Internet Rule #47854

This is an Administrative Post
As a brief explanation, every now and then I'll feel the need to explain myself. These will be administrative posts. There is a high probability however, you'll leave more confused than when you arrived. So, everybody clear on what probably isn't going to happen? Good, tea and crumpets all 'round then?

I've referred to this internet rule in the past, and I think it bears some explanation. It's a little known internet rule, unlike say the infamous Rule #34 - if it exists, there is porn of it - or Rule #1 - you don't talk about... well, you know that one, I mean the internet is a shifty bunch. Sometimes I think that this rule specially applies to blogs written by black guys. It requires the writer to comment on the major topic of the moment, whether he wants to or not, to stay relevant in the eyes of his adoring masses.

Thus I've written about things I really have minimal interest in, usually letting you know that I have minimal interest in them and usually why. (See posts regarding Halo and Lost)

Which unusually makes for a fairly decent post. Damn. The rule does work. Funny, I didn't see that coming.

You have now been warned.

Barkeep, a quick shot while everybody's looking at the slides.

I Got Extras!

Vent Post #3
The following is a vent post, where for the purposes of venting some frustrations I will roll over a point in my mind that strikes me as silly and rant over it for a few lines. Breathe it. And for the sake of argument and in the interest of full disclosure, they'll usually be directed at one of the great mysteries of my life: women. If I happen to step on a metaphorical toe, it might means your mental feet aren't where you thought they were.

So Slim, who I hadn't spoken to in a minute calls with what else - man problems. All my women friends appear to have these issues with the men they choose, but Slim's seem to currently be more pronounced than the rest. Though Spanky is giving her a good run for her money.

So in the course of the chat Slim tells me that one point when the guy was supposed to call and didn't or sent a text for like the 100th time that day (damn an unlimited plan!) that she had left the country. Curious I asked and she told me she'd gone to Cozumel, Mexico for the New Year. Wowzers. She's going at it Big time. Then she hits me with that statement I hate:

"I had an extra ticket. I should have called you."

How do you have an extra ticket to Cozumel? You have an extra ticket to the movies. You occasionally have and extra ticket to a concert. You got extra coupons all the time. But an extra ticket to Mexico? Okay once in college someone had an extra ticket to Paris that could have been mine if they had known I was in town, but ...oh, never mind, but anyway, I told her I was going to pretend that she didn't just say that.

How do you have an extra ticket to a resort? That bugged me so much. I didn't bring it up again in the phone call, but that really really bugged me. Really.

I mean it bugged the shit out me.

A free ticket to Cozumel? I mean I know me and Slim ain't like that, but we're both grown. We could have shared a room for a week and nothing would have happened. Or I could have scooped a room when I was down there. I'm broke but ain't nobody that broke. I mean damn. Okay if she cooks - oddly for vegetarian she cooks meat all the time - if she cooks she will call for me to get a plate, so I shouldn't be complaining.

I shouldn't but I am. Cozu-freaking-mel? As much as need a vacation too? I only had how much time off?

I wish I was drinking.

Bartender, how about a big vanilla shake. Extra whipped creme.

This Person We're Going to Marry One Day

Vent Post #2
It's really just me yelling into the electronic darkness again because I'm not really looking for an answer, I'm just talking to myself until I'm tired of listening to me. There are no answers here...and in this case I don't think I'm even trying to find some. If I happen to step on a metaphorical toe, it might means your mental feet aren't where you thought they were.

Now this person we're going to marry, we're going to share with them our hopes and dreams, our fears and triumphs, our colds and upset stomachs. This person is going see us at our best and at our worst, we're going to eat and get drunk with them, go to church and sin with them, talk for hours about life, bullshit and things we still want to do. They're going to look out for us, we're going to look out for them and the whole nine.

In other words they'll have to be your friend. Your best friend.

And you'll fuck them too.

This is an epiphany. Can you see the light?

What this means is that most of us have to make a mental leap that we're not prepared for, - we'll have to combine friend and lover. And I know most of us aren't ready for it, because I've recently heard the idea of sleeping with your friend as THE "fatal mistake" and other thinking along those lines. But the truth of it is, because so many in the past 20 years or so mentally have separated the images of both the divorce rates have skyrocketed.

There are some other mitigating factors - economic changes, loss of the stigma of divorce, etc, but the basic concept that happens even before you get to that point, is that the people getting married tend to love each other...but don't actually like each other.

How can you love someone...but not like them?

Or rather...how can you sleep with someone and not like them?

A lot of men, and lately the women have joined in as well, think from below the waistline. They "fall" for the person that turns them on sexually. And overlook the bad qualities, the warning signs, the screaming facts that blare at them that this person, while cute and sexy (or handsome, etc), should be avoided at all costs. Or realistically, utilized as ONLY a quick ...er...quickie. Okay maybe twice, but that's it.

A young lady once described it to me as there are "men you like, men you love and men you lust after...and rarely if ever does a woman find them all in the same man." I didn't see the wisdom in that statement until recently.

