Monday, December 31

I Am Also Legend

Man, there is no one here today. Not even the rank and filers are coming up to ask for photocopies of the latest status reports like they usually would on a Monday. I've got some stuff to work on (I'm not actually doing it, mind you), but it's one of those days where it's hard not to resist the urge to see just how many of motion-activated office lights you can get to kick in as you run down the hallways through the silence.

I guess I should be thankful for the easy day, and the money I'm getting paid for being here "just in case" something might happen -- but when it's all sorta empty and lifeless like this, it's hard not to wonder when the undead are gonna jump out and attack.
Which reminds me -- whichever one of you Zombies brewed the coffee this morning?
Awesome job, bro -- Much Appreciated.

Sunday, December 30

Two Words

New Years Eve is one of those holidays that I always hope for more than I get from. I've had some good ones, but by and large it's a holiday that always ends up (in terms of the party) falling a little short -- going all the way back to the time the entire tribe got together in John Spruill's North Shore beachhouse in Oahu to ring in the Millennium (money and ..other things kinda got in the way and I wasn't able to go -- a decision I still regret to this day).
Not that good things haven't happened to me over the years on this night.
Two years back NYE marked the first night j and I really started talking to each other in earnest (which, save for the fact that we were only about 500 yards apart at separate parties and didn't know it -- was exceptionally hot).

But kinda like the phone call from Hawaii that night when all of my friends took a moment to try to include me in the festivities at least a little bit, thinking back to those messages only seems right now to serve as an unintentionally bittersweet reminder that it's another holiday I'll be spending by myself.

To make things worse, this was a year that I had tried to put together grand plans for the evening -- starting with my intentions to head up to New York to hang out Satorical and ring in the new year in the big apple, to the most recent plan B, which was to head down to Orlando to mosh it up with Sevendust up to and well past the moment the clock struck midnight.

But when you figure in the double whammy of the Christmas spending crunch and what will surely be an inflated car rental/repair bill just to get my Mustang out of the shop -- all of these things became just a little bit more than I could do, especially considering the fact that I still have to go to work the following day.
Which leaves me with plan always (which I probably don't even have to say at this point) -- Endo Exo.
Here's the odd thing though. Despite the fact that I'm always there and have been for years and years -- I've actually never celebrated New Years there. New Years always ended up being a private party type night for me in the past -- partially out of concerns for safety (who the heck wants to drive around on a night like that) but mainly because most bar scenes on New Years are nothing short of nightmares, filled with jammed up drink pricing, bad music, and people who seem more bent on self-destruction than having a good time.

But this time around it seems like home base is probably gonna be my best play, especially considering the fact that it's starting to feel like the regular crew that works there and enables the majority of my debauchery is getting ready to move on to greener pastures, and this might just be a last hurrah of sorts.

But that doesn't mean it can't be fun -- especially considering the flyer/invite I just got in my email featuring the names of the 20 or so DJ's that will be spinning tunes and a list of the drink specials they'll be having -- all of which basically pales in comparison to the little blurb at the bottom of the card that's got me really excited, which consists of just two little words:
Ice Luge.
[Listening to:    The Network"Supermodel Robots" ]

Saturday, December 29

Hello From 2004

Cue the VH1 theme music. Call in Michael Ian Black, Sir-Mix-a-Lot, and any other sorta-celebrities that don't have anything better to do, because we're going back in time. Back to thinking a vote for John Kerry was gonna fix things. Back to every chick you knew falling over themselves to get a look at Orlando Bloom in elf ears, Paris Hilton wondering what a Wal-Mart was, and Janet Jackson's nipple.

2004 in reality was a year that saw me struggling through my first year of public school teaching, the last years of my marriage, and a lot of Eurotrash-sounding pop CD's that I thought were really important for some reason.
But most importantly 2004 was the year it seemed like everyone I knew started to get iPods.
At the time I had a wall full of compact discs, one of those little circle-shaped CD players, and a friend with a fast connection and a limewire account that let me download all the Bjork albums I wanted to without paying for them. iPods looked interesting (even if they were all the same color), but they were kinda expensive, and the software probably would have crashed my barely breathing desktop PC -- especially since half the stuff I was running on there was coming off Zip disks anyways.

But that all changed recently when I finally got sick of hearing the same 40 songs over and over on the knock-off POS mp3 player I bought for $50 to listen to while I trained for my first River Run -- headed out to BestBuy, and snagged me one of those 3rd gen Ipod Nanos with the short fat casing and the video screen that introduced us all to that horrid Feist everyone seems to love.

Because the moment I got that thing home, synced it up, and jammed those little white ear buds into my head -- it was like a hole in the floor opened and I was transported through the swirling lights and strands of space-time back to the same point everyone else had been when they first got theirs and wouldn't stop gushing about it.
I mean look -- all I have to do is sorta twirl my thumb like this and the volume changes!!
And the song names are all on these menus that you just click to get back to the artist names!!
And oh wow, iTunes counts the number of times I've played each song?
Playlists, Podcasts, and Party Shuffles -- Oh my!!!
But instead of it being all Marty McFly cool with me crawling across the floor on my back while I play two-hand tapping solos to a Chuck Berry song before I jump back in the DeLorean, it's sorta like I've ended up in some sucky half-assed Ashton Kutcher Butterfly Effect version of time travel where everyone I know looks at me like I'm a moron for getting excited over getting a complimentary iTunes download just for choosing the express shipping option from TicketMaster.
Come to think of it, I've been buying a lot of things these days with free downloads attached. Isn't it weird how..
Oh, you already went through that phase?
I mean don't get me wrong, I love the thing -- and can't help but kick myself a little thinking of all the hassles I went through when comparing the relative hassle of my knock-off model to the benefits of the Nano, but it's like I'm so behind the times with the brand name that I can't find anyone who can legitimately share in my noob excitement.

It even sort of works in reverse -- when my little boy saw it the first thing he did was turn it sideways to see if it did that iPhone trick he's seen on TV. When it failed to respond, he immediately lost interest, handed it back, and said, "I think it's broken, Daddy."

Shouldn't there be some sort of grace period for me to be able to act like getting a song for just $0.99 cents is really something to get excited about without everyone looking at me like I'm running around in a Bart Simpson t-shirt and tennis shoes with the little air pumps on them?

Seriously, Half my CD collection is on here and it's not even a quarter full -- How cool is that!?
..Oh, you said the same thing like 3-4 years back?
Well then fine, If you're gonna be that way about it -- I'm not
even gonna tell you about this awesome new turntable I just got.

