't put the this recession bidness on hold, I don't know what will.
I've lived in Atlanta a while now, 10 years to now that I think about it. Had some good times and some bad, but recently I read that I'm apparently sitting on a gold mine and didn't know it. Fellow blogger Da Vinci (and I'm guessing all around great girl) has expressed the belief that the ratio in fair Atlanta is 21 to 1, women to men. Okay her post was a while ago but I just saw it looking for Atlanta stuff.
And yet just a few weeks ago I went to a party where the ratio was 60/40 in favor of the women, i.e, more guys. So where are the other, let me get out my calculator...here, if we assume 30 or so guys...which means we were short...let's see, carry the two, about 610 girls. Which would have made the house my man held it in very crowded. Okay, very fun but very crowded. Would have needed more cheese dip.
I find that statistic almost laughable. Okay, it is laughable. Or maybe I'm just going to the wrong places. Some very very wrong places. Seriously girl, I need a list! Email me! For every party or club I've been to stocked with women starving for attention because of a dearth of men, I can think of one or two parties where you walked in and had to take a quick look around to see if the theme of this function wasn't really "Men's Locker room".
Looking for fair ratios of men to women on a night out? Try:
Castleberry District on a Friday Night.
Midtown on a Thursday - Leopard Lounge.
Verve or Barley's
Buckhead...it's still hitting if you know where to go.
Dekalb County Nightspots
The whole south side.
There are apparently 11 guys and 231 women in this photo. Can you find them all? Photo from Old School Saturday last month
Don't get me wrong. I think a lot of the women in Atlanta just don't go out. At all. They go out when they first get here, and because of the conventional wisdom of Atlanta doesn't gibe with how things are supposed to work - "why aren't all the guys in here checking me out?" - they get discouraged and leave the scene. Because most guys in Atlanta believe that same silly statistic and aren't going to put up with most of the "foolishness" because they figure another woman is right around the corner. And sometimes they're even right. Now I can't tell you how many women I've met that "used to go out," retired from the club scene at 25 or 26, but now confine themselves to the house, job, gym and one diversion. Or like I espoused in another post, they insist on long distance relationships which are more manageable.
People who leave here want to come back. The city is something special. The vibe is like nothing else, not Chicago or New York or Miami or anything else on the east coast. And Charlotte is a pale imitation.
That ratio is probably closer to 7 to 5 or something. Now it may really be 3 to 1...if you're looking for good men, I think just started carving men out of their equation too soon. I know a whole lot of single guys looking for good women. They're not male models or rich...but most of ya'll ain't either...but they have decent jobs and well, could stand a little gym time, but they're heck of fun.
So just come out and try to have a little fun. We won't bite....unless you're into that.
Barkeep, a round of water for the ladies...on me!
Monday, February 9, 2009
So, you need how much to get by? Really?
Ramblings Post #8
Sometimes in the course of the conversation or reading, you come across a statement, a concept and idea that that just boggles the mind. Lewis Black said he once overheard a woman remark "if it wasn't for my horse, I never would have gotten into college," and that the comment still pings around his mind today looking for meaning. These are strange times, but we don't need to put carpet on the ceiling. Yet.
There is an old country saying, I'm not sure of the origin or of the exact essence, that goes along the lines of "if that don't take the rag offen the bush" and is usually used to express disbelief at a series of events. I read the New York Times online regularly, and in pursuing it found this article that professed an issue with 500K cap the president wants to put onto the executives at firms that take the bailout money. I'm not sure if it was really cutely written sarcasm or an honest plea to save the rich people. Seriously, I can't tell.
The article lead off smartly, comparing the higher living expenses of New York compared to the rest of the country, and indicating that a sudden drop in pay would be an issue for anyone, big time executive or not. It starts to lose it when it says the men who would be most affected have their identities entwined with living a certain way. This half hearted gesture that we should maintain for them this lifestyle that in their own mantras of "eat or be eaten" market policy say they no longer deserve gave me a chuckle.
Then they take the rag offen' said bush. With a flourish, no less.
