Ramblings Post #363
Sometimes life is. I mean, there is not much you can do about it other than live it. Sure there are things you can control, things you can influence, things you can change. But then there are those things you can't. Like the weather. And Chick-fil-et being closed on Sundays. And that I look better in black. I do, really.
When I first moved to Atlanta many many moons ago, one of the first real parties I went to was a SuperBowl party. Much like all those other people not from here, I too was seduced by one good weekend. That year somebody played somebody else, it was relatively warm out and that brother's house looked like a video shoot there were so many attractive women there. I still remember going down into the basement and being surrounded by like fifteen model types all very happy to see me. Full disclosure: I did not get one single number, did hook up with not a soul, got no we'll hang you later, no nothing. But let's just say it gave me hope.
Shortly after that they actually had the game in Atlanta. The Superbowl, if you're unaware, really is more of a week-long experience leading up to the game. Parties, events, just stuff, all centered around a football game that happens at the end of the week. I'm certain that ancient civilizations had something similar when I think about it. Ours involves a pigskin, theirs would have involved a sacrifice of some sort or at least a witch burning. Basically the same thing except for the ad revenue. But last time the city hosted the game, nature decided to put a damper on things with a massive ice storm that shutdown the city. It was out of left field, all black ice and businesses closed. But that leads to a story.
Because the game was in town an old partner of mine came through as well, it was the SuperBowl and we were young and did shit like that. Just go to events we couldn't go to and hang out. And we ended up hanging out with some guys he knew. This is back when house flipping was the move, so one of the guys who juggled houses for living had this supremely nice house in Alpharetta he was staying in and selling. A mansion really. Super nice. We hung out there a couple days, hit the few in-town functions when we could (if they were still being held) and had a pretty okay week. The guy with the really nice house is having a huge party on gameday, so of course we are down to roll.
That Sunday morning I get a phone call. It was a from a friend of mine who just happened to be on the Superbowl committee. She may or may not have actually been on the committee, I'm not sure now but I do distinctly remember she asked me one of those questions that you dream about: Do you want to go to Superbowl? Apparently due to the weather (remember, ice storm?) somebody somewhere who had a ticket had not made it and so she was offering it to me. To me. For the grand price of just show your ass up.
And I said no.
There a few times in life where I look back and wonder exactly what the hell was going on in my head when I said X, or did Y, or ate Z. Why didn't I get into the Ferrari? Why didn't I just take the job and fake it until I figured it out? Why didn't I just take the damn shoes? There is a show on Stars called Counterpart that I like, and it explores in part (as part of the backdrop of it's inter-dimensional espionage) the different paths in life we could be on but for small differences.
When I tell the story now, I swear it was a skybox seat because she was the kind of woman who would have an extra skybox seat, but honestly I don't remember. I do remember telling her I already had commitments and, instead of abandoning my friend, I declined the opportunity. Looking back at now though, he was resourceful guy. He could have found his way to Alpharetta. Why, me not leaving him to fend for himself is almost an insult to his very manhood! Okay, not really, we had great time at that party.
I say all that because this week's impromptu threat of snow on the week of the game reminds me those couple of days. The city was half encased in ice and yet drinks were being served here, people were out and about there, and I think that was the first time I ate at Boston Market. Now we're only supposed to get an inch or two, but considering the ill designed traffic flows and the dearth of foul weather driving skills amongst my fellow citizens, we are most definitely in for it. Atlanta though, will find a way. People will find an open bar, a hot buffet, some shoe models showing off the latest styles. Because it's what we do.
This time however, I have no house-guest, and plenty of groceries. My social wanderlust is currently in remission. The ranch gave us the day off but I brought my um, my "horse" home with me so it's not like I won't have things to do.
Barkeep, if you know someone who might have a spare ticket. What? Let's just say I've learned...
Sometimes life is. I mean, there is not much you can do about it other than live it. Sure there are things you can control, things you can influence, things you can change. But then there are those things you can't. Like the weather. And Chick-fil-et being closed on Sundays. And that I look better in black. I do, really.
When I first moved to Atlanta many many moons ago, one of the first real parties I went to was a SuperBowl party. Much like all those other people not from here, I too was seduced by one good weekend. That year somebody played somebody else, it was relatively warm out and that brother's house looked like a video shoot there were so many attractive women there. I still remember going down into the basement and being surrounded by like fifteen model types all very happy to see me. Full disclosure: I did not get one single number, did hook up with not a soul, got no we'll hang you later, no nothing. But let's just say it gave me hope.
Shortly after that they actually had the game in Atlanta. The Superbowl, if you're unaware, really is more of a week-long experience leading up to the game. Parties, events, just stuff, all centered around a football game that happens at the end of the week. I'm certain that ancient civilizations had something similar when I think about it. Ours involves a pigskin, theirs would have involved a sacrifice of some sort or at least a witch burning. Basically the same thing except for the ad revenue. But last time the city hosted the game, nature decided to put a damper on things with a massive ice storm that shutdown the city. It was out of left field, all black ice and businesses closed. But that leads to a story.
Because the game was in town an old partner of mine came through as well, it was the SuperBowl and we were young and did shit like that. Just go to events we couldn't go to and hang out. And we ended up hanging out with some guys he knew. This is back when house flipping was the move, so one of the guys who juggled houses for living had this supremely nice house in Alpharetta he was staying in and selling. A mansion really. Super nice. We hung out there a couple days, hit the few in-town functions when we could (if they were still being held) and had a pretty okay week. The guy with the really nice house is having a huge party on gameday, so of course we are down to roll.
That Sunday morning I get a phone call. It was a from a friend of mine who just happened to be on the Superbowl committee. She may or may not have actually been on the committee, I'm not sure now but I do distinctly remember she asked me one of those questions that you dream about: Do you want to go to Superbowl? Apparently due to the weather (remember, ice storm?) somebody somewhere who had a ticket had not made it and so she was offering it to me. To me. For the grand price of just show your ass up.
And I said no.
There a few times in life where I look back and wonder exactly what the hell was going on in my head when I said X, or did Y, or ate Z. Why didn't I get into the Ferrari? Why didn't I just take the job and fake it until I figured it out? Why didn't I just take the damn shoes? There is a show on Stars called Counterpart that I like, and it explores in part (as part of the backdrop of it's inter-dimensional espionage) the different paths in life we could be on but for small differences.
When I tell the story now, I swear it was a skybox seat because she was the kind of woman who would have an extra skybox seat, but honestly I don't remember. I do remember telling her I already had commitments and, instead of abandoning my friend, I declined the opportunity. Looking back at now though, he was resourceful guy. He could have found his way to Alpharetta. Why, me not leaving him to fend for himself is almost an insult to his very manhood! Okay, not really, we had great time at that party.
I say all that because this week's impromptu threat of snow on the week of the game reminds me those couple of days. The city was half encased in ice and yet drinks were being served here, people were out and about there, and I think that was the first time I ate at Boston Market. Now we're only supposed to get an inch or two, but considering the ill designed traffic flows and the dearth of foul weather driving skills amongst my fellow citizens, we are most definitely in for it. Atlanta though, will find a way. People will find an open bar, a hot buffet, some shoe models showing off the latest styles. Because it's what we do.
This time however, I have no house-guest, and plenty of groceries. My social wanderlust is currently in remission. The ranch gave us the day off but I brought my um, my "horse" home with me so it's not like I won't have things to do.
Barkeep, if you know someone who might have a spare ticket. What? Let's just say I've learned...
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