They came for my Bacon, and I said too far!

Ramblings Post # 303
What is life? Is not it an series of memories, experiences, sensations that we intersect with as time passes? And if that isn't the answer, pass me a drink. I don't really what know what life is, or what would be a good life or bad life in the grand scheme of things. But I do know that while whatever happens should happen in moderation, I also know that you can't always play it safe. Or those will all be some dull ass memories, experiences and sensations. 

I think we were talking about cooking on my last project, and somehow the subject of Bacon came up. I happen to like bacon. As it turns out, after a quick count, I just happen to have eighteen pictures of bacon on my phone. Not random pictures of bacon, that would be crazy, but photos of particularly well crafted batches that I have personally made over the past few years. I mean, it's a thing now, taking pictures of food before you eat it. Look it up. And I have posted pictures of bacon to Twitter and Instagram, declaring loudly on trying days or when things don't look too exciting that what the world needs is a Bacon day.

One of my better efforts. Properly turned and crispy.

By the way, the proper way to cook bacon is at a medium heat, not high heat. Spanky makes her bacon at high heat and has to use a press to keep the meat from curling up. On medium, the meat tightens but doesn't curl, so a press isn't necessary. Further, because it is cooking slowly, there is less chance of burning or overcooking, which can give your bacon a texture more unto jerky than the crisp you most likely want.

Never microwave bacon, or bake it, or use that abomination Turkey bacon unless you just hate yourself. If you do, take some time and properly cook REAL bacon and some of whatever it is you're subjecting yourself to and compare. It's the difference between Filet Mignon and McDonald's. Or a plane ride across the country and walking. Save yourself. 

Now, I don't eat bacon everyday. Too much of a good thing is just as bad as not eating it. I usually do it about once a week, on Saturdays. I take my time, make some biscuits, or do up some hash browns, eggs and toast. I have done pancakes, but not lately. And I make about a half pound of bacon, which I then proceed to eat over the course of a full day. Not all once, jeez. Maybe three or four pieces at breakfast and then the rest as snacks as I get hungry. A half pound is only like seven or eight pieces, give me a break. 

Get it? I really like bacon. Now some study says that eating bacon will increase my risk of cancer. Marginally. Supposedly proven and stuff, by like science and stuff, and I try not to argue with folks who can do better math than me. Sigh. 

Well, I wasn't going to live forever anyway.

Barkeep. Can I get a coffee, some toast and ....what do you mean, no breakfast food?

Weekend Recap

Ramblings Post #278
In respecting our elders, we listen to their stories and learn about a past that we have not been privy to, but whose existence shaped our lives. No, I'm not talking about real relevant history - civil rights marches and life in the long long ago, I'm talking about them "back in the day" stories where things got a little out of control and if the fence had been two inches higher you might not be here. And I recently realized I'm now telling those stories. 

Although I was figuring I would be home all weekend, people kept hitting me up screaming I need to roll out. So I put on my good shoes - the knit fabric ones with the slippery bottoms - and my going out uniform, the black mock turtleneck and suit jacket - and headed out. Thus, these occurred...

#1 - I went to a Christmas party, which now that I say it out loud is kinda sad. This shouldn't qualify as an announcement. I used to go to lots of Christmas parties, but I've been out of circulation for a minute and so my invite list is shorter than it used to be. Still, I saw some folks I haven't seen a minute and touched a few hands I needed to touch. I've begun my social life recovery may be a better way to put it.

#2 - The Cowboys win, and finally, it's not a win or go home situation at the end of the season. It's been a long hard road, many years of frustration, teeth gnashing and howls of disappointment. But even now, I can't really rest easy, because to get the monkey off our back the 'Boys need to win at least one playoff game. As it is, we can still win a bye for the first round, which is like an automatic playoff win. Whatever, I'm just glad we finally won. And yes, I said we. 

#3 - House parties have gotten smaller since last time I looked. Okay, admittedly, the house parties I used to attend had a few hundred folks, and most of the people didn't have children so the hang out was on maximum, so my opinion might be a little biased. But the house party I attended was in a one bedroom condo, half the size of the living room of my brother's house. Like tiny. Nice though, but tiny. Less than twenty people, five of whom were my group.

#4 - Changing a tire in the rain at three a.m. is just as bad an experience as you might imagine it is. And it wasn't even my tire. I got up out of my bed, drove a few miles and under the lights in a gas station parking lot (at least it wasn't on the side of the road) did a friend a favor because that's what friends do. In theory. I'm fairly certain if I asked for ruling I'd get granted an exception, but whatever.

#5 - Damn Steam sale. I wasn't even going to buy anything, until I clicked through and saw one of the games I've wanted for forever on sale for NINETY percent off! I don't even think the computer I have can play it. Who cares, it was NINETY percent off! I don't have a lot of mad money, but I'll just eat a candy bar for lunch one day next week, that's how cheap it was. Now, if I could just get Steam to sell cars and houses in Atlanta.

Next year, when the cotton is high, the living is easy and I've found a job that let's me use my new degree, I'll complete my transition back to the real world. But until then, I got chickens to pluck. Oh them chickens. I like to think that it won't be long now. I may have force myself to go a few steps further before things get better, but I've come this far so let's just roll the dice.

Barkeep, a tall ice water and lemon. But pour it low, I got a reputation.

Spel-House Yeah!

Ramblings Post #272
So many glorious nights, so many beautiful faces, so many experiences that fill the book of life and make moments of memory the sweetest part of living. Or, you could live in Atlanta and you don't have time for memories, because it's just on like that.

As you may or may not know, I did not attend Morehouse University. And I guess it goes without saying I did not attend Spelman University. I think I visited once, but that's not important. With the annual FAMU game no longer a thing, the "one big party" thing that used to happen in Atlanta for what are normally considered "middle class" black people was relegated to just this affair: The Morehouse/Spelman homecoming. Maybe one other thing too, I've been out of the loop for a minute.

Note that I did not wake up on Saturday and go out there. Too much going on for me, poor old bones, wooo, a little pear tea before I get the vapors.

One of the great traditions of HBCUs are the homecoming events, which typically are affairs where the actual game is more a ritual than the main event and the majority of the alumni attendees treating it like a class reunion. You show up, catch up with old friends, go home. Or in the modern era, make plans on FB, show up, show off, go home, remove old friends from friends list. I didn't have the inclination to do that, because I really only kinda know them folks. But, since grown folks now tend to throw better parties, I was up for a little hangout on Friday night.

My RP hipped me a little drop in at a spot called the Negril Village a few blocks south of the Fox theater. The name through me, because most Jamaican eating spots are low-key affairs, and this weekend was supposed to be high tone. I was pleasantly surprised. Very upscale, all brick and dark wood with  a great looking bar area and what looked like comfy booths. The upstairs event space, where the function I was attending took place was nice as well, with it's own private bars. And it turned into a real get funky, sweat dripping, shake your booty party.

All the way turned up. All. The. Way.

At some point, perhaps unable to grab a drink, my fellow revelers decided to head north to Buckhead, and ended up at the Rose bar, which I remember as an old piano bar that was sitting right in the middle of everything but an odd place to end up. Well now, everyone's found it and it was jumping. I think they added a deck on the front - or maybe it's been there a while - and they took out the piano but it's still the little hideaway it's always been, now just turned up to 100. Very nice.

After playing Uber and dropping my folk off, I ended up at this place called Delia's Chicken Sausage Stand.  Please note, that until I walked in, I had never noticed the word "sausage" in the name. I usually pass it on North Ave headed someplace else, but instead of the long ride out to a Waffle House then back home, I decided to give it a go. They had a crowd, and if I can find something on the menu I like I'm going to drop in one night and just hang out, but the link chicken sausage wrapped in egg on a hoagie roll just didn't do it for me. Maybe I should have tried the sauce, or looked at something besides breakfast. It was interesting though.

