Once again...Last year.

Last year I described 2024 as the experience of waking up buck naked in the middle of the night in a cornfield. 

This year? Oh how I wish for that cornfield again. That was a nice cornfield. Good ears of corn too.  

Last year I watched as this country was ...reduced? Self-owned? Marginalized? Defenestrated? I need a word that captures so many things and I'm not sure that it even exists. So much happened outside of me that made me feel that my situation was trivial. Even when it wasn't. Things were not good. And last year I realized that I would have to take a leap into the darkness and just see where I land. But in what may have been some of the worst possible timing, as the ground appears to have moved the very moment my feet left it. Which, if you understand me, makes the landing part very difficult. 

But my peoples. 

For the record, I don't like to bother people. This I mean on a personal level, not professional. It's become sort of a personal flaw, to be completely honest. I have to force myself to be social. To call. To check in. To see how others are doing and being - because I really have an issue with being a bother. They're busy, they have lives and I'm just...well, me. Part of it is just being an introvert naturally, some of it learned de-socialization after I spent thirty years purposely making myself social, and lately coupled with a bit of personal shame at my current situation, it's been a real homebody just sitting around kinda season. I'm going to creatively say it was a low-key a "retreat" of sorts. Except my running partner keeps checking on me. And my cousin. And people I didn't expect to get to share company with showed back up. That last one is almost too good to be true, for a number of reasons. I need to get out more because I apparently have friends. It may have all been real. 

That need of a firm piece earth to land? Instead of just figuring it out alone...well, we'll see. 

Let's see what the year brings.  

Wait, what?

Ramblings Post #264
This has no bearing at all on the post below it, except that I wrote it after I wrote the post and because of what I wrote I'm not hungry, and am fantasizing about food. Chili dogs with onions on poppy seed buns with house cut french fries. Honey BBQ wings with crinkle cut fries. Falling off the bone ribs and a baked potato. A large mixing bowl of cereal. None of which I am supposed to be eating. Again, this post is about finding out things about people you think you know....but man, for some fried chicken and corn on the cob.

 My girl Spanky heads for the Middle East next month, after many months of delays from her new employer. She's rented out her house to a friend, moved most of her stuff out, and is getting ready for what promises to be a few years in a less than luxurious accommodations. And she's going to do a little last minute voodoo.

Let me explain.

Spanky called me yesterday after a long break, which normally means she's been doing something that she knows she shouldn't be doing, is ashamed of and doesn't want to hear my pithy but usually astute thoughts on the subject. Translation : She's still going out with him. But she claims this time it's just because she's been really super busy trying to get everything in order for heading out. Since I have one required outing a day - and had skipped the previous day - I suggested a late lunch. She declined, as she had a few more things to get ready for her cleanse. I winced when she said it, because I remembered my own intestinal cleanse and although it cleans you out, the little nozzle they use feels like its....er, I digress. Then ole' Spanky said she still had to pick up the roosters. Wait, roosters?

I have no proof her cleanse started like this...yet.

And cue the surreal music.

I inquired what kind of cleanse was this, and why did it require live chickens? Well, it turns out a 'spiritual' friend of her's from FB was going to perform a ritual to cleanse her before she left the country, involving not one but several chickens. Forgoing any details, primarily because I still wanted to eat that late lunch, I asked her if she was serious. Spanky then revealed this was her SECOND such cleanse, the last of which occurred after her previous horrible paramour and right before this horrible paramour. So it's not so much a "hey, why not" and more of a "You got anymore of them voodoo" type of thing.

I was at a slight loss for words.

I learned long ago that sometimes those things your friends do when you're not around might stop them from being your friend. As a kid it might have been finding out your friends family actually has a Family Game night. In college, that your best buddy doesn't believe in cleaning as a thing. Something they do that's just a little out of kilter, that skews the numbers just outside of acceptable. I'm not saying this is that thing for me and ol' Spanky, but let's just say it's not looking good. Maybe her trip to Middle East has her mind working on different levels. Maybe I'm overreacting. Maybe I prefer my chicken to come with cole slaw, fries and some bread or a roll.

Damn, now I want some fried chicken. And some dirty rice. How far is Popeyes?

Barkeep, put that in a to-go cup. What do you mean that's illegal? 

A Quick Restaurant Review - Bone Garden Cantina

One of globe hopping pals, good ole Slim, is back in town and since she's only in town for another two weeks before she's off to South America, we decided before things get crazy with the holiday weekend to hookup, sit down eat and catch up. Its been so long since I've had a regular properly cultured dining partner it took me a minute to figure out which way to go. So remembering she's a pescatarian, I picked a Mexican spot that included veggie only and fish tacos, which is how we ended up at the Bone Garden Cantina.   

The BGC is off the beaten path to say the least. It's a little bar on the backside of a little office/loft type development on in an industrial access road in a developing part of town. I circled the parking lot twice looking for it, before finally getting out of the car and venturing on foot into the building the sign called the "Lumberyard." As we say in the country, if it had been a snake it would have bitten me.

The inside is pure kitsch. Think of those restaurants that try to create a homey atmosphere by putting
unrelated vintage stuff on the walls, but think if it all had a single theme and that theme was the
Mexican holiday known as the Day of the Dead. It's dancing skeletons, skulls, devils and a few other things that just washed over my eyes. Even weirder, the longer I sat in there the more the whole thing seemed to come together, as though the designer was counting on you having to immerse yourself to get the feel of it. I had a Mexican Coke and just soaked up the room for a while.

And this was just looking over my shoulder from the bar...

Slim finally arrived and we ordered, her getting the cheese quesadilla and a vegetarian taco called the Flor de Jamaica, that came with flowers. She explained that living in the Bahamas she'd actually played with fish so now she couldn't eat those either. I wished her well with that. I had the a Carne Adobo taco and a Chorizo quesadilla. Now, just so you don't get it confused, this is real Mexican food, not the Americanized versions they serve most places. If that's what you want, the menu gives directions to the nearest Taco Bell and wishes you well. This food is excellent. The sauce had a tang to it, with no sweetness, and neither the taco or the quesadilla looked like any other I'd eaten before in Atlanta. Slim who is originally from California and knows Mexican food from people who don't even speak English was so impressed that she had to get some to-go that could take home for her mother.