[Listening to:    Bloodsimple"Running From Nothing" ]

Friday, December 28

The Helicopter

It's never easy to say goodbye. Especially to a friend.
Someday we'll meet again. And when that happens, I promise to pick up your stuffed giraffe anytime you drop it and carry it around while you walk, just like I always used to do.

Thursday, December 27

Where'd You Get This Jacket?

Came across a bit of sad news while bopping around the web today. It seems that Stu Nahan passed away Wednesday morning after a long battle with lymphoma. Many of you might not know his name -- but Stu was a fixture on the Los Angeles sports broadcasting scene for many years, including the time period when Wayne Gretzky played for the Kings (which is where I came to know his commentary the best).
But it wasn't the first time I'd seen him.
That happened when he did this:

[Listening to:    L'Arc-en-Ciel"Blurry Eyes" ]

Wednesday, December 26

Poisson Heureux #3

Here's what's been making this fish happy lately:
  1. Raise the Red Lantern -- Awesome film. Highly recommended.

  2. Hearing my dad brag to other people about the GPS navigation system I got him for Xmas (my dad is all but impossible to buy gifts for -- his closets are literally filled with unopened gifts that people have given him). I'd botched his birthday two weeks back by getting him a foot massager (he'd recently complained that his feet were bothering him) only to find out when he got it that he had three more of the exact same model sitting in his closet. The fact that he's actually boasting to people about his new car-nav system is in my mind the equivalent of the Giants finding a way to beat the Patriots this weekend.

  3. FedEx lying to me about how long it takes a package to get from Jacksonville to Maine.

  4. Your reaction on the phone when that package was opened.

  5. Realizing that I'd sort of fallen off the wagon reading books lately (I read stuff on the web all day long, but somehow or another the practice of spending time with an actual book had slipped away from me in recent weeks), and then getting right back on the horse with this really great novel by Ryu Murakami called Piercing.

  6. My new iPod Nano (more on this later).

  7. The interviews with Faye Wattleton, Tera Patrick, and John Waters in Thinking XXX -- and the fact that all the scenes involving Lou Reed were left on the cutting room floor. Probably not for everyone -- but if you're interested in the subject matter (and don't mind watching continual male and female nudity interspersed with conversations regarding the kind of things that Gore Vidal finds sexy) -- it's worth a look.

  8. Thoughts of Phoenix tattoos, and where they might be placed.

  9. The moment the other night at Endo when the new girl bartender they hired poured my drink and went to hand it to me, only to have security guard Ricky intercept it and unknowingly channel the spirit of John Spruill when he said, "Nope, make that one again. Do you know who this is? This is the Dan. Dan always gets the Sasquatch pour. If you want to keep your job here, you'd better learn that."

  10. Watching the reactions on peoples faces at the Pearl when they played a DVD of Ichi the Killer on the screens all around the club the other night and the part came up where Kakihara slices his own tongue in half.

  11. Drinks. Were. Spit.

[Listening to:    Chevelle"Saferwaters" ]

Saturday, December 22

You's a Ho Ho Ho (But We Still Love You)

Oh Janice, what are we gonna do with you?

You're seven shades of crazy, and I'm not really sure I could stand within 15 feet of you without catching something or at least feeling some sort of itching sensation -- but no matter how many times we try to hold your head under the water, you keep coming back.

But as the holidays approach and Tyra continues to sink slowly into insanity while the universe of trainwreck pop culture threatens to fold in upon itself under the combined weight of pepper-sprayed beauty queens and impregnated Spears offspring -- it's kinda nice to know that you're still around, and that despite it all you can still find a way to laugh at yourself.
Merry Christmas, you nutty skeez.
..Kinda hard to believe Mick Jagger kicked this one out of bed, eh?

[Listening to:    Karnivool"Shutterspeed" ]

Friday, December 21

There Was Once a Peaceful Town Called Rock Ridge

It's kinda embarrassing to think of just how easily entertained I can be by things I find on the web.

It's not like the old days when you had to load up disk drives and type in run prompts or whatever -- now you're sorta hard pressed to find anything outside of a CD/DVD drive on a computer. It doesn't so much make me miss those old days ("What do you mean you've LOST the second floppy for wordstar? How am I supposed to spell check now!?") as much as it gives me pause to realize just how far things have progressed in even the short time my life has been computerized.
Of course that doesn't mean some of those old school things weren't a blast.
One of my favorite computer distractions back in the day was Sim City. I could literally waste hours on that game, trying to find new ways to increase crime and unrest among the inhabitants of my little pixilated ant farms.

Well, that's not entirely true -- I'd usually spend the beginning part of the experience trying to improve my little town and make it into a thriving metropolis, but like every sand castle, Lego city, or GI Joe fort I've ever built there came that crucial point where being civic-minded began to get really boring and it was easier to find entertainment in stomping sand-encrusted battlements while making Godzilla noises.
Which is why I need your help.
See, the other day I came across this website that lets you build your own town.

The only catch is that the only want to get your city to grows is to have other people visit it. And unlike voting for Broncos players to get into the pro-bowl, you can't just keep hitting refresh until you've accomplished your goal.

So if you've got a second, click on over to my little backwoods community. It's small now, but as more and more suckers homesteaders like you show up, it will grow into the kind of place you've always dreamed of.
Then we'll stomp out the castle together ;)

[Listening to:    Bob Rivers"I Am Santa Claus" ]

Thursday, December 20

Burt Reynold's Mustache

Somewhere in the last decade or so it seems like the battle cry of Florida State University football fans like me has gone from "Whoa-Oh-Whoa-Oh-Oh" to "Whoa-Oh-Whoa-Oh What NOW?!"

So 25 football players got caught cheating on an Internet exam, leading to the majority of them being suspended or left off the roster for the teams upcoming bowl game trip.

Yes, this is wrong -- and yes, the suspensions were the right thing to do and it's only football and the team sucks this year and Bobby Bowden is essentially a lame duck coach and Tim Tebow once converted a guy to Christianity just for snoring too loud blah blah blah..

Who the hell doesn't cheat on Internet exams?
Look, this is my alma mater. This is the school that's given the world such mental giants as Deion Sanders, Bobby Sura (who I've always suspected was the real inspiration behind the show Are You Smarter than a 5th Grader?), and former WWF champion Faarooq Asad. Our athletes are great on the field, but by and large they're not always the first ones you call if you can't figure out how to program a VCR. And it's not just our players, either -- when I was at school there, it was rumored that a law student was arrested for contracting a hitman to kill a professor who's exam she was afraid would be too hard to pass.

