The Hotdog Hideaway

Last Monday the building across the street from our house burned up. Our neighor N-J said he overheard one of the firefighters saying that there were signs that there was a meth lab onthe premesis, though I have heard no more evidence about that, except there were chemical and fuel jugs up on the roof which was rather unnerving as the fire ended up making the roof collapse. The SF Gate article says nothing about that part of course. They do mention the "Olympic Resteraunt" and Steve Smith, 52, who was apparently devastated about not being able to eat two thirds of his every meal there. Funny, the place seemed to me just a joint where you could get liquor extra late, where my friend K-dog could get her oversized pickle fix and also allegedly also made sandwiches. Even the sign said "Deli and Sandwiches" and I don't recall there being more than one table and chair there.

The odd thing was that the fire apparently started, albeit slowly, in the upper levels of the building which housed a hostel which was currently closed for rennovations. Rats are currently being smelled and an investigation is underway.

Not to be a buzzkill, but the CATO institutee has this weighty but very in depth analysis of the paramilitarization of America's domestic police force since the start of the "War on Drugs" about 25 years ago. The premise is something you probably already knew, but it is always reaffirming to see so much research poured into the topic in a reasonably unbiased manner as well as provide alternatives to the current tactics. Not to be muted by the fact that many of the "innocents" killed in police raids where excessive force is used or where there is a case of mistaken identity are pets, it is chilling part how almost every incident is brushed under the rug and rationalized by whatever the latest national fear factors are. The primary concern is that our legal precident allows for practically any justification to raid a person's home without warning and how there is little incentive by police departments to limit wrongful raids except for matters of cost. Scary.

Furburgers for Life. I guess you had to be there. Two friends of ours chant this from time to time in revelry of sisterly love, and since I was was present when the phrase was coined I am now an honorary member. That might be because of my obvious penchant for bi women, but I might be reading a little too much into it. In any event, the implications of their bisexuality is most certainly only window dressing, unfortunately. Still it is always fun to participate in the the official club's chant and dance. Friday night we had a little impromptu party at our house after we were celebrating Toolbox's b-day at the ballpark. We had gotten executive box seats and had gotten a little stewed, so the next step was inviting all our friends over to our house to drink our booze. Anyway, Balke was not fully aware of their girly ruses, so he was getting a excited about seeing what he thought was them making out. Hilarious, but a little akward.

On the topic of furburgers, here is a the latest submission to James Randi regarding a woman who claims to posess paranormal abilities where she can make men buy her hamburgers. For those of you who don't know James Randi, he set up a foundation to offer anyone one million dollars for anyone who can feasibly prove the existence of supernatural forces.

I am up early today reflecting on what lies ahead of me over the next couple of months. I read yesterdays CCP postings regarding the planning of our Burning Man camp. I write my first entry into my journal of disorderly sleeping conduct and consider the irony that it is not even 6 AM.

I take the blue pill.

It is ridiculous that it has been so long since I have written anything here. So much has happened in my life over the past 3 months, it is sad that I couldn't have documented the day by day happenings. There just wasn't enough time, and I tend to be so damned verbose that the thought of writing a journal entry when I have 18 things I need to do that hour seems preposterous. So now I have to try and reflect.

I am a married man now. Yesteday was 2 months on the nose. I made dinner for C and it was delicious, but not in the same way she is. I digress. It seems so normal to say "married" now, so it obviously has been a while in terms of the things we have done since then. The wedding was by far the most incredible project of my life, and I was able to complete it with the most important woman in the world. We made it happen, and we did it exactly how we wanted it. It was beautiful, fun, and reflective. It was the golden stake in the ground that signified our future together. She was the most beautiful I have ever seen her and I for once was standing in front of a large group of people without any nervousness or reservations. I can't compare it to anything else I have ever experienced. And we did it together with a little to a lot of help from so many people. It was perfect. Of course in our true style of things, we still haven't gotten the professional pictures together, but we do have loads from our friends who posted them in a gallery I set up for it. We have the most incredible friends, and both our families recognized this. It still makes me tingle.

