RIP, Bus Thoughts Blog

I've lost blogs before, and it's been painful. I've pushed "back" on my browser at the wrong time. I've had the "Preview & Post" button lead to a broken page error. Usually I get pissed and remind myself to always copy the blog before submitting.

This morning I typed up a blog. I'd love to say it was hilarious and insightful and a can't-miss, but it was pretty pedestrian (about my thoughts on the bus this morning). I just need to start writing again and I wanted to start somewhere.

I typed it up. I pushed "Preview & Post" and then I got some sort of premonition that something bad was going to happen. I selected all from within the blog and had to copy it... I should have done a Ctrl-C number to copy, but instead I right-clicked and went to select "Copy" from the popup menu...

Usually right-clicking is safer. Ctrl-C doesn't give much feedback that you've successfully copied the content to your clipboard, but if you select "Copy", you're golden.

Unless, of course, "Copy" is not an option.

MySpace's stupid rich text editor seems to embed a different HTML page into the window, rather than text. This leads to an alternate set of options popping up, and one that does not include "Copy". So I left-clicked to get out of the popup menu, which meant I no longer had my blog selected, and I hit "Ctrl-A" to select all...

And then the next page finally kicked in. The page could not load. I knew I was screwed.

"Back" on the browser (my only option at that point) led to a blank blog entry page. A quick check on my blog confirmed that the new one had not been saved. The "Bus Thoughts" blog was gone forever.

RIP, Bus Thoughts blog.

40 Things: Updated

For some reason I haven't felt much like blogging lately. Maybe it's the travel I've been partaking in, or maybe it's the NFL season about to start, or maybe it's my continuing fascination with my vacuum cleaner.

In any case, I hope to have the blogging mojo back soon, and in the mean time here's an update on my "40 Things" blog, since the conclusion of my brief Lemonade Diet experiment:

1. Philly cheesesteak sandwich: ate one in Wisconsin.
2. Deli sandwich with thin-sliced turkey and ham with swiss cheese and mustard: the first thing I had for dinner after my diet.
3. Frozen burritos: have some in my freezer but haven't eaten any yet.
4. Hard shell tacos from Taco Bell: shockingly, I haven't made the run for the border/across the street for these just yet... and my Taco Bell run in Wisconsin had another focus (see below).
5. Quesadillas: yep. Happy hour at Tia Lou's.
6. Supernachos: yep. Birthday dinner.
7. Chili-cheese burritos: when I made the list, I was thinking of homemade ones, rather than the actual Chili-cheese (nee "Chilitos") items at Taco Bell... they've been discontinued in my region of the country (see this blog and this one for more info). But not in Wisconsin. Giddyup.
8. Qdoba steak burrito: yep. Delish.
9. "The Elvis" burrito from Mama's: the first thing I ate to break the fast (well, other than chips and salsa).
10. Taquitos made by my parents: no. I saw my parents but they had the whole "Our daughter's getting married!" excuse. Pshaw.
11. Chicago style stuffed pizza with pepperoni, black olives and pine nuts from Delfino's: not yet.
12. Wood-fired pizza from Via Tribunali or Bambino's: I did, and it was excellent.
13. Two slices of random kinds of pizza from any place on Vancouver BC's Granville Street: no... haven't been back to BC yet.
14. Tombstone supreme frozen pizza: have one in my freezer, haven't eaten it yet.
15. Omelette with ham and black olives with hashbrowns on the side and a large orange juice: hellz, yeah.
16. Stack of fluffy pancakes with boysenberry syrup and a large ice cold milk: it was this or the omelette. I went with the omelette.
17. Sausage gravy and biscuits: not yet.
18. Dick's Deluxe cheeseburger: yep. A cheap, healthy dinner.
19. Homemade turkey lasagna: no. No time to cook just yet.
20. Chicken parmesan: yes. Had it in Wisconsin and it was great.
21. Fettucine alfredo: no... had like 100 other Italian dishes, but not this.
22. Deep-fried cheese curds: when I made the list, this was a bit of a joke. But I had some with my Philly Cheesesteak in Milwaukee.
23. Mozarella sticks and marinera sauce: indeed. Red Robin to the rescue!
24. Big Mac: not yet.
25. Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers from Wendy's: not yet.
26. Hot dogs: hmm... not yet.
27. Macaroni and cheese (alternate: shells and cheese, preferably sans Velveeta): unfortunately, no. :(
28. Chef's salad: I had a blackened chicken salad at Crawdaddy's in Milwaukee, so I'm giving myself credit for this one.
29. Sushi: delicious. So good.
30. Phad thai (six star) from Tup Tim Thai: no yet, but given the proximity of the restaurant to my place of residence, it should not take long.
31. Phad see ew: I want to say "yes" so I'll say it.
32. Hand-shaven barley green noodles with chicken from Shanghai Garden: nope.
33. Grape beef with brown rice: nope.
34. Sweet chili shrimp: uh-uh.
35. Paneer pakoras from Taste of India: not yet.
36. Nan (garlic and regular): had some, yes.
37. Chicken shahi korma: hmm... I can never remember what I eat at Indian places beyond the nan. I don't think I ate this.
38. Chicken tikka masala: oh, wait. I do remember some. I ate this, yes.
39. Chicken honey and prunes from Marrakesh: no. No Marrakesh trip yet.
40. Brochette Marrakesh: nope.