Maybe that's not something to be proud of, but I gotta tell you -- I'm a little annoyed at the fact that 25 of these motards couldn't figure out how NOT to get caught pulling off this particular Watergate robbery.
I mean seriously, what were the test questions?
1. The Mitchell Report has just named you as a player who's taken steroids, what is your response?
a) I only did it once, then immediately realized realized God and my family wouldn't approve.
b) Those shoes were gifts!
c) What do you mean I'm not supposed to take the roofies? (a.k.a The Janikowski defense)
d) I'm totally shocked that the kid who took the test for me would stoop to that level.
Somebody wake up Bobby. This is dadgum unacceptable.

[Listening to:    Chevelle"I Get It" ]

Wednesday, December 19

Must Obey the Taco Man

So my boy whatigotsofar up in the great white north has written a Christmas meme, which (as he puts it): is all about the capitalist experience of Christmas and not at all about the religious or spiritual experience Christmas was meant to be.

And while I can't help but smile at the way his description somehow reminds me of a something I'd read in a Solzhenitsyn novel, little be it for an American pigdog like me to ignore a tag when it's thrown my way. Especially given the fact that I'm knee deep in the slop of last minute Christmas shopping as we speak.

    1) What do you really want for Christmas but you know nobody will get for you?
    I've lamented for a long time about how Christmas has changed for me in terms of gift receiving from the halcyon days of the motherloads I was able to reap when I was a kid. Instead of insisting that I be good all year so Santa will visit, now people tell me that I'm "Hard to buy for" and send me gift cards to Target shaped like candy canes. I'm thankful for the gesture and the thoughtfulness, but I can't help but sorta miss the days when I'd actually get so many gifts that things like socks or board games would lead me to say things like, "Damn, what cheap bastard got me this?"

    All that being said, I would give anything to have a Boss GT-8 appear under the tree on the 25th.
    2) What do you not want for Christmas but you know that somebody will get it for you?
    A gift card. A coffee mug that isn't decorated with anything tied to my personality, but instead says Starbucks or something else generic on the side that belies the fact that mine was a gift bought out of a feeling of obligation rather than in the spirit of giving that the holiday is supposed to be about.
    3) When do you open your gifts (Christmas eve or Christmas morning)?
    The rule in my house was always that you get to open ONE present on Christmas eve (if you're good) to help tide you over until the next day when the real exchange took place. It was a tradition my brother and I sort of abused a bit until my parents stung us back one year, with hilarious results.
    4) Do you prefer gifts wrapped or in gift bags?
    Ripping sexy clothing paper is half the fun of finding out what's inside.
    5) Did you regift anything this year?
    I'm not a big re-gifter. However, I do frequently make gifts out of things I own that other people covet. One of my big plans this year is to fill up my old mp3 player with my son's favorite songs and then give it to him. Technically I don't see that as regifting, but I'm still waiting on a ruling from the replay officials in the booth to be sure.
    6) What’s your favourite Christmas movie?
    Die Hard.
    7) What’s your favourite Christmas TV special?
    I'm a sucker for the old school. Rudolph, The Year Without a Santa Claus, How the Grinch Stole Christmas -- it's not really the season until I see those. I wish someone would get the balls to re-broadcast Emmet Otter's Jug-Band Christmas on network TV, (not because it's good, but because the Riverbottom Nightmare Band fucking rocks!).

    At the same time, Santa's appearance in ATHF's T-Shirt of The Dead episode is one of the funniest things I've ever seen, and if I could, would be part of my christmas card to the world for the rest of my life.
    8) Do you like egg nog?
    I'm not down with the nog. It tastes like old melted cheese.
    Besides, vodka is the gift that keeps on giving -- why jerk with a good thing?
    9) Real tree or fake tree, which do you prefer?
     Fake Plastic Trees is not only a great song, it's also a lot easier on anyone who doesn't have a lot of money to blow on decorations, no matter how much they love the holiday.
    10) Would you actually use one of those fireplace DVDs if you don’t have a fireplace?
    Waay back when I was living in Tallahassee we had a fireplace, and the christmases spent sitting around that warmth were some of the best ones I can remember. Besides, isn't a fireplace DVD just porno for pyros (see what I did there)?
    11) Are you sick of Christmas music yet?
    The other day I'm at this little separate office in our building where some of the packaging engineers work, and they've got x-mas music playing, and one of the girls in the office says "I'm so tired of all these christmas songs" and I'm like, "Here's an idea -- Turn them off?"

    I think people have lost touch with the real meaning of the word "tradition" these days. Christmas music should be something we use to bring people into the spirit of the season, not a knee jerk reaction to your calendar reaching the 12th month. It's like shopping on Black Friday or thinking that you can only cook turkey for Thanksgiving. You don't have to do it -- but if you're good at it and it makes you and your loved ones happy, it's the kind of thing they start looking forward to when the season comes back around.

    As for me, I worked for a number of years at a radio station that did the whole 24-hours of Christmas music thing every December. Night in and night out I'd do entire shows of holiday music, forever numbing my system to it's effects.

    ..Honestly, I don't even really hear it anymore.
    12) Are you getting up early to wait in line to do some Boxing Day shopping (Canada’s equivalent to Black Friday)?
    I've said it before, and I'll say it again -- Black Friday makes no sense to me. I've only just started doing my holiday shopping in the last 3 days, and I've not had to wait in line for anything.
    13) When was the last time you sat on Santa’s lap?
    I did a bodyshot off a girl in a santa hat last weekend, does that count?
I'm not much for tagging specific folks anymore, so anyone who wants to drop in on this wave is more than welcome.
Merry Christmas, bitches!

[Listening to:    Chevelle"Well Enough Alone" ]

Tuesday, December 18

Hey Girl Hey

So tonight is the night of the big finale of the hit reality show A Shot at Love With Tila Tequila -- which, as you recall has been touted as TV's first bisexual dating show.

For the uninitiated, A Shot At Love puts a twist on the tried and true "20 people vie for the attentions and love of one person" theory by making the object of the competition MySpace vixen/attention-whore turned TV star Tila Tequila, who claims to be bisexual.

As a result, the contestant pool of singles is made up of both men and women, each hoping that they will eventually be the one that wins the heart of the girl that likes innies and outies, but has reached the point where she's tired of the games and drama and just wants to find that one true person who is "right" for her.

If you've read this site recently then you probably know that I've already written at length about how I think the vast majority of the show has been essentially staged and scripted, especially given what I felt was a lack of authenticity on the part of the 15 girls they found to play the part of the lesbians.