My Carne Adobo Taco

Now to catch up. I had only spoken to Slim by phone for the past few years as she'd dipped off to the Middle East to teach. Then last year she moved to the Bahamas where she was possibly looking at a position as a school principal, and where I was looking into vacationing because I wasn't planning on paying for a hotel or food. In any case she cut that short because she is leaving her husband, which was the topic for most of our meal. We briefly discussed some other things: future plans like maybe Peru or China for her, my job search, the book I'm working on, my film project, etc., but we kept coming back to how unhappy she was with her situation. And how long it had been that way. And how happy she was that she was ending it. So the meal had a theme so to speak.

The Bone Garden Cantina is a cool little spot, as we ended up just sitting there at the bar chatting long after the lunch crowd had cleared out. The waitstaff seems attentive without hovering, the food is all priced individually so you can experiment without breaking your wallet, and when you go ask the waitress if you can hang on to your menu because the back is just shy of hilarious. I'll be back, sipping on a Mexican coke and letting the vibe just get me.    

She said she was just thinking about it...

Rambling Post #255
Life shouldn't be stagnant. We should all sally forth and attack this experience with wonder and excitement, drinking in every drop of life not through a straw but in hefty quaffs that leave us out of breath for the next surprise. Or something like that. But they did just open up a Krispy Kreme store like just up the street, so maybe I'll get to quaffing life like next week. Week after for sure.

Art by Adam Hughes

A few years ago, my girl Spanky up and went to Scotland for a job. She did just over twelve months in a town small enough to fit into a high school baseball stadium, then came back with pockets fat enough to deck out her house, then under renovations, in one quick swoop through the furniture district.  I toured it via Google Maps (they go everywhere) and it looked absolutely charming. I was a wee bit envious.

So she hits me up last Wednesday with this message she's gotten via email from some company. She was looking for a new gig (we're all looking for new gigs) and so when they "found" her resume on the internet and contacted her, she was quick to send them back a fresh copy. Cool beans I thought. Then she said she was gonna have to leave the country again, but the money was great. Knowing the less than romantic situation from which she has been inexplicably unable to extricate herself, I thought maybe this wouldn't be the worst idea. Overseas, see the world, etc. From Scotland she'd visited London, Paris, and other places that broaden the mind. Bully! So I asked her where was going. Cabal, she says. I ask her again, because I've never heard of it and got ready to look it up. She says it again and I catch on.

Kabul. As in Kabul, Afghanistan.

If were possible to look at somebody like they were crazy over the phone, I think I pulled it off. But, my mind kicked in, probably happy for the diversion, and said to check it out before passing judgement, it might be a huge base with movie theaters and one of them golf course setups. So I checked out her given destination. Looked at a couple of blogs, checked out a few videos, read a few articles. Let's see, 3,000 people, housed, with offices and all other base facilities in a space 1000 x 650 feet, in downtown Kabul. No off-base for security reasons. Rooms in shipping containers. They just had a suicide bomber in January. Hmmmm, how much money again? The term "shitload" popped into my head. I sent all this to Spanky, suggesting she consider it all before making up her mind.

So last Sunday when Spanky, Serve and [nickname forthcoming] and I went to West Egg for a late brunch, I was a little suprised when she announced that she'd made up her mind that she was going, and that she'd already sent them the paperwork. She said she'd spoken with her family, had looked at all the pictures and was prepared for whatever came. Wow.

By the way, they serve brunch all day at West Egg on Sundays, and they ain't even playing.

Now, Spanky can be impulsive. And since when she makes a decision, then sticks with it and if you're not with her 100% then you're her sworn enemy, it gets a little awkward at times. With that in mind, I raised my objections, but the opportunity was flashing before her eyes and she didn't even notice. Yes, she says she's prepared to be trapped on a teeny tiny base in a country that now might not even have Americans after next year. Her contract was supposed to be for three years, which now seems less cute when before it just an ugh feeling. I suggested she start learning some foreign languages.

Later after Spanky and Serve had split,  me and [nickname forthcoming] had a long conversation about the whole thing. My concept was, in a nutshell, that three years in Kabul would fundamentally change Spanky. Which [nickname forthcoming] on the whole thought wouldn't be the worst thing. But in think what the girl needs at best is a little tinkering, and this expedition would be more of a complete overhaul. Spanky can get "testy" at times and one of the descriptions I read described the place as a minimum security prison like atmosphere. That kind of living I understand has a tendency to bring either the best or worst in a person, so I'm not sure how that's gonna play out. Plus it's dangerous.

A few years ago Slim broke out for the Middle East - Qatar - because it was technically safer than her house in Atlanta (that's not a joke). Last year she said that she and the new hubby might be moving to Bermuda and invited me for a visit, the new hubby being another American she met while out there. And Spanky has been desperate to get married. What are the odds another one of my crew would run into the same luck? 

Barkeep. I need a box, figured I'd help my girl Spanky out by taking care of her alcohol while she was away. Big box. Um, bigger than that.

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.

Since Christmas

Ramblings Post #211
Christmas stopped being the first kind of Christmas when I realized that Santa wasn't actually a real person, and that my cousin was incorrect about the pepper in your eyes thing if you saw him. Then Christmas stopped being the second kind of Christmas when my outgoing exceeded my incoming, which meant I'd assumed the role of Santa and I was short reindeer and elves. The third kind of Christmas, I'm starting to wonder about. That's one where you simply celebrate the spirit of the season and you hope that they really were lying the first time, because you could use a real Santa right about now.

Let's Recap the past few days...

Rode down to see the folks, and about forty miles from my parents house the car just stops running. I mean, no warning, no dramatic puff of black smoke or loud wrenching noises, just rolling along one minute and then nothing. I roll to a stop on the ramp from I-20 to I-26. This is Christmas Eve.

