1000 words and counting

Here's the picture of the week:


Thank a special friend for the shot.

I can see your sadness. It's beautiful... and delicious.

Behold: Cryingwhileeating.com



My Karma ran over your dogma

Alright... I apologize for the title. I just had to do it.

After being away for 8 or so months, I quickly learned two things while visiting this past week: How much I miss Orlando and how much I really don't miss of Orlando at all. Home was great and all; Always good to see family and friends. But the humidity and spread out geography of central Florida had me anxious to get back to city life. Not to mention the greasy patrons of Orlando bars along Orange Ave, the humid days, tourist drivers, long lines, humid weather... oh, did I forget to mention the humidity.

But all in all, the trip was great. Basically got to do everything I needed/wanted to do: hit up the favorite wine bar, got a new toy to replace the old one, did a little business, rode the new Disney ride, and got a little shopping in. It especially didn't hurt when, on a chance run-in with an ex, she questioned me on whether I'd worked out since we last saw each other. I know... I'm a bit vain, but we all likey attention, don't we?

But a highlight of the trip was sushi on Saturday. The old crew from high school and college got together for a sushi night downtown. Almost everyone showed up (including the not-so-welcome- -you-are-insane- -lets-get-out-of-here-before-he-sees-us friend). We basically shut down the restaurant thanks to the size of our group. Rolling in with about 20 or so folks can reall screw up things in a sushi shop that can only seat about 40 max. Ususally, these occasions quickly morph into political flame war with only myself left to advocate the conservative (not winger) stance. But this time, we just had a fun, loud, and obnoxious dinner. Who would have thought?

I'm not sure what I did in the past, but I guess Karma's on my side at the moment. We'll see how long that lasts.

AnotherLateNight@TheBigHunt.com

Some of you may remember my last episode at the Big Hunt in Dupont Circle. Of course, being the especially adventurous person that I am, I made my way back to the Hunt this past weekend. Some old drinking buddies were all gathered there, and for some reason, the thought of a night at a crowded club in Adam's Morgan with greasy GW undergrads didn't wet my palate quite like it used to.

I got a quick ride out from our new roommate and hopped out at Dupont Circle in the middle of a slight rain drizzle. After a few other quick stops, I ended up back at the Big Hunt. I made my way to an unusually light crowd inside. Immediately, I found the crew about 20 or so feet from the entrance. They were all quietly situated at the alter of all things intoxicating and nocuous, cradling pints of sepia-toned libations much like a queue of Catholic Cardinals with rosary beads lightly pressed against their lips. Ironically, the backdrop of television images of the installation of the new pope juxtaposed perfectly with the dark ambience of the unholy dwelling the Big Hunt so desperately wished to emulate. I took the last open stool to join the congregation.

"Brian! Happy Passover!" my friend exclaimed.

Ehud was an Israeli immigrant who taught college-level literature and was on well track to hit his mid-thirties before the end of this hellspawn of a pollen season. With a bald head, towering stature and athletic figure, the clean shaven Ehud was the apple of many eyes throughout metro D.C. Especially since his broken English dripped in an eastern European accent, his 'Man of the World' persona was well enforced.

"Shalom," I replied. "Funny to find you here, considering. Shouldn't you be at a Seder or something?"
"Yes, but... well... I haven't been to one in 2 years. Plus, I wasn't really invited to any in the area. So I did the next best thing, the Hunt. I love this place"

I couldn't place whether the line was sarcastic, a by-product of his obvious inebriation, or an earnest statement from a man in a strange land. Ehud was great at tripping people up like that; nobody knew when he was serious serious.

I said my hellos to the rest of the group and quickly joined them in their alcohol worship. The Ganesha of my evening took the form of a glass of Yuengling, a old favorite of mine. As the bar-traditions dictate, I immediately jumped into story telling mode: recounting the quick ditty of the country mouse I met at the bar prior. Somehow, these stories always come out better when told at the bar vs. on the blog. My captive audience of bar maidens and misters loved the story, but quickly dissipated into smaller groups once it finished. Only Ehud and I were left to contemplate the idiosyncrasies of the dating game.

Sermon #1: 100-Percenter

"So why aren't you dating anyone these days, Brian?" Ehud barked.
"That's a good question," I responded. It's always fun to skip out on a question you don't want to answer by declaring it to be important or good.
"Brian, I want to teach you something that my older brother taught me years ago," the lecture began. "You've got to get out and go for every girl you see out there. This place... DC... it's amazing. There's always something new around the corner. If something doesn't work out with one, get a beer, sit five minutes, and another girl will come around. It's just the nature of the game."
"You don't say," I questioned.
"Oh yeah. I swear to it."
"Okay... but doesn't approaching every girl at a bar scream desperation? I mean, c'mon now."
"Hey, if you try with 10 different girls, and you hit it off with only one... That's still 100% success!"
"100% success. Umm... Well then."
"That's right." Ehud replied "Hey listen, I've got to hit the can. There's also a set of cute girls in the back. I'll be back in 10 mins or so."
"Go for it, man."