And yet, because I have a penchant for trainwreck TV I've followed along gamely anyways, enjoying all the antics, name calling, catfights, gratuitous T&A, and posturing that's come and gone as each week the list of hopefuls grows shorter and shorter.
But now here we are at the final episode, with only two people remaining.
Predictably, it's come down to one man and one woman -- putting Tila in a position where she not only has to choose who is the best person for her heart, but also much decide which gender offers her the best chance to find the happiness that she's truly hoping for.
But this is sorta where I have a problem.
Because when you think about it -- doesn't she sorta have to pick the girl?
Despite swirling rumors suggesting otherwise, I don't really have a problem accepting Tila as a bisexual. If the show is to be believed on any level, she's shown attraction to people on both sides of the fence, particularly (as I kinda thought it might back when the show started) when it came to the lesbians.

And not to go all stereotypical here or anything, but the fact that the one girl left is probably visually speaking the butchiest of the original panel of women who came on the show only adds credence to the idea that perhaps the best place for Tila Tequila to find happiness is in the arms of another woman (especially considering the douchebag fratboy who's survived to the final elimination -- offering little or no hope for positive representation of the Y chromosome at all).

But when you get right down to it, if she should decide at the end of this finale episode to take "a shot at love" with the guy -- then wouldn't that make her seem sorta

[Listening to:    Samhain"Unholy Passion" ]

Monday, December 17

Give Me The Pancakes and No One Gets Hurt

Pretty interesting weekend -- especially considering just how much I tried to cram into it. It all started Thursday night, where after a full day's work I piled into the rental car I've been driving since the wreck, pointed it south, and drove like The Duke and Dr. Gonzo racing through bat country to get to Orlando in time to catch The Great American Rampage show at the House of Blues. Work was hectic, so I got off to a bit of a late start -- but after almost two solid hours of redlining the little Chevy the insurance company gave me I arrived in time to run full-speed across Downtown Disney/Paradise Island to get to the pit.

The show was nothing short of incredible -- 4 bands that I absolutely love and a room full of people ready to tear it up from the moment the curtains opened. The only catch was that I had to be at work the next day -- so once the last encore was over it was back in the rental, fill up the tank, and hyperspace it back to Jacksonville so I could be in the office the next morning.

I hit the rack around three, caught the alarm at 7:30, and dragged myself in. The day was fairly slow, which was good -- because that night I was supposed to go to Endo Exo's closed door employee's only x-mas party.
When I got the invite I told Matty, "But I don’t work here."
To which he replied, "Dude, you live here. Show the hell up."
You know it's gonna be an Endo party when the first thing you see walking in is the owners Cocker Spaniel humping a stuffed animal. The night only went gloriously downhill from there, starting with the body shots everyone did off the girls in the mini-dresses and Santa hats and ending with the firing of John-O (for the billionth time) and the eventual shutting down of the place earlier than planned when after one too many drinks the owner and bar manager looked at each other the wrong way and got into a fight.
Basically just another Friday night at the club.
Anyways, the next day found me up early -- hung-over as I was, so I could shop for clothes fancy enough to get me into my company's Christmas party. I had gotten the invite a few weeks earlier, which was cool because I didn't get one the first year I was there -- but then as I was talking to one of the R&D guys Friday he casually mentioned having to get his suit dry-cleaned for the event, which led to me realizing that showing up in the same Ramones t-shirt and sport coat that I wore to the last corporate X-mas party I was at would be heavily frowned upon by the people I needed to speak with this week about extending my contract with the company.

So I spent a good part of the day getting fitted for snazzy duds -- followed by a stop at the movie theater with my son to see The Golden Compass (not bad -- the bear fight was cool). After that I dropped him off with his grandfather, dolled myself up, and headed out to Sawgrass to rub elbows with the bosses.

As corporate x-mas parties go, it was pretty cool. The banquet food was ok, there was a cash bar, and they even gave everyone a ration of gambling chips to use at this little fake casino they had set up in the back. People seemed to really get into this, and after a bunch of whiskey I even found myself at one of the Texas hold-em' tables, where I'm proud to say I won a couple of hands worth before going all in on my last hand and coming up a card short.
Eh, not my fake money -- Let it ride.
Once they shut the casino down and the DJ guy kicked in things got lame quickly, but it was nice to see everyone. I shook a lot of hands, was introduced to a lot of wives and relatives, and actually had some conversations with not only my boss, but his boss too -- who seemed actually glad to see me there (despite the fact that I think it was the first time he'd actually had the chance to notice my lip ring -- which he spent time both staring at and not trying to stare at, but never actually said anything about during the conversation).

Long story short -- I had a bunch of Jim Beam, got bored, and decided to head back out to Endo -- where the new bar manager loaded me up with vodka while we traded stories about which events the night before might have landed her this "surprise" promotion.
Needless to say, I was feeling no pain by the time I got out of there.
My dad had an early call the next day, so instead of heading home I drove out to his place and passed out (fully clothed) on his couch -- which would make it easier for me to pick my boy back up when we all got up the next morning. Or it would have, had I not woken up with a screaming hangover that no amount of tomato juice could stop.

Sensing my need to sober up, Dad offered to take us all to breakfast -- which sounded like a fantastic idea to me. I even suggested this new place at the beach we could go called "Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey" that I'd heard some good things about from some of the guys at Endo.

So we head down there, fully expecting and eventually finding a pretty big Sunday-after crowd. The wait was short and we got a table, but it was pretty clear the place was slammed. The waitress apologized, brought us our coffee and then evaporated into the crowd, presumably to take care of other customers.

Wakey Wakey Eggs and Bakey is the absurdly cutesy name given to the latest theme to be attempted inside a building that for a short while had been an upscale Italian place, but most people in town would remember as a sushi house named Tsunami's that had been a 3rd Street fixture for years.

You can always tell when someone is trying to keep up with public favor in a place like that because even when they change the artwork on the walls so that it features pigs and chickens wearing chef's hats -- they can't afford to change out the furniture or the fixtures -- leaving me to stir my coffee with a spoon who's handle looked like a stick of bamboo that I picked up from a table that had drawings of oriental dragons engraved into the wood.

I don't know -- as funny as things like that are, I always prefer getting breakfast from mom and pop places when I can. The food is generally better, and there's a vibe there that you can't always get in a chain place like Denny's or Village Inn.
Plus, the owners really took some time to try and think outside of the box.
Because beyond the whole "Add pigs and chickens to Japanese folklore artwork and hope no one notices" thing, the place had all these things that you weren't expecting to see in a breakfast all day spot. Like the full bar that they opened at 9 am, mixing up Bloody Mary's and Mimosa's for the hangover crowd, the free newspapers they offered people at the tables, and especially the emo-looking guy in the corner of the place with the acoustic guitar playing re-worked soft-rock versions of popular alternative songs.

