S took the little man to Atlanta to visit her family at her sister's place. I gave them a ride to the airport at 5 a.m. yesterday morning, and then I came home and went back to sleep. I was working from home, so I figured I'd just get a few more hours in before I started my day. I didn't set an alarm figuring I'd wake up around 8 -- 9 at the latest. I woke up at 11. I couldn't believe it. I hadn't slept in that late since ... I dunno, grad school? Things have been especially rough on us sleep-wise the past few weeks, so this was like I'd financed a luxury vacation on my credit card and paid off the debt in one huge payment. It felt go-o-d. It meant I had to work later than usual, but that's not a trade I mind making -- not at all.
At night, I had plans to meet my friend RB, whom I see fairly regularly, and our friend A, whom I almost never see. A is an interesting cat. She's a corporate attorney who has a very "DC" lifestyle. She lives and works in Dupont Circle (the heart of the city); she has a really expensive apartment with a rooftop pool; she's a total workaholic; she's single; she's queer (her term); she's witty; and she's the slightest bit neurotic. That's a stereotypical thirty-something DC-ite if there ever was one. She's also really fun to hang out with. I met her randomly at a bar like five years ago when I made an obscure Simpsons reference to the bartender that she overheard and understood (unlike the bartender). We got to talking, and soon she became part of "Sea-Fence" -- a motley crew of personalities assembled for the purposes of drinking beer, eating mediocre pub food, playing trivia, and watching sports, usually at Ventnor's Sports Cafe. It was a fun time in my life, and I'd be lying if I said that sometimes when my son is screaming "daddy! daddy! poo-poo!" at 5:30 in the morning, I don't pine for those days just a little bit.
Anyway, the plan was to meet at a new German-style beer garden for happy hour. I was a bit apprehensive when I saw it just opened two days ago for fear that it would be packed, but I decided to let it play out. Sure enough by the time I got there there was a line for entrance going around the block. I take a principled stance against standing in line to get into a bar, so I texted RB who was already inside, and started to walk up the street half-looking for a different place, half-heading home. I ran into my friend T and her new boyfriend, and then I realized that there were actually a lot of people in on this happy hour. RB made it sound like it was just going to be she, A, and I. RB is a great friend, but making plans with her can be trying because you never feel like things are set, and you have all the information. She's the queen of the one-line email or text, and she always seems to leave things somewhat opened-ended. This happy hour is a great example. She "invited" A and I by sending an email with the subject line "Happy hour here tomorrow if you're interested", and then the body was a link to the bar's webpage. That's it. No further explanation. She didn't even say she was going (granted, it's implied). If it was me it would have said something like, "I'm going to happy hour here tomorrow at 5 with some folks. You guys should join me." Two sentences, 15 seconds worth or typing, and it conveys all the necessary information.
I was glad to run into T and her boyfriend because we could all go some place else together and tell everybody else to meet us there. So we went to this place called Glen's which is one of those hipster-y market bars where you can buy groceries, but they also have a beer and wine bar and some seating (like Chuck's Hop Shop in Seattle). I like the vibe in places like this, and you can usually get good beer, but they are often confusing and inefficient when it comes to what to order where. Instead of having bartenders and bar tabs they have cashiers that ring people up for individual beers, and then if you want a sandwich or something you have to go a whole different part of the store. Everything takes about 50% longer than it should. In theory Glen's is a good idea, but in practice it needs some work.
But at least it was a fixed location where everybody could congregate. Plus the slow service made it harder to over-drink. I have a habit of drinking beverages, alcoholic or otherwise, very quickly, so if I'm not careful, I'll tie one on without even realizing it. Our friend J's band had a show last night, so the happy hour was basically pre-funk for it. I didn't really want to go. I like J and his music and all that, but I wanted to talk to people, and shows aren't social events -- you just stand there looking at the back of your friends' heads and every now and then somebody shouts something into your ear that you can't hear, so you nod your head and say, "yeah". Nights out are few and far between for me, and I happened to be out on a gorgeous one, so I wanted to sit outside at an overpriced bar in trendy neighborhood and have a peeve and a blather with some mates. Plus the show was in Virginia; as a rule of thumb, I don't hang out there.
So A and I wanted to keep it local, but we needed to get RB in on it too because it doesn't work well with two; you need that third person as the conversation buffer. We convinced her to come with us to a different bar for one drink and go to the show later, but then one drink turns into three and the show will be over by the time she gets there, so she might as well stay here and have a fourth round with us and enjoy -- which was probably the plan all along.
It was good night, but a late one. Whenever your companions for the night declare that they can't stay out all night, and you follow it up with a "yeah, I shouldn't either", you can pretty much guarantee you'll be shutting down the bar -- which we did. After we left, I started walking the three miles back to my place with the idea that I could take the bus once I got far enough away from the circle (the bus is usually so full at that time of the night that it doesn't stop until it gets into the more residential area; there are few things worse than waiting for a bus for twenty minutes at 2 a.m. only to have it drive right by you). But no buses came until I was just a few blocks from my house, so I just walked the entire way. Actually, walking back half-drunk is a good thing because its exercise you don't even remember. You just set out and then all the sudden you're home and you burned 350 calories in the process. Plus, I was listening to Harland Williams on a podcast, and he's such a nut that he was cracking me up the whole way.