Before it lists the living arrangements - which consisted not only of swank NY three bedroom AND a Southampton summer house - it lists the must have vacation. I'm sorry, vacations, plural. Then cars and drivers, plus parking. Then personal trainers. Then gowns for formal parties, tutors for privates schools, nannies and the list went on.
Um...how about "Things you no longer get to have" for $1000, Alex?
I heard one executive on TV when questioned about executive pay indicated that there was a very small number people with his skill set, and they needed to be compensated fairly. I'm not sure, but I'm fairly certain I too could have lost several billion dollars if given the chance, so I'm not sure what skill set he's talking about. And in the age of efficiency, pay without performance is a little too mid-1950's good ole boy to stomach. It was like paying retention bonuses at AIG...where exactly were these people going if they left and why again did we want them to stay?
The article did give a simple solution, which it then quickly blew off: move to Brooklyn or a less posh locale, put the kids in public school and get a Metrocard. I'm still trying to see the error in making the executive live like the other seven or ten million New Yorkers. They made it sound like crazy talk. Nothing wrong with cooking for yourself, taking an active interest in your kids education (think of how much better the public schools will get with helicopter moms in and out!) and riding the subway.
And so what if the executive who broke the firm leaves? It seems to me like the perfect opportunity for the young turks making a piddling $250k to move up, and start over fresh in a real sense. CEOs aren't born, they're made and just like we made the last set, we can make a new set. Because although in most situations, the person who screwed up is the best teacher and/or pilot of how not to screw up again in the future, this group of execs seemed to have missed the lesson. If your girlfriend dumps you, you don't get to keep coming by on weekends for naked time. Somebody tell the execs that naked time is over.
Or maybe the gang needs to have that rag and bush thing explained to them a little better.
Hey barkeep. Tonic water for everybody. I just got a bailout check.
Sometimes in the course of the conversation or reading, you come across a statement, a concept and idea that that just boggles the mind. Lewis Black said he once overheard a woman remark "if it wasn't for my horse, I never would have gotten into college," and that the comment still pings around his mind today looking for meaning. These are strange times, but we don't need to put carpet on the ceiling. Yet.
There is an old country saying, I'm not sure of the origin or of the exact essence, that goes along the lines of "if that don't take the rag offen the bush" and is usually used to express disbelief at a series of events. I read the New York Times online regularly, and in pursuing it found this article that professed an issue with 500K cap the president wants to put onto the executives at firms that take the bailout money. I'm not sure if it was really cutely written sarcasm or an honest plea to save the rich people. Seriously, I can't tell.
The article lead off smartly, comparing the higher living expenses of New York compared to the rest of the country, and indicating that a sudden drop in pay would be an issue for anyone, big time executive or not. It starts to lose it when it says the men who would be most affected have their identities entwined with living a certain way. This half hearted gesture that we should maintain for them this lifestyle that in their own mantras of "eat or be eaten" market policy say they no longer deserve gave me a chuckle.
Then they take the rag offen' said bush. With a flourish, no less.
Before it lists the living arrangements - which consisted not only of swank NY three bedroom AND a Southampton summer house - it lists the must have vacation. I'm sorry, vacations, plural. Then cars and drivers, plus parking. Then personal trainers. Then gowns for formal parties, tutors for privates schools, nannies and the list went on.
Um...how about "Things you no longer get to have" for $1000, Alex?
I heard one executive on TV when questioned about executive pay indicated that there was a very small number people with his skill set, and they needed to be compensated fairly. I'm not sure, but I'm fairly certain I too could have lost several billion dollars if given the chance, so I'm not sure what skill set he's talking about. And in the age of efficiency, pay without performance is a little too mid-1950's good ole boy to stomach. It was like paying retention bonuses at AIG...where exactly were these people going if they left and why again did we want them to stay?
The article did give a simple solution, which it then quickly blew off: move to Brooklyn or a less posh locale, put the kids in public school and get a Metrocard. I'm still trying to see the error in making the executive live like the other seven or ten million New Yorkers. They made it sound like crazy talk. Nothing wrong with cooking for yourself, taking an active interest in your kids education (think of how much better the public schools will get with helicopter moms in and out!) and riding the subway.