So you're sitting there browsing the fish wrap and quietly giggling with your tablemates about the silverware and the culture-clashing artwork, when someone next to you says,
"Wait, is he singing Blink 182?"
And sure enough, dude would be strumming James Taylor/Hootie and the Blowfish chords on his guitar while he leaned into the microphone and swooned through favorites by Cheap Trick, Nirvana, and Sum 41. It was sorta schmaltzy once you realized what was going on, but even I had to admit it was better than some soft jazz piano guy or a Kenny G CD on infinite repeat.

And so it went, sipping on coffee while folding and re-folding the newspaper, reading the funnies to my son, and trying to guess which songs the guy was Dave Matthew-ing up this time around. It was a room full of unexpected things, a nice way to shake things up, and certainly fodder for conversation -- which clearly set it apart from the atmosphere you find in other places open at this time in the morning.
But we weren't there for gimmicks. We were there to eat.
So some 48 minutes later when it started to become clear that someone had forgotten about our orders -- some of the cute started to wear off all the external trappings in the place. A lot of it probably had to do with my hangover, although the cold sober yet increasingly restless 7-year old sitting next to me seemed to be having similar complaints. My dad tried to play the role of peacemaker for a while, but when sister girl with the coffeepot seemed to not understand that his waving hand in her direction had something to do with refilling his coffee -- even his edges started to crack.
At which point our waitress made a fatal error.
Look, I know waiting tables sucks. I've done my share of it and I have the utmost respect for the people who are able to make a living out of such a thankless trade. I tip my servers well, and I try to be cool about mix-ups or whatever. But I really do believe that when someone is hired to do this job and goes through whatever short period of training they get from one of the other servers, they should be drilled on things that a server should never say to a hungry customer, with the very top of the list being:
"You guys don't have your orders yet?"
Because at that point you've gone from the cute blonde I wouldn't mind getting to know better to someone who isn't paying attention to their responsibilities. Hot or not, I've got no pancakes on my table and no amount of batting your eyelashes is going to change the fact that apparently YOU don't even know where the hell my order is.

And I know there's times when cooks don't communicate, and there's places where some people take orders and other people deliver dishes -- but when you're my ONLY point of contact between the front of house and the kitchen, the fact that I'm sitting here reading updates about sports I don't give a crap about the third or fourth time while having to endure another love-song version of Pearl Jam by Hacky McFuckupperson over here who couldn't find a Gmaj7 chord if it came up and spanked him in the ass starts to get old.
But it's not like I can really go back to the kitchen and ask what's up with the three-top on 17.
Last time I checked, that's your job.
Even if it's just a matter of making sure that the server has his tickets straight. Seriously, if you've got to tip out to this guy at the end of the shift -- then it's sorta in your best interest to make sure that you notice the little kid who's eaten all the saltines at the table because his short stack hasn't shown up, isn't it?

But of course when you don't come by the table for a half-hour to the point where we have to describe your ass to the other girl we were able to flag down for a coffee refill so she can find out what's up with our orders I guess you wouldn't know that at all, would you?

And it wasn't just me -- because almost as soon as we were able to get our waitress in range to start bothering her about our missing orders, there was a guy from another table standing behind her waiting to ask her about his food as well.

I don't know -- maybe they were shorthanded, maybe there was a rush they weren't expecting that they weren't prepared to keep up with. But when things like that happen -- you gotta let me know. I can see all the other people sitting here, I know you're busy -- but I also know how long it takes to scramble a fucking egg, and the numbers aren't really adding up.

So when you start acting like you didn't even know we were sitting here hungry what you're really telling me is that you didn't really care whether we got our food until just now -- which isn't the best impression to give someone five minutes before you rush out plates filled with less than piping hot eggs that probably spent a lot of time waiting for a pickup.
In other words, it'll be a cold day in hell before I give Crappy Crappy Cold Eggs and Hacky another chance.
But rest assured, the next time I go to Awful Waffle on a Sunday -- I'm going to make sure to punctuate my order with something like:
"Oh, and could you be a dear and tell the cooks that I'm still sorta drunk from last
night and really need these pancakes to suppress my ever-building rage? Thanks."

[Listening to:    Ankla"Seasons Never Change" ]

Saturday, December 15

Brock Samson


[Listening to:    Skindred"Tears" ]

Friday, December 14

Actually Spoken During the Course of My Evening

"Out of my way, tourist -- I'm late for a mosh pit!"
[Listening to:    Nonpoint"Bullet With A Name" ]

Thursday, December 13

Lady in Red

About a week or so ago while driving home from work I was sitting at a red light when some dude in a dodge spaced out or whatever, didn't hit his brakes and rear-ended my cherry-red Mustang. Scratched up the back pretty bad, pushed me into the car in front of me, which broke up a bunch of things on the front of the car, and bent my frame up a little bit (to the point where my passenger door wouldn't open).

I was seriously pissed off at the time -- but it was clearly his fault, and by the middle of the next day his insurance company was on the phone promising that they would take care of everything, provide me with a rental, yada yada yada.

So I drop off the car at the shop this morning, drive the rental back to work -- and try to get on with my day, only to get a call back from the bodyshop asking me if my car had ever been in an accident before? I had no definitive proof, but there were a couple of things that I had noticed that seemed to be more reworked than refurbished -- but the car worked fine (prior to the accident), so I didn't make a big deal out of it.

It was at this point that she told me upon deeper inspection, the techs had discovered that the passenger side frame rail had previously been broken in half (probably from a prior accident) -- and that whoever had the car before me had duct taped it back together and then painted over it with undercoating. She then went on to say that there were several other places that showed similar types of spot fixes -- and that if the person who hit me had been driving any faster there was a chance that my car could have folded up like a beer can.

As soon as I get the photographs from the bodyshop of all this I'm going back to the dealership to see who's head gets cracked first over this, but as angry as I am at them -- I think more than anything what bothers me is that when I first met this car she told me she was in great shape. She said everything was natural.
Now I find out all that soft, sexy hair is just a weave!?
..So, is there anything else you wanna tell me -- Now that we're being honest?

[Listening to:    Skindred"Babylon" ]

Wednesday, December 12

Do You Have Love for Roberta Muldoon?