I weirdly stayed up for a little while and stretched and read when I got home, even though I was really tired. I have no idea when I actually went to sleep, but I woke up long before 11.
Until next time...
[In honor of my wife and kid going to Atlanta, here's 1980s Braves pitcher Zane Smith.]
At night, I had plans to meet my friend RB, whom I see fairly regularly, and our friend A, whom I almost never see. A is an interesting cat. She's a corporate attorney who has a very "DC" lifestyle. She lives and works in Dupont Circle (the heart of the city); she has a really expensive apartment with a rooftop pool; she's a total workaholic; she's single; she's queer (her term); she's witty; and she's the slightest bit neurotic. That's a stereotypical thirty-something DC-ite if there ever was one. She's also really fun to hang out with. I met her randomly at a bar like five years ago when I made an obscure Simpsons reference to the bartender that she overheard and understood (unlike the bartender). We got to talking, and soon she became part of "Sea-Fence" -- a motley crew of personalities assembled for the purposes of drinking beer, eating mediocre pub food, playing trivia, and watching sports, usually at Ventnor's Sports Cafe. It was a fun time in my life, and I'd be lying if I said that sometimes when my son is screaming "daddy! daddy! poo-poo!" at 5:30 in the morning, I don't pine for those days just a little bit.
Anyway, the plan was to meet at a new German-style beer garden for happy hour. I was a bit apprehensive when I saw it just opened two days ago for fear that it would be packed, but I decided to let it play out. Sure enough by the time I got there there was a line for entrance going around the block. I take a principled stance against standing in line to get into a bar, so I texted RB who was already inside, and started to walk up the street half-looking for a different place, half-heading home. I ran into my friend T and her new boyfriend, and then I realized that there were actually a lot of people in on this happy hour. RB made it sound like it was just going to be she, A, and I. RB is a great friend, but making plans with her can be trying because you never feel like things are set, and you have all the information. She's the queen of the one-line email or text, and she always seems to leave things somewhat opened-ended. This happy hour is a great example. She "invited" A and I by sending an email with the subject line "Happy hour here tomorrow if you're interested", and then the body was a link to the bar's webpage. That's it. No further explanation. She didn't even say she was going (granted, it's implied). If it was me it would have said something like, "I'm going to happy hour here tomorrow at 5 with some folks. You guys should join me." Two sentences, 15 seconds worth or typing, and it conveys all the necessary information.
I was glad to run into T and her boyfriend because we could all go some place else together and tell everybody else to meet us there. So we went to this place called Glen's which is one of those hipster-y market bars where you can buy groceries, but they also have a beer and wine bar and some seating (like Chuck's Hop Shop in Seattle). I like the vibe in places like this, and you can usually get good beer, but they are often confusing and inefficient when it comes to what to order where. Instead of having bartenders and bar tabs they have cashiers that ring people up for individual beers, and then if you want a sandwich or something you have to go a whole different part of the store. Everything takes about 50% longer than it should. In theory Glen's is a good idea, but in practice it needs some work.
[And 1980s Falcons running back Gerald Riggs]
But at least it was a fixed location where everybody could congregate. Plus the slow service made it harder to over-drink. I have a habit of drinking beverages, alcoholic or otherwise, very quickly, so if I'm not careful, I'll tie one on without even realizing it. Our friend J's band had a show last night, so the happy hour was basically pre-funk for it. I didn't really want to go. I like J and his music and all that, but I wanted to talk to people, and shows aren't social events -- you just stand there looking at the back of your friends' heads and every now and then somebody shouts something into your ear that you can't hear, so you nod your head and say, "yeah". Nights out are few and far between for me, and I happened to be out on a gorgeous one, so I wanted to sit outside at an overpriced bar in trendy neighborhood and have a peeve and a blather with some mates. Plus the show was in Virginia; as a rule of thumb, I don't hang out there.
So A and I wanted to keep it local, but we needed to get RB in on it too because it doesn't work well with two; you need that third person as the conversation buffer. We convinced her to come with us to a different bar for one drink and go to the show later, but then one drink turns into three and the show will be over by the time she gets there, so she might as well stay here and have a fourth round with us and enjoy -- which was probably the plan all along.
[And we can't leave out 1980s Hawks little man Spud Webb]
It was good night, but a late one. Whenever your companions for the night declare that they can't stay out all night, and you follow it up with a "yeah, I shouldn't either", you can pretty much guarantee you'll be shutting down the bar -- which we did. After we left, I started walking the three miles back to my place with the idea that I could take the bus once I got far enough away from the circle (the bus is usually so full at that time of the night that it doesn't stop until it gets into the more residential area; there are few things worse than waiting for a bus for twenty minutes at 2 a.m. only to have it drive right by you). But no buses came until I was just a few blocks from my house, so I just walked the entire way. Actually, walking back half-drunk is a good thing because its exercise you don't even remember. You just set out and then all the sudden you're home and you burned 350 calories in the process. Plus, I was listening to Harland Williams on a podcast, and he's such a nut that he was cracking me up the whole way.
I weirdly stayed up for a little while and stretched and read when I got home, even though I was really tired. I have no idea when I actually went to sleep, but I woke up long before 11.
Until next time...
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