The honeymoon was also fantastic however I still haven't gotten the pictures from Saint Martin posted up there with all my captioning. It seems like things like this just fall by the roadside and C and I whiz along. The honeymoon was no exception. We had the best time together and equally balanced doing nothing and engaging in all sorts of activities. In spite of being jacked by American Airlines at practically every leg of our journey there and back, it will probably stand as the best vacation we have ever had for a long time. In that environment, how can we not do well?

Our dear friends Lulu and Bones got married about 6 weeks after we did, so seeing them go through the process in stagger was interesting, and I felt we could provide them some comfort, but really they didn't seem to need it. They got married, quite coincidently, in my home town of Kent, CT. The location was like a summer camp for adults and was fantastic. They really brought out the camp theme well. It was so different from our wedding, but as expected, everyone there had an equally awesome time. The running snicker over the weekend was that the camp had been a singles and swingers weekend retreat during the 70's and 80's until they renovated and upscaled their image. You could feel the soil steeped in a rich tradition of hedonism, and these people were helping in their own special way.

My friend Dan-O who fought testicular last year and who we all thought had defeated it soundly recently learned that he has the early stages of cancer elsewhere in his body and as of this week is starting chemo. It is so fucking sad because he is such an incredible person who really takes care of himself and others. I realize that for situations like this it is all about presdisposition (lots of family history for him) but I always had pictured him to be the healthiest and fittest of our group. While the cruelty of seeing someone so strong be at the mercy of mutant cells gone amok, he has never once complained or given a inkling of self-pity about his situation. He just sort of sighs and bravely faces the reality of it all. His hope is genuine and empowers him. I don't know a lot of the medical details and even if I did I wouldn't post them here, but I understand his chances for full recovery are still very good. Until then, its hairloss and nausea. He is otherwise healthy and happy which means he is strong enough to fight this, so if anyone is going to survive this with a smiling face as he resumes life's normalcy, it is him. To think about how he can be so calm and focused on the task at hand without getting swirled up and consumed by worry for the future is an inspiration, especially for a fretter like me. I haven't seen or talked to him since Monday when he started chemo, but I hope he will be up for C and I stopping by on Saturday. I feel awkward because I want to ask him lots of questions so I know what his situation is, but really I am sure he would probably want to talk about something else. Whatever we talk about, it will be good to see him. One thing is for sure is he is surrounded by a host of people who care deeply about him.

It's now about the time to conclude my insomniac clatterings and move to the day at hand. It is funny that writing in this format is liberating since it is not like I am keeping a private diary, so I feel bold talking about feelings and experiences I would not necessarily advertise otherwise, however there is just so much about my life that I would never write here. I guess I should be keeping a separate private journal so when I am old and gimpy I can read all the juicy stories from my past and remember that I did live a full life at one point. Until then...

Whew, this week has sapped my very essence. After going large in Seattle the week previous I was thinking I would be able to rest up. No such luck. I'll back it up a few paces and go back a week. I am so behind in the story telling.

