Colt 45 and Moxie

Where the hell have I been?

Yet again, I've dropped off the face of the earth for a while.


E-mails sit in my inbox, shamefully unanswered...

Voicemails from months ago threaten to delete themselves every time I check my messages...

To my credit, I did track down the last known passenger pigeon a few weeks ago, intending to use the little bugger to send news to the Isle of Man, but I was saddened to learn that the little fella died almost a hundred years ago.

Besides, it wouldn't have lasted five minutes in our apartment before being tragically eaten by the cat. And obviously, after a month of radio silence out of me, any message I'd be writing would take at least seven or eight minutes before I really got into a groove...


It was only after doing a bit of research that I realized that I had made a very common mistake.

Turns out, what I really wanted was a homing pigeon, which is not extinct at all.

Hell, I could buy a stuffed one on ebay right now...

So what's my fucking excuse?


How about this? "Man, alive, it's been a crazy month."

When we last left me, I was off to DC, and right off the bat, I'm pleased to confirm that Chief Ike's is just as Mambo-tastic as I remember it.


The music was a fantastic mix of old- and new-school awesomeness, the beer was cheap, and it is still one of the only places in DC where people just hang out as "people," regardless of race, sexual orientation or economic status.

Yes, I know that's a really awkward sentence, but you should have read the other versions - they either made me sound like a tool or some sort of hip-hop wannabe (when all I really want to do is keep it real).

The point is, Chief Ike's Mambo Room is fucking utopia, and now they have pizza. And everyone knows that a pizza utopia is the best kind.

The journey home from DC started with Niki and me wandering into a ghetto liquor store and my fateful sentence, "is that the biggest bottle of Colt 45 you sell?"


But our fun did not end when I nimbly leapt off that bus in Chinatown, NYC.

Oh, no. In a way, it was just beginning...

The next weekend included a visit from our friends from Amsterdam. I like to think they had a good time, although they definitely got to see me run the gamut from exhausted/depressed to elated/enthused, in just two days.

The difference? An unexpected job offer as we were on our way to Peter Luger's steakhouse for those incredible Sunday-afternoon burgers.


Don't get me started on those.

Hell, I've posted pics of them before, but there's another one, just to remind you: get there and eat one of these burgers before you die or the world ends, otherwise most of heaven and all of hell will be giving you shit for not taking advantage of the opportunity.

Unless, of course, you're vegetarian or Hindu, at which point, yet again, I'm at least telling you to compromise your principles and/or eat your god.

That wouldn't go over well in your heaven, I'm betting.

But in mine, they're going to ask if I got the bacon, and I can shamelessly say "yes!"


I digress.

Point is, things got nutty after that - while I juggled questions about my career, we also had a fantastic birthday dinner for my friend Ingvild at Bamonte's, a local Brooklyn Italian restaurant that is exactly what you want when you go to "a local Brooklyn Italian restaurant."


Go there tomorrow.

After that, the week took off like the proverbial bat out of hell, although for the life of me, I can't remember what proverb that bat was from. I'm pretty sure it's somewhere in that part of Proverbs that describes how to allocate the women captured in war in a fair and equitable manner...

That week ended with Saint Patrick's Day, a trip to Beantown, candlepin bowling, indoor karting and my Uncle Joe's retirement party.


And yes, there was some drinkin' - when we weren't karting. F1 Boston doesn't kid around - hell, I was stone cold sober and they threw me in the penalty box for aggressive driving.

Twice.

Somewhere along the way, I accepted the Sunday-afternoon job offer and quit my old job.

I can't wait.

I know, I know. You've got a lot of questions...


Unfortunately, I can't be as helpful as The Peoples (with No. 2, no less!)...

In fact, I can't really tell you anything else here on my crappy blog. I've signed a lot of random documents in the past few years, so I'm Captain Paranoid about that sort of thing. At the same time, some of my past and future co-workers have already tracked me down on the internet, but I will confirm for all of you that I did quit "the Firm," to take a job at "a fund."

Vague enough for you?

If you really care, send me an e-mail, I'll tell you all about it.

The point is, as I sit here today, I am yet again in the odd netherworld between jobs.

That, of course, is not to be confused with the time I was in the Netherlands and between jobs, which was a somewhat better time.


Unlike both of those times, though, this time I'm not inhaling a steady diet of Heinekens, and I am not terrified for the future or tormented with a creeping sense of existential dread that taps me on the shoulder whenever Counting Crows come on the radio.

Why? Because unlike the last time I found myself in this predicament, I've actually got another job lined up already, and unlike that time in Holland, I am actually looking forward to the job.

More amazingly, unlike either time, I honestly believe in myself these days...

Go figure.

It fucking took me long enough.

So where am I?

I'm enjoying the break. I'm catching up on sleep, making up for some long-overdue fitnessing, and can't avoid March Madness and its, well, madness.


In short, I'm feeling great. I mean, not as good as the George Mason guys, but still not too shabby.

More importantly, unemployment hasn't led me into the depths of my own brain this time. Case in point: I'm not hunched down in my boxer shorts, drunk at 2pm and screaming at the National Spelling Bee.

Because the Spelling Bee isn't until the end of May.

See you then.