And so what if the executive who broke the firm leaves? It seems to me like the perfect opportunity for the young turks making a piddling $250k to move up, and start over fresh in a real sense. CEOs aren't born, they're made and just like we made the last set, we can make a new set. Because although in most situations, the person who screwed up is the best teacher and/or pilot of how not to screw up again in the future, this group of execs seemed to have missed the lesson. If your girlfriend dumps you, you don't get to keep coming by on weekends for naked time. Somebody tell the execs that naked time is over.
Or maybe the gang needs to have that rag and bush thing explained to them a little better.
Hey barkeep. Tonic water for everybody. I just got a bailout check.
Friday, February 6, 2009
Sleep Late, Turn in Early
Ramblings Post #7
There are many signposts in life that mark where you are in life. How great your Christmas haul, ...er, I mean, how much love was shown to you during the holidays? Was your birthday party really what you wanted, and not just that show of excess you enjoy smashing in your friends' faces? Are you alone for Valentine's day? By all these measures, I'm pretty much currently following the recession downhill. But read on ardent follower. Seriously, both you can read this.
Well, here we almost are again. Next week it's either one of the the better holidays (if you're with someone) or one of the few days you just want to sleep late and turn in early if you can (you lonely, lonely wretch). I guess again this year, I would be in the latter category. Prior to last year, for three years straight, Sporty and I had gone out on Valentines. I don't know how this happened, since on all three occasions, she picked the actual day. Yes, I bought her some gifts. All that.
You can laugh, giggle and admonish me under your breath for the next few minutes, I'll wait.
But if you've ever been alone for Valentine's day, in Atlanta, when you know what feels like half the freaking populace through sheer dint of personality? And are considered the even keeled, level headed one among your peers?(The "in Atlanta" part is crucial, as one writer so craftily mused: "If you can't find a woman you would leave your wife for on a Friday night in Atlanta, you didn't leave the house." So they are out there. Everywhere.) And yet, I find myself without a companion at this time. Okay, I haven't actually been looking and I don't really have the time. I have the preliminary draft of an appeal brief due that Monday right after, so I'll be locked in a cage match with a word processor and case law. But still, it's the principle of the thing.
I explained it to Schmoopy as the difference between someone dieting and someone starving. Neither one is eating, but for wholly different reasons. I guess I'm doing a little of both. I'm hungry as hell, but I don't want to eat.
And only relatively recently had I started liking V-day. One of my most ingrained memories of the heart infused day happened in elementary school, back where everybody got a valentines. Well, that particular year, it was everyone BUT me. As though I just been forgotten. It's not a particularly pleasant memory, especially for childhood. The lonely valentines were okay by comparison. Going back to that from kinda cool V-days are just depressing.
It's hard to describe lonely. You kinda have to have been there for a minute yourself to get the gist of it. Some of my peoples have tried to downplay the whole commercial driven sentiment of it, but the reality is they just don't get it. Sometimes you just want somebody who cares about you to be there.
And quite frankly...lonely is the pits.
So Saturday, I'm going to sleep in late, work on my brief and turn in early. Hopefully I'll forget what the day is even is. But I doubt it.
Barkeep. I think I'll have the orange kool-aid. In a martini glass.
There are many signposts in life that mark where you are in life. How great your Christmas haul, ...er, I mean, how much love was shown to you during the holidays? Was your birthday party really what you wanted, and not just that show of excess you enjoy smashing in your friends' faces? Are you alone for Valentine's day? By all these measures, I'm pretty much currently following the recession downhill. But read on ardent follower. Seriously, both you can read this.
Well, here we almost are again. Next week it's either one of the the better holidays (if you're with someone) or one of the few days you just want to sleep late and turn in early if you can (you lonely, lonely wretch). I guess again this year, I would be in the latter category. Prior to last year, for three years straight, Sporty and I had gone out on Valentines. I don't know how this happened, since on all three occasions, she picked the actual day. Yes, I bought her some gifts. All that.
You can laugh, giggle and admonish me under your breath for the next few minutes, I'll wait.
(me humming a little tune. Okay, done?)