Last Friday after flying in Clitty picked me up at the airport and we enjoyed some protein style at the ole In-and-Out in Daly City. For the unitiated, I&O is the creme de la creme of fast food burgers. Even with their fancy $20 counterfeit bill scanners, it is a total 50 retro experience right down to the pimply faced teenagers manning the cash registers and the cherubic broom girls with the enormous booties. There are no fake 50's decor, or Buddy Holly on the PA, but it just has that feel. Below the red enamel veneer lies a burger culture steeped in Mormon beliefs, down the the citing of chapters from the Book of Mormon on the bottom of their cups. (That last pic was a testment to the worthlessness of Wikipedia as it says it is from the Bible. Ha! Stupid internet!) At 8 PM it was of course a zoo of teenagers, but I managed to vulture a table fairly quckly as I have become a master at doing, and this time C was complaining about it for some reason, not at all comfortable with it. We always accepted the process as a fact of eating there and enjoying the burgery delights, but maybe with all the people standing she felt self conscious to be staking out a claim for some reason. But I didn't want to eat my burger wrapped in lettuce over a trash can and either did she, so I got a 4 table after waiting for a group to finish. You put in the time you get the rewards, but some huge Mormon family was trying to huddle around a 4 and 2 and I felt bad for them. I tapped one of the teenaged kids on the shoulder to offer my 4 for their 2 and he got kinda startled, like I was asking him for something, like his soul. The thing about black Mormons is you would never guess that was their identity in spite of their quirky, wholesome nature. I guess the stereotype is that Mormons are all white and doughy and wear those brown blazers with their nametags saying their are a sevetnh level magic user or something. Okay, one woman was white, probably the mom, but still, I hadn't make any kind of judgement about them, nor did I care to. I guess C later overheard them talking about the church later and that clued her in, but while at the resteraunt, I just thought that while friendly and goofy, they were an odd group for some reason. I guess it wasn't all that relevant after all to why I wanted to help them out, but my instinct was to do something so they could eat comforatably and not standing around in a huddle. Anyway, this kid was kind of startled that I approached him. He was all in a jersey getup from some NBA team and didn't understand that I was offering my recently salvaged 4 table for his 2 table so his family could all sit. The older ones who were probably in there late teens or 20's picked up on it and were super thankful and kind of razzed the younger kid for being spooked by me, and after we were sitting there we started talking about this and that and we somehow we told them we were getting married in three weeks. Wow, three weeks. They were of course happy and excited for us, and the whole experience made me understand the whole "kindness is its own reward" thing. Of course the biggest guy didn't have a chair and was kind of glum about it and he was litterally on his knees at the table yet he was sitting higher than me. After we got our food, and lost interest in the folks next to us as we focused on the greasy goodness, C says "do you know what these burgers really could use? Bacon. In-and-Out should have bacon for their burgers." I was being all "it's just fine like it is, wouldn't change a thing, yada yada..." maybe there is something about bacon being an 'unclean meat' or some such nonesense and not really paying attention to her opening her purse and pulling out a small ziplock bag with a wad of foil in it. I kinda looked at it as I had already started talking about baseball probably and then she gave me this look. I will forever call it the "bacon look" as it was at that moment I know what was in the foil. "OH MY GOD - NO WAY!!!" and she started snickering really hard. The Mormons probably thought we were nuts. There was just enough to go on our 4 double-doubles. She was so right. They were so much better with bacon.

An for the record, the Atkins diet may be a private, breadless hell at times, where else can I eat bacon cheeseburgers and lose 10 pounds in four weeks? Get your fiber and all is peachy. Woot!

Wow, three weeks. Okay, I guess it is time to start getting worried. "Hey, have a great night y'all, and CONGRATULATIONS" boomed a voice who was probably the patriarch of that family. I guess genuine cheerfulness can spot other genuine cheerfulness even with a mask on.

Walking out the doors, the night aifr felt good against my face. I felt full, but not too full, and C took my arm as we walked to the car, and I tell you... those two things together can just about complete me.

The funny thing about business trips for me is that I party harder than I ever would at home. This week I think I drank more in Seattle than I did during any of my wildest weeks in college. I suppose that is nothing to be proud of, and I will state for the record that my actions certainly weren't. I didn't accidently drop the N bomb while jabbering with a black dude at the bar like a certain someone I work with did, but the things I did get credit for had made their rounds about the office like dube on Saturday night. Fortunately, the really sordid stuff didn't make it to the general public. A lot can happen after 14 cocktails, and a lot can be forgotten. Yikers.

So here's the week in review:

Sunday
This was only night I didn't get hammered. It also was the only night I would not be staying at the W. Z-tron was kind enough to let me crash on his couch. He had just gotten a nice condo over in Queen Anne and started working at a promising startup. He is a pretty happy dude so it was great to catch up. I slept like ass though.