And after my first night out in... I seriously have no idea, but it has to have been months, I kept in Saturday. I would have made biscuits, but something is wrong with my stove so I got to get that checked. In any case, it's nice to know that even as I've dropped below the radar that Atlanta is still out there, having a good time.

Barkeep, a nice glass of Chablis. And do you know if the drug store carries hair dye? No reason. For a friend.   

And we're off...did someone say, bar crawl?

Ramblings Post #249
Do something different. Start the new year off with a bang. Let's try not to make those just words and phrases. It's time to hit the gym, cut out the sugar, and focus on the next step we're taking to get where we want to go. But...changes don't just go one way. Change the things you do to enjoy yourself, or at least try. Because you never know what you might enjoy. But if involves spiders or heights, keep it to yourself.

One of my old partners from back in the day hit me up a few days ago with the idea for a start of the New Year's Bar Crawl through Castleberry Hill to start off 2014 with a bang. I reminded him that this, first, is not New Orleans and second, although Atlanta appears to be in the south it really is just less north than a lot of places, as evidenced by the cool breeze that has a tendency to pop up this time of year. He swore it would be fun, sent out an invite on FB, and low and behold the party was arranged for Friday night.

Castleberry Hill, for those not from Atlanta (and those from Atlanta who only live in the suburbs) is one of the cities hot new districts, with lots of small restaurants, bars, wine shops and lounges. Whereas most clubs in Atlanta strive to be Super clubs - with massive dance floors, vast rooms, and crowds pressing to get in, this area is at a different pace. Most of the spots are the size of large Starbucks. They are neighborhood spots, designed to attract the residents of the expensive condos and town houses that they were placed near. But, it's still developing so, for a couple of the stops planned, it was not a hop skip and jump, but a fairly long little walk.

 Know this, cold as it is had there been as much as 1 mph of wind, I would have stayed home.

Instead I dressed semi-warmly, on the idea that I would be in and out all night, found some gloves I knew I had and headed out to the first stop, a spot called Smoke Ring. It's a chic little BBQ spot at the north end of the district, all woods and rustic, but very open and bright. And bereft of any revelers. I was the first to arrive. Please note that at this point I was twenty minutes late. I contemplated the idea that if nobody showed up by the time we were scheduled to move onto the next spot, I would simply order dinner and go home.

A few minutes later people started showing up, in droves. What I thought might be ten people at best
quickly turned into a group of twenty to twenty five. Spanky popped up, as well as few Game Night originals, and some shots were quickly ordered. The original plan was to show up at the various spots, well, invade might have been a better term at this point, get a libation and move on forty five minutes later. Although late starting, the crawl proceeded right on schedule, pulling out in a long line of chilly participants at eight forty five sharp.

The next stop was a little burger+sushi spot called Bottle Rocket, a brisk two block stroll south. It's a perfect little neighborhood spot, if say, you're hanging out with a friend or want a quick jaunt out with the significant other. If you're in bar crawl, the previous use of the word "little" is very appropriate. After stepping in for a few minutes and getting a feel for the place, I decided that my time would be better spent on the sidewalk, meeting people not with our party. While a few of crawl members who had missed out on a drink at the first stop got a quick one, I met with members of the band who had just played and few other fun characters.

Because of the growing crowd, a newly met trio and I decided to ...er, scout ahead, yes, that's it, scout ahead at our next stop - The Pearl - to check things out. This is was probably the best spot on the route to eat, as a delicious aroma of seafood greeted us upon entering. We got some drinks, and then settled into the semi-private room in the back to wait for our comrades, who when they arrived a few minutes later now probably numbered closer to forty. We caroused, we met new revelers, we probably all told multiple lies.

Now, more closely bonded, my trio and I made our way south one door to the 255 Tapas Lounge, the spot where many years ago I figured out that there is no such thing as a quick jaunt out.  This another spot that was ready for us on arrival, opening a second bar in the back in preparation. Moments after my arrival, the bulk of us finally swarmed inside a large warm tent keeping the back patio habitable. 

Blu Cantina, formerly M Bar was the next locale, and it was conveniently located right next door.  Upon entering I realized that they'd only changed the name, and nothing else. It was and still is the about the size of a two bedroom apartment. And since it was already kind of full, our arrival only cranked things up to crazy. It was here Spanky found some guy...I have no idea of his name...some guy willing to buy shots to infinity. At one point I think he bought fifteen shots, one for everybody she pointed out of the crowd. This meant it was time for me to move away from the bar. Because the place was so small and our crowd now so large, the atmosphere suddenly seemed a bit more "rowdy" for some reason. This is the one spot I was happy to move on from.

Our last stop was next door at the Spinning Pie, a spot that looked for all intents and purposes like a scene from a old school rap video. All that were missing were bomber jackets and rope gold chains. Seriously, two dancers on the bar and camera and we would have all been on BET. Maybe it's just a Friday night thing, I don't know. Here though, I dialed it back and shared a pizza with some fellow revelers - old school FAMUans - to get my mind right. And because we it was the last stop, then, in the small space near the door, Spanky and her gang of friends made a dance floor appear. Ah, grand attempts at recaptured youth. I finally abandoned them to their grooving the night away probably around 1am or so, which is not to shabby for an old man.

I like stuff like this, new and different things, which involved exercise and camaraderie, with the nip with new friends and old serving as the carrot to entice us all. When I have more time in the Spring hopefully I'll be able to do this all again.

Barkeep, I'll need some hair dye and the address of a good barber. 

Once again it's....oh, my back!

Ramblings Post #247
There is a theory, that one day, if things happen like in the movies, someone will invent a time machine and go back and change everything so that the world is a better place. There is another theory that this has already happened, and how you remember history IS the good version. I should also take a moment to point out that time travel pretty much is impossible, planets moving, starts moving, excetra. Please, continue as you were.

You can't really ever go home again. You can visit the house you grew up in, and roam the same streets but it will never be like when you were a kid, when the streets were more magical than treacherous, and the house was peopled by your parents, who in your mind you thought could protect you from everything. And just like you can just go home again, you also can't just be "on" again. Oh, no, no you cannot.

You see, last night my RP threw what used to be the annual end of the year party, an informal extended drop-in with food, drinks and fun for all. Because he's got a kid now his place was out of the question, so we had the joint at another friend's house not too far away. Well, not too far away on a map. In reality, I made two turns and I may as well of been in the wilds of Mississippi. It just felt far! Nice house though.

We hadn't done it in a while so it was a slow start crowd wise, but as the night wore on people I hadn't seen in ages rolled through. They were as happy as I was to see folks, have a few drinks and catch up on the life the don't put on Facebook since the last time we crossed paths. Cards were played, dancing occurred, food was eaten. It was fun. Hadn't done that in years.

Today however, my back and the associated muscle group attached have decided that last night was a total fiasco and should never be attempted again. Ever. This isn't the result of imbibing either (I didn't drink) but just standing up for let's see, I got there at 7:30pm and left at about 3am, so roughly seven hours. I'm stumbling around my house in slow motion, bowlegged, and at a 70 degree angle. And since I mistakenly didn't go grocery shopping last week - holidays and all - my fridge is almost bare of things that don't involve 45 minutes to an hour of prep time. On the upside it didn't matter, because after that big glass of water...or the other big glass of water, I went to lie down for a second, and woke up a few hours later. As of this posting I still haven't eaten today.