The tally? 18 of 40 items consumed. Not bad for two weeks' work.

40 things I would love to eat right this moment

OK. I intended to make a list of 100. 40 will have to do. I should make this a checklist and see how long it takes me to get through these 40 things after I bid adieu to the Lemonade Diet (Thursday lunch...).

1. Philly cheesesteak sandwich
2. Deli sandwich with thin-sliced turkey and ham with swiss cheese and mustard
3. Frozen burritos
4. Hard shell tacos from Taco Bell
5. Quesadillas
6. Supernachos
7. Chili-cheese burritos
8. Qdoba steak burrito
9. "The Elvis" burrito from Mama's
10. Taquitos made by my parents
11. Chicago style stuffed pizza with pepperoni, black olives and pine nuts from Delfino's
12. Wood-fired pizza from Via Tribunali or Bambino's
13. Two slices of random kinds of pizza from any place on Vancouver BC's Granville Street
14. Tombstone supreme frozen pizza
15. Omelette with ham and black olives with hashbrowns on the side and a large orange juice
16. Stack of fluffy pancakes with boysenberry syrup and a large ice cold milk
17. Sausage gravy and biscuits
18. Dick's Deluxe cheeseburger
19. Homemade turkey lasagna
20. Chicken parmesan
21. Fettucine alfredo
22. Deep-fried cheese curds
23. Mozarella sticks and marinera sauce
24. Big Mac
25. Junior Bacon Cheeseburgers from Wendy's
26. Hot dogs
27. Macaroni and cheese (alternate: shells and cheese, preferably sans Velveeta)
28. Chef's salad
29. Sushi
30. Phad thai (six star) from Tup Tim Thai
31. Phad see ew
32. Hand-shaven barley green noodles with chicken from Shanghai Garden
33. Grape beef with brown rice
34. Sweet chili shrimp
35. Paneer pakoras from Taste of India
36. Nan (garlic and regular)
37. Chicken shahi korma
38. Chicken tikka masala
39. Chicken honey and prunes from Marrakesh
40. Brochette Marrakesh

Highlights from Hawaii

Originally I had planned on documenting the ups and downs from each day and night in Hawaii... and then I got distracted and had to, like, go to work and stuff. I now am finding myself falling behind on my blogging because of the daunting task of documenting nearly an entire week of excitement, adventure, and hilarity.

Instead of that sort of longwinded play-by-play, I will give some anecdotes. I'll start with three and if more pop into my head and I have the energy and time, I'll add future blog entries as supplements.

Day 3, at the beach near our hotel.

We went boogie boarding our first day in Hawaii, and I enjoyed it. I am a strong swimmer and don't fear the water or the ocean at all, so I was willing to give it a shot in spite of some rather large waves and a total lack of experience with a boogie board. My first experience was good but rather quick (twss) as I got very, very tired. In fact, I think I only managed to catch one good wave, but I rode it all the way to the sand of the beach and headed in for the day.