Monday

The first day at the office was eye opening. I now am managing about eight contractors in India, many of whom I have never spoken with. The atmosphere up in the Seatle office for my team is that of exhaustion and tension. The people there are all good at what they do and some of them are great people, but the staffing situation is so bad and some of the mandates from upper management are so against the grain of reason that the air of smug pessimism is almost palpable. The week I was up there is the week before a major release so the energy was completely frenetic. They way people joke around sounds downright mean to the uninitiated, but I suppose that is how you have to be to be chipper when you are working a minimum of 50 hours a week. Gnarls. For lunch, Boss Man and Tuck took me to one of those Meat on a Sword places called Ipanema which was Atkins heaven. I could have grazed off of sizzling meats all day, but alas, after they had long stopped I figured it was time to wrap it up and get back to work.

That night I went to go see what can only be described as a nutbag rollercoaster ride of Giants game at Fox Sports Grill. A few years ago when this place first opened I really liked it here since they would play out of market games and had a really fresh décor, but now the place seems kinda run down and the service is average at best. Their single Kettle One drinks were $7, but three or four drinks later I learned doubles were $9. Fucked up, especially not knowing this and the bartender suggested I move back to singles since I was slowing down. It took them 20 minutes to get the game on for me, when before they got it right away. I had to ask the dense bartender several times to put it on and each time she asked me what game I was trying to get. She acted like she was so so very busy but there were maybe 6 people at the bar. Lame Assed. The game was a riot though. The G’s were ahead 7-0 and somehow managed to let the D-Backs get ahead 7-9. It was outrageous, but Sweeney slapped in a two run homer in the 8^th and Finley sac flied to get stubby legs in win the game 10-9. What a ride. I was really drunk and had been talking to some dude from Chicago’s ear off. I am sure you can picture it. That is if you know me. If you don't well, think of that drunk guy you know who talks the crap out of strangers at bars. That's me.

I ended up going straight to my room and getting to be reasonably early drinking two bottles of $6 water.

Tuesday

Head slightly splitting, dehydrated and the sun’s cheery rays are like daggers through my eyelids. I had taken som Excedrin in the middle of the night which helped me, but of course not enough water. I had some coffee and was surprisingly chipper in short time. Guns arrived today and immediately made plans for drinks after work. He was up for the realease and was soon exasperated by the stoneaged push process that he was learning as they did the dry run.

After another day of presentation heaven, Guns and I met up for a drink at the W bar which featured the most expensive Kettle One in the city. I met Von who was a contractor up from Oakland and exuded that non-FTE coolness. After only 2 drinks I was already ranting about how understaffing is killing our team and he seemed to be full agreement giving me his outside vendor agreeability. Guns and I hit the FSG again to catch the game and we proceeded to get rapidly shitfaced. We met this cool dude at the bar whom was looking to move to CA and was asking us info about SF. This was the guy Guns would come to insult within the hour. The G’s were sucking wind and we had long lost attention when I realized I didn’t have my wallet on me and lo and behold neither did Guns. I must have been pretty drunk because I agreed to take a cab back to the W to get it and then pay for the both of us. The bill was $160 and I paid in cash, and of course I forgot my receipt. I also managed to lose two credit cards at some point.

We went back to the W bar and proceeded to drink even more and were prattling on and on about Battlestar Galactica. I cringe at the thought of what anyone else in that bar must have thought of us. When I went back to my room I for reasons I don’t fully grasp, I ate a box of Oreos from the frigo bar. I am not sure why I did this and I had been doing so well with the Atkins I felt pretty disappointed in myself. I drunk dialed Clitty and went on and on about how cute the teddy bear from the frigo bar was. Seriously, what the hell? I managed to break the handset of the room phone literally in half and was amused by the fact that inside the handset was a rather substantial chunk of metal to make it feel less like a cheesy piece of plastic. The idea of this really amused me at the time while at the same time really bugged me, for it’s wanton wastefukness. I managed to do a reasonably good job of putting it back together. Hopefully I won’t see that on the bill next to the Oreos.

