A Weekend Out - Second Stage

Mental Rehab Post #8
Sitting around the house ain't gonna fix nothing. The problem is you have to want to be fixed and I think I'm still just going through the motions. But my acting is getting better, and the I'm starting to find the shadows again. Ah the stage.


Last weekend I spent prepping, then attending and then recovering from a single party. What can I say, we does it big. 500 people at a house party may seem like an end all be all to you, but if my instincts are right the fellas are already scheming up the next function.

One of the signs I'm getting old is when I think 500 people might just be too many. I say we keep it to a nice level 75 or 100, but then I don't usually have full control of the guest list.

This weekend was the second in getting my mind back to right...well, the appearance of getting my mind back to right.

Friday was the Jack Daniels event, a fusion of art, music and whatever else was happening in that room called Art, Beats and Lyrics. With free Jack Daniels. I got there right as they were starting, and maybe next time I'll read the invitation. Although apparently I wasn't the only one, as there were three or four kids in line when the invite specifically said "no one under 21". That fabulous the rules don't apply to me mentality.

Inside they had those annoying fake guitars setup and apparently you could tap the keys in feel like a rock star for three minutes. Oh Wow. Then I walked through the smoke wall and things picked up.

The room is huge, although the last time I was in the same room with a Old School Saturday event I promise you it felt much much bigger. Back then it felt like an aircraft hanger, now it just feels like a barn. On little three corner stands they've got art setup by local artists. And it's some good stuff too.

Soul Brother #1 and then some.

Blackstar and his pieces.

I chat with a guy whose artistic moniker is Blackstar about a few pieces and even see about some commission work. He's got some colorful pieces which will offset the black and white I have from other favorite artist, who oddly is setup in the next space. I can't spot him, but I know I need to holler at him to see I can pickup a few more prints.

A few of photo exhibits looked good. I get a card before I realize I'm fantasizing about a mundane activity that's not going to happen. I keep the card anyway.

The Race Card

The set is nice. Gentlemen Jack Daniels for the free-free, a nice set of art, some good artwork on the walls too, they got a live band coming on later, with a DJ and break dancing to open. It's a throwback kinda festive and you can just chill.

Only I can't I've promised to meet on old college buddy who I haven't seen in years for drinks a little later. So although the JD thing is looking live, I slip out a side door and whip down to the Ultimate Bar on Camp Creek Parkway. For those who are unaware, the development on Camp Creek is North Atlanta development finally come to the Southside of town.

I get there and my first thought...seriously...is that Dugan's went upscale kinda moved to Camp Creek and setup shop (It's an Atlanta concept, sorry. I'll explain later). I run into my old buddy and we share a few beers and talk noise to chicks at the next table half seriously for the next two hours - he's married, I'm in recovery. Then I accidentally try to pick up the 20 year old waitress who has three jobs. Don't see that one happening though for a variety of reasons. Nah.

Saturday is a little reading and a little me time. Okay, a little wake up and then fall back to sleep on the couch time until I have to go catch Schmoopy for brunch. Afterwards I think brunch might not have been the best idea, as I end up back on the couch. Way too much food. Okay, the fact that it's 95 degrees in my house and maybe 85 degrees outside might have had something to do with it. My uncle is supposed to helping me out, but when you're getting help you're at the mercy of their schedule. That and his AC works. So really once I got back to the house I'm laid out sweating like below decks on the Amistad. I didn't even bother to call looking for trouble. Which I understand I could have easily found. Stayed in.

Sunday...I cleaned up. Did a bunch of Laundry. Watched a Jack Lemmon movie on TMC (that is a great channel). Did my "homework". Forgot to eat until almost 8pm. Talked to my folks a little bit. Then talked to God. Yeah, thought about Sporty. Can't help it.

Still got a long way to go.

I used to...

Mental Rehab Post #7
I'm finding out a lot about myself. Some things that I didn't know, some others that I knew and was actively suppressing that have morphed into something else entirely. But I recently found out something else.