After it's off the road, because nobody really wants to fix my car on Christmas day, I end up spending a nice quiet day with the folks. We go see my grandparents, who are finally starting to look old. Technically, my grandparents were old when I was born, but they never looked or acted it. My grandfather worked in the fields and doing odd jobs until about two years ago...when they made him stop driving. I saw him at Thanksgiving and he looked like a shadow of the man who in his sixties told me, a high school football player, to go ahead and take a break and after I could help him finish digging the ditch. Now he looks ...like an old man. Mortality punches you in the mouth.

The day after Christmas I get the car towed to a garage, and lo and behold its the timing belt. There are probably a half dozen other things wrong with it, but the one stopping it from getting me from A to B is the timing belt. Which is not a one day job. So I rent a car while he fixes it and ride back to Atlanta because I have prep for the February bar exam. Which both terrifies and comforts me.

This  whole back and forth thing is a horrible plan, because it involves me driving back to my hometown, and then back to Atlanta twice in one week. This one right here, is not a big fan of driving.

For the trip back, because the car place only opens for three hours on Saturday, I have to be up and rolling before dawn. Then, because my grandfather actually being old ...which is kinda a shock to everyone... my uncle decided to ride down with me so he could visit. Which made for at least an interesting ride. I picked him up at 5am and on the way down he regaled me with stories of about his job, his health, and his next get rich quick scheme before he fell asleep. Then on the way back, the longer he rode in my car, the more he wanted to fix all the other stuff that was wrong with it. 

Since my return, it's been one event after another, first a little house party, then a drop in for the last games of the NFL regular season. Both were held in very nice houses, very nice...and so I've set my goal of 24 months to be in one. Goals baby...Goals! And at the last one I even got free tickets a NYE event! Still might not go though. Not really feeling it.

Barkeep...let's finish out the year with Bookers, a splash of sprite and a bit of lime.

A Quick Restaurant Review - RA Sushi

I've been the house for more than a minute lately. It is partly trying to fill in this lull between when I had hoped to take the bar and when I am planning to take the bar with practical things and exercises. Things that will improve my abilities. That instead of trying to "build a time machine" out of the Atlanta nightlife and see if I can get my youth back. I've become to some degree bookish.  Tinkering with a few projects to keep my mind functioning. A bit of a homebody if you will.

I've become so ensconced that when Serve hit me up and suggested we go out for sushi, I honestly was scared going out would mess up my evening routine. This in case you're reading...is a bad thing. Real live person v. internet and TV. And some writing. So I threw on some shoes and headed out to midtown.

Ah, Midtown. When I first got to Atlanta ages ago (late 90's), still only halfway kinda knowing folks, before I hooked up with the guy who would eventually be my Running Partner and his boys, I had a fairly simple, nicely planed Friday night in Midtown. That all of these places are now closed and mostly forgotten says how far the city has come. First, The Martini Bar. It was a little old house turned bar that had live jazz upstairs and served 20 different kinds of martinis. I would hang out there until Club Kaya opened, where I would ply my pickup techniques until it got late. After I would walk back down to Vickery's Bar and Grill and get a burger and fries. Good Times. All gone.

Back to now.  Midtown is still a bunch of hot spots and eateries, I just haven't been there lately. RA Sushi is at the south end of the Crescent Ave area, actually where Kaya once stood now that I think about it. The outside is all corporate, but the inside is all brown wood and red accents, with a sushi bar up front and a real bar in the far left corner. It could be warm and cozy if the room was a bit dimmer, but as it stands its kinda like a faux atmosphere instead. Or maybe it was just that night.

Serve had picked the place because it had a happy hour, and then fifteen percent off, and then as it turned out a eighties theme party going on, which meant even more a discount. Which explained why there was a picture of Tupac on the wall and they were playing old R&B. There was a tense moment early, when it appeared as if three girls who could have been classmates of Lil Sal and who arrived ten minutes after us looked like they were going to get served first, but our waitress arrived just in the nick of time. Whew.

The menu. Ah...well, here's the thing. You been to one sushi place, you've pretty much been to them all. Rice, fish, toppings and viola! Sushi! We got a round of drinks, I got a California roll and grilled short ribs off the special while Serve ordered the RAckin Shrimp and the edamame. I tasted a few of the shrimp, it wasn't a bad dish. The ribs were way too greasy and fatty. The California roll was....oh, you've had a California roll, same thing. I did mean to try a Las Vegas roll, but I forgot. Serve ordered something else which we split...but it was so blah I can't even remember what it was. Maybe the Lobster Shrimp Roll? I dunno.

That speaks volumes, doesn't it?

The meal was a thank you for a project of hers I'd been working on, one which the previous person she'd employed had left a mess. She figured she could trust me after my notes on what the other person had done wrong mirrored that of actual expert in the field she'd consulted. Oddly, we didn't talk about that. We talked mostly about getting old because we recognized ALL the songs, bad relationships among our mutual friends and what I'll need to do after I take the bar.

All in all a good night. A few drinks, a few laughs, good music and I was home to catch the Thursday night game still in the first quarter. Now don't that beat all? Well, it was the Bills versus the Dolphins...so, we technically could have hung out a little bit longer.  So, RA sushi. Well, you might want to see if it's a theme night...

...and then came Sandy

Ramblings Post #205
Back in the day we used to say remark "you got me setup for failure" to indicate that one had been invited into a bad situation. It was kind of a cultural shorthand. These form over time and can be said to bind certain groups, almost unconsciously. I've recently heard a new phrase. This new saying signifies that the person being spoken of was true to the words of their exploits or did exactly what they said they did. It's usually used in the negative indicating  that the person in question lied. The common use, directed to towards someone who has been found to be false is "You ain't about that life." With that I mind, I think I can safely say, that Sandy IS about that life.