Double bonus, there are two parties tonight and its raining, and I hate driving in the rain. Plus my RP is having a fish fry tomorrow. Then next week is NYE somewhere. My social calender is packed for the first time in ages. Provided I can walk comfortably in a little while.

Never thought I would miss the peace and quiet of studying. But I need to get back out there if only to pop up and say hi before heading back to the mental trenches.

Barkeep, let me get two Aleve and tall glass of sweet tea. And a bowl of your finest peanuts.

Hey, are you going to....?

Ramblings Post #227
I realize that this whole blog was originally supposed to be about something else. Then it was supposed to be about hanging out in Atlanta. Then it became a place of hashing things out. Then it became about school and then something else. Well, we're going to revisit one of my ole concepts, not there is much to tell.

I'm not sure who the artist was. I do know that my RP hits me up out of the blue last Friday and tells me that Sky Vodka is having a reception, at that very moment, at the Loews Hotel in midtown.

Now, let me be clear, back in the day...like five years ago...this announcement would have been like pouring sugar on an ant hill. Ford Motor Company used to have receptions that let you test drive Navigators, AFTER they'd given you three or four free drinks! Brooks Brothers had free drinks and gave away $3000 in clothes at theirs. Jaguar not only had a live band, top shelf drinks and dinner, the gift bags had full size bottles of cologne. Now, it hadn't been that good in a while. But something is better than nothing.

Courtesy of this guy I know.

So I head to the Loews, which is way bigger than I realized and end up at the Hebru Brantley show, which has free drinks. I don't know who he is, but since he did show up, I can describe him as looking like a grown up, six foot three inch version of Huey Freeman. He was friendly enough though, taking pictures all night and mingling, so don't get me wrong - he's a nice guy. From Chicago I think.

It was a mixed crowd - black and white, older and younger, people who might be able to afford the art and people dressed like what they think artists must dress like to feel artistic. Really? Porkpie hats, scruffy beards, neck tattoos and more Timberland boots than was entirely reasonable. Even worse, the trend of  women dressing like models and men showing up video game casual still persists. Now, I only had a polo shirt and slacks, but in that crowd,  I was overdressed! The whole vibe of the crowd was disappointing.

Same dude as before. Good Dude.

The vodka was nice. It was free. Now, I realize that the idea of the promotion was to get people in to see the art, and to enjoy the drinks so next time you're in the store you'll buy the drink, but the whole the thing was a little...hinky. Yeah, that's the word. Hinky. The lines at the bar were horrendously long, the artist had a merchandise table setup and the music was entirely too loud. Okay, maybe that's age, but I like a venue where I can talk to people, not shout at people.

After the reception I found myself someplace I hadn't been in a while, Midtown on a Friday night. The area used to be a series of fun but slightly run down clubs, punctuated by the occasional new spot that quickly fell into line with the area motif. It's now glammed up, with uber-trendy stores, high end restaurants and clubs with crowds that resemble the reception I had just departed. It was fun to hang out for a moment, but the new groove...has to be found.

And right now I don't have time for that. Going out at all was a break suggested by my cousin (who was kind enough to give me her old study materials for the GA Bar). All work no play is not good.

Barkeep. A milkshake. Seriously, take six ice cream sandwiches and a cup of milk. And we'll need a blender.

FAMU v. Whoever it was Weekend (Made it!)

Ramblings Post #202
There are a number of ugly truths. We don't like to confront them because they make life hard, making us realize that we have flaws. There is a fine line between confidence and arrogance. I like to think that being able to admit the ugly truths and deal with them is what makes the difference. 

I don't like pictures of me. I don't like them because they have an odd tendency to shatter the mental image I have of how I think I present myself. I often envision myself as a sort of down market Denzel. Seriously. In reality I look more like the uncle at the family reunion who talks too loud about the wrong things and just annoys everybody.  In short, I don't like pictures of me because the damn things look just like me.

So I got out of the house. After a week getting over whatever it was I had - I went ahead and slid down to the Georgia Dome to catch the Alma mater play. The Alma mater lost.  Not that anybody noticed.  Let me start again.

I went to college with Spanky, and when the circus comes to town she's all about the hangout. So when she called Saturday morning and asked was I going and if I was going did I want her "extra" ticket it just kinda fell into place.

Biz Markie on the ones and twos.

I met her at the tailgate. No, that's wrong, because at a tailgate Coors wouldn't have had a pavilion. And a stage with Dougie Fresh performing, and Biz Markie on the turntables. So I got the hookup and got into where the free food and drinks were being tossed out. And as it turns out, Spanky's "extra" ticket was for club level. So the day is looking up.

This was club level...and this is not a crowd.

So we go to the game. Me and Spanky's cousin get a couple of drinks and pal around for a while, then lo and behold Spanky hits me up and next thing you know we're in a Super Suite. As I've mentioned before, Spanky is a VIP diva. But who am I to argue with an upgrade.

It is at this point I get my first view of the whole stadium, and quickly come to realize just how important the band is to FAMU.  The university is able to get premium venues - Georgia Dome, Gator Bowl in Jacksonville, Ford Field in Detroit - because Rattlers fill a room. And apparently they fill the room because the band does its magic. I say this because the band wasn't there and the Dome was empty. We did not turn out. I don't have the heart to post the picture.

Somebody took some pictures of me. Somebody pasted them on FB.

Two things I realize now. Although I am in better shape than I was, I'm not any appreciable shape at all. The standing and walking of Saturday has my legs burning today. My back hurts and I am shuffling about like an old man...which I kinda am. So it's time to hit the gym. And two, I have been putting off going back on my diet strong for various, usually silly reasons, - I want biscuits, I haven't had that in a while, I deserve some ribs today! -  but looking at the picture of me indicates I've put off going back too long. Way too long.

So, we begin again. It will not be easy...but it will be good.

Barkeep. I'm gonna need sixty ounces of water to start, and a fresh orange. 

Gimme a Beat!

Ramblings Post #198
I don't go out anymore. I got out of the habit going to school at night, and now I've gotten comfortable sitting home at night watching TV and playing video games. You would at least think I would be reading or something productive, working on one of my projects. But no. Anyway, the truth is this house is kinda empty, and the city is teeming with life. So here we go. Again.

Atlanta, despite reports to the contrary, consists of more than Waffle Houses, strip malls, chicken joints, circular highways and gentleman's clubs. There is a bit of arty crowd here, with the High Museum, a symphony, a branch of the Savannah College of Art and Design and that eclectic little district known as Little Five Points. And once a year, the good folks at Jack Daniel's sponsor a show called Art, Beats and Lyrics. And no, I didn't go just for the free Jack Daniels.

They held it at The Compound this year, one of the ATL's hotter clubs, which has undergone a major renovation since the last time I graced their doors. Originally it was three installations with a open air garden in front, now the first buildings have been combined and they've added a lot more couches and polish to the whole thing. It was rather impressive. Like out of a music video impressive.

Art Beats and Lyrics is the kind of show I would have to had dragged Sporty too, but once she got there she would have been like 'cool'. I've been a few times, met a few artists - some of whom's art now adorns my walls - and had a very good time. It's a combination Art show, mini-concert and party. There are little attractions, like the light graffiti wall you can "paint on" and a visualizer of some kind I didn't want to get into to do something(?), and this interactive thing hooked up to an XBOX Kinect. Spaced throughout the venue are the art installations, some adorned with price tags (didn't see the artists this time though) from up and comers with proper art names like Kaz, Hebru Brantley, Doubleyoo, Dres13, and A Squid Called Sebastian.

Oh, and free Jack Daniels.

Here are a few shots from show. I like how it all wasn't one style, but an good mix.