But if you've ever been alone for Valentine's day, in Atlanta, when you know what feels like half the freaking populace through sheer dint of personality? And are considered the even keeled, level headed one among your peers?(The "in Atlanta" part is crucial, as one writer so craftily mused: "If you can't find a woman you would leave your wife for on a Friday night in Atlanta, you didn't leave the house." So they are out there. Everywhere.) And yet, I find myself without a companion at this time. Okay, I haven't actually been looking and I don't really have the time. I have the preliminary draft of an appeal brief due that Monday right after, so I'll be locked in a cage match with a word processor and case law. But still, it's the principle of the thing.
I explained it to Schmoopy as the difference between someone dieting and someone starving. Neither one is eating, but for wholly different reasons. I guess I'm doing a little of both. I'm hungry as hell, but I don't want to eat.
And only relatively recently had I started liking V-day. One of my most ingrained memories of the heart infused day happened in elementary school, back where everybody got a valentines. Well, that particular year, it was everyone BUT me. As though I just been forgotten. It's not a particularly pleasant memory, especially for childhood. The lonely valentines were okay by comparison. Going back to that from kinda cool V-days are just depressing.
It's hard to describe lonely. You kinda have to have been there for a minute yourself to get the gist of it. Some of my peoples have tried to downplay the whole commercial driven sentiment of it, but the reality is they just don't get it. Sometimes you just want somebody who cares about you to be there.
And quite frankly...lonely is the pits.
So Saturday, I'm going to sleep in late, work on my brief and turn in early. Hopefully I'll forget what the day is even is. But I doubt it.
Barkeep. I think I'll have the orange kool-aid. In a martini glass.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
Working Wounded
Ramblings Post#6
It is the current opinion of the current concept that work is good. Okay, maybe not good, but wholly necessary. Well, not really wholly, more as in a necessary evil. I'm about to the point where I wished I lived on television, because nobody apparently works on television. I mean really, nobody since Al Bundy really hated their job on small screen. And everybody is slim...or fat and funny. Go figure.
I am soooo tired of my job.
I don't usually gripe about my job. I agreed to be here, I told them I would do it, and since I'm a man of my word, I wake and trek in and do what I gotta do. The bills that keep appearing strangely in my mailbox are a bit of a factor. That pesky mortgage ain't that bad of an incentive neither. But lately...I'm just so done with the whole thing. Oh, to be five years old again.
My days are very limited. I wake up, go to the office, from the office to class, from class to the house and so on in a small circle. The majority of my purchases all occur at Publix (my favorite grocery store) or whatever gas station is handy. My weekends consist of long hours reading and writing. Although my legal writing probably could use more of that time.
Sporty has no idea how much I miss us hanging out. She made all this bearable. I can't even explain it.
But this place I call the job has lost it's luster. That and since I now cut out early for class, I'm making less money than before and it seems like the job keeps getting harder and more complex. And my coworkers seem to be getting slower. If I hear the phrase "could you take care of that?" one more time from someone who already has too much free time on their hands...you just don't know.
I'm tired of the arbitrary deadlines, the imagined urgency and an ever increasing workload. I may have to start buying lottery tickets.
The worst part is this is better than the job I previously had, a nightmare of a duty that had me contemplating homelessness as a viable option. I remember honestly praying, not hoping but honest to god prayer, to get something else to do.
And this is better? I've been here longer than I've ever worked for I guess, non-family. I'm semi-respected and have a little bit of pull. But I just want out.
-But the economy is bad and other jobs are scarce.
-I have school to think about, learning a new skill set on top of that would be an issue.
-there probably is a third issue, but I'm beyond being concerned.
I should be happy I have a job (company actually had one of it's better past four quarters) and we're not looking too shabby for the future. And no, we're not an oil company. So I need to chill.
But I do so not like this anymore. And I miss Sporty. So very very much
Barkeep. Gatorade and five hour energy drink cocktail. I gotta keep on keeping on.
It is the current opinion of the current concept that work is good. Okay, maybe not good, but wholly necessary. Well, not really wholly, more as in a necessary evil. I'm about to the point where I wished I lived on television, because nobody apparently works on television. I mean really, nobody since Al Bundy really hated their job on small screen. And everybody is slim...or fat and funny. Go figure.