But what happens in practice is that people try to work it out. Poor naive peoples. Although they share little beyond the bedroom, they attempt to make this "love" of sorts work because good sex makes the brain go sleepy time now. Marriage does not magically change who you are. But you try. You find out that you're a day person, they're a night person. You save, they spend. You believe in having a job, house, car...they hustle. You have an education, they have a hard time reading street signs like STOP and LANE ENDS. Lack of respect, humiliation, no support, disturbing habits, etc, but they're just oh so fine naked and oiled up...aren't they?

Which is good, or at least okay for a while. Until real bills and real problems show up. Or kids get involved. And then it gets messy. And ugly. And maybe you end up standing in a cornfield at three am holding a suitcase, a bag of chicken nuggets, a bible and small dog named "Chi Chi" wondering if that thing they do with their tongue really is worth all this. And you realize that maybe what you need is someone who understands you...like a friend. And whereas you can shape your sexual urges and desires to some extent, real life bends for no man or woman.

It would be great, heck even easier, if we could make the person we sleep with our friend. But since our mind wasn't on anything of substance when we chose that person (no, the idea that they're sexy doesn't count as substance) and as most women will only grudgingly admit, finding someone you actually like and making friends is a hell of lot harder than picking someone to get naked with. Turning Mr. or Ms. Hey-you-good-morning into someone you can have a substantive conversation with takes mega millions winner luck and an act of God. It is a real head knocker.

In the course of the relationship - this lifetime relationship - you'll be lovers, friends, business partners, roommates, confidantes...etc. Too many of us stop at the first item and think the rest...all of them ..will just fall into place.

Yeah. Right.

So what is my suggestion?

Grow up, get your mind right, and tell your friend that you've got the baby oil, they need to bring the handcuffs. You might find somebody you can live with. Forever.

Think about it. Realistically they were on short time anyway, because things change once you find "the one".

Barkeep - What do you got for someone feeling philosophical?

Bye Buckhead

July 2007 ends an era, as the last of the Atlanta bars in that adult playground that had become part of the city's identity closes it doors and the "Developers" take over. The city's former sin district - Buckhead Village - is no more. By September the razing of the empty buildings will begin and at the end of 2008, the homogonized and professionally bland will have completed sucking part of the soul out of our fair city.

When I first moved to Atlanta in 1998, I moved to Buckhead. It was vibrant and full of life, Friday nights the streets packed with people roughly my own age drinking and flirting and wandering the streets. True, few of them looked like me as I was black and they were other, but found place after place that let me wander in and spend my money freely. Drinks at the World Bar were $2. All of 'em. On Sunday night's Otto's looked like something out of music video. The Havana Club had a live Latin Band that jazzed up the place. The Backroom at CJ's Landing. The place simply known as Bar. Goldfinger's with the continous Bond films on loop in the basement. The rooftop decks and back alley stages and that little guy in the cart that sold $3 hambugers and $2 sodas at 3am and made a killing.

I had regular forays on Fridays at the now razed to the ground club Liquid Assets, a club that on a given Friday night would 1) let you in free 2) give away free drinks until 10pm and 3) serve a free breakfast buffet at midnight. Many an evening found me a friends with 20 or more to be drunk drinks on the table easing through another warm Georgia night. When I was "between postions" me and similar situationed friend spent many an afternoon after interviews in the Buck ensconsed in a little wine bar before we wandered down to Fellini's to finish off.

At it's height, the Village had over 100 businesses with liquor licences in less than a 4 block radius. I think I went into all of them.

Then things went downhill. The popular consensus was that the infamous incident involving Ray Lewis' friends started the downfall, but it began before that. And as much as I hate to admit it, we finally finished it off. And when I say we, I mean we as in the black people. At least the young black people.

Now we didn't start the problem, the area had always had issues - DUI, rape, assault. It was nothing to see five or six folks hauled off everynight. But one of the cool things about Buckhead in the late 90's was that everybody there, could get into everyplace there. However when "we" showed up, you would have thought the party was in the street. Underage patrons abounded and as far back as 2004 I stopped hanging in the Buck simply because of this. I still hit Mike & Angelos from time to time, but the Friday nights were a no-no.

Older brothers had been hanging out in Buckhead off and on for years. But the younger, wilder crowds eventually followed seemed to believe that sitting on the corner was preferable to actually going in anywhere. Provided they could get in. And their reluctance to leave an area once they realized they couldn't get in scared off patrons who might actually spend money. And so the clubs went away.

I hate to say it, but it's the truth. The change of club hours by the city in a blatantly obvious ploy to build up their own dying venue - the underground - was merely the final straw.

You can blame a certain degree of racism, but that's simply the world we live in. This not to say that all black people or gatherings do this, but once the standard is lowered, the downfall is inevitable. Even among black events. Freaknik. First Friday. We as a social group have a tendency to crowd and then overstay our welcome. And though the places we patronize respect our dollar - which is just as green as the next man - they're in it for the long haul, and we are a fickle bunch. See Shout, Twist, Dave and Busters, and so on. We come, party hard and disappear after having run off their other customers, and wonder why we get strange looks.

So bye Buckhead. Sorry about that. But we still have Midtown. For now. At least until Trump gets here.

Barkeep...gimme and old gin and tonic. For an old friend.