In the end though, I got "Ritz crackered".

This is a reference to the old Eddie Murphy joke where he compares not having sex long period of time to not eating for a long period of time, to the point where if someone gave you cracker, that same cracker would be delicious, possibly the best tasting cracker ever. Maybe even a Ritz cracker.

Now, because I had not been going out as of late...to pretty much anywhere except a friends house or two...I forgotten something very important about this city. I believe author Dan Jenkins put it best, in saying "That if in Atlanta on a Friday night you can't meet a woman you'd leave your wife for, then you didn't leave the house." What that boils down to is that there are some very attractive women in Atlanta. But in my many years of going out, I had developed a more refined taste. I needed more than just a cute face, I needed personality, intelligence, a sense of purpose, etc. A whole woman (.i.e., Sporty). But at ABL, it was like I hadn't eaten in months.  And then someone put a whole sleeve of Ritz crackers in front of me. Have I been out of the game that long?

In the end, good night out. True, I was home by 10:30pm...on a Friday...in Atlanta. But baby steps man, baby steps!

Side note: The show goes through DC on November 16th.

So was a good night out. I realized I'm little too old to be doing this regular. I got other priorities , other things I need to focus on. Shole was fun though. Maybe I'll just dabble a bit.

Barkeep. Yes, I will be have the Jack and coke. No, not in the cool pre-mixed bottles, but in a glass. Age has it's privileges.

Sunday nights on the couch

Ramblings Post #182
I like television. Well, not most of television. Some of television. On my old Direct TV box, they had a little nine box square speed dial feature that meant I could skip 95% of the channels I was paying for if I so desired. And because I so desired I did so with vigor and zesto. On my new box, you have to pay for the extra HD to get that damn hot channel box...and whereas I like Direct TV, it's not quite that kind of relationship.

I have watched television since as a small child I realized it was window to the outside world. At one point my parents didn't need a TV Guide, they had me. I knew all channels, what was coming on when, the tricks to make the TV work properly when the screen got fuzzy, you know everything. And although I did spend my first eight years in Atlanta watching a 19-inch set (because I was out and about and really didn't care), the feeling for that magic was still there. Well, not really.

As I've matured I'm down to liking just some television. Very little in fact. Well, the parts I can see when I'm not doing something else, or usually catch in the middle because my eyes are tired of reading cases or the parts I can watch after I'm finished everything else, which is why I'm now considering actually buying something off an infomercial. Except on Sunday nights. Sunday nights on Showtime starting at 10pm, I watch something I actually like.

At 10pm, it's Don Cheadle's House of Lies. In it, Cheadle plays Marty Kaan, a management consultant who with his team travels each week to somewhere to solve some business problems. Wait, I made that sound way too nice. Cheadle plays Marty "the Con-man" Kaan, a self centered huckster who reminds me of the cleaned up version of my brother's old business partner who goes out each week with his crew to see if they can convince a new company to hire his company. Whether it's bringing a stripper to a business dinner or doing drugs in the parking lot with a VP to learn a few secrets, Marty's goal is as always to make sure his firm gets the afterwork business. It's very funny, sometimes a little raw, and but altogether a good watch.

House of Lies cast

Then at 10:30pm I watch Californication. Watching this is almost an afterthought, as I understand the show is in its fourth or fifth or something season. The episodes I've seen this season revolve around the protagonist, Hank Moody, writing a movie for what has to be the most gratuitously named black character in all of filmdom ever - Samurai Apocalypse. The episodes I've seen seem to indicate that at its core it's one of the shows where everyone has a huge house, drives a great car, always has a pocket full of cash but never appears to do any work at all. I normally hate those shows. Well Samurai did put in some work in a music studio, so maybe that. It's watchable, but it really is only on my radar because of its time slot.

My show, my soap opera, is Shameless which I watch at 11pm. I realize that this is a remake of a Brit original, and normally I would watch the original then lord it over everyone how I had watched the real deal instead of the knockoff. But this knock off, styled more to the American taste, actually plays better to me. That and I had already gotten used to the American cast so when I saw the original it didn't feel right.

Frank and the kids...and yes the baby is black.

The Shameless story is of the Gallagher clan, a nest of hustlers, thieves, and con-artists headed, well, kinda headed by Frank Gallagher, a single father of six children who is an inveterate alcoholic who would be two grades below the trailer park if they lived in the south. Well, not really, the family is actually headed by Fiona, Frank's daughter who trying her best to keep the family together since her father will occasionally sleep wherever he passes out and whose only regular home appearance is to pick up his fraudulent disability check. The cast is huge, the story lines diverse and just when you think you know what's coming they manage to throw a monkey wrench into the whole thing.

Now considering my classmates are going out to clubs (according to their facebook posts), jetting off to locales and vacations (according to their facebook posts) and generally hanging out (according to their facebook posts AND photographs) a couple of hours a week for TV ain't that bad. I think.

Barkeep, whatever Frank is drinking, I would like the opposite of that.

One last weekend

Ramblings Post #177
The condemned man gets a last meal. Even if the governor gives a reprieve, there is one last bag of Cheetos and diet RC cola if requested. So here we are, on the verge of starting the last step towards this educational journey I started oh so long ago. So no matter what happens, and maybe I'm paranoid but I'm always waiting for the issue to arise, I need to go and have a good time now because until this is all said and done...it ain't all said and done.

The NFL season is over....but I went to a playoff party anyway.

A partner of mine, a big Falcons fan, was having a playoff party and since the semester didn't start until the following Monday, I stopped by the "package" store and laid out my "going ta meeting clothes". A little before kickoff, brunch eaten, I headed south. He and I had hung out many a time, always with a great cup of spirits in hand, and as a premier Falcon fan I expected a pretty good little shindig.

It got off to a rocky start before I even got there, when that sound my car was making that I had been trying to figure out the source of for a week or so turned out to be the power steering pump dying. Heck of thing to find out on 285. But since there was closer than going back, I trundled onwards.

The party was a nice little group, maybe twenty five or so people, game jerseys aflutter, familiar faces at every turn. It was nice to see some folks I hadn't seen in a while but whom I used to run into two or three times a week. It was hugs and smiles and joy....

Full Regalia. The man is a true fan.

....until we actually started watching the game. The host was in full regalia, and even changed outfits two or three times to try and change the Dirty Bird's luck to no avail.

I'm not sure how it will be in the future, although I had glimpse with my cousin at that other game party, but at this "throwback" function the stereo came on during commercials and liquor was a series of bottles on the kitchen counter. The men watched the game and cursed, the women stood around and talked about everything but football. And well aware of the wrestling match waiting for me in the car I went with a judicious mix of bottled water and juice with B12, which is why my recollection is so clear.

And as the game got out of reach for the home team, the crowd's interest waned further. The card table came out and dominoes started, following by spades with the game as white noise filler. There was only one Steeler fan in attendance, so by the time the second game rolled around, the idea was simply to hang out for minute. Realizing I had things to do, and a steering wheel to wrestle, I called it a day and headed home about midway through the second quarter of the late game.

I got home, cleaned up a bit, but didn't turn the late game on until the closing minutes of the fourth quarter when the Steelers had a chance to complete their comeback.

Let me say this: Tebow is living proof that it is better to be lucky than to be good.

He has bad mechanics and is so far from the typical NFL quarterback it's scary. What's even scarier is that because he has lucked up ...and I mean that, lucked up... and managed a string of victories and a playoff win, there will more of this style coming. Which means that more option and running quarterbacks might get a shot in the NFL. And it also means that a QB's career will probably have two to three years shaved off a career that's already only averages four to five years long. The hits take a toll, as your average running back can attest.