Wednesday

As one might expect from the events of the night prior, I was feeling a little torn up. I forgot that I had ordered breakfast the night before, and the W guy was a little confused when he knocked at the door and I asked him to “come back later”. By the way, 2 eggs, 2 sausages and 2 strips of bacon with milk and coffee is $45 delivered. Work again was 8 hours locked in a conference room, so I was productive as I could be. Boss man, Guns and I went to have drinks at this cool bar which was also a theatre called The Triple Door which would be a great place to see jazz I am sure. After a few drinks and explaining Boss Man how internet applications are supposed to be deployed in such a way that releases aren't extended adventures of self-flagulations, I noticed the woman who was working at the ticket counter was extremely alluring. I am pretty sure Clitty would agree. Something about how a woman can just move across a room can make all the difference from being a tart to being a siren. Plus, there were the tits. Yes, this is probably considerred gross objectification of women, but had Clitty been there it would have been acceptable her her to oggle. It's kind of like how a white guy can't use the N word and not come off sounding like a racist fucker, which makes rapping along with Jay Z tricky for people like me. And no I don't think anyone is buying the removing the "er" and replacing it "a" makes it any better. Yes it is their word. Don't try to fling it homeboy, but I dirgress.

Anyway, we hit Sport, (across the street from the Space Needle) to watch the game since somone in the office recommended. It is a GREAT sports bar and makes The Fox Sports Grille seem like a hole. Okay, maybe that is because it is. The FSG, even with all its cool decor, is falling into disrepair, piss-poor service and overcooked beef. Sport has a great layout, has your own TV at each booth, and has the PHATTEST lounge chairs by their big screens. While we were waiting for a table we had some drinks in the lounge and the waiter turned the Giants game on for us on the big screen so we had dinner there. The steak was perfectly prepared with a really unique and delicious spice rub, he got we extra aspargus (which was perfect by the way) in place of the spuds, and of course drinks were stiff. I will be going back there.

After that it was back to the W bar catching the tail end of some modeling/DJ event so the place was once again crawling with hot chicks and hipsters. Von was there and I met this other kooky cat who works at one of the big 5 and totally hates it and is trying his damnedest to get canned, but they won't. He even showed up at a client late in jeans and t-shirt smelling of last night's booze and they still gave him good reports. There was this other girl who I tried to talk to who acted like I was trying to steel her kidneys. The other guys said she was a total psycho and was constantly talking about her boyfriend who was supposed to come and each time she was calling him on her mobile phone she looked more and more desperate. The DJs were really good and actually pretty cool to hang with. Von was gone working over some other woman (he had apparently been having some good luck since he hit town, so I left him do his thing.) I actually had some work to do so I went back to the room and cracked open the laptop, but got immersed in some intense show on the Discover Channel interviewing all these soldiers in Iraq, all of which had strong opinions of what they were doing there, and it was very surprising how wildly they varied. I felt really bad for them because they were in harms way so often that they were numb to it. Even though it put the situation in the light that things were getting done, it was just plain sad.

Thursday

Today was getting a little tough geting out of bed. I had stopped drining before midnight thankfully, but the lack of hours was crushing. Coffee. Some herbal speed. More coffee. Atkins bar. Bleh. Today was my day presenting and I new when after I was speaking for just more the 30 minutes my mouth was dry as crepe paper (I mean crepe paper that hasn't gotten accidently moistened). I plowed through it was able to show the team how to do some important stuff. Not bad for completely winging it. The afternoon got a little distracted and people were getting a little caught up in worry about the good reason, and I tell you looking back, they should have just stayed home. They are good people trying to do a lot with a little, but the whole "yes it is all fucked up" and "no, we are not sure when we will be fixing it, but I do hope it is soon." Uhg.

That evening the medium sized boss Webby took us all out to Triple Door again which was a lot of shit talking about anything, pretty much. Webby is a ballbuster which I kind of like (figures) but he is still sizing me up I can tell. He sees me as high strung which I guess is why he put my as managing all the level 1 support contractors. He knows if shit gets fucky I will bitch about it. That part is true anyway. We hit The Brooklyn which I just love and ate my usual plate of oysters and a steak with roqufort cheese on it. Delicious as always. We all were pretty stewed and we talk techy smack and eventually the crowd was down to... you guessed it... me and Guns.