Yesterday Schmoopy hit me up out the blue about brunch which we were supposed to be going to weeks ago but didn't and she asked me where we should go. She said around our agreed upon meeting time she would be up in my old stomping grounds (Sandy Springs nee Buckhead) and asked me to decide where we would eat.

Having not lived there in a minute, I switched over to my trusty online source for most things grub-wise in Atlanta, the always interesting Citysearch.

I found myself with tears welling in my eyes about two minutes later.

In an odd twist of fate, using Citysearch reminds me of Sporty. She and I ate out every week. Like every week. You don't understand, we went out EVERY week. Like clockwork. In 2005 I think we missed like three weeks. And whereas I hung out a lot, and ate at a lot of places before she and I hooked up, my m.o. is to find I spot I like and metaphorically camp out for while, learn the menu, become a semi-regular. What we did by design was that we explored a lot of Atlanta's restaurants and areas together, so there were times I would use Citysearch. Okay, let me rephrase that, I used the fuck out of Citysearch. Checking menus, directions, opening times, reading reviews, new spots, the works, if they offered the service I used it.

So apparently in my mind her and it are linked. And now I wonder how many other emotional bombs are lurking around in my psyche. I had already been a little leery of going a few of the places where we'd had a good time, just in case, but to think that something I wasn't thinking about will just suddenly sideline me.

This would not be good. Not at all.

Barkeep. Drinks. Contents don't matter.

Poetry

It is the quiet moment that is my demon
skulking in from the outer edges
plucking at my dreams and heartstrings
sharp talons of regret and confusion
stirring the granite of my soul
like a fluid liquid
Ashes fill the bower of my mind
sentiments burned rather than remembered
cloudy.
no sunshine.

Listening to Jazz

Personal Rehab Post #6
Next in a continuing series of posts designed to let out the demons that lurk in the dark recesses of my memory. Okay, more aptly, to the kill the roaches of impluse that are skittering about as pack and fold away hopes and dreams of a future with somebody and put them into that part of my soul I keep locked. Isn't that a better visual?

And as I they say...the band played on. Sometimes you get what you ask for, then if you're lucky...you'll get to see what it is you actually need.

A print from art.com

I like Jazz and Classical music.

I used to listen to jazz infrequently, mostly as a side to something else or if a riff would catch my ear and stay there. I'd heard of the greats, Miles, Bird, Coltrane, etc. The same with Classical, where I knew the standards and would occasionally find a quartet or a chord that was simply moving. But I never gave it much thought. I knew how to find them on my music channels on DirecTV but that was about it.

But as of today my radio is tuned to classics all the time. In Atlanta the station WABE is the home for classics and NPR. I listen to them, some sports talk and a I'm considering upgrading to the CD player.

But, you say, you're a socially active nearing middle aged African American male? Shouldn't you be listening to a R&B station, or an oldies station or pretending your ten years younger than you are and listening to a hip hop station although the last time you went to one of the events they advertise you were mistaken for a narc? (incidentally, that's a true story)

Well, it's the Sporty thing.

You'd be surprised how many songs are about love. Or in hip hop about sex. And or both. Which is what I like to call bad juju. I have a hard enough time with the occasional stray thought that needs banishment, a few songs which I really like but had mentally associated with certain things can bring on a depression faster than a trip down an elevator shaft. I really like Angie Stone and John Legend, but can't listen to them right now. Same with Luther, Prince, and really most music with words. One semi-sappy "baby" and I'm about to break down.

Which is a bitch because I love all music. I grew up when there was no country music channel, no black music channel or Latin music channel, just MTV. So you had to sit through all the music videos to get to the one you wanted, and you got to where you could appreciate all of them and the music they contained.

On a side note, MTV sucks now precisely because they don't play any videos.