But all that was to get ready for the next big thing. Back to the books.

Barkeep. Well, you know how it goes. The usual.

Off the Top Rope....Touchdown!

Ramblings Post #175
The sports festival that is the New Year is about to go into overdrive. Between the bowl games, the NFL, the NBA and my Playstation, it's gonna be a weekend to remember. Well, not really. Because the "match-up of the century" is going to happen every year from now until they run out of adjectives. And next year, I'll have the new iteration of whatever is supposed to be the hot sport. Maybe FIFA. Isn't sports grand?

This week the NFL, apparently desperate for ratings, has stolen a page out of the book of the people Jim Crockett Productions and staging a Loser leave town match...er, game for the NFC East title. If the refs get "accidentally" get knocked out at some point, don't be surprised. Happens all the time in wrestling.


Sunday night, in the last regular season game of the year, the Cowboys and the Giants will square off in New York for the NFC East crown, and the loser has to wait until next year to prove they didn't give up on the game. And since neither team can mount a running game at this point - Dallas due to injuries and New York because they just can't - it promises to a battle of quarterbacks. Much to the delight of the schedulers, this will be a off the top rope type affair, a high scoring shoot-out....

...unless the Cowboys defensive coordinator Rob Ryan does his job and actually stops somebody.

Ryan is the son of Buddy Ryan, the Buddy is the man who invented modern football defense for all intents and purposes. So Rob comes from good stock. He also is running a defense that in three games this season have given up leads in the fourth quarter of more than one score. He is currently...overrated. A lot of people look down upon Romo, wondering why the media and the football experts heap so much praise upon a man whose team comes up short so often. But Romo doesn't play defense, so he's not dialing up the risky blitzes in the fourth quarter...nor is he a play caller like Manning, so he's not the one deciding to keep tossing it when the team is up two scores. But then the 'Boys can't cobble together a running game for nothing these days.

Note: The key to great offense is a GREAT offensive line.

If the Cowboys lose, most likely it will not be the fault of the offense. Most likely. I'm not saying Romo is perfect, but he's doing more than a few things right. If we're gonna assign blame, how about we assign it's where it's due.

I wonder if I'll make it all the way through this game. Cowboys games tend to make me...um...testy. I get upset, loudly upset, at stupidity. Or at least what I deem stupidity. If there was ever a time I've screamed at a television set, it was during a Cowboys game. In the past few years I have had to turn them off lest I strike something. And since this game is a for a ticket to the big dance...a seat they weren't even supposed to have? Blood pressure medicine and a large whiskey sedative.

Barkeep...start setting them up now. Bottles, not glasses.

The Holiday Weekend

Ramblings Post #173
Sleigh bells ring, are you listening, something something, hear them ringing, we're riding tonight, I don't think this is right, walking in a winter wonderland. We mess around a build a snowman, then pretend that he is Parson Brown, he ask are you married, we'll say "no man, but you can do the job if you're in town," something something, dum de do, something something, hum hum hum, something night, walking in a winter wonderland.


I hadn't been home to see the folks in ages. Seriously, ages. We speak on the phone weekly, but for some reason that three hour trip has been harder and harder to square these past few years. Maybe because I'm a little scared that all the stuff I left won't be there when I get back. Scared maybe too strong a term, maybe "actively concerned." But after I didn't head down for Thanksgiving due to my enhanced educational situation, I felt compelled to head down for Christmas.

The Trip.

I live in a bubble, that is Atlanta. What I mean is that when social tension rears its head, it's a sudden reminder of things that happen so rarely I'd casually forgotten the caustic nature of their reality. No, it's not that I forget I'm black, in the south, it's that it's either usually not an issue or I've already taken the steps to minimize it. So when two guys started yelling at each other over a gas pump when I stopped for fuel it took me by surprise.

I'd pulled up, swiped my card and was gassing up. The lady at the next pump smiled at me and then I heard somebody yell loudly. Two pumps over a black guy was yelling at a middle aged white guy in a jeep. My trouble radar didn't go off, so I just watched silently. The black guy was fueling up, the jeep pulled off and I thought it was over. Then the black guy, middle aged black guy, yelled something and the jeep owner stuck his head out of the window and yelled back. At this point, the lady at the next pump dashed over to the black guy to calm him down. Seriously. Random black woman intervenes to keep random black man from doing something stupid.

The driver of the jeep pulls out of the station and goes across the street, so the whole thing diffused itself in a long fifteen seconds. I took note of the other odd couple in front of the station watching the whole exchange. The elderly white farmer in overalls and the young black man with dreads who after the jeep had pulled off looked at each other and shrugged.

I guess you never know. But then I probably should.

The Grand Folks.

I'm lucky enough that two of my grandparents have made it into their 90's. My mother's parents died when I was too young to feel the full effect, but I remember my mother's father as a kindly old gent who smoked a mean cigar and was always happy to comp us the bubble gum at his store.

My living grandparents are a lively bunch for old people, although my grandmother has been trying to guilt me into marriage and great-grandson for almost 20 years. She has other great grandchildren, many other great grandchildren, but the question of me always seems to come up. I like to believe every one of the grandkids still "holding" get this treatment, but I don't think so. My grandfather is planning on buying a golf cart so he cand drive around his property since he can't get around like he used to...when he was 80.

You hate to think that one day they won't be around. But then I think I've been blessed in this area more than I realized.

Christmas Day

Quiet. Family. A smattering of gifts but mostly just relaxing.

Hit Sporty up. Sent out a few Holiday texts.

Then driving back to Atlanta, because it's nice to have the stuff you left in your house still be inside your house when you get back. Driving back in the rain. Listening to the Christmas music...and the odd old school hip hop mix on some station out of Augusta.

The Day After Christmas

I had planned on relaxing and consuming enough water to clean my system out after the huge meals I'd eaten over the weekend. Well, that was the plan when I went to sleep Sunday night. Didn't work out.

Had a hearty All-Star at the Waffle House with my brother as I delivered his gifts to him. My brother is in a long term relationship, which has established its own Christmas rituals, so he didn't make the trip. I probably need to do the same myself soon. But that meal put me in back in the bed until dark...so like 4pm or so. Then trouble called. Or rather, my psuedo cousin did.

We rode over to a house party of a one of his buddies to watch the Falcons-Saints game. Not my usual fare, but I guess it will be soon, with small kids running about while the adults watched football and noshed. I have a problem drinking in front of kids, so I had a lot of soda and ate a lot of wings. And I've found that if the Cowboys aren't playing when something goes wrong or a coach does something stupid I can keep watching instead of cursing through the next three plays and turning off the TV before I start throwing things. So I watched and gave color analysis to the surprisingly underage crowd before calling it a night right after the whistle blew.

So It was a good Holiday weekend.

Kinda.

Barkeep, some of that Pale Moon beer or whatever it was they were drinking last night that I couldn't.

New Found Freed...hey, hey, hey, not so fast there.

Ramblings Post #157
First weekend post chicken plucking, I think. I say that because I got no exit interview, no packet, no nothing and still have my badge. I'm not sure what happened, only I know I'm not going, it's on to the next thing. Maybe I'm just on vacation and don't know it. Hmmmm. What can they do? Fire me?

This weekend its been party-party-party and drink-drink-drink. For somebody. I mean I know it's happening because I'm seeing the adverts and hearing about people heading out and the like, but your guy is home studying for the most part. I did dip out on Friday night - for the first time in absolute ages - to Spanky's birthday drop in at Six Feet Under. But I didn't get there until eight and was headed home at eleven. I thought she'd gotten a private room or something, but she preferred the excitement of the bar, so our little party of fifteen or twenty mixed in among what I assume is their normal Friday night crowd. SFU seems like a cool place, only the evening came to an abrupt end when Spanky's "guy" showed up and her priorities changed. Abruptly.