We wandered around looking for something to do and found this trendy bar on I 5th street I think. I have no idea what it was but it was really red in there with a big old dance floor and more seating in the back on a riser which could serve as a stage. The place was crawling with hipsters and hot lesbian looking woman - my favotire kind. We had a few drinks in the corner and some dude who was at a large table of mostly women came up to me as I was getting up to hit the bathroom if he could touch my ass. It was clearly some sort of bet with his table and for whatever reason or whatever level of alcolism I didn't immediately tell him to bugger off. He then said he'd get me a drink. Now, this is point where a brain is really supposed to put on the brakes and say "Hey, you are not going to let a man grope you for a drink." But of course, I did. The girls at the table were obviously pleased with his accomplishment, but on what grounds I have no idea. We wrapped it up and head back to the W.

Things got pretty blurry. Guns had left. I was talking to some woman with blond hair, bangs and for whatever reason she was interested in me. I have no idea how I had the capacity to hold a conversation and quite possibly I was not, but there I was. The next thing was even more ridiculous- I asked her if she wanted to have a drink in a more private setting and she said "yes" like she was saying "fianally". I should have been amazed. I should have been concerned. I should have had a clue. I should have remembered that I left my jacket on my chair.

In any case, there we were going to my room. Now, there was no way I was going to ever have sex with this woman, let's get that straight. As much as I flirt and maybe a little messing around maybe, I don't stick my dick in random women. Not any more anyway. In spite of C's open mindedness It just isn't what I want, or at least wanted at that time, to be completely fair. Realistically, even if that was my intent, I was a gelatinous mess and nothing would be going on in that department tonight no matter what I did. So here we are, in my room, listing to some tunes on the iPod, and make drinks from the accursed frigo bar. I sit next to her.

She says "so it's $200, okay?"

This is one of those moments when no matter how drunk you are, you brain pulls out this emrgency cell of sobriety for about 45 seconds - just enough so you don't either do something regretable, get hurt or get robbed. You, gentle reader, probably saw this a mile away, and as I type this I feel way more foolish than I did thinking about it afterwards. It was a testament to my density. Also, it was that point that I was made the realization that "yeah, that is why this woman is sitting on the bed in the room of a drunken buffoon. And I thought it was my charm." Then there was the trying to explain that I was confused and was not in need of her services, but thank you for your time and attention. Please don't be mad." I don't remember this part so well, except her saying "I'm a a working girl big guy" as I sat there agape. My explainations and stubbling words are probably best forgotten anyway. She did leave withouth too much fuss, but was obviously annoyed, but I think she was more laughing at my moronics, which was probably a good thing. I also avoided getting robbed or getting thrashed by a pimp. Bonus! May that be a lesson, Lit. If you are drunk at a hotel bar and morbidly drunk and she is reasonably sober, attractive and seemingly interested in your conversation, she is probably a hooker. Noted.

Friday

Wake up with all the lights on, in my clothes, TV on. Head is not even worth talking about, so I move on. Throw things a sqare thing I believe to be my case. Slink out of room in shame. Realize I don't have my coat. Fortunately it is pouring out otherwise I might forgotten it completely. At least I remember that I left it at the W bar.

Getting my coat from the conceirge was done in such a way to torture a person with a hangover. It went like this:

"what kind of jacket was it?"
"a Columbia Convert. Black. With a grey stripe"
(repeats over phone, talking the the bar, I presumed)
"What size is it?"
I pause. "Large?"
(repeats. long wait.)
"Can you describe anything else about it?"
"Uh, wow. It has a hood? There is carmex in the pocket?"
(repeats this. Long pause.)
"I think he's got it for you."
"Great!"
(seemingly endless wait)
A man in a sharp suit emerges with my jacket.
"Is this it?"

Now mind you, I showed my gratitude, but come on. I wished I had the brain power to come up with something like "oh... no... my jacket had the carmex in the right pocket."