Times Square - Midday

I got people in Washington DC, and New Jersey. Sporty is up that way, as is Shade, and Singe is a Brooklyn girl as are few other folk I know. I haven't heard anything to get alarmed at yet, but I'm still concerned. And despite my general assessment from my time there that the whole city is a hype job, basically "a hicktown with more streets and less grass", there exists a psychological - cultural - iconic idea of New York City. It is the big apple. The city that never sleeps. If you can make it there you can make it anywhere.

And it's gone dark.

If you're not from America, you might not get it, and that's understandable. Or maybe you do. It is unsettling to us. 

The odd part is the storm didn't even directly hit NYC. Despite the flooding of Atlantic City, and extensive damage in lowing lying parts of New Jersey, where the storm actually did make landfall, it is the City that is the focus.  There is something about that place that holds our imagination, our hope. The power is out from Detroit to DC, and far north as Vermont, but we seem entranced by the vision of the NY metro now serving as waterlogged canals.  Our fascination is kinda hard to explain.

N-Line, completely flooded.

I'm not sure when we started calling them First Responders, but this is the time we should appreciate the dedication of the firemen, police officers, EMTs, and national guard willing to wade out into the darkness to help their fellow man. That takes courage in a sense that many of us only hope to have. To trundle off into the chaos, into the storm....well, damn.

I've heard from Sporty and Shade, a few others, my family is okay for now...but to everyone else out there my prayers go to you.

Barkeep. Water. But put a round for NYC on me.  Oh, and everybody else too. We still haven't gotten to the snowstorm part of this yet.

Where are you when I need you?

Ramblings Post #199
This is a semi political post, but since it's really more about other stuff, it's going in as a rambling item. And as I thought about this, the picture I was going to add in originally had been saved as name that would have ensured it came up in every search under the sun. But I changed it. Why? Because pandering to the lowest instinct is not right. And this isn't that great a post. And I'm better than that.

Why does this make is sound like the other sections aren't willing? 

I've been defriended. Again.

This time, because of my Facebook app Social Fixer, I was informed fairly immediately.

As I've said before there are a lot of folks I don't even remember befriending on my friend list so I'm certain it must be the same for other folks with me, so I should be getting igged on the regular. But since this is the bookmark of relationships that hasn't been happening. One almost asks why bother? Well, that one asking would be me. But then I don't really share that much on FB. But for those who update as many as 15 times a day - like Schmoopy with her fitness tips, or a certain conservative christian friend of mine - I guess you become aware of who you're sharing with.

The loss this time was one of my rather vocal conservative friends, the one from college who I know is counting down the days until the national nightmare that is Obama is over on his iPhone app. This is a guy who was backing Mitt when the Republican field looked like an early round of American Idol. Of those who post regularly, his rantings seemed the most grounded. Well, not really, but at least they made some sense. Listening to him, seeing the links to his sources and looking back at their sources, gave me insight into why those people who have a different viewpoint from me have that viewpoint. Echo chambers are great if you're planning on cheering on your football team. For real life, not so much. The idea of living in an informational bubble to such a degree that any opposing viewpoint must be heresy has no appeal.

My remaining conservative friends are more akin to ....well, the metaphor I want to use will only offend, so let's just say have their blinders on. They, much in the vein of my conservative christian friend,  are prone to making contradictory statements in the same paragraph, not even checking the sources they're willing to repeat as gospel and/or seem to have internalized a dislike for the President as though he's been personally been stealing the newspaper off their front stoop for the last four years.  I understand that they don't like the president, but the reasons they present are myopic at best, and gross disinformation at worst.

This becomes important now, because my old buddy would have been able to fashion out a media distortion angle for Mitt's unexplainable smirk after his initial comments on the sudden swell of violence in the Middle East, and championed the free speech argument for the film that started it all. My old buddy would have defended the Romney budget plan as sound even after Ryan admitted they haven't run the numbers. He would have a rational...um, he would have a reasonable...um, he would have come up with something to explain away Mitt's audio tape debacle, press the issue why it's unimportant (if not completely true!) and why we need to check Obama because of X or and Y. He would have come out swinging on this. Or at least ducking and weaving. Now, I get nothing. Or at least, nothing that I can use to educate myself.

Barkeep, who are you voting for? No, Jim Beam is NOT running.

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.

My Day

Ramblings Post #149
Sometimes, I don't think I'm normal. I have the correct number of fingers and toes, nothing like that. But from time to tome I look at myself and how I do things, and at others and how they do things, and there is a disconnect. Am I only noticing my own disconnect for my personal issues? Does everyone have these same incongruities of life for other areas? If only life came with instructions. With diagrams. And a do over option.



Since I've been an adult, I've never really celebrated my birthday. Now don't get me wrong, I've been some epic parties around the time of my birthday, but those parties were never really for me. You see, as it turns out my RP were born two days apart, and when I first moved to Atlanta he'd already had a regular birthday festival going with another running partner of ours born five days before me. So my birthday just got added to the mix. A number of years passed with a great number of regular party goers never really realizing it was my birthday as well. No big, I had a good time too.

But nothing that was ever uniquely for me. No cake. No songs. Not a lot of presents. Etc.

This started really from being a summer child, living in a subdivision with no other kids. In effect my birthdays as a youth really drilled down to a gift and maybe a dinner with the family. College birthdays were usually a call from the folks (I went to summer school pretty much every year) and a drink or two with a buddy. Atlanta birthdays have been a whirlwind of other folks parties, although by tending bar I usually ended up with an unintentional present, I guess, a fairly large wad of cash. The last few birthdays have been marred by heartbreak and break-ins at the house.

Looking back at that, you can understand why I generally don't make that big a fuss.

This year's excuse is Summer School again, with finals for the shortened semester right around the corner. I call it an excuse, because Shade is going to be in town and is asking what the plan is when I have no plan. My plan was head home from work, eat dinner, have a drink, go to sleep. Maybe a little Playstation in there. The idea of riding around the city with the top down, hitting the clubs just doesn't appeal right now (we're expecting this feeling is a temporary condition).

What do I really want?