But it was her birthday, she can do what she wanna.

Saturday was studying. I actually woke up and read for class. And then I realized I don't have work on Monday, or any other day, so I can read then, and promptly started looking for stuff to do around the house. I could have gone down to One Music Fest, which Spanky was making day four or five of her Birthday week celebration, but by all reports, the sun had shown up and had taken off its shirt. Temperatures were in the mid-90's in the part of Piedmont Park with no shade. So that was a no go. Then I remembered my Tax HOMEWORK is due Monday by 9am, so I realized I did have some weekend school work to do and started doing that, because it normally takes a while. A long while.

By Saturday evening, upset and frustrated at my inability to decipher Federal Tax Code, after six or so hours off and on, I headed over to my RP's house. Earlier this year I finally let him know that I was over the "Mega Party" Concept we'd been keeping alive for the past few years, and he admitted he was kind of tired of it as well. So this was a small gathering of maybe 10 or 15 folks. We played cards, dominoes, ate, drank and whiled away an evening. It was nice, but again was home before midnight.

Sunday, I woke up and started on my tax problem again, piecing it together, line by line. After this semester, I'm going to ask the dean to re-write the descriptions for the tax class. I could have sworn the phrase "discuss tax theory" was in the listing when I signed up, not "we will try to make you a tax attorney." Especially since currently I have no desire whatsoever to be a tax attorney. Zero. This promises to be my challenge class, if I can make it through this I'm going to see if there is Underwater Basket weaving has a legal angle. After much whittling, and five more hours, I finally got the problem down to something I was comfortable turning in and dutifully emailed it.

This is gonna be a long semester.

Barkeep. Let me get a tea.

The Hotness

Ramblings Post #192
This post does not involve the Miami Heat, or the movie Heat, or hot chicks, or Will Smith, or chili peppers, or any of the things the internet associates with the phrase Heat. Sometimes I'll just put in a word, click on the Image link and see what the algorithms pop up. This also isn't about a country band, a Latin band, really any band, a perfume or an old film from the 1940's. It's about, well...read on and see...

Sometime in the last month, or maybe it was before that, they got me while I wasn't looking. Apparently, one of my "neighbors" to use the term loosely, decided that a piece on the exterior part of my AC unit would probably work better on theirs, or perhaps could be sold for a extra nickel or two. Who knows, but in any case, the unit currently is not functional, and pieces that were there last fall aren't there now. Which kinda made a difference during the recent mini-heat wave that struck the state.

How much of a difference? Without the AC unit, but with the fan running, the temperature inside my house topped ninety degrees. I re-invented the concept of hydration drinking between eight to ten quarts of Crystal Light. Friday night I lay down on my bed and either drifted off to sleep or passed out from the heat (not sure which), when I awoke couple of hours later, the spot where my body had been was marked with a clear body outline made of sweat. I took cold showers twice a day, and kept the front door open for the breeze, damn the bugs. It was Amistad hot.

On the upside, my pores have to be clear considering how open they've been.

I joked with Schmoopy that I was going to get some ice and some ice cream, and sit in the tub in the ice eating the ice cream. As her AC had been out last week, she didn't think it was as crazy an idea as I might have imagined. I've always liked it warm, but this is ridiculous. I thought about heading over to Slim's or Spanky's and camping out, but everybody is doing something now, so no go. By the time I remembered the law library, the heat had sapped my will. I finally ended up fake grocery shopping so I could stand in front of the meat section for a while, and wander back and forth in frozen foods.

My uncle does heating and air and I having him check it out, but his voice mail is perpetually full, so I'll have to contact him at home. If I can catch him. I'll still have to pay him, at least I know I won't get robbed. (or at least get robbed by family)

I'm thinking of this as getting back to my roots. My South Carolina roots. My childhood mama said don't play in the house roots. My "so this is a farm" roots.

Man I hope it gets down to sixty one of these nights.

Barkeep. A glass of ice, with a splash of bourbon and a splash of coke.

Bringing Back the Fire

Ramblings Post #191
Find something you like to do, figure out how to make money at it, and you'll never work a day in your life is how the saying goes. This assumes that the thing you really like to involves wood working, teaching or farming. You know, ... productive things. Not killing zombies, being an nearly unkillable secret agent or becoming the greatest space marine the world has ever seen. Not that I enjoy killing zombies as creatively as possible, but these things have to be done. Luckily, I also enjoy making people happy. Maybe I should have been a concierge. Or a mime.


Sunday I studied. Well kinda studied. I fully intended to study. I did some laundry, cleaned up what I'm going to turn into my home office (it will resemble a home office eventually - no really!) - bumbled around the kitchen, played some video games and occasionally looked at my tax law book picking my way through the problems and code sections. The class is uninspiring. During the break in Thursday's class, someone said something that I ended up using as my Facebook status - "I want to understand, but the professor won't let me." Not only is the subject matter mentally brutal, his teaching style isn't helping. A number of students have already dropped the class. But I will suffer through, which is why on Sunday I tried to decipher tax rules regarding what is and what isn't alimony for the purposes of taxation, and the theory and mathematics of recapture.

I did this so on Monday, I could go play chef.

Me? I like cooking out. I enjoy getting on the grill, watching the meat cook...seasoning, tenderizing, watching people eat it, the whole schmear. And because I have been on a self imposed social lock down because, well, I know how I can get, I haven't been doing it much lately. But it was a holiday, my RP had asked, I showed up ready to burn. And burn I did, for four or five hours. Burgers, hotdogs, kabobs, chicken, turkey burgers, ribs, brats, etc. I got into a grilling groove. And since it turned out to be less a party - and more this chick's family gathering it was good that I found something to do.

So for the holiday, I didn't hit five or six cookouts. I didn't end up at bistro on the deck trying to drink my way back to sober. I didn't end up at a jazz club at 2am, trying to figure where else I could go. I did not once see the inside of a Waffle House. I didn't end up hoping the work week would start so I could stop hanging out.

When it was all said and done, I didn't end up doing anything I would have done five years ago, except maybe grill. But that was okay.

Note: I just realized I haven't been to the movies since Sporty moved/going to Law School. And I really want to see the Hangover II. Hmmmmm...

Barkeep. I'm gonna need whatever they was drinking in that movie...I'm joking, joking. Let me just have a sprite. In a can.

Bad Concepts - Revisited

Ramblings Post #190
There was a time when Saturday Night Live was funny. Okay, maybe I was thirteen and my finely tuned sensor humor still had some growing to do. But there was a time a long long time ago when Saturday Night meant a bowl of snacks and large glass of Kool-aid. Not much longer after that it meant beer and babes, loud music and a greasy breakfast at a roadside diner. Its someplace else now, but I'm not quite sure where that is.

Bill Murray on SNL's Weekend Update...sometime in the Late 70's

A few years ago, some friends of mine trying to make a few quick bucks, decided to throw a party on a Sunday. Because in Georgia you can't buy liquor on Sunday, the rule was bring a bottle or give up $20. After they charged for "PREMIUM" parking they made quite a pretty penny.

However, when you throw a party and charge - people expect a party. So the people who arrived at 11pm and paid $20 expected a party to still be going on until they got done. Which might have as been as late...as till they're ready to go home. And since the people throwing the party had these things called JOBS to go to Monday morning, this eventually turned into a BAD CONCEPT.

