The mental needs a refit

This is a Vent Post!
This might have been a mental rehab post, but it's really just me yelling into the electronic darkness 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.

Okay...I realized last night after my second night of hanging out with pseudo cousin (don't ask) that maybe, just maybe...okay, definitely...I got issues that will eventually need real therapy.

First, I finished my law school prep class. That's right, I've decided at the ripe old age of too damn old that I'm going to sacrifice a lot of free time and the rest of my personal sanity and go back to school. Most of my friends are attorneys so it's like I'll just be joining the club. Shortly I start at GSU on the path to a few years of too much gut and scut work. Yay me! Well, at least the folks will be happy.

Okay, now back to my issue. I mean it's more than a passing thought, it's like I have to stop myself in the store from picking stuff up. I'm trying to figure out what's on my mind here, like what the fuck am I doing? Part of it was riding over to my pseudo cousin's spot and thinking "we need to go see what's good in there" as I passed a funky new restaurant when there is no we anymore. I mean in theory, this is someone else's job now. So why am I now mentally planning out what to get Sporty for her birthday?

Well, I already got like part of it.. so, it's not like it would be complete if I left out the rest. The date is a month and a half away. I'm planning things. Considering items. Um, problem? Yep, got one.

A little history. A few years ago at Christmas time, the first holiday season after she and I had started hanging out, I'd given her a gift bag of a whole bunch of stuff (she's hard to shop for) and she'd been delighted. So one night she calls me at home and asks my shoe size. She wants to buy me shoes for Christmas. Nice shoes. Okay, at the time I didn't know they were nice shoes, but they were really nice, fairly expensive shoes. And I told her not to get them.

Oh, for a time machine.

Not one of my better decisions. Turn in my playa card kinda bad. One of my great regrets.

Some say you shouldn't dwell on these things. I say you should learn from past mistakes, so you don't make them again. Some would ask why I'm putting my business out in the street. It's this or things get ugly, gotta let it all out somewhere and your modern day single black man has few options to vent without getting ostracized. Should have taken the shoes.

So, will I be getting the girl something for her birthday. Yes. Is it foolish of me to do so? Possibly. Do I really care? No.

So let it be written, so let it be...ooooh, pie.

A Quick Restaurant Review - Landmark Diner Jr.

Mental Rehab Post #9
I'm knocking the dust off a concept, that I'm not sure I'm gonna continue. Most of these involved her, but a few of them don't, and since I gotta eat...well, when I remember, I may as well let ya'll in on what's out there. Even down and staggering, I still get out more than most. Maybe I'm doing it wrong.

So it's Saturday and it's brunch time, and although there are probably a thousand other restaurants in the city, when you're hungry and want consistency, you go to a diner. Midtown I would say the Majestic Diner, where I've had some interesting meals, but in Buckhead it's the Landmark Diner, a twenty four hour little gem that hides inside it the ability the cook a breakfast that is near magical...and also unintentionally fleece you. Seriously, I did not know you could get Lobster and eggs. (Have I told this story already?)

After the Citysearch incident, I copped out on looking and went for the Landmark Jr up at the corner of Roswell Rd and 285, right at the top of the perimeter. It's a spot on a corner where out one window is that hustle and bustle of still traffic on Roswell and the out the other a side street with a couple of shops. But when you're at the Landmark (or in this case, at the Junior) you're not there to look out the window.

I was a little late and Schmoopy was on time and we tried to figure out the place mats which appear to be selling rejuvenating honey. Or something. Then before we could order, she broke the news...Schmoopy is getting divorced. I was stunned because at our last meeting she'd vowed to "work it out." On the upside she looked very happy about the whole thing. But then I guess if you're getting divorced you would be very happy. If you're sad about it, well then maybe you should have stayed together.

Yes, girl. I put your business in the street.

I ordered the bacon and eggs, with a waffle. She got the Florentine omelet with home fries. She said she was hungry, but I warned her the portions weren't small. The restaurant crowd was sparse so our food appeared quickly - before the forks got to the table actually - and the girl was impressed. The omelet was huge, instead of the usual three strips of bacon they gave five or six, and the food was almost falling off the platters they served it on. On a side note, you now have to ask for the home fries, as somebody talked them into serving hash browns. We got a side of home fries.

She raved about the omelet (my entree suggestion), which came with something green and feta cheese, and she added ham. It appeared too green but tasted delicious, at least the part she shared with me. And the waffle was huge so we ended up splitting. My eggs were done perfectly, not too hard or too soft, and the only thing missing was onions in the has browns I didn't know I was getting. Nitpicking on my part.

Seeing how Schoompy can't be more than a size 2 or 3, I can't imagine where she's putting all this food we're eating.

Incidentally, my dining partner joins a growing list of women, who've known me and then moved on to other folks, and it er...didn't work out. I think the list is at five or six now. Schmoopy called me the reverse of Good Luck Chuck. I didn't find that amusing in the least. We talked about her for a while, then me for a while (and in effect Sporty) and until finally I think the waitress was just mad we wouldn't get up and go. What we she mad for, I tipped her like 20%. Oh, and I found out Schmoopy eats peanut butter on toast, which I might have to try once just to see.

So if you get a chance, hit the Landmark in Buckhead, or one of the Juniors..up by Roswell Rd and the other on Cheshire Bridge. It's a pretty good deal.

Barkeep...oh, did I forget to tell you they serve too?

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.