Well, first this assumes my AC is working by the end of the week, and that I have furniture, which I don't. But what I really want is a quiet dinner at home with some friends. The kind that ends with folks lazing about, talking about nothing and everything. Where secrets pop out, and truths are told. It's a vibe I used to get after a party was over, when all the stragglers were gone and all that was left was your people and the stories of the good time they just had. We don't live like that anymore. We just don't.

As a second choice, some consensual nudity with a female...er... "friend". Er, I know don't really celebrate my birthday, but I am still a GUY. Testosterone is testosterone. I'm touch with my feelings, and can look into my soul, but let's get realistic. Note: This wish also assumes the AC is working. I'm a guy, but practical.

So, what happens on my birthday? We shall see.

Probably not much.

Her Schmoopy-ness

Ramblings Post #146
I know a lot of folks, simply because I know a lot of folks. Well, know is an odd way to put it. Because I'm horrible with names, and I don't call people, and have lately become a wee bit anti-social. But the number of times I've been greeted warmly by a semi-familiar face astounds me. So, the people whose names I actually know...and call or text, are on an extremely short list. And I hope they appreciate it.

Schmoopy is now the subject of adoration and adulation. Well, internet adoration and adulation. Since she got the fitness thing working, she's been giggling about how some fitness photos she took have found there way around the web. The photos and grand compliments about her, er...workout ethic...have found their way onto at least two web shows that we know of. The various hosts drooled over her. She joked she might get her own fitness video to capitalize on the whole exposure.

But when I first saw the photos? My first reaction? She's wearing too much makeup.


Note: I refuse the put the picture up here, as will NOT exploit a friend for a few measly blog hits. Well, not a picture of a friend, I'll talk about them to death..but no pics. I have some ethics. Kinda.

I've known this little power ranger for almost a decade. I've done volunteer work with her, hung out with her, did a 5k with her, and that - why is she wearing so much makeup? - was my first reaction. When other guys are drooling at the body, I'm like, she looks funny.

One of my defining features is that in the end, I actually like people. As who they are, their personality, what they represent, what they stand for. And as a consequence of that, I will occasionally notice things that I probably shouldn't. I'm mean I'm friend but I'm still a guy, and I should have been checking her out! Instead of being concerned with how she looked, I was concerned with her apperance. [it's a fine line]

I think I need therapy.

In any case, I took a few minutes the other day after we chatted and photoshopped up a preliminary cover for her joked about exercise vid. I hope I didn't start nothing.

Barkeep, a tall water. My AC still doesn't work.

Saturday night at Regionals

Ramblings Post #179
Things change. People change. It's part of the circle of life and what makes us grow stronger and get better. I've changed. I once told Sporty that in essence, we're not the same person when we go to bed at night as we were when woke up that morning. We're always becoming someone else, and that's who we are. That said, when we stop changing - except when forced - is when we get old. And I'm not getting old any time soon.

So Saturday night, I go to Schmoopy's "thing" to support.

For the last six months or so, she's been on a health kick that makes my weight loss deal look like I've been eating brownies for breakfast and taking pizza through an Iv. Where as I get grapes, wheat toast and one scrambled egg for breakfast, she got a single small bowl of oatmeal and an hour of cardio.

She went hard core.

Which is how I ended up at the Georgia International Convention Center for the Atlantic Bodybuilding Regional show. Tickets were $35. I told Schmoopy that I really must like her to spending this kinda loot. But I do really like her, so I went on and ponied up the cash.

When ESPN was down at the bottom of its programming barrel a few years back, I would occasionally flip past a bodybuilding show, so I had some idea of what it was. And since the fitness model swimsuit issue was, at least to me way better than the SI swimsuit issue, I had at one time owned at least an issue or two of a body building magazine. Ages ago I might have even read one back when I was in shape. Way back, in the long, long ago.

So I show up, and it's now quite what I expected. Well, to be realistic, I wasn't sure what too expect, so anything that happened would have been unexpected. Part of my confusion came because I found out later that the most of the actual judging had actually happened that morning at 10am, when I was in class and which required a separate ticket. So, initially when the guys came out, posed for 90 seconds to some music and trophies were briskly awarded, I wasn't sure what was going on. The stunning woman sitting in front of me filled me in on that part.

To be honest most interesting part of the show, however....was the crowd. I sat in the back so I could watch most of them come in. The room was a mix of other bodybuilders, family, friends, friends who were also body builders, the large black guys that are ubiquitous in Atlanta, and the women. Apparently muscular guys in little trunks attract a lot of women. Who knew?

So then it happens. The guys have posed. Trophy are awarded. The the fitness model portion of the show starts. And suddenly the place turned into a pep rally. At Hooters.

Now, because I hadn't actually seen Schmoopy since she started this...and the last FB pic I had seen of her made her arms look a little muscular, I figured this was one more thing I had to sit through until the muscular women came out. The fitness models came on stage, skimpy bikini's, bouncing and strutting and bodies glistening. I was still in the back, trying to figure out much longer this would last and marveling at the sudden turn of the crowd from family friendly to a more "adult" atmosphere.

It wasn't until they announced Schmoopy's real name for winning Second place that I realized she had been on stage. The woman who had been explaining the nuances of the event to me laughed at my shock. Schmoopy hadn't been gearing up for the bodybuilder part...she'd been working hard to be a bikini model.

Side note: Considering she restricted her diet to the basics and did a twice a day crippling workout, I have new respect for fitness models.

Schmoopy is a normally a conservative person, and so the idea of her onstage during this portion of the show, where the girls acted bubbly and the announcer didn't have to exhort the crowd in applause surprised me. When I talked to her later, she said that the swagger she'd had on stage was her being "in character". Turns out a bubbly beach bunny type actually works out hard to look like that. Go figure. She felt it was a good experience and that she's gonna continue it as hobby.