Day three saw a rematch, and it went pretty well. I still was a terrible, terrible boogie boarder, but at it was fun and (other than a nasty scrape of my left ankle on the coral beneath the ocean's surface) no one was hurt.

Perhaps most interestingly, I was approached by a girl when I was about 15 minutes into my boogie boarding (which, to be fair, was me trying to lie on the board without tipping over about 90% of the time). That's right, a girl approached me. Shocking, I know.

She was a waif-like girl who was from Korea and she asked me to teach her how to "surf". I immediately explained that we all were not surfing, but I neglected to inform her that I (a) just started myself, and (b) didn't have any idea what the fuck I was doing.

TM2000 waded over (sea-based cock block) and I introduced him (it was sort of like Ozzies, but more coral and less karaoke). He pointed to the hat she was wearing and told her that she should take it off, because she was going to lose it.

She meekly tipped it back off her head, relying on the string it was attached to... but after he paddled away she put it right back on. TM2000 is intimidating, I guess.

I proceded to crack about 35 jokes about Korea, ranging from Rock Ready to Kim Jong-Il to Japanese occupation in WW II. She nodded politely, of course, but I don't think she really got most of them... of course, even if she spoke perfect English, it would not have been uncommon for my jokes to go over her head and/or be entirely void of any actual humor. Say, for instance, a joke about the Japanese occupation in WW II.

We boogied our separate ways, but before I left I checked in on how she was doing. She caught a wave or two, was having a good time, and had lost her hat.

TM2000 wins, one to nothing.

Night 3, on the dance floor of a bar down the street from our Hotel.

How many times do I have to admit that I'm not a good dancer? It's an unanswerable rhetorical question, but whatever the answer might be, it needs to go up a notch. Because I'm saying it here. Typing it here. Whatever.

I'm not a good dancer. I know it. Anyone who's seen me dance knows it. I was informed by a purple-haired lesbian in Hawaii that I needed to move my hips more (and that it's SOP to stick one's thigh in between the thighs of the lady when there's a slow song...) later in the week.

I'm not a good dancer. But I sometimes like dancing. I don't need a girl to dance (although it helps, it doesn't help as much as a lot of alcohol). I also don't need to be mocked on the dance floor by foreigners. Again.

But it happened. I was dancing away at about 2:30 AM when a group of people entered the bar. Guys and girls. A rather pasty lot, but otherwise not particularly memorable. Two girls went on the dance floor and, after a bit of time, one started backing up towards me, kinda giggling as she did.

There weren't a ton of people on the floor, and I saw her coming. I could sense that she was going to do something silly that would potentially be at my expense... and she wasn't cute enough for me to put up with that. I retreated from the dance floor, getting another mai tai (or water, or something) and watching her look around, confusedly, at my disappearance.

Heh.

I went back out on the floor, of course, and the second time, I let her get close to me. She started dancing in a pseudo-sexy manner, not really touching me much, but clearly putting on a show for her friend. It pissed me off a little bit.

(Speaking of asymmetrical touching: there are a lot of hookers that walk the streets of Waikiki late at night. One approached us one night and, atypically for their breed as far as I could tell, put her hand on my shoulder and stood very close as she made her pitch for my money (or maybe she really just liked me for me). I figured her touching was an invitation, so I went a couple steps up the kino escalation ladder and put my hand on her waist. She took a step away from me real fast and left shortly thereafter. In retrospect, I guess I should be pleased I didn't get cut. Vertically.)

I did, though, talk to her. I asked her where she was from (Ireland) and if she was with friends (she was, a big group). I acknowledged that I know she was making fun of me/having fun at my expense, and I kinda excused myself.

Later that night, she was sitting with a couple of female friends in a booth, and they asked me to take their picture.

Me: Say, "Cromwell!"
Them: Cromwell!
Camera: *snap*
Me: (approaching) Here's your camera.
Them: Thank you!
Friend 2: Did you mean Oliver Cromwell?
Me: (in an Irish accent) Yes, he killed a lot of Irish people.