I am soooo tired of my job.
I don't usually gripe about my job. I agreed to be here, I told them I would do it, and since I'm a man of my word, I wake and trek in and do what I gotta do. The bills that keep appearing strangely in my mailbox are a bit of a factor. That pesky mortgage ain't that bad of an incentive neither. But lately...I'm just so done with the whole thing. Oh, to be five years old again.
My days are very limited. I wake up, go to the office, from the office to class, from class to the house and so on in a small circle. The majority of my purchases all occur at Publix (my favorite grocery store) or whatever gas station is handy. My weekends consist of long hours reading and writing. Although my legal writing probably could use more of that time.
Sporty has no idea how much I miss us hanging out. She made all this bearable. I can't even explain it.
But this place I call the job has lost it's luster. That and since I now cut out early for class, I'm making less money than before and it seems like the job keeps getting harder and more complex. And my coworkers seem to be getting slower. If I hear the phrase "could you take care of that?" one more time from someone who already has too much free time on their hands...you just don't know.
I'm tired of the arbitrary deadlines, the imagined urgency and an ever increasing workload. I may have to start buying lottery tickets.
The worst part is this is better than the job I previously had, a nightmare of a duty that had me contemplating homelessness as a viable option. I remember honestly praying, not hoping but honest to god prayer, to get something else to do.
And this is better? I've been here longer than I've ever worked for I guess, non-family. I'm semi-respected and have a little bit of pull. But I just want out.
-But the economy is bad and other jobs are scarce.
-I have school to think about, learning a new skill set on top of that would be an issue.
-there probably is a third issue, but I'm beyond being concerned.
I should be happy I have a job (company actually had one of it's better past four quarters) and we're not looking too shabby for the future. And no, we're not an oil company. So I need to chill.
But I do so not like this anymore. And I miss Sporty. So very very much
Barkeep. Gatorade and five hour energy drink cocktail. I gotta keep on keeping on.
Tuesday, February 3, 2009
Quiet Words sound the loudest
Ramblings Post#5
In life it's not always the big things. Okay sometimes it is the big things, like winning the lottery or stuff like that, but other times it's not the big things. Okay, rarely it's not the big things. Okay, big things start from little things. I'm trying to make a point here, and that sometimes it's the teeny tiny stuff that kills you. I watch Monk when I can. Little stuff. Little.
I got trapped at a Superbowl party. I had been badgered for a week to come to Spanky's Superbowl function at her newly remodeled spot, that she was anxious to show off since it had taken so long. She asked me no less than five times over five days. So after reading my contracts homework and briefing out the cases, and being too scared to look at my legal writing markup - with good reason - I showered and headed over.
I hadn't planned on going anywhere, so no, I had not showered that day.
So I get there, say my hellos and what not, figure I will stay until halftime and breakout and either head home or find another spot. I'm not going to party caravan or journey, but a second spot always leads to diversity. Only by halftime I'm blocked in parking wise, and no less than 5 cars would have to move for me to leave. Not quite what I had planned. This would be the "trapped" concept I alluded to earlier.
I end up watching the rest of the game there, which isn't all bad, although I'm singularly unenthusiastic until the last five minutes. These last few Superbowls have been down to the wire, and I'm sure the competition committee is patting themselves on their collective backs. Good football despite the Steeler fans, who can be a little, um, overbearing.
Then it happens.
So I'm leaving, or trying to leave, or making my way out, however you want to describe it, and talking to a "friend" who is between jobs. I've been where I'm at a while and since she asked, I told her I would see what I could do. We may have a few quasi-openings and I can pass her resume around. No big, it's what folks do. I've been without a paycheck too. We all helps out, ya'know. So then she says, in what I hope was a joking sense, "if you can do this for me, I might have to take one for the team."
Ha Ha.
When did I suddenly get pathetic? That statement oddly resonated with me for the rest of the night even after I got home, into the next day and here we are now. Really bringing it home was just not that long ago I witnessed two women prepared to wait it out over a guy I pretty much consider my equal. Um, hello? Fairly decent guy here. What was I doing wrong? I know I could lose a few pounds and get a little workout on, I have flaw or two but damn..."one for the team," as though I have nothing to offer?