So, $35 for 90 seconds. Which is about how long she was onstage. And for 89 of those seconds I didn't even know it was her, I was so far in the back. But then they'd done the judging in the morning so this was for the crowd. After she'd gone up, gotten her trophy and I'd let her know I had been there because she asked, I left. Maybe I was intimated by the guys in the 50 and older division. Maybe I felt a little bad as the women looked through me to guy with D-cup pecs. Maybe I decided to go and work on my own transformation via law school.

Barkeep. Water for me and whatever it is fitness models drink for my girl.

Friday Night, just got paid...

Ramblings Post #176
Things change. The only constant is change. And that which once was becomes what it will be, which by virtue of time is always in flux. Except for Twinkies and love. Then its every man for himself.

There was in time in my life when Friday meant something.

We got free donuts at the job. I would pop up at the Happy Hour given by the spot of the minute. I could relax at a Game night with my people. Or at the bare minimum, the promise of the hot (or lazy) weekend.

But no more. I chose to go back and get my education, to better myself, to increase my depth. And so for the past few years, Friday has been more a gateway to more intense studying. All it really took was one long “after drunk” - not a hangover, but still feeling out of sorts - to tell me that heading out and drinking on Friday wasn’t the best possible plan if I actually intended to graduate. So, many a Friday I would pick up a book to get my reading started before my Saturday homework periods.

But this time, one of my old partners was in town celebrating her big four oh, the spot wasn’t that far from the house and it started early enough that I could swing in, commiserate and be out in less than an hour. I know this plan, and the outcome. But that trick NEVER works! This time for sure.

Her gathering is at Mingles, a fairly new little eatery in downtown. I get off work at seven-ish, get there around seven thirty. I’m just gonna dip in and say hi to a few folks, whoo whoo, figure I’d be out by eight or eight thirty by the latest.

Only I’m the only one there.

Mingles via BBerry...from our lonely perch.

So it’s me and the birthday girl at the bar for an hour and half. She’s quietly working up a slow fury and I’m trying to not look like a complete and utter ass by getting up and walking out. We’re in an odd little dance. It’s not helped that besides her group, there are five other....much more well attended... parties going on at the same time. Mingles is a small place, essentially one big room, and as she’s watching for her people to arrive, this isn’t lost on her.

To keep it lively, she keeps pointing out the patrons as they enter, and commenting in a fashion that can only be deemed as both evil and hilarious.

“She can’t walk in heels. She how she moves.”

“How do you do that? Have dreads from the sides but have bald patches on top.”

“If she sneezes, she’ll pop out of the dress. Give me some pepper, its about to be a show.”

Even as I both laughed and felt a little sad for her, she reminded me of the other aspect of night life I had missed, and why I don’t go out as much any more. A lot of the women she talked about, and she talked about a lot of them, where in their "Friday uniform" - mini skirt or mini-dress, heels and makeup. And they were looking nice.

Very nice.

When two of her girls finally did show up, I reminded her about my Saturday morning class and headed out. I got home just in time to have wrecked the whole evening. I tightened up my opening statement a bit, an hour or two, then hit the hay so I could get up early to work on it some more before class.

The moral of the story? I guess is that there is a lot beauty out there. In mini-skirts. But I’m focused, trying to keep my eyes on the prize, and so all that is out of my focus right now. And Mingles ain't even the hot spot!

Barkeep. Water. I need to keep my wits about me!

The Saga of Spring: Part 2

Ramblings Post #175
Please use the Spring iterations from the previous post. I haven't the strength to compose a new ode, especially since somebody hit reverse and suddenly it's back in the 40's. Straight spring fake out. Not cool man. Not cool!


Spring Break - Day Four

Last year, last summer, i had a break-in attempt. Thursday I paid the guy for fixing it. Yes, that is a long time. But then I had to call him twice to even get him to send me the bill. The invoice was dated December! Before he does anymore work I'll be paying in advance, because not knowing how much you owe is a killer. And I've obviously abused my credit privileges.

I went to work, went home, looked at the syllabus, counted the pages to read, watched some television, looked at the syllabus again, got upset when the number wasn't smaller this time. I'm the backside of this journey now, and I'm hoping that I don't get slack or let up. I need 90 hours to graduate and I should be in the final third at the end of this semester. But I can feel the slackness arising. That I don't have a class to go due to Break isn't helping.



Spring Break - Day Five

Dropped the "whip" off to get the transmission fixed at 8am and walked the mile or so the office from the place. Brisk! I chose them because they offered the diagnostic for free, something you don't still see very often. But after the guy told me the problem I'm mad because the guys at where I normally get my oil changed never said anything! It turns out I have leak, that's it. A lot less costly than I imagined. Scooped up the rental for the weekend and it's all good.

So I get to the house, take off the shoes, pull on a t-shirt, put on my sleep pants and figure out how to enjoy this last day of Spring Break without wandering out of the house into the rain. Then the phone rings and it's Slim, who ain't seen in a hot minute. She needs to get some heavy things out of her car (how she got them in I won't ask). After deciding that the printer and box of liquor probably weren't the best things to leave on the car seat in her neighborhood, I put my clothes back on and rode over.

She was planning a party for Saturday, and I unloaded her supplies. And the printer. Then moved the bunk bed mattresses upstairs out of the middle of the living room. Then hid the bed frames. The things you do for your peoples. Me and Slim go way back, she's one of the original Game Night players. (Game Night is where it all started a decade ago)



Spring Break - Day Six

It is possible to waste a day? A whole day? I really need structure. I thrive in a structure. Left to my own devices I'm fairly certain I'd forget to breathe at some point I'd get so naturally lazy. I need purpose. Something. A little nudge of something outside me to get me started.

Note: I am prone to hyperbole.

Saturday, I'm fairly certain through, I accomplished very little. I read through my cases, one of which actually intrigues me, and fiddled around with an opening statement for litigation, but basically I wasted a day. I'm missing a USB drive with a story opening I thought was promising, and instead using the printout I made for just such an emergency, I'm still looking around for it. Okay, not really looking, more like waiting on it to turn up magically, because I spent the day futzing about my house.

