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June 2, 2007
Today ... the pub crawl
Guys and gals, it's hard to know where this entry will go.
This morning I went to Mel's Diner for breakfast (I had three eggs, a dry English muffin, ham, extra-crispy home fries, and a pancake with whipped creme), then I went to the garage and lifted weights (and really, when you consider all the weight equipment I own, I should be a lot stronger than I am). Toward the end of the day I rode The Mighty Schwinn 32 miles (and averaged a hair over 19 mph … not bad for me) and then went to the pool and swam some laps.
But wait, I'm getting ahead of myself.
On the way home from Mel's I ran across the Bikers Against Child Abuse tent. They were set up next to Otie's and were part of a fund raiser for St. Jude's Children's hospital. I bought a shirt with a motorcycle theme for Samson and a couple of do-rags (one for Sam, one for me). I figured I couldn't very well pay someone to make me breakfast and not make a contribution to a worthy charity. The shirt I bought for Sammo was way too big so I washed it in hot water and ran it through the dryer to shrink it up.
Just after the motorcycle-gang-apparel buying spree I received a call from a friend. She thought it might be a good idea to see Knocked Up and asked if I wanted to accompany her. I thought it was a great idea and we met up at Movie Tavern.
Knocked Up was very good. The woman friend mentioned that a reviewer had commented that for all the F-bombs dropped, it was a very sweet movie (or something like that). The C-bomb was dropped once, as well.
As I said, we saw the show at Movie Tavern in Hilliard. I had a shrimp salad during the movie, a beer and a Diet Coke. I'll have to blog about Movie Tavern sometime. But not today.
After the movie we went to Starbucks for dessert and coffees.
And then I rode the bike and then went swimming.
And then I decided to go to the pig roast fund raiser for St. Jude's. I think it was for St. Jude's, and it doesn't really matter who it was for as I never made it.
I went to the local bar that I was holding the fund raiser and found the fund raiser was either A) over or B) out back and farther away than I was willing to walk.
I sat at the bar and had several beers. And a fried bologna sandwich.
And I thought about life and how uptight I am and how I seem to lack passion about a lot of things and how I don't understand why Quicken Loans Arena was full of idiots who cared about the Detroit v. Cleveland game and I wondered about a lot of other things as well. Like why it is that I lack whatever it is that makes being alive seem like a kickass thing.
(I lifted weights today. I rode a bicycle 32 miles. I swam laps. Why did I do all that? If I don't I feel like a slug. But who cares? Riding the bike is fine and it isn't like when I'm on The Mighty Scwhinn I'm thinking, God, let this end, but what is the point? You know, tomorrow I do squats and lats and I'm sort of looking forward to it, but why? I'm never going to be huge; probably never terribly strong). I'll likely live to be close to 100 regardless of what I do unless, of course, a bus slams into me. I've got living-long genes on my side. I think I'd have lived to be about 100 if I still weighed 370. Wait, bad hormones lead to a host of other problems. But, if I were able to blossom up to 370 again, with good hormones, I think I'd live a long time. Not that I'd wake up every day and think, Hot damn … another day of living. It all goes back to that passion thing. )
And then a drunk guy sat next to me and made some comments about the game and I pretended to know what he was talking about and tried to provide some sort of appropriate feedback and then I noticed that he checked out the backside of the barmaid and then I gave her a look and then I wondered why we, as guys, felt we had to do such things and what we got out of it.
And why do we do this? Somebody, really, explain it. Why do guys check out women? Do endorphins of some sort get released? What? The other day I was distracted by women jogging. Why? This never happened when my hormones for fucked up.
You know, when I was waiting tables, back in 1984, a group of gay guys came in to the restaurant on a regular basis and they'd ask for me to wait on them (I was the only waiter … that is, vs. waitress). One time they came in with a new guy and as I was taking their order I glanced at the new guy, to let him know it was his turn to order, and noticed he was looking at my feet … and then my legs and waist etc. right up to my eyes. He was checking me out. But why?
(For what it's worth, I think the gay guys asked for me because I knew they were gay (how they knew I knew I'm not sure) and I just didn't care.)
Were were we?
The drunk guy checked out the barmaid's backside. So did I. I wondered why the hell we were like this.
I had a three Sam Adams: Sam Adams Spring brew, the Summer brew and plain old Sam Adams. POSA was my favorite. I also had a Pabst Blue Ribbon as I hadn't had one since college.
And I left.
I went to the bar across the street. It's one I often pass and that I've alway been curious about. I had a shot of well whiskey (Old Crow), a Miller High Life (the Champaign of Bottle Beer) a Red Bull (sugar free) and a Miller Lite. Also a bag of chips.
I then strolled down to the Yard Club (now called The County Cork). I ordered a Fosters (Australian for beer … or bee-uh). While I was in the bar Cleveland beat Detroit and the bar bought all the patrons a shot of some sort of apple schnapps.
I had to leave before I finished my Fosters. (Fosters is a fine beer, I just knew if I drank it all I'd be in poor shape tomorrow. And I've got those squats I'm looking forward to.)
You know, not long ago someone told me that in England, "spunk" and "spunky" have different meanings than they do here in the USA. Just this instant, something came up — involving Brits — that makes their point. You're on your own to sort it all out.
Speaking of British people … the Queen is looking good these days. No, that's not where I was going. During the Knocked Up previews a new Simon Pegg movie was teased. You'll see the clip soon enough and when you do I want you to know that I owned shorts, once, that were very close to being that short. Everybody did. It was the 80s.
There are things I sometimes need say that I can't here and this seriously affects the therapy-quality of WADLL. A blog-friend of mine recently moved her blog and started all over due to this — she had things she wanted to say but couldn't due to the fact that family and friends knew who she was and she didn't want to upset or worry them.
I'm not as deep as she is.
Some day I'll go into more detail about my lack of passion about things in life and about just how uptight I am..
But now, I'm going to bed.
Posted by delmer at June 2, 2007 11:49 PM
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Comments
Sounds like your weekend is panning out to be about as frustrating as mine. Hope you didn't feel too shlumpy this morning; I have no idea if "shlumpy" is a real word or not but I like the sound of it. Email en route....
Posted by: Pen at June 3, 2007 7:30 AM