Yeah, it's still bothering me too. Right now.
Wish I had just caught the highlights on SportsCenter, and done my homework 'cause my legal writing markup I apparently CAN fix. I mean I'm older...oldish... fuck it, I'm old. If what I am now ain't good, what the hell? I mean dude, what the hell?
Barkeep. I think I'll take my one drink now.
In life it's not always the big things. Okay sometimes it is the big things, like winning the lottery or stuff like that, but other times it's not the big things. Okay, rarely it's not the big things. Okay, big things start from little things. I'm trying to make a point here, and that sometimes it's the teeny tiny stuff that kills you. I watch Monk when I can. Little stuff. Little.
I got trapped at a Superbowl party. I had been badgered for a week to come to Spanky's Superbowl function at her newly remodeled spot, that she was anxious to show off since it had taken so long. She asked me no less than five times over five days. So after reading my contracts homework and briefing out the cases, and being too scared to look at my legal writing markup - with good reason - I showered and headed over.
I hadn't planned on going anywhere, so no, I had not showered that day.
So I get there, say my hellos and what not, figure I will stay until halftime and breakout and either head home or find another spot. I'm not going to party caravan or journey, but a second spot always leads to diversity. Only by halftime I'm blocked in parking wise, and no less than 5 cars would have to move for me to leave. Not quite what I had planned. This would be the "trapped" concept I alluded to earlier.
I end up watching the rest of the game there, which isn't all bad, although I'm singularly unenthusiastic until the last five minutes. These last few Superbowls have been down to the wire, and I'm sure the competition committee is patting themselves on their collective backs. Good football despite the Steeler fans, who can be a little, um, overbearing.
Then it happens.
So I'm leaving, or trying to leave, or making my way out, however you want to describe it, and talking to a "friend" who is between jobs. I've been where I'm at a while and since she asked, I told her I would see what I could do. We may have a few quasi-openings and I can pass her resume around. No big, it's what folks do. I've been without a paycheck too. We all helps out, ya'know. So then she says, in what I hope was a joking sense, "if you can do this for me, I might have to take one for the team."
Ha Ha.
When did I suddenly get pathetic? That statement oddly resonated with me for the rest of the night even after I got home, into the next day and here we are now. Really bringing it home was just not that long ago I witnessed two women prepared to wait it out over a guy I pretty much consider my equal. Um, hello? Fairly decent guy here. What was I doing wrong? I know I could lose a few pounds and get a little workout on, I have flaw or two but damn..."one for the team," as though I have nothing to offer?
Yeah, it's still bothering me too. Right now.
Wish I had just caught the highlights on SportsCenter, and done my homework 'cause my legal writing markup I apparently CAN fix. I mean I'm older...oldish... fuck it, I'm old. If what I am now ain't good, what the hell? I mean dude, what the hell?
Barkeep. I think I'll take my one drink now.
Sunday, February 1, 2009
The weekend of plenty...kinda.
Ramblings post #4
I begin to feel the icy fingers of responsibility brush at the edges of my being as the cold reality of mediocrity at this next level of education imprints itself on my mind. Well, not really. But I do need to step it up the next level...or two, because I'm better than the middle of the pack. And if had been paying attention, I'd be a B student right about now.
So it's Superbowl weekend and normally I'm trying to figure out where I'm heading party wise, who'll have the hottest little set and if this is the one time in three months I'll have a drink. It usually isn't, but I do tend to find the hottest parties. Last year with a Sprite in left hand - before I gave up carbonated beverages - and a girl on my lap, and another girl flashing her cleavage, I watched a hell of a game. This year...why did I go to law school again?
So Friday I come home and get a little something to eat and pull out the books. I got a whole weekend schedule. It doesn't make it through 10pm Friday night. Because by that time, I'm sleep. Not napping, SLEEP. I awake at 3am with a book on my chest and hoping haven't bent the frames on my glasses.