Saturday I returned to Slim's house for her birthday party, and the associated tiger pit located therein. I say that, because very quickly the conversation among the small group of upwardly mobile educated black people turned to black relationship issues, which in the words of an old classmate, is like "inviting a black man to a lynching and asking if he could bring some rope." The conversation wound down after two hours, when the women decided that black men weren't worth the trouble and they would start considering "alternative" male suitors. I wanted to go to home eventually and not be branded for life (Atlanta is smaller than you think) so I just kinda nodded my head and let the whole thing die down.

Spring Break - Day Seven

If you thought Saturday was bad....

...I need some B12 or a purpose or something. Talk about a day wasted! All I did was one trip to the grocery store. Oh, and I missed Sporty.


Aftermath

We used to be in sync. Sometimes I think we still are. And it's cool.

Now that's famous

Ramblings Post #165
I've never wanted to be rich and famous. Just rich was enough for me. There is something about people you don't know calling you by your first name in public, and asking about things you know they shouldn't know. Don't get me wrong, I've been treated a mini-Atlanta celebrity on more than few occasions, recognized by folks and given the hookup a time or two. But I don't think I can take the rest of it, the photographers, the stalkers, the problems. I could however, use the money.

This is a Paltrow

Gwyneth Paltrow can thank her publicist. I suggest flowers.

I wasn't quite sure who Gwyneth Paltrow is. I had to look her up on Wikipedia and it appears she is quite the movie star. I bring her up because of a football game party I went to last weekend where after them that folks were cheering for had been effectively thrashed...around say half time for the Falcon fans...a game of Taboo was started.

Women love Taboo. I don't know why. I say this because when my RP used to have game nights at his house, it was a given that at some point in the evening there would be a crowd of women barking clues at each other trying to guess the mystery word. The number of times I would get asked either "when the Taboo game was going to start" or "are you playing" would exceed the requests for ice or to repeat that last drink I made. I would play every so often to be sociable, but the vast majority of the people waiting eagerly were women. I've seen women leave the "thunderdome" with a fine sheen of sweat behind this game. It gets intense.

Taboo, for the initiated is like the old gameshow Password, where you have to guess the secret word from clues your partner gives, only with Taboo you're not allowed to use the best clues.

So, last Saturday, football game well lost by the home team, the card games and other activities kicked into high gear. As I wandered into the kitchen sipping on my Hot Toddy (if want to prove you're black bourgeois, drink a Hot Toddy at a football party) and sidled over to where the women (and the one guy) playing, this exchange happened.

The black woman giving the clues flips to the new card which reads, Gwyneth Paltrow. I couldn't see the verboten words.

She starts: "White woman in Hollywood."
Person guessing: "Jennifer Aniston, Gwyneth Paltrow..."

I switched to hard liquor after that.

I guess Jennifer Aniston should send her person something too. I mean, talk about name recognition.

Barkeep. Whatever, I mean like whoa...

Fighting out of the Blue Corner....

Ramblings Post #116
Sometimes people disagree. Tense words are said. Emotions are rubbed raw. Opinions turn into weapons and before long somebody's underwear is on fire and you have to pull forks out of the ceiling. Or so I've heard. Those things don't happen to me. I have always been the cool one. The patient one. The level headed one. I'm the one you call so the the cops don't HAVE to take you to jail (don't laugh, it has happened). And I sit quietly and listen to people's issues, ask a few questions and before long most folks have solved the problem themselves, once the emotions have drained away. This is not one of those stories...


Scoop and Shade are battling. Again. Again.

When I first met these two chicks they were closer than sisters. I don't think I ever saw one without the other. They traded clothes, bought matching outfits (they claim) and hung out in that elite round of people who knew just about every spot in Atlanta in which good time could be had and libations were available. They were part of my circle and there were things about each that made them both cool to hang out with and amazing to watch. They had a crazy fun vibe.

Then Shade went to medical school. And Scoop got married. And somewhere along the line something hit a snag, the gloves came off and they started these little ...disagreements? Brawls? I think they were closer to the those domestic disputes, and resembled in many aspects a couple, fighting and then getting back together again and again. You know, this month they're talking, the next month they aren't etc, and so on. I have been lucky in that I haven't had to pick sides and they are both still friends of mine.

Now, like an old couple who know each others weak points a little too well, it seems like they're re-enacting a bootleg version of the War of the Roses.

As reported earlier in these writings, Shade took some time off from her residency (which is less like Scrubs and more like say... Saw, than you would imagine) to fly down and see Scoop for her birthday, and to help comfort her through this first year of grief from losing her husband. But the wrong things were mentioned, rehashed, brought up, whatever... for the umpteenth time, a "disagreement" ensued and so she called me for a spot of relief. As the unofficial cut man in her corner, I counseled her that she needed to exhibit patience, charity, kindness and more patience. All moments of rough were to be met with displays of sisterly affection. Light and healing would reign in the House of Scoop. And as duly reported earlier, that trip did not go well. And by "did not go well" I mean in the sense that it was an unmitigated disaster.

I was not, and don't wan to be privy to the details.

So when my phone started buzzing one morning at 4am, I almost relived to find it was Shade venting to me about her and Scoop's latest shenanigans instead of a call from Texas with an emergency.

Apparently somewhere in the virtual darkness off in the distance, text message bombs were being tossed as quickly as fingers could dance across phone sized keyboards. And Shade assumes I turn my phone off when I go to sleep ( I don’t) so what was supposed to be a soap opera morning was a tense few moments in the early am. And well I guess it was venting, or something along those lines. And I'm not sure if there is a comment I can give. Or even want to give. Well, I didn't then, I went back to sleep.

Those pesky messages were still in my phone when I woke up. So, now I have a dilemma. What is the best way to just bow gracefully out of this conflict? I mean technically, I only have Shade's side of the story, so I don't really know all the facts. Man, law school comes out of you in everything doesn't it. I will not be choosing sides here. This is clearly no win, at least for me.