The best part of that conversation is that I have a HORRIBLE Irish accent generally, but after hearing them speak I was halfway passable, I think. When I retell it, though, I can't remember the Irish accent at all, so I tend to just say it as a pirate would: "Aye, he killed lots of Irish people! Yarr!"

Day 6, walking to Burger King for lunch.

Night five had resulted in a long and crazy adventure with a bunch of Australians (ending with the line, from one chick of, "Do you whiten your teeth? It's just bleach, you know. Your teeth will get brown when you stop. You're beautiful!!") and when TM2000, Flowers and Ice went on a trip elsewhere around the island, I decided to stick around the hotel, reading, napping, hitting the gym (the view from the elliptical was amazing... I want to move there, live on the beach, and shower at the 24 Hour Fitness until my membership expires. Hmm...) and walking to Burger King.

I don't recall the name of the street, but it ran right long the ocean/beach and it was occupied by a large assortment of tourists, locals, and homeless. It was from one of the latter two camps that I heard this glorious exchange, as I walked past...

Man 1: Do you know what it feels like to have a dick in your butt:?
Man 2: Uh...
Man 1: (leaning in close to Man 2) I DO!!!
Man 2: ...
Man 1: I've never told another living soul about this...

Unbelievably, and inexplicably in hindsight, I kept walking. How does one walk away from a solid gold conversation like that? Oh, well...

Six days and nights of Hawaii: Day One

Day One, July 16 2008

I woke up at around 5:00 AM, which is tremendously early for me under normal circumstances, and was particularly early given I had been up so late the previous night. It's not every day (or month, or decade) that I get to fly to Hawaii, though, so I woke up in a timely manner, got a shower taken and my final packing done. I met Flowers and his gf, Ice, outside of Flowers's place and we hitched a ride to the airport with his mom.

This was the first time, actually, that I'd ever traveled to Hawaii, and I think that the plane I flew in was the largest. I've never flown over an ocean for an appreciable time (no European vacation for me just yet, and I don't really count the Gulf of Mexico) so I was surprised at the number of seats on the plane.

I was seated in row 35, iirc, and I was in the center set of seats, with two empty seats immediately to me left. Or at least they were empty for a minute. As soon as I started making plans to somehow sprawl luxuriously across the empty seats, a woman sat down.

Fortunately for us both, she was reasonably attractive. Knowing that she was changing seats without authorization, I was able to open with a "I'm sorry, miss, but I am going to have to see your ticket." It got a laugh.

We talked off and on through the flight. She was going to Hawaii for work. She was from Calgary. Currently living in Montana. Yadda yadda. She wasn't staying on O'ahu (as we were) let alone near Waikiki (as we were) but it was still pleasant companionship.

Two of my three Hawaii co-adventurers had made a trip to Mexico with me in early April... Flowers was in the early stages of his 'ship with Ice, but TM2000 and I had been ready, willing, and eager to meet new Mexicanas and, instead, got a goose egg.

I don't mean goose egg like we didn't get laid. Or that we didn't make out with any hot chicks. I mean that we (almost) literally spoke to no women. I got shot down once, iirc, and I was called "gay" by a gaggle of Sonorans, but for all intents and purposes we were entirely shut out.

TM2000 arrived in Hawaii some time before the rest of us, and he had been peppering me with txts and emails involving ... well, involving good stuff. I was looking forward to jinxing his experience with my arrival.

In any event, Mexico provided a baseline of sorts for me in judging Hawaii... if it was better (even given the low bar that had been set) it would be a success.

We touched down in Honolulu and TM2000 picked us up in his dad's orange 1979 VW bus... it was awesome. We stopped at L&L for some lunch plates (which involve a scoop of white rice, a scoop of macaroni salad, and a meat of your choice... all on (you guessed it) a plate)... although I had a couple of hamburgers (needing time to acclimate to the island).

After lunch we cruised to our hotel, which was right across the street from the beach in Waikiki (south of Honolulu, on the island of O'ahu). The beach looked great. The ocean looked amazing. Attractive people in bathing suits abounded. It was good.