Do you have that one friend? The one you've known for years, the one you love to death -- who calls you up in the middle of the night whenever one of their relationships crashes and burns? Their voice cracked, relaying the sad details through sobs and heartbreaking pauses, punctuating sentence after sentence with phrases like "I'm horrible, no one will ever love me," "How could I be so stupid?" and "I really thought this was the one?"
I do -- her name is Tiffany Pollard.
Tiffany (better known to the rest of the world as "New York") first appeared into my life as the love-hungry, cigarette puffing, screechy voiced, fight starting 24-year old self anointed princess character on VH1's Flavor of Love, where she and a bevy of other gold diggers lovely ladies jockeyed and competed for the hand of then 47-year old rapper/reality show star Flavor Flav.

Like so many other people who watched that show, I didn't come there for New York. I was there for Flavor Flav, who I had loved during his years as part of rap group Public Enemy, and couldn't help but be curious about as he waylaid that former fame into an unexpected career as the romantic lead in a series of VH1 reality shows -- culminating in Strange Love, -- a show that ended with the Brigitte Nielsen essentially leaving Flav at an altar, having lots of love to give -- but no one real he could offer it to.

You know how it is, you have a buddy who you've known for years. He dives headlong into a relationship that he thinks is great, but everyone around him knows won't last -- and when that inevitable blowup occurs it's the friends who are there for moral support, and then the eventual prodding back into the dating scene in the hopes that he will get back on his feet and meet someone good.
Thus, Flavor of Love.
Taken at face value, Flavor of Love was just another spin on what at that point was quickly becoming a tired reality show formula -- the 20 people vying for the undying "true" love of one person -- a trend made popular by shows like The Bachelor, Joe Millionaire, and Who Wants to Marry a Millionaire? -- But if you looked at it another way (especially considering the public nature of all the reality-show romances that led directly to it's birth), Flavor of Love was a lot like watching a buddy of yours going through the trials and tribulations of casually dating a series of strangers/rebounds while looking for someone real to have in their life.

The odd thing is that when we first met New York, it was absolutely clear that she was in all possible ways wrong for our good buddy Flavor Flav. She was crass, belligerent, instantly clingy and mental -- the kind of thing that most dudes consider red flags and would immediately warn their buddy about, especially when (like in the case of Flav) it was a quality about the woman that he was apparently blind to given the fact that she was more of less naked and ready to throw down any time they got to hang out together.

Even though I don't know Flavor Flav personally, the thing that made that show work for me was that I'd been in plenty of situations myself where a friend of mine was involved in a relationship that was clearly built around passion, but was sure to be disastrous once it moved past that point. Hell, I've been in relationships like that myself -- the ones where your friends pull you aside and say "So what's up with this girl you're seeing? Because I gotta tell you, I think she's bad news." and I'd be the one saying "Ah, you just don't know her the way I do."
Only to come crawling back to them months later, dragging your tail
between your legs because you'd discovered they were right all along.
So at the end of that first season when a teary-eyed Flavor Flav told New York that he was going with the someone else, I think a lot of viewers took it with a sigh of relief, because we were kinda in the show for him -- and as much as it seemed that they liked each other on some level, it was impossible to ignore the fact that any relationship between the two of them would make the damage that Brigitte Nielsen inflicted look like a paper cut.

So when the inevitable happened, and the girl he did pick turned out to be a dud (or the producers convinced him to keep the cash cow going), it was only natural given the success of the previous version to try the whole thing over again. 20 new women -- 20 new chances for "love." And so the cycle repeats itself -- as we watch our buddy Flav, (having just come out of a relationship he wanted to believe was real) get all revved up to jump back into the "dating scene" again, because as we all know
..This time will be different.
Think about the mistakes you've made as a single person. The bad dates. The times you were thinking with your crotch instead of your brain. But most importantly, the way that after you get burned a few times you occasionally lean on your friends to help you avoid the same sort of pratfalls in the future. Which is exactly what the producers Flav did when during one episode he called on his "friend" New York to help him decide which of his 20 new prospective girlfriends were really there for love.
Ask an ex for relationship advice? You know, now that you're past all the drama and can be "friends" again?
..Yeah, that's always a good plan.
So it was no real surprise to viewers that during the day or so that Flav and New York hung out under that premise, the sparks between them rekindled, and realizing he might have made a mistake the last time around --she was asked to re-join the competition. Of course, several weeks later once the passion died down it became apparent to Flav that New York was not only still crazy, but possibly even crazier than she had been the first time.

Add to that the fact that (if the show is to be believed) he'd gotten her in the sack before the final elimination took place, the news of him dumping her on her butt again in favor of yet another less crazy person seemed almost a foregone conclusion.
But that's when a weird thing happened -- a lot of us began to sorta sympathize with her.
Yes, Flavor Flav was doing himself a huge favor by not picking her either time, because it seemed clear that the two of them could only end in disaster -- but now that we'd sorta known her for two years (and it was clear that Flav only liked her for a certain purpose, and didn't have any problems professing his undying love for her to get it), it was hard not to feel bad that she wasn't able to see the way he'd sharked her.

Next thing you know, she's the girl your buddy used to date that you still keep in touch with -- even if she is kinda psycho.

And so -- as things always do in television, a new show was born. This time New York herself would get to choose between 20 men vying for her affections. Now it would be New York who, having washed that man right out of her hair would be on the prowl for a rebound. Now it was her that we were rooting for, especially because (even though we'd never tell her this personally) she's clearly too bonkers to do these things without support.

And so began the trek we're on now -- where a woman we know and care about/feel sorry for despite (and perhaps in some ways because of) her flaws careens through the dating scene in the hopes of finding true love. And just like that one friend of yours that calls crying in the middle of the night when their relationship falls down and goes boom, we've gotten to the point where all we really want for the poor girl is to finally realize what it is that she really wants and stop throwing all of her eggs (ovaries?) into the wrong basket.

Which of course she always does -- as last season went from bad match to bad match, culminating in her deciding to not go with the fiery thug who was probably wrong for her in favor of the older dude who seemed to have his shit together -- a guy who proposed to her once she chose him,
Only to dump her a few weeks later when he decided she was "unstable."
Seriously, I can almost picture the scene -- somewhere in the middle of the night, interrupted from a deep sleep by the incessant ringing of a cell phone, noticing who the person calling was -- at which point you immediately consider not taking the call, because you know what it's gonna be about, but at the same time you know that a good friend wouldn't do that -- so you pick it up and say "Hello?" -- only to hear silence and the sounds of quiet crying on the other side.