Ehud raced toward the bathrooms in the rear and I focused back on my half empty glass of beer. Another buddy by the name of Johnson sat to my left with his new girlfriendish friend (He claimed that they were dating, but she looked less than enthusiastic). Johnson was a light-skinned "brotha" from Ohio who ventured to D.C. to find his fortune in politics. Horn-rimmed glasses and all, Johnson was clearly not one of the thuggish persuasion, if you know what I mean. Hell, his accent reminded me of our old friend Trent. They finished up their conversation and his friend left for the restroom as well. He turned back at me and I nodded slight agreement.

Sermon #2: You's my type of niggah!

"Man, I haven't seen you in a long time man. How are you doing, Brian?"
"I can't complain." I said dryly. The cliché was complete.
"Listen, why haven't you called me man? We should be hanging out more."
"That's true, but I don't have your number and you could have called me too," I parried.
"Yeah, that's true. Well, I call you soon, man. It's like, it's tough hanging out in this city because you either have to hang with all these preppy folks or, well... you know what I mean."
"Yeah, I gotcha." I quickly responded. I had a feeling where he was going, but I didn't really want him to say it. He did it anyways...
"It's like, there's tons of black folks out here, but not really much to hang out with."
I nodded again, hoping to avoid the race analysis... He continued anyways.
"I mean, you seem like a pretty intelligent guy. It's tough to find smart brothers out here in these cities. You only get to deal with folks who just, umm... don't get it." He explained. "We need to stick together"
"I hear ya." I replied while quickly taking another drink. Sometimes, you can't drink this stuff fast enough.

Queue Social Commentary in 3... 2... 1.

There's one thing worse than racism... and that's racism directed at your own race. Believe it or not, but some of us black folks are the most racist bigots out there. Take any elderly black person from the south and you're bound to find someone hardened by decades of inequality and injustice. Ironically, some of that racial mistrust is directed back on members of his own race. Funny thing is, however racist you are, it doesn't count when you're black. You can say the most offensive things, and you always have that 'get-out-of-jail-free' card. "Brian can't be racist... he's black."

... End of Social Commentary.

His friend found her way back to the bar and nudged him on his side.

"I've gotta run man. We'll hang out soon, Yes?"
"Sure thing, mate." I replied.

He helped her put on her coat and they ventured out into the drizzle.

Back on my right-hand side, another buddy was nursing a vodka tonic. Jerry was another twenty-something year old friend who was one of Ehud's past students. Good dude and all, but no one can quite remember what he really does for a living these days. He seems to be doing well for himself regardless, so it never became a real question. He always had a soft-spot for the lonely girl at the bar, and this night was no exception. I spotted him observing a cute girl towards the end of the bar who was with a friend.

"Why don't you talk with them?" I asked.
"Nah, not the right time."
"C'mon, go over there, get them a drink, and talk with them." I pressed.
"What?!?"

Sermon #3: Never buy the drinks

"Listen Brian, I don't know how you operate or whatever, but you never buy a girl a drink at a bar. NEVER."
"Oh yeah?"
"Of course man. That's a one way ticket to nowhere. They immediately see through that. It's like, you'll be more effective just walking up and saying 'I want to get in your pants, pleeaaassee!"
"Well, yeah. I hear ya. But at the same time, what if you simply want to buy her a drink? I mean, you can buy a drink just to be kind, right? And what if you've been talking for a while already?" I questioned.
"Wrong. You're automatically on the wrong footing if you start out footing a bill for a drink. In fact, I say never buy them a drink. If they're in to you, it shouldn't matter."
"What about a dinner out?"
"Same thing," Jerry stabbed.
"Riiight."

He saw through my disbelief (Funny how a beer can take away a bit of your social tact). As our conversation ended, one of the girls said her goodbyes to her friend and left the bar. Only the original girl remained and she looked like she was staying for a while.

"Alright now, let me show you how this works." Jerry announced.

Prancing out of his stool, Jerry set his sights on the target of the evening. He made his through the loud bar and sat next to her. He babbled something to get her attention. She replied with a look of confusion over her face. He said something else while inching his stool over her way. The lack of interest was painfully written across her face. Jerry continued.

After a good 10 minutes of stop and go conversation, Jerry waved the bartender down and signaled for two drinks. Her face perked up as the two vodka tonics made their way to the unlikely couple.

My glass was just about finished and it was getting late. I looked up at the familiar bartender who was hosting the group that night. He was looking for his next sale.

"Any words of wisdom out of you?" I quizzed.
Bending over slightly, he whispered in a British accent "I know they're all over the place, but you've got a good set of mates out here. Treat 'em well. Karma's a bitch, innit?"

The benediction was complete. I nodded slightly and tipped him generously. The guys were all out talking to different girls and all was well. I waved goodbye to Jerry and skipped outside. In the taxi home, I said a prayer to the real God to keep the mates safe. Call it, the Bartender's Prayer.