One of my innumerable weaknesses as a human being is that I am a poor packer. I tend to wait until the last minute, and I tend to forget things on a regular basis. I invariably end up buying something that I already have two or three of at home, and this trip was no different.

In this case, it was swim trunks.

I already have two perfectly funcional pairs of swim trunks, but that they were nice and clean and folded up in my Seattle apartment didn't really do me much good when I was standing in my hotel room.

It was about 3:30 PM, and we had planned on hitting the beach. So I needed swim trunks, stat. I wandered down to an ABC Store (one of about 40 within walking distance) and picked out a new pair.

80% of these blogs seem to be me pointing out my faults, but given how my weaknesses define my life experiences, I must betray another one to continue to tell this story. This weakness? I have no idea what my waist measurements are.

Unfortunately, I had to learn the hard way.

Specifically, I looked at the 50 (or so) different swim trunks hanging up, and I picked the pair that I thought looked the best: they were pretty plain black, with a splash of red. I took them to my room after paying for them, and I didn't even look to see what size they were.

I got up to my room (TM2000 was out parking the rig or something) and I looked at the shorts. They looked good, but they were size 30.

"Hmm...", I thought, "size 30 waist seems like it might be a tight fit. Oh, well. I'll make it work."

When I pulled the shorts up past my calves, I knew I was in trouble. They didn't really want to go over my knees and thights, let alone up around my waist.

But I persevered. I had it in my head that if I could get them past my thighs they'd fit. Of course, when I got them around my thighs I had to squeeze my butt in there, and I literally scraped my left buttock because the shorts were so small/I had so much junk in my trunk.

Speaking of junk: I FINALLY got the shorts pulled all the way up, and they were tight. Like tight around the waist. Tight around my thighs. But worst of all? EXTREMELY tight in the groin region.

It was like I took some suspenders, threaded them carefully between my bits and pieces, and then stree-eetched the suspenders, fastening them around my neck. My crotch looked... well, it didn't look right. It was uncomfortable, of course, but the shock of seeing the way the too-tight swim trunks were pushing things in entirely unnatural ways... that shock was too much.

I peeled off the shorts (wincing as I had to re-scrape my ass cheek taking them off) and eventually swapped them for some that fit more appropriately.

It would probably be a good idea to go to the doctor to ensure that I'm still capable of producing children...

[more on my trip later...]

Excesses in Haircutting

My hair was getting out of control. Hawaii was getting closer (literally, because of plate tectonics, and temporally). Still I went back and forth about whether to get a trim, let it ride, or get it all chopped off.

After taking informal surveys the last couple of weeks (again: anyone who knows me understands that I'm driven by public opinion and poll numbers) I decided to get it cut. Short.

Saturday morning I called the salon where I've gone for the last couple of years (Seven) and asked for the stylist who helped me last time. I came to know her through (shocking, I know) Ozzies and she did a good job last time. If I'm going to pay an arm and a leg for a haircut, I'd rather have a friend end up with my arm, at least.

4:30. Saturday afternoon. With my friend. In their new location.

I had not been to the new location, which is on the second floor of Pacific Place downtown. Their previous location seemed reasonably functional, at least, with about 12 haircutting station thingies (a technical term) and a nice reception desk, with a couch and magazines to help one while away the time. There was also three changing booths, where people could put on fancy-ass robes.

I'd been told the new place was an improvement, and I had expected it to be larger. I didn't expect what I experienced, though.

At about 4:20 I rolled into the new Seven location and stopped at the reception desk. Unlike the previous location, which had the desk tucked in the corner, with all of the haircutting station thingies visible, this new reception desk was the first thing I saw. That was fine. I like clarity when it comes to salons.

I was greeted by a woman and I explained I had a 4:30 with my friend (we'll call her "Ellen", because that's her name). She handed me off (not literally) to another woman (who, incidentally, had worked at the other location and had been involved with me about my sexuality some months previously (to her credit, it was at Neighbors)). This second woman brought me around the corner to another woman and then promptly departed (without taking a shot at my affection/affinity for women... maybe she forgot or maybe I've started to exude more testosterone or maybe she just didn't want to mock customers whilst she was on the clock).