Earlier this week I updated Sporty to my weekend plans - A pool party an old partner of mine was throwing, studying all day Sunday, and a helping my RP cookout on Monday. Not as ambitious as say, five or six years ago, when Friday would have been two or three functions, Saturday would have been three or four cookouts, Sunday my home town crew would have rolled in and we'd have ended up somewhere until 3 or 4am, and then Monday an easy breezy recovery cookout somewhere else. I used to send out a newsletter at work. I guess I've gotten slow in my old age. Well, not really, I've just changed my priorities and taken myself out of the mix so I can concentrate.

So today is Saturday. And the party is today starting at 3pm. At Piedmont Park.

If you live in Atlanta, you know why that statement makes this party - a BAD CONCEPT.

Piedmont Park is Atlanta's way downmarket version of Central Park. It does however have a just finished remodeling Pool Complex. Unfortunately, the people who designed the park figured that at most 25 or 30 folks would ever want to use it at one time. Maybe 50 on a sunny day. Because there is NO parking. And the streets that surround it a small and narrow. And it's four blocks from the Atlanta Metro Transportation system. And the second the sun comes out on a Saturday, an estimated 2 billion people immediately try to squeeze into the space. Or something like that. Traffic is a nightmare. Parking, as I mentioned before, is non-existent. None of this came to mine until I was in the car...on the way. At 6pm.

I had gotten the email with the rules for the party on Friday, an had become a little less than excited. The term "party" had been mis-used, as in reality this was a closed market situation - pay to get in, pay for drinks, pay for food, pay for towels, etc. But I hadn't been out in a while, so meh. In and out. I waited until the sun started going down, figuring most of the crowds would have dissipated. But traffic was still bumper to bumper. There was no parking. Even the secret lot I used to use was full. And I wasn't about to park on a side street and risk getting towed by an over zealous someone who felt I shouldn't be parking on their street...despite the fact they moved next to the park knowing people would park on their street.

So, I'm not going to the pool party.

Thank god I have that bottle of Knob Creek in my liquor closet.

Barkeep, I'm gonna need a little cola to go with this.

The Next Road

Ramblings Post #127
There is an age when wisdom substitutes for speed, and experience for enthusiasm. We all reach a peak, then begin a slow decline, but if put our minds to the issue, we find that life can better with a little thought, than with a lot of energy. Or so they say. Maybe for you, but I don't think I've reached that age yet. It's the genes.


I must be getting old, because I think I can see the end of this particular road.

This weekend was up and down.

On my change of eating habits and the like, I'm down nearly 30 pounds in about a month. I've added a lot of fiber, a lot a fruit and vegetables, and cut out sugar, salt and grease. You know, all the good food. It's not that bad really, I'm getting used to it, the flavors and what not. I checked in to the "cult" Saturday morning and I liked what I saw.

So of course, to celebrate making this change so effectively...I went out and had a pancake brunch with Spur. Which was bad. But the cult may be getting to me, as I felt guilty enjoying sitting on the patio with that food dripping warm maple syrup.

And then the University Bookstore was closed. On a Saturday. So I couldn't pickup my books. I asked why and they said because it was summer. I reminded them that classes start in 2 weeks but they said it is still, technically, summertime. So that was that.

Then, I went to a party.

The party is why I feel old. I went to a party with plenty of drinking, scantily clad women of a reasonable level of friendliness, and lots of loud music. I caroused and hung out till way past when I intended to. There was a time in my life when that was exactly the kind of party I wanted to roll up into. There was a time in my life when that type of party was what I was doing on the regular. And at the end of it all...I didn't have a good time. I looked at the photos, which showed up on Facebook in droves on cue, and although I see myself, it's not a series of good memories. There was a camera, we posed. A couple of laughs were had. I danced a little. Meh. It just was. It was mostly a lot of standing around, a lot of waiting for whatever was supposed to happen to start happening. I'm thinking, that time in my life, the "when is the next function" time, is waning. I've had that good time. I'm not really feeling it anymore. I woke up Sunday feeling blah about the whole thing, wishing I hadn't gone..or at least I should have left when I originally planned.

I spent all day Sunday at home, trying to get my mind right because of that very blah thought. I purposely didn't go out swinging from the tree branches this summer, because I knew school was going to come in the fall and getting back into the lockstep was going to be hard enough without party fever. But have I been away so long I can't remember why I used to go? Are my skills rusty and the ability to make "good party decisions" atrophied? If hanging out is not on my list of things to do, then what? I've got a lot on my plate with work and school, and a lot on my mind, and maybe I'm just tired. Or maybe I'm just ready for the next thing. The next road.

So the weekend was good with the weight loss, bad because the second I lost the weight I skipped on the plan, then the party I probably shouldn't have gone to, then the Cowboys won the Hall of Fame game - okay, it was scrubs v scrubs, but our scrubs are still better than yours! Up and down, as I said.

This is gonna sound strange, but I can't wait for school to start.

Yeah, Sporty thought it was funny too.

Barkeep, put it in the glass.

Weekend recap: Making a run...

Ramblings Post #117
Somethings in life you gotta do. You gotta double down on 8s or 9s. You gotta own at least one time in your life, a leather jacket (even if later you join PETA). You gotta go see family. You gotta honor them that look out for you. Life is too long believe you can make it on your own, and too short for you to learn all you need to learn. Oh, you gotta, one time you gotta, look chance in the eye, take a deep breath and go for it.

It's not often that I get outside of Atlanta. I have friend who regularly posts Facebook photos from her jaunts to China, or Switzerland or where ever it is her job takes her, and another whose life has let him be able to honestly give himself the nickname "Globetrotter". I think he's in Stuttgart, Germany right now. I, on the other hand, joke about how I might have to renew my passport to go outside the perimeter ( the affectionate nickname for the highway that circles the city). Which is odd because I dream of traveling. So me heading out to town for family was kinda of a big deal.

I stayed in Friday and tried to do a little writing. That didn't work because I got distracted - making dinner, calling Sporty, eating dinner, internet, picking music to write by. Okay, so I did a little writing, maybe three paragraphs, but I need to get up to 5 or 10 pages a sitting. Not a day, a sitting. But I went to bed relatively early because I had a big day on Saturday.

As a suggestion, in the summer time, make sure the AC in your car works prior to long trips.

My plan was to get up between 6 and 7am, clean up the yard a bit - they only just finished repairs from the break-in, clean up the house and be on the road by something like 9am. So, at about 11, I got on the road. Yeah, Right.

The ride through the GA was hot. Like Africa hot. Picking cotton hot. Ya'll stop playing hot. I stopped in Augusta for water running about 20 minutes ahead of schedule, and decided to take I-20 to I-26 to Hwy 301 all the way to the little town of Santee, a few towns over from where I was going, instead of my normal ride through the back country. This way I could keep the breeze going by not having to slow down in all those little towns whose budgets run on speeding ticket money.

You ever go back someplace you hadn't been in a while, and something has changed...weirdly. Because for some strange reason, there was traffic on I-26. Like bumper to bumper Atlanta rush hour style traffic. On your standard, in the middle of nowhere, no city for miles highway. On both sides. The entire state of South Carolina has half the population of the city of Atlanta, and the only time I-26 is supposed to be crowded is USC is having a home game. Only this is miles and miles from the USC stadium. No accident, no construction work, just traffic. For no good reason. This is the highway where, as a youth, due to the lightness of traffic I regularly clocked speeds in excess of 100 - 120 mph (the car I drove closely resembled that of local law enforcement). This highway isn't supposed to have traffic!

I-26 on a Saturday afternoon, ain't supposed to look like this!

And if you've just driven for three hours, with no AC, at the apex of summer, and suddenly run into stop and go traffic, let's just say you aren't always the happiest person in the world.