I get to the office and man I must look as bad as I feel as even the Indian contractors look at mee incredulously, and getting any kind of look out of these guys is a stretch. I saw Guns and asked him if he recalled that how the evening ended and he said "oh, your let a giuy grope you for one drink." and I was of course incredulous. And he said "really! youd did!". Then of course it came back to me. "Oh yeah. Wow." The thing is with the Seattle office there are like 5 people working every square foot, so of course that was heard, and twisted, and by lunch I was known as "Cheap Date". Nice way to wrap up a week, don't you think? I figured the story of my run in would wait until I got back from Lunch.

At least C was laughing at me when I told her the story. I am such a degenerate, but at least it is funny for now. I just hope the next time I read this is not from a program,

So that was it. Company money well spent. Times like that really make me love my job.

So last night Balkie, Clitty and I went out to Alfred's for some big tasty meat to celebrate with our friends' Lease and TJ who were in town in lieu of making our wedding in May. They are great people who live in Boston now and I love getting the chance to prattle on and on with them. We started the evening with happy hour in the sunny alley of the Irish Bank, and after a few double vodka sodas my tongue was nice and loose and the stories just sorta flowed out of me. Maybe the reason I like Lease and TJ so much is they are entertained by this personality trait of mine, not exhausted. By that time I was turning the almost comically huge doorknobs of Alfred's I was good and fired up for a massive piece a beef. Alfred's is Atkins paradise, and since Clitty talked me into going on this absurd diet of meat and fiber (which is frighteningly effective I must admit) this was our paradise. Amongst my steak loving friends (not as rare a breed in San Francisco as you might think) the scuttlebutt on Alfie's is they overcook their steaks, and I can sort of see that, but I had a 30oz 1-1/2" thick porterhouse which was perfectly medium rare near the bone- the "golden zone" as I put it. Near the outside perimeter it was a little overdone, but wherever the bands of fat were, nice pink meat lay beneath. To the shock and awe of my friends, I picked the bone clean. They had brought us our wedding present which they presented after coffee, and I have to say they know our tastes well. The poor guys had to drive to Santa Cruz that night, so we broke off with them around 9 or 10 to go meet up with Jersey and J Face who were harassing Weaves over at Citizen Thai. They are feeling lively and I think Weaves is trying not to seem to associated with them. It's a respectable establishment and she doesn't need us to go into palookaville at her bar. Still, as always, she is probably too generous with her attention to us. Love that girl. Of course when Clitty, Jersey, J Face and I get together trouble ensues, and this was no exception. All of the talk Clitty and I had to take it easy until the wedding was totally forgotten, and wow... is it 3 am already? Jersey and I were getting all deep and existential (par for the course during high buzz). I gotta watch myself with him as he doesn't work on Fridays. I always forget that. The result is I don't do a lot of work on Fridays myself. Speaking of which...

It's hard to work when there is a day game going on. My general feeling is to just cut work and bring the laptop to the park. In these days of Blackberries and Wifi, why the heck do I need to be in the office? I am just going to be listening to the game on the radio anyway. Clitty and I cut work last Thursday to catch the home opener and it was the best decision we made all week. Granted, we were both on a tear which started with our respective bachelor/bachelorette parties from the weekend before, so I can hardly say we had made a lot of smart decisions so far that week. Staying out until 5 am on a weeknight is a prime example of "it seemed like a good idea at the time". Maybe it is escapism from wedding planning, maybe it was us not wanting the weekend to end, but either way I make no apologies for spending the only sunny afternoon last week seeing the G's take their first win from the slackjaw Braves. But yesterday I was obliged to be in the office and had to settle for Jon Miller's description of Morris pitching great curve balls and getting his K on.

So right now it is Friday and I am "working from home" and I have the second game of yesterday's double header on the TiVo and right now it is the top of the 7th. I am not impressed. Cain pitched well, in spite of giving a two run homer to Berkman, but amazingly struck his way out of a bunch of tight spots, so he should feel no shame. That kid has a bright future, and a great first name to match! But in spite of keeping the big Astro bats (mostly) at bay, there is that painfully familiar sight of more base runners stranded than the cast of Lost. It just kills me to see that when there is other so much great hitting. And now Kevin Chokerea walking runners home. And hey! Fillipe is sending Walker to the bullpen! This is not going to end well.