The payoff of the patient man

The other day I wandered up to my watering hole TSI for a beer and a visit with my friends when a woman in her thirties approached me at the bar. She turned to me and started to say something.

Her: (smiling) Hi

Me: (politely smiling and slightly raising my glass) Hello

Her: Hey....were you in Riverside today?

Me: Uh...yeah

Her: Were you walking to Memorial Park?

Me: Yes

Her: And then you walked to Starbucks...

Me: Yes (awaiting her point)

Her: What is your name?

Me: (sensing a familiar and slightly painful exchange) Parag

Her: Baran

Me: Parag

Her: Barag

Me: Parag

Her: Oh...Parag...

Her: Well my friend was checking you out earlier and she wanted to know whether or not it was the same person. So if you come outside stop by and I'll introduce you. She's the cute blonde.

Me: Oh...ok...well thank you.

I proceeded to drink my beer and hang out with a friend. I wasn't overly enthusiastic about meeting anyone that night. At best this would be a slight boost to my ego - a response that came out of the ashes of my uglier days. As I was leaving the bar I saw the woman in question and her friend from the bar was also there. She was occuppied with the lips of a guy - someone she met within the hour or so that I spent inside. Her friend turned to me for another exchange:

Her: (disappointed) I guess you came out here too late

In fact I had come out just in time.

Her: She hangs out at Sushi Cafe a lot

Me: Oh

Her: So maybe you'll run into her

I said my goodbye and walked down the tunnel and wondered about male and female interactions. Perhaps it was love at first sight. Or maybe this was a fleeting experience brought on by low expectations. This was drum and bass night after all.

Sometimes we all need reminders

While leaving Alltel Stadium on Sunday, a man walking past me grinned and made a disparaging remark to his friend about me regarding sexual preferences. He wore shorts that threatened to become pants with a dirty shirt and soiled tennis shoes. Judging by the features he seemed the likely product of some taboo engagement. This was the last of four or five such harassing comments that afternoon. (never while in a group) I guess I should have apologized for not being generic enough with my clothing choices. I should have also apologized for flying solo as much as I do to these garish events.

Sometimes it is good to be reminded of how great the Jaguars are for this town. In fact we need more events where we can mix locals with volume oriented beers. Along the way if the surrounding event can suck taxpayer money up - even better. If I were a billionaire then I would love for my private enterprise to be funded by the unthinking sports fan who believes that he is the beneficiary of such schemes. He is told that businesses will leave or choose not to come here based on the sports franchise. The NFL owners don't even have to say anything since local sports writers and later editorial writers lead this charge. After all it is in their best interest to do so both for current content as well as the possibility of being catapulted to a larger organization.

The next time that you think the Jaguars play a crucial part in helping Jacksonville grow further...remember Buffalo as a depressing cautionary tale.

ROARGAN!

In front of Moon Colony Razorblade Josh Dunn, Mark Lynn, and Bert No Shirt debuted as the band Roargan. As Nick points out, they instantly became the favorite band of around fifty people.

I will be sitting down with Roargan for a little Q&A within the next couple of weeks so stay tuned.

I shot it five times

A nice looking family walked into a local Pizza joint the other day. The husband and wife had a "fresh from the golf club" appearance and the children, a girl and a boy seemed pleasant enough. The boy couldn't have been older than thirteen. A woman working the bar knew the family and was making small talk. She asked the boy about his recent hunting trip.

The boy carried a broad smile and cheerfully exclaimed "I shot it five times." The woman asked the boy about the animal that he shot. The boy was still proud of shooting the animal five times and stated again that he he had shot the animal five times. When asked again the boy said:

"A Deer"

Embarrassed, the father laughed nervously and said "you're not supposed to say that." I suppose it was the embarrassment of a man who allowed his son to shoot an animal five times without mercy. On another level someone should have explained that being a poor shot wasn't a laudable thing either.

The woman behind the counter asked the boy how he cleaned the animal. She asked him how he skinned it. The mother of the boy chimed in and clarified that he "didn't know anything about that" and added that all of that was taken care of by the "processing center." She was very quick to cut the woman off. After all it wasn't polite conversation to mention what happens between the shooting and the happy meal at the end.

This is what happens when yuppies fancy themselves as outdoorsmen - the really nasty parts of hunting are taken out while the "good" parts...such as the thrill of killing something...are left in. What experience is re-lived through this sort of twisted romanticism? What lesson is learned? Gee Dad, it sure does feel good to kill things. Yes Son...lets have a little more male bonding by watching football and avoiding interactions that extend past the high five.