Maybe that sounds mean, but it's like that sometimes. There's a difference between the person you know who laments the fact that they can't get in a decent relationship and the one who somehow can't stop themselves from getting into bad ones and then wondering what happened when the gloves finally come off and things turn to crap.

So what do we tell her? What advice can you offer to the girl who made what seemed like the right choice and still can't find the happiness she is looking for? I mean, what else can you say but -- get back out there. Try it again. Stop jumping at a pretty face or a certain attitude, and think about what you really want instead of just going for the flavor of the month, so to speak.
Which is where we are now.
The reason I think following New York's dating life makes such compelling television is that even though the show's premise suggests that she's the one in control of the situation and uses all the wacky challenges and competitions to help her make the best choice -- it's become clear that after nearly 4 seasons of watching dudes telling her whatever they thought she wanted to hear so they could get closer to her cookies she's still playing the part of the underdog.

Not just because she can't seem to get it right. But because the reason she can't seem to get it right is that she keeps making the same mistakes over and over.

Which is something we can all probably identify with to some extent.

She has attractive qualities, but New York is one of those women who looks bad in certain lighting. She also tends to dress skanky when she's on the hunt, perhaps in an effort to divert her potential suitors attention away from the qualities about her personality that she's self conscious about -- like her voice, her lack of worldly experience, or the levels of success (or lack thereof) she's had so far in her attempts to land a husband.

It's almost like she's a ball of teenage sensibilities wrapped up in a Hooter girl's body -- a combination that attracts specific kinds of attention without effort, which seems to heighten her sense of jealousy when other women are around yet leaves her open to disappointment in her hopes for a relationship with any kind of depth.

As a viewer, I want her to be happy. I want her to find what she's looking for. Maybe not so much because I care about her happiness, but more because after watching literally years of her romantic missteps and screwups it's like I just want to throttle her every time she does something stupid.

From choosing looks over heart, to the boob job, to choosing of clothes that change the boob job from something accentuating her looks to something utterly ridiculous, to her continual practice getting mad at the guys who as a result just see her as a boob job instead of a woman who got one (especially after she's been wearing a skimpy bikini), to letting her gargoyle of a mother push her around and continually make her feel guilty for not being perfect, to the fact that she continually finds fault with people who come on her TV show who she discovers are only there to be on television (unlike her?), to constantly eating herself happy whenever things go wrong -- it's like you wish you could just jump through the TV and say:

"THIS! This is what you keep doing wrong!
Can't you see what a dumbass you're being?"
But of course we can't do that, and so week after week we watch her steer the Titanic into the iceberg field knowing full well that it's only a matter of time before she hits one and the whole thing sinks all over again.

It's like you feel bad for her at the exact same time that you can't believe how myopic she can be. And somehow (even if she's just a character on some TV show) your sympathy interferes with your anger and eventually undercuts them both.

Or to put it another way, I didn't think ANY of the three guys she had pared the competition down to were actually any good for her, but of all those losers -- I can't believe she cut the only one who wasn't completely full of shit. Especially now that she returned to her patented "insane in love" face that she had previously only used with Flavor Flav anytime she looks at the domineering yet handsome bully, leaving our only hope to save the day (and finally get this hen a rooster so she'll stop calling us with her problems) in the hands of the smarmy token white boy who's only apparent appeal to her is the fact that he continually showers her with expensive gifts.
Just because someones been around the longest doesn't mean they're right for you.
Just because someone has lots of money doesn't mean they can provide what you need.
And I bet a lot of you're out there saying, "Eh, it's just a TV show -- the whole thing's fake," or "She's too crazy for me to take seriously, I can't see why anyone would want to be with her anyways," but to me the show has sort of gotten beyond that. It's almost like the people on the TV have become caricatures of the things all of us do in some form or another that make it seem so hard to find what we're looking for.

I mean look at last week's elimination. The educated, soft-mannered character (Punk) was dismissed because he wasn't "dangerous enough." But the dangerous guy (Buddha) has been portrayed throughout the show as a manipulative bully, who clearly knows that New York's not smart enough to see or match him in any the games he's playing with her emotions.

It's gotten so bad lately on the show that it appears that she's become so utterly conflicted between the realization that she finds this guy so disarmingly attractive and the fact that he condescends her and essentially treats her like a child in every conversation they have -- That she's actually mistaken that feeling of confusion for the belief that she's actually head over heels in love with him.

A reaction that those of us sitting at home are all to familiar with by now.

In other words, as her concerned friend who's seen her burned before -- it's becoming more and more clear that while Buddha might be the guy she likes the most out of all the losers she's been dating lately, it seems like he doesn’t see her (or the show) as anything more than another conquest (a suspicion that's only reinforced by the fact that if she should choose Buddha he would have the most reason to dump her in some grandiose fashion -- laying the perfect groundwork for the inevitable season 3 to happen).

But if that's the case, then what is New York supposed to do? Pick the spineless rich guy who's clearly intimidated by the bully (especially given the fact that earlier in the season he got his ass kicked by him) -- who if he wins would only serve as someone to cater to her materialistic needs and cower in defeat whenever conflict comes along (especially if said conflict took the forms of arguments with her)?

I don't know -- maybe I've experienced more than my share of relationship and family drama over the years, but I honestly can't imagine that I'm the only one who finds some of these things to be frighteningly familiar.

In the end it seems like the only way this works out in New York's favor is if the wuss raises up and either exposes the bully for who he is, or somehow figures out a way to beat him and win the day -- and even if that were to work, that still doesn't solve the overall problem that started all this back in the first season of Flavor of Love all those years ago -- wherein Tiffany Pollard hopes to land a man that her mother despises so much that she'll finally release her from the guilt-trip that she's had her pinned under for so many years, even if that release comes in the form of turning the back on her own daughter.

And even if that was to happen, how long do you think that man would hang around once he realized that his only purpose in the relationship was to fight her family battles for her?

It reminds me of this recent post mspuddin' did over on her blog where she put the internet comment cliche' "I'd hit it" to the test by posting pictures of some of the craziest, most whacked out women in pop culture right now (a list that included New York, btw), laid out specific reasons why most people find them unattractive (or too crazy to consider despite their looks) and then asked the questions -- "Would you still hit it?"
Which of course, almost all her commenters said they would.
What would you put up with for "love?" What could you look the other way on? And is that really the only way people out there can navigate the turbulent waters of relationships these days -- by comprimising between the things they want and someone who's "close enough?"

I know she's an exaggerated character. I know she's the craziest of all crazy black women to ever grace a reality show, and that in the end none of this will really make that much difference in the grand scheme of life.