This third woman was a nice enough looking lady, but she wasn't Ellen. I was sort of nonplussed, and I apologized, thinking maybe I had been assigned to the wrong Ellen. She shook her head and said she wasn't Ellen, and then offered me a robe.

It clicked that, unlike the previous location where there were just a few booths to change in, there was now a dedicated Robe Distributor and, presumably, a walk-in set of booths to change in. I declined the offer of the robe, though, and was at that point handed off to a FOURTH woman.

This fourth woman brought me around another corner and asked if I wanted something to drink... SOP for Seven, and I was ready for this: I asked for a water. When she returned, she had a mini bottle of water and a piece of chocolate (that I promptly put in my pocket because it had the word "Sexy" on it... why eat chocolate with such brilliantly ridiculous packaging? (Don't even get me started on my Oral Fixation usage lately...))

While I was ready for the beverage question, I was not ready for the assault on the senses that kicked in as I turned the corner and took a seat in the waiting area.

First of all, I was surprised by the size. There were probably 50 haircutting station thingies. (Although the use of mirrors might have just given that impression, it was quite roomy.)

Secondly, there were a lot of people milling about. It was like the Death Star, where it wasn't just Darth Vader and the Stormtroopers: there are support staff and people that look like they belong but don't have readily apparent roles.

Two people stationed directly in front of the waiting area did have obvious roles, and I was a bit stunned at their presence. A DJ was spinning tracks. A barista was waiting to make coffee or espresso or whatever the caffeine addicts are drinking nowadays.

Many of the other employees were women, and many (perhaps even most) were... uh... hot. Not to be a lecherous old man or anything, but there were quite a few attractive women wearing fetching dresses (classy, but fetching). Some were standing, talking, dancing to the music playing (thank you, DJ!)

When Ellen came to get me, we walked the 1.2 miles to her haircutting station thingie, talked haircutting strategy, and then rinsed my hair at the sink in the glorious sink area about 40 feet from her chair.

It was upon the return from the sink to the chair that I did something I can't remember doing. Ever. It's a bit embarrassing and it makes me feel common, so of course I'm gonna blog about it.

We were walking back, with Ellen following me, when it happened.

You've all seen Three's Company. I'm sure that most of the readers of this blog studied it extensively... either in film school or as part of their postgraduate work. Three's Company had a portion of its intro where Jack Tripper is staring at a woman and crashes his bike... and another intro where he's staring at a woman and runs his bumper car into the wall (which is so ironic! His bumper car is uniquely enabled to withstand such a gaffe! It's almost as if he knew it was going to happen.)

So. Yeah. Three's Company.

I'm walking back to the chair. Ellen is behind me. There are lots of attractive women standing around, dressed appropriately but pleasingly.

One walked by and I looked at her and she looked at me and I ... I dunno. I stopped paying attention to anything else. I did not, however, stop walking.

At the last moment, I managed to swerve to avoid a crash into a pillar or whatever was in my way. If it had been Three's Company, I would have bumped into a stylist who would have shaved off half of Don Knotts's hair. And there might have been a tight zoom on his face, which might have looked like this:

The funny thing is that I don't remember what she looked like. Brunette, wearing a black dress. I'm pretty sure of those things, but the details are fuzzy. Maybe it was just the intoxicating effect of the new Seven location... knowing how excessive it all was. Or maybe they put something in my bottled water.

That thought makes me even less likely to eat my Sexy chocolate.

Tear of Rage

Time is ticking down towards my Hawaii vacation, and I've been getting some going outs taken care of.

With TM2000 warming up the islands for me, and Morpheus (is that his nickname? I thought I had a new one, but I can't recall it at the moment) was all, sick, or something... so I went out alone through LQA.

I had a couple of interesting things happen (naturally) but the highlight/lowlight occurred at about 2:15 AM, on the northwest corner of Mercer and Queen Anne.

First, of course, some context. There are two primary places I tend to frequent on Lower Queen Anne (aka LQA). First and foremost is Ozzies. Secondly is Chopstix, which is a dueling piano bar around the corner.