I listen to Country and Western sometimes, I mean I am from the country. And since Country and Western ...no, not "New Country", the old stuff... is almost nothing but how you been done wrong by somebody that's out. I mean when you can name a song "When you leave walk out backwards so I can pretend you're coming in"...I mean really. That's pain right there.

So no hip hop or R&B or oldies, but why Jazz and Classical?

Jazz for the most part has no words. Classical when it does have words they're usually in a language I don't speak. It allows a concentration that's usually pretty emotionally undertow free. I read a lot, so it's cool to put on some Jazz or switch up to the Classical channel on my DirecTV, curl up on the couch and not worry about background noises. Or stray thoughts. Sometimes I'll turn it on and try to zone out.

I need to find a good Latin station, something where they don't speak English.

It's been since last December or so since I've listened to regular radio. Damn that's been a long time.

Barkeep. Just gonna sit for a minute. Listen to the melody.

A Weekend Out

Personal Rehab Post #5
I'm starting to not like quiet times, for in those quiet moments I start to ask that question that will probably plague me for the rest of my life: "Why wasn't I good enough?" It's one of those things that will pick at the back of mind quite possibly until it drives me mad.

This post is about my first major rehab outing. It's a little lengthy.

Well I'd spent a few weeks in relative seclusion, eschewing outings and get togethers and generally trying to pull together a semblance of cool before venturing back out into the wilds of social Atlanta. It's been a long strange trip and since I've apparently got to get back on the trail I started with an annual event: my RP's birthday party.

RP is short for Running Partner, which in the parlance of area is people I run around with. In your area, it may phrased as your hang out buddies, your chums, them folks you know, or friends. I ran into him when I moved to Atlanta and we just got along, so it's like that.

The birthday party is an annual event consisting of fine mix of ...er...well, it's a social gathering that...er...um... it's a huge party with about as close to a Circus atmosphere that you can get to before people get naked. One year we shut down his subdivision throwing it. I mean it's huge. Rough estimates put the usual crowd at 200-250 people, and this is for a house party. At a single house. My RP know a lotta folk.

Enough background, in food prep my RP said he would be doing everything the night before. Because sitting around all day Saturday waiting is less than a desirable activity, I volunteered to cook everything that morning. I happen to like grilling and so I offered to spen Saturday morning burning a little something. I bought the supplies, marinated the meat overnight, got my extras and showed at Event Site Zero at 9am. I've been having trouble sleeping lately so this was an accomplishment.

I cleaned the grill. Which apparently had never been cleaned.


I watched them clean the pool.



I keep saying we threw the party because only two days seperates my birthday and RPs, so usually it's a birthday party for us both even though I recognize I'm the undercard. Second billing at your own birthday party you say? How awful? It's a matter of opinion I guess. Wait, wasn't my birthday last month you ask. Well, yes it was, but this is the first free weekend we've been able to schedule, and since we've had it up to two weeks in advance, a little later isn't the worst thing we could have done. In the parlance of our situation, RP is strategic, I'm the tactical.

So I cooked. I cooked the chicken, I cooked the chicken...the hotdogs, the wings, the ribs. From roughly 10am to 4pm I worked a little outside cooking magic. Almost burned my hand a few times, didn't have all my usual grilling tools (used a kitchen fork and one spatula), wings didn't want to cook right taking for freaking ever, damn coals died down before I was all the way done. Man, it was great to get back out there again.

Handy tip: When grilling the bird - get the chicken fingers or tenders. They cook up so fast and easy it's scary.


So I got there early and cooked all day. Then I went home and showered and headed back out because I was also tending bar, which is another of my fine talents. Yes, I was gonna work at this joint to. There is a method to my madness, a trade secret or two that I won't go into but let's just say it works very well for me.

