When I move, you move.

This town has a facade of sleepy, or quaint. It's called a Village in the "hip" sense of the word. And so it was that Friday night had me stepping through the glass and arched front door of a home built in 1925. It's now a bar where every wall is painted the color of rich and warm red velvet, and black and white photographs don't hang, they're set into the wall and are lit from ethereal light behind.

The 80 year old hardwood floors vibrate under the influence of a state of the art sound system. Vibrations transfer to the barstools, and to me, perched on the edge. Up through the bar, vibrations pump my Amstel. If a place can have a vibe, this one's got it.

I'm looking forward to going back.

Chinese Curse

The other day I got one of those fortunes in a cookie. You know the type.

"You will inherit land or money."

This upsets me. Tricky little fortune cookie, isn't it? It's not a fortune. It's a curse. The damned cookie tried to curse me. It's much like wishing me an interesting life. On one hand, if my life were of interest, lots of folks would flock to this little space to see what's transpired. The problem is that it comes at a price.

And so does an inheritance.

Damned cookie. I don't want it.

2 minute warning

The thought has occurred to me that I will mark my 45th year on the planet Earth come Christmastide.


Pardon the expletive, but wouldn't you be upset? There's no more room for cute in my world, folks. The low rise jeans I bought at Hollister are about to go all comic on me. I've been able to pull them off with some grace, but soon it's all going to start looking like I'm reaching and stretching just a hair too thin.

Warn me when it starts to happen.

Until then, carry on.