But when you get right down to it -- what I'm saying is that seeing the bad decisions she's made along the way and the two losers she's left herself to choose between; if I were her close friend she looked to for advice or consolation when things go wrong -- I would get my cell phone ear ready -- because that late night crying call is not too far away.
It's like I said all along -- she shoulda stayed with the midget.

[Listening to:    Nonpoint"Breathe" ]

Tuesday, December 11


So the other night I'm at the club throwing back vodka and chatting up bartender Jen when I feel a tap on my shoulder..

It's a busy Saturday night and the place is jammed. The crowd is made up largely of strangers -- most coming out to be a part of the big event that the owner's put together for the night. As a result, there seems to be a much higher quotient of the kinds of guys who like to high-five everyone around them and say "Fuckin'-A" every five seconds paired with hordes of white girls who are unknowingly rocking that whole "muffin top" look that happens when you wear pants that are supposed to slim your waistline, but instead squeezes your stomach to the point where your midriff pushes up and spills out over the sides like dough in a baking pan -- a look that is only made worse when paired with the combination baby tee/off-the-shoulder blouse that your BFF should never have let you walk out the door with in the first place.
And this is all before they start dancing with glowsticks.
One of the main things that gets me in trouble whenever I write or talk about Endo is that I tend to focus on the fact that the people who work there are really cool and that if you hang around long enough you're bound to trip into some sort of crazy experience that couldn't happen anywhere else.
But what I always forget to mention is the music.
See, the original idea behind Endo Exo was to bring the kind of experience to Jacksonville that mirrors the things you'd see in nightclubs in Orlando or Miami's Southbeach. In fact, what happens a lot of times on weekends is that you'll get a lot of out of towners in there from the nearby riverfront hotels who love the place specifically because it's got that kind of vibe to it -- fancy drinks, flashing lights,
And hour after hour of techno and house blasting in your face.
Whether you want it or not -- nearly every weekend at Endo promises an endless array of guys on the stage wearing trucker hats and Southpole shirts who constantly bounce around balancing one headphone between their shoulder and their ear while they endlessly twist knobs and push buttons that seemingly have no effect on the song at all.

I can't tell you how many times people have called me up on a Saturday and said, "Hey are you going out to that club you're always talking about tonight? Let me know because I'd love to come with you" -- Only to have them turn to me five minutes after we get there with this look of horror in their eyes while they lean into my ear and shout,
"Is this the only kind of music they play here?"
I guess after all the years I've been going there I've just sort of tuned it out. I'm there to see my friends, get blitzed, and dance embarrassingly with total strangers. Once in a while they'll have a DJ that I find interesting, but to say that I'm any great fan of techno or house music itself is a flat-out lie. If anything, I find the overall repetitiveness of it to be kind of annoying, even in all it's variant forms and sub-genres.
..Except drum n bass.
I don't know what it is about the sped-up drum machine loops, squeaking synthesizers, and sampled science fiction movie quotes in that style of music that makes me feel like it's actually any different than the sped-up drum machine loops, squeaking synthesizers, and sampled science fiction movie quotes of other types of electronica, but for whatever reason whenever Endo gets a half-decent drum-n-bass guy it usually catches my attention. I think it has something to do with the way I perceive it to be more aggressive than it's dancier cousins -- but even that theory has it's flaws.
All I really know is that when I drive to the club blasting something like    in my car stereo -- I'm much happier when the is DJ in the booth is spinning something that sounds like more Squarepusher or Konflict than what you normally hear in the place, which is usually like:   
Especially when it's on a weekend, because that's when the rave kids come out.
Maybe in other cities it's a more normal sight -- but it's actually pretty rare here in Jacksonville to find the kind of comedy gold that can only be acheived when girls in corsets and glow-in-the-dark bodypaint with the purple and white yarn braided into their hair hang out with muscle-bound guys with dreadlocks and tank commander goggles who can dance the robot.

The Jacksonville club scene is normally more filled with guys who look like they got kicked off I Love New York in the early rounds and girls who squeal audibly when the DJ mixes something by Guns and Roses in between the latest track by Timbaland and any song that they can do group dance moves with their girlfriends that they've practiced in their backyards earlier in the week:
So anyways, I'm standing at the back bar at Endo when I feel this tap on my shoulder..

I turn around to find a guy staring at me with a hopeful look in his eyes. He's a little shorter than me, kinda heavy-set with a dark beard and sort of a Gilligan hat on his head. He's wearing a t-shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops, and over his shoulder I can see a girl in a multi-colored sundress who is clasping her hands together in front of her chest, staring me right in the eye.
He looks at me for a second, and then says,
"I can't believe it's actually you!"
I'd never seen this guy before in my life, but he seemed really excited -- so I smile and shake his hand anyways. He grips my hand with both of his and does this half-shake half-hug thing that I have no reason not to go along with, even when his girlfriend started jumping up and down and clapping her hands at the sight of it.

I don't know -- weird shit happens to me at Endo all the time, and by this point in the evening I'd already done a handful of Grolschlager shots with the owner, (who always likes to start off his nights with that sort of thing) -- which is to say nothing of all the other Windex-colored drinks Matty had been feeding me since I'd shown up -- leaving me in a state where I was more than happy to best buddies with anybody, regardless of whether I actually knew them or not.

And yet there was still something about the whole thing that seemed a little weird, especially when he offered to buy me a drink. Because it was at this point where he looked me in the eye and said,
"I just wanted to like ..personally thank you for coming here tonight. I mean, you don't know -- we drove all the way up here from Orlando for this show, and to have the chance to actually be sitting here and having a drink with you is like.. Oh man, this is.. This is really great!"
Put yourself in my shoes for a second here. You're sitting at a bar accepting a free drink from a total stranger that you've never seen before who's just more or less revealed to you not only the fact that he thinks you're one of the more renowned drum n bass DJ's scheduled to play tonight, but that out of all them -- you're his absolute favorite.

Do you:
    a) Shrug your shoulders and tell him you don't know what he's talking about -- you're just some guy at the bar?

    b) Kindly explain the mistake to him, and then proceed to lean on your friend the owner to set him up with an introduction to the real guy he came out to see?

    c) Accept the drink, put your arm around his shoulder -- and then proceed to tell him how this club is one of your favorite places to perform in Florida, and then accept free drinks from the guy the rest of the night in exchange for stories about life on the road, and the crazy things that happened to you the last time you performed in Atlanta?
[Listening to:    Distorted Minds"We Can't Stop" ]

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