With your normal crowd of 200 I'm in good stead. I mix up Apple martini's and Cosmopolitans, keep the beer in a side tub so it's serve yourself, create fruity little mixtures that put a smile on the pretty girl's faces and get a chance to chat while I'm serving. If we start at around 7pm, I'll generally get a crowd, then a lull, then a second crowd, another lull and so on until I'll shut the drinks down around 1am. At which point it's down to the folks who actually came to party and not just spectate, which is a pretty fun crowd. And whereas the bar might be closed to speed people in the mindset of leaving eventually, folks we know can always "find" a drink. So we've got a plan.

So I start setting out the drinks. People who ain't seen me in a minute tell me I'm looking good, lost weight and all that. A few of my female friends give me a hug and we joke a bit. My mind isn't on other things.

And setting out the drinks. A few women I hadn't seen in a long while invite me to their party next week, another girl tells me about another party she wants me to go to, I'm steady pouring the drinks and talking, even doing some flirting on automatic. Getting the old mojo back to working, ya know?

And setting out the drinks. And setting out drinks. Wait a second, what the? Where is that lull I was counting on? Now we'd thrown the party at Event Site Zero because it's a large house on 12 acres (plenty of parking), it has a pool and a jacuzzi, game room downstairs, and the owner is cool. 12 acres sounds like a lot, hmmm? We ran out of parking. RP's current head count of the crowd is somewhere near 400. Or 600. He's lost track. People at the bar are telling me they parked at the Fire Station, which is a good half to three quarters of a mile away from the front gate (never mind the additional walk from the street) and I have two assistants helping me serve. Your selections have boiled down to: "Light or dark, which one do you want?" It's getting crazy.

Faces blurred cause I don't where they claimed to be.

When I was younger, we would throw a party and before too long we'd run out of liquor. We were broke and trying to have a good time. Now as adults we have a party and before too long we run out of chaser. Very few still have the cojones to bring just a bottle or two of juice. I try to anticipate this, but my expectation was considerably fewer people. So at one point have a single bottle of cranberry juice my co-bartenders and I are passing back and forth between the three of us. Madness.

As I said, normally one would shut the bar down around 1am. I had somebody go find RP and I told him we were shutting it down at 11:30. At least we never ran out of ice. The bartending gig went from fun aside to a South Geogia version of the Bataan Death March only with liquor and girls in bikinis in a mere matter of hours. Okay maybe not that bad because we did have some cuties. But I'm sweating like I'm in a sauna and praying that we run out of cups.

After that I guess the party started getting good: I hyped up the impromptu swim meet. Spent a hot moment in the hot tub (okay, I got in and the women didn't get out - and the water was hot. Technicality). Walked around in my footie socks and told people it wasn't my house for no reason at all (women kept offering to help me find my shoes). And at 2am I somehow got into an oblique discussion with a very defensive vegan republican with a me complex.

Okay, it wasn't all good.

Not sure if I'm up to an event where I don't have something else to focus on though. Truth be told that's pretty much what made this work. A whole night of concentration of other things. Without the distractions, well...I'm not sure.

All this for that hollow feeling at the end of the night. But then I'm working on the outside. Inside ain't gonna be right for a while.

Barkeep. Water. Yeah, I'm getting back but it's a step by step process.

Things I've figured out

Rehab post #4 .
This was supposed to be my birthday post or end of June post, but if you read me then you know I was a little sidetracked around that time. But these items still hold true, so truths they would be then. That and good whiskey. The foundations of a good soul.

I'm getting old. Older. Let me put it this way, I've considered coloring my hair back to all black. It's gotten more than a little salt and peppery, and although I've had gray hair since I was 22 and women keep saying it's looks good or even distinguished, they're still not slavering away to get this man-candy.

Yeah, I said it. No soup for you!

I'm a nice guy, witty, thoughtful and personable. I'm in reasonably good shape, not bad looking, make decent money, and am generally open minded. I entertain well (understatement), could be a bit more aggresive and don't mind trying new things. And single like a mofo.