So Saturday I'm back at it, only kinda half assed. Laundry gets done, dishes get washed, clean this, dirty this back up, etc and so on. I realize I'm restless and need to get out and feel like I've done something to get my mind focused back into the books. And who should call but my RP. It's "Game Night" on the Saturday before the big game and I should swing through.
So I do actually study my Property for a while, then roll out. Ready for a little flirting and hanging out.
But I get there and it's not your standard "Game Night." this is "Game Night: Senior Edition".
My RP is hosting a transient card party for a buddy of his, and the average age is about 5-10 years older than I am. I say average because a couple of chicks look young, and one woman looks like she and mom could be sisters. But it's a lively bunch. We got old seventies tunes playing, six card games going and the usual foolishness and screaming that goes with that. (By screaming I mean the occasionally "You're cheating" or "Sot!" or whatever else you scream when you make your books on the last turn of the cards.)
But these folks did something my normal crowd usually doesn't. Nobody walked in empty handed. Folks brought wings, chicken, spinach dip, pizzas, more chicken, fettuccine, drinks and more. And what was even crazier, they left before everything was finished. My RP marveled at the fact he had a cooler full of beer and full twelve packs left over. Chicken and cake, chips and salsa, my half dozen 2 liter sodas all had to be put away.
With a younger crowd people would have hung out until the last drink was drank. Even if it took all night.
My RP is now considering getting new friends. Well not really new friends, but changing the rules of friends of friends...of friends dropping by.
It's bold new world. And I've spent the day back on Property. If I get through with Contracts in the next hour or so reading wise, I might even catch some of the game.
Barkeep...a little sweet tea. And one lemon wedge.
I begin to feel the icy fingers of responsibility brush at the edges of my being as the cold reality of mediocrity at this next level of education imprints itself on my mind. Well, not really. But I do need to step it up the next level...or two, because I'm better than the middle of the pack. And if had been paying attention, I'd be a B student right about now.
So it's Superbowl weekend and normally I'm trying to figure out where I'm heading party wise, who'll have the hottest little set and if this is the one time in three months I'll have a drink. It usually isn't, but I do tend to find the hottest parties. Last year with a Sprite in left hand - before I gave up carbonated beverages - and a girl on my lap, and another girl flashing her cleavage, I watched a hell of a game. This year...why did I go to law school again?
So Friday I come home and get a little something to eat and pull out the books. I got a whole weekend schedule. It doesn't make it through 10pm Friday night. Because by that time, I'm sleep. Not napping, SLEEP. I awake at 3am with a book on my chest and hoping haven't bent the frames on my glasses.
So Saturday I'm back at it, only kinda half assed. Laundry gets done, dishes get washed, clean this, dirty this back up, etc and so on. I realize I'm restless and need to get out and feel like I've done something to get my mind focused back into the books. And who should call but my RP. It's "Game Night" on the Saturday before the big game and I should swing through.
So I do actually study my Property for a while, then roll out. Ready for a little flirting and hanging out.
But I get there and it's not your standard "Game Night." this is "Game Night: Senior Edition".
My RP is hosting a transient card party for a buddy of his, and the average age is about 5-10 years older than I am. I say average because a couple of chicks look young, and one woman looks like she and mom could be sisters. But it's a lively bunch. We got old seventies tunes playing, six card games going and the usual foolishness and screaming that goes with that. (By screaming I mean the occasionally "You're cheating" or "Sot!" or whatever else you scream when you make your books on the last turn of the cards.)
But these folks did something my normal crowd usually doesn't. Nobody walked in empty handed. Folks brought wings, chicken, spinach dip, pizzas, more chicken, fettuccine, drinks and more. And what was even crazier, they left before everything was finished. My RP marveled at the fact he had a cooler full of beer and full twelve packs left over. Chicken and cake, chips and salsa, my half dozen 2 liter sodas all had to be put away.
With a younger crowd people would have hung out until the last drink was drank. Even if it took all night.
My RP is now considering getting new friends. Well not really new friends, but changing the rules of friends of friends...of friends dropping by.
It's bold new world. And I've spent the day back on Property. If I get through with Contracts in the next hour or so reading wise, I might even catch some of the game.
Barkeep...a little sweet tea. And one lemon wedge.
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