I talked to Shade later that day, and it seems like the friendship might be over, which is kinda sad. I've never really thought of friendships as being over, just on hold. My girl Spur once told me that people come into your life "for a reason, a season, or a lifetime." It had been so long, they'd been through so much, I knew this was a lifetime friendship.

But a lifetime ain't over. Yet.

Barkeep. No, I ain't even buying them ladies a drink, get me a Bud light in a plastic cup. But leave the bottle.

A voice in the darkness

Ramblings Post #113
The movie version of me, and we all have a movie version of ourselves, is a little taller, a lot thinner and just a little bit more confident than I. But at this stage in the drama (er, well comedy drama) that is my life would be like the end of a Bob Hope movie I saw once. After all his adventures and saving the day, his partner Bing Crosby gets the girl - and this from a 2 minute cameo just seconds before the closing credits. It’s your life, but I suggest you get script approval.

Things are...complicated.

Is this over?

I found out recently, and apparently for some time now, that Sporty has not only located but has been reading this blog. She let me know when she referred to herself as "Sporty", correcting me in a text when I called her Sunshine, a allusion to how she brightens my day. To put it mildly I was a little surprised. Then I thought about what that means.

And its kinda good and kinda bad.

Good in that a lot of stuff I probably put in here are things I should have said to her, and now she knows them without me actually having to voice them. That and she's not mad at me for writing about her. And bad because knowing she's reading may affect the honesty of future disclosures [self censorship] and the overarching concept of "screaming into the virtual darkness". Kind of a toss up really.

One can't really put something on the internet and expect no one to find it, especially since it's linked to my Facebook page, and she's one of my FB friends. But then so many people on Facebook never look at any thing beyond their own page after the first few days, so you figure, why not?

But then the girl has always been full of surprises and has a need to know, which is part of the attraction. *sigh*

In reality, there is hardly anything magical in here, nothing Sex in the City movie-esque as when Carrie found the emails from Big (yes, I did watch the FIRST movie). Some of the more intense things she's probably seen before. One or two moments when I really was "screaming into the virtual darkness" she probably hadn't, but realized must have happened. Nothing soul shattering. And since I'd made it fairly crystal clear to her my feelings, and we both know that they're closer to drug fantasy that any real possiblity, what I guess she would see in here is a few fleeting moments where I indulge in that fantasy. And talk about law school and politics. And restaurants.

It does however paint a fuller picture of me.

Wait, there goes that pesky hope again. Sometimes you get a little disoriented when you have to reclassify a hope as a dream. And hope is something I can't afford.

Barkeep. Riesling. Two glasses. Thanks.

Let me get out of your way

Ramblings Post #102
I remember this time in St. Louis, at 3am in a bathroom in an all night restroom...this guy stopped me and my buddy and talked to us for 10 minutes about a charity boxing match he'd been roped into. Another time, I found myself at Northwestern University on a Friday night in a huge crowd waving at the only other black person I'd seen in 20 minutes. There are odd moments in life. Strange.

Whoa!

Here at the "chicken plucking" & ping pong factory and our working spaces aren't too far from one another. So occasionally I'll overhear a conversation taking place, oh, five feet away, that I not only probably should not have overheard moreover I really had no desire to. One such conversation occurred today. Again.

A quick bit of background:

Two guys I work in fairly close proximity to hang out together. One of them is a recovering neurotic [as in was institutionalized neurotic] and the other is a role playing card game aficionado. Let's call them the Blu and Poppi, because the first draft called them Bluto and Popeye, and that got boring and visually jarring after a quick minute. And I'm feeling frisky. Blu is the one still under doctor's care, and Poppi - whom I worked in proximity to for some time - used to give me ideas from his life for that long forgotten script gathering virtual dust on a USB drive somewhere.

Blu scares me. He's a fairly nice guy most of the time, but he really kind of reminds me of Alan in the Hangover, he's there and its cool and then....zing... just a bit too far. You want to say something, but your not sure what. Poppi on the other hand is harmless...in a well, you want to help kind of way. Which kinda makes them halfway perfect to pal around with. They go to the Comic Book shows, and comic book oriented movies, parties and play the online games, etc . Your basic geek buddy-palship. Which is cool, right.

Well anyway for the past few weeks, Poppi has been relating how as of late, Blu has been making him uncomfortable with some his innuendo and jokes. After he described them to me I joked that maybe he wasn't aware of it, but from his telling of the tale, it would be fairly obvious to anyone listening that he and Blu were dating...and as it turned out he was the woman. Which I and a few co-workers thought was funny. Theoretically, Poppi is supposed to be heterosexual. At least I assume so. He does show an interest in women, and there are times I when I over hear him talking to a woman and I have to look over to make sure he really still is at work. He sounds great, but then nothing happens.

So today, I'm neck deep in feathers plucking chickens when I hear this line....

"I don't know what to say to you, that you can fix, so that it will be all better and we will be alright again." It's Poppi and he sounds a little sad.

I wasn't paying attention before then, I was actually "working" and so I'm thinking Poppi is talking to one of the many women he flirts with, but doesn't follow through on. I mean, reasonable to assume, we all have moments at work where personal situations just can't be avoided, which is why everyone in your office might now know your private nickname for partner's woohoo. It's cool. He's having a moment. That is until...

"I'm not sure what you mean." That would be Blu responding.

I peer up over the edge of my workspace and it looks like THEY are having a real moment. A weird moment, but a moment nonetheless.

Awkward.

Poppi mentions some comments Blu made about "putting him to bed", the treatment Poppi got from Blu for being busy one weekend and a few other lines that made me uncomfortable just listening. Right about then I remember that Poppi is a brave man, considering Blu once came to my desk frantically before he realized the music was coming from my speakers and not his own head. Which apparently was possibility. Really.

Normally I'd put on my headphones, duck my head and let it all go. Instead, I'm up and out of my seat in a flash, to the other end of the floor where I take a quick breath and wait until they have to get back to work - approximately twelve feet away from another. With me in-between.

Tomorrow promises to be exciting.

Barkeep, a B-12 shot and Red Bull. I might need wings tomorrow.