Note to self: get AC fixed.

I finally arrived in my own personal sauna, only 40 minutes or so late.

My grand mother and grandfather were fine, with her imploring me for her great grandchildren (although there were at least six or seven in attendance) and him razzing me about not coming to visit more often. I saw my aunts, a few cousins from the DC area who don't get down much - including one with a surprise wedding announcement, and uncles who only now are starting to look a little old. My mom pulled out pictures of my grandparents 50th wedding anniversary - this year was their 70th - to embarrass more than a few of us with the candid awkward photos of youth. (My brother has hair!)

Family pictures would go here, but...
I'm still awaiting photo approval from some cousins.

After a few of hours joking my peoples and refreshing family connections, I went back to my parents house and from the heat and hunger passed out, er..went to sleep. Slept good too.

I rose the next morning and did a repeat in reverse to slide back Atlanta in time for co-workers wedding. They're both long time employees of the "Chicken plucking factory" and so there were a lot chicken pluckers in attendance. So it felt a little like I was at work. The invitation said 4pm. I got back, got showered, rode down to the Southside and showed up right at 4pm. Um...right.

The invitation said 4pm. For the uninitiated, had the real start time occurred between 4pm and 4:30, we'd have been on what African Americans considered "Colored People Time" or CPT. We breezed past 4:30 with the ambiance music still playing. Any start time after 4:30 for a 4pm event...well, then we just on N-word time. The actual ceremony started at 4:49pm. I know the exact time because I had turn off the game on my phone and the exact time flashed before my eyes. Please note the wedding party came in, the reverend ad-libbed, the vows were said, and the wedding party receded 5:14pm. I know this exact time because that's when I sent a text Sporty - former co-worker so she knew these folk - to voice my irritation.

Sporty found my irritation funny. Apparently the reception is the long part.

I briefly checked into the reception, then faded out. It would have been cool to hang out with the co-workers for a hot minute , but I was not in the mood for repeating myself from the day before. Took my well traveled butt home and crawled in the bed for some much needed Air Conditioned rest.

This week I'm gonna start getting some structure back. I beginning to think I need structure.

Barkeep...whatever you can put in a glass about yea big.

Well, well, well

Ramblings Post #94
Now is the time, as happens around this time, where I start to question my life choices. Specifically what made me think I could be a lawyer. I mean really, what was I thinking. I'm either in way over my head or I'm a little bit crazier than I think. I can no longer tell how I do I tests, I'm not sure if my data is sound, I'm questioning myself at every turn. But as I said at the midterm - "If I'm not nervous about it, then I got a problem."

It was Saturday, the tutor session started late, I'd been reviewing too much for one class and needed a break, and so when Spur called and said let's go eat (right as I walking into the session) I asked her if we could kick it back to after my brain was thoroughly fried. She was cool with that.

So Spur met me on a late, warm Saturday afternoon at our old hangout, Fellini's. There was a time she and I would do Fellini's twice a week, a couple of slices, a couple beers and just chill and talk about whatever. This is nearly a decade ago when we both "between positions", but since then Atlanta's little bohemian pizza chain has been "our" spot, although we do venture upmarket from time to time.

But as it was she got a slice with ground beef, onions, and peppers and I got the basic sausage pepperoni with extra cheese, we got a couple of cold ones and found a spot on the patio of Fellini's on Ponce, which for a restaurant on a busy four lane street is pretty damned relaxing. Or so it used to be. We never really got around to talking about anything, though we did have a good time. It turned out whatever day that was, is apparently family night.

Now, Fellini's has always been, at least to me, a bohemian pizza joint. The vast majority of them are mostly patio, the little sign to let them know which table to deliver your pizza or slice to are little photos pop icons like James Dean or Frankenstein or something. Staffed by what looks like, well, bohemians, it is usually chock full of college kids, hipsters and couples in BMWs looking for something a little different. So to look over and see, somebody's gray haired mother was a little disconcerting. To see her sitting next to her even grayer haired husband even more of a shock. Then the kids came.

I got nothing against kids. My favorite kind are the ones you herd back over to the mothers. My least favorite are the kind whose mother's sit down, start sipping on their beer and are oblivious as their brood run wild. The people on my patio were the second group. I watched the kids filch change out of the fountain, chase birds, refuse to take off their skates, stick their feet in the water, etc, all while the adults paid them no heed. Spur kept calling them out to me as they happened. I kept wondering when the mother was going to say something.

It started as a joke, but maybe it really was just family night. Another couple showed up with three kids. Then some other folks showed with kids. Apparently Chuckie Cheese was closed. Spur and I decided we'd need a bit more age friendly spot to hang out at in the future, because the occasional curse words happen over beers, and there is nothing worse than a mommy's righteous indignation after she's taken the reins off her children for you to offend them by acting like a grown up.

Other than that, my Saturday...of which the night was spent still reading for that SAME freaking class...was as boring as expected.

Yes.

Barkeep. B-12 with bee pollen in a mountain dew guava juice mix. I need brain food.

Muddle on, muddle on

Ramblings Post #93
It is what it is and it is what its gonna be. Sometimes life deals you the cards you've been waiting on, and it all falls together perfectly. Most times however, life deals you a mess, but you've got to play anyway. So learn to play like you've got a pair. At least a pair, because high card is straight BS.

So this weekend I had my last spring hurrah before finals, which really wasn't, saw a little family and woke up to find the NFC east had been mucked up beyond all recognition.

Saturday, after three hours of sleep on Friday, I awoke and muddled through a morning and afternoon of reading. I don't think anything stuck. I was a surprisingly unproductive day considering I did so much, but I would read, then read, then throw in some laundry, then read, then take out the garbage, and read...and I don't remember any of it. My prof who used to post the PowerPoint for class on Friday has moved it to Monday, so even that typing which gets me in the right frame of mind I wasn't able to do.

And I spent most of the weekend looking for the affidavit to get me out of jury duty...because the day I'm assigned is the day of one of my finals. Two weeks later and I would have just had to spend the day relaxing at the court house hoping I didn't get picked.

But Saturday night, I head over to the Estate for the Final Four - Jones/Hopkins party. I'm bar tending, which is usually a pretty sweet gig. But because one of the "new" hosts had decided to let some chick he was trying to holler at open a second bar, it was different and I didn't really need the hassle. Now, just so we're clear : I don't bar tend at these little private functions for the money. It's a nice bonus, but it ain't why I does it. I do it because it's a great way to meet people, and I love meeting folks.

So that wasn't cool.

And my understanding , because they didn't get the fight for the party in the end, that Roy Jones needs to offer refunds for his showing.

Sunday I spent reading more that I don't remember, and reviewing more that just now escapes me. I should have washed the dishes, cleaned up, reupholstered the couch, something, but reading was a waste of time...

At some point, I found out the Eagles had traded Donvan McNabb to the Redskins, which is troubling, but why I don't know.

Had dinner with my brother, who's online career is starting to grow a little bit. He's writing for a few sites with name recognition now, and might actually be able to make a career out this. It's a cobble together situation right now, but I'll give him credit, he is working it.

Additionally, from my defacto niece, who is 18 and a college freshman, I found out I'm not that far from still being cool, as I did know Waka Flocka Flame is a person, and not a new drink. My brother joking referred to to Waka Mocha Maraschino a couple times. Why I know he is would be a whole different story.

Tonight is study night for real. I got no choice. The power points are up, I gotta have salad for dinner...Zaxby's house salad is nice...and at some point I need to check on Sporty.

And I am, as my father used to say before his current, well, live action "meme"...I can't complain. Because ain't nobody listening anyway.