I'm not, truth be told, the hugest fan of Chopstix in the world, but other people like it and I am always prone to peer pressure and I conform at the drop of a hat.

Also, since I go to Ozzies so often, I like to mix it up by going Thursday nights to Chopstix. It's Ladies' Night on Thursdays, and if one is willing to wade through the chaff, there is occasionally wheat.

With all of that said, there is one guy who's there every Thursday. I can't make fun of him for that, both because (a) I'm at Ozzies much more often than he's at Chopstix, and (b) the only reason I know he's there every Thursday is because I am, too. He has sort of a flambouyant wardrobe, though (and this is from a guy who is mocked pretty consistently for his garb, remember) and he definitely stands out.

Thursday night he had a buddy with him. Maybe it had occurred before, or maybe it was a first... but he had a buddy. His friend was wearing a stone washed denim vest to go with stone washed jeans (is "stone wash" a single word? Hyphenated? Screw it; I'm keeping it as two words).

Why was he wearing this? It turns out that it was 80's night at Chopstix. That's right... Ladies' Night and 80's Night. I think they tried to work in a "Salute our Troops" angle, too, but two themes is the legal limit, as it turns out.

Unfortunately for Vest Guy, he and his buddy The Regular were the only two aware of the 80's night. (As an aside: while I find this amusing, I fell victim to a similar snafu at Ozzies Pajama Night in March of 2007.)

If this was all that had happened, I would not have blogged about it. Or, rather, I might have, but I wouldn't have poured so much of this fiscal quarter's advertising revenue into driving traffic to this blog.

No. That is not all that happened.

Ozzies closed. I wanted orange juice, so I walked to the Metropolitan Market to get some. Orange juice. Get some orange juice.

On the way back, I spied The Regular and Vest Guy standing on the corner about a block out of my way. We were, like, the only three people (at least non-invisible people) around, so I tucked my Simply Orange under my arm and went over to say hello.

Vest Guy was upset. He was pacing and he was staring down the street towards Ozzies. The Regular was making placating gestures, smiling and trying to calm Vest Guy down. I had to know what was happening... so I asked.

With a visible effort, Vest Guy stopped pacing and turned to face me. He looked upset. Angry and hurt and... well, upset. Because I didn't feel like getting punched, I prodded but gently in our succeeding conversation, which went something like this:

Me: Hey... is everything all right?
Vest Guy: You know sometimes people are just assholes.
The Regular: And sometimes people have too much to drink--
VG: They push and they push and they say shit and they--
TR: --and stuff gets taken the wrong way...
VG: --and you think...
Me: Woah. What's going on?
TR: We were outside of Ozzies, and--
VG: Outside of Ozzies, guys were talking shit and they were just so... ahh, FUCKERS!
TR: --like a dozen guys were talking. (To VG) You know there were like a dozen, right?
VG: I don't care... I say we go back and we...
TR: You know I was just trying to get you out of there, right?
Me: (Looking down the street towards Ozzies) Well, whomever they were, it seems they've gone... can you tell me what happened?
VG: You think you're doing well, and then they say something, and it's 8th Grade and Dungeons and Dragons, and...
Me: Oh, my.
TR: (Nodding) Yes... see?

I did see. I didn't need to know particulars to know that this young man, this young man who was wearing a stone washed denim vest with a sleeveless shirt underneath, I didn't need to know particulars to know that this young man had felt his entire adulthood and maturity ripped away from him... to know that the veneer of badassedness that was (presumably) only partially captured by his 80's Night adventure garb was taken away from him, and he was suddenly back to re-rolling 3d6 for Charisma because he really wanted to get a Cleric that could have a lot of followers.

What I did see, though, was a single tear rolling down his right cheek. A Tear of Rage.

We went on to discuss local politics and Sonics dancers and the state of the GOP in the state of Washington (and by "discuss" I mean that they talked while I listened, vainly hoping to build upon the Tear of Rage moment)... but nothing stuck with me like the emotion that Vest Guy exhibited.

Go go, Vest Guy. Rage on.