But lately I've been thinking. Maybe it's the bumps I hear in the dead of the night, the occasional twinge I feel in parts of my body that shouldn't be twinging, the current state of my relationships, but in the end I've been thinking and have divined some simple concepts....

1. We can't be naked all the time.

As I've gotten older, I've come realize that my mate really needs to be someone I like, not just someone who turns me on. We're going to spend a whole lot more time together clothed than we ever will naked...not that I don't intend to maximize that naked time, know that... so this other person needs to be someone I can actually talk to, joke around with and share with, not just the person who makes me think nasty thoughts in their prescence. I mean that's nice, but that strikes me more as infatuation/lust than love. I need that and more. More like someone who counts on me, cares about me and makes me want to be better so I don't disappoint them.

2. We change.

When I was a kid, I didn't eat pizza. My parents had to stop and get me a burger if the family had a pizza night. Now I eat pizza all the time. Three years ago I didn't eat indian food. Now I miss the quick sear of heat on my tongue if a while goes by and I haven't had any. I'm not the same me I was five years ago, and that's not a good or bad thing...it simply is. My tastes have changed, my dreams have changed, my plans have changed, and if I'm lucky they'll keep on changing. Everybody changes. If you still have the same goals now you had five years ago, then it's time to move your finish line.

3. It doesn't matter.

Quite a few years ago I simplified my life. No credit cards, no gadgets, simple car, simple clothes. I created some credit difficulties stemming from excess in my youth, oh so long ago, so partially out of a new way of thinking and partially because I didn't have any other choice, I cut it all back to what I could pay cash for, except for the big ticket items which means 90% of the time. What I discovered was that life could be simple if we made it that way. A lot of the concerns we have that are tied to what other people think about what we have or own. By removing a great deal of clutter from life, I didn't lose friends or stop eating out at nice restaurants or have to start shopping at goodwill. Life was still okay. I was able to cultivate new pleasures. I changed. So none of the things I thought were important really mattered.

4. It all matters

There are a lot of little things I overlook. Have a mildly obsessive personality but I strive to be a big picture guy, so there are gaps. As such I've realized that 90-95% of things that happen to me are my fault. In most of our lives, and particularly my life, one things leads to another, each little thing snowballs. I stayed up watching TV last night, so I woke up late to take a quick shower so then I forgot the lunch in the fridge because I was rushing and that's why I'm spending $7 bucks for lunch and smell like dirty shirt because ...it all matters. It's not always bad stuff, it's good stuff too, but it goes back to some small thing you did that led to something else and so on. I've started focusing on little things now, making sure I did X and took care of Y because it's things like that come back to haunt you or bless you. It all matters. You probably shouldn't have had that snack anyway.


5. Things don't go as planned.

One of my favorite commercials starts with a black and white image of a little kid who states clearly, "When I grow up, I want to work my way into middle management!" Hardly a the dream of many, although this was a satirical look at job hunting, it spoke volumes to me. Sometimes life isn't going to work out quite like we figured. I'm not going to suggest we simply accept that, it's is our struggle making our dreams reality that makes the world better. But realizing that things don't always work out does make it easier to cope with failed plans, easier to regroup after a failure. It really wasn't my plan to blogging on the internet about whatever, middle aged, and in the "middle class". Let's just say that my plans included Halle's ankles next to her ears (or for the past few years Sporty's) and plane trips and Rio and Greek islands and, well ...you know where that's going. I intended to be someplace else, and that's not to say I won't get there, I'm just saying by the plan I should have been there already. And that it's not the end of the world.

Okay, Sporty's leaving seems like the end of the world. AND that's as close to end as I want to get.

On the issue of Sporty...although this wasn't supposed to go here, I'm always going to love her. Always. My goal is to make it so that only two people know...well, besides you lot (shhh! it's a secret)...and that would be me and her. A lifetime Oscar-worthy performance. Wish me luck.

Barkeep. Bookers. A friend of mine said it was the shiznit.