- If I was on a first date with someone and s/he ordered a _________________, I would probably end the date early.
- When I’m sick I really want someone to _________________.
- I know that some people really love _________________; but I don’t understand how they spend so much money on it.
- I know that some people think I’m crazy for spending so much money on _________________; but I really love it.
- I’m so glad that I’ve out grown _________________ since high school.
- I am living proof that the stereotype about _________________ isn’t always accurate.
- I know that it is a made-up word; but _________________ is a permanent part of my vocabulary.
- I can’t wait for _________________.
- The most common misconception about me is _________________.
- I wish I wouldn’t _________________ but sometimes I just can’t stop myself.
- If I never heard the word (or phrase) _________________ again, it would still be too soon.
- I have a hidden talent for _________________ that no one would ever expect of me.
- I am not a fan of extraordinary rendition; but if it were to take place for crimes against _________________, then _________________ should be the first person on the place to Guantanamo.
Fill in the Blank Friday – A Baker’s Dozen
2 October 2009
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I Got 5 on It, I Got Five on It Friday, meme, new word, random stuff | 
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That’s What Old Friends are for? – part I
28 September 2009The rain kept me in the house on Saturday. It was a blissfully unproductive day in which I mainlined college football – props to USF, Stanford, VaTech, and a few other squads that made the day especially interesting – and generally ignored all manner of adult responsibilities.
About the time that I finally accepted that this would be that rare Saturday evening when I would stay in the house, my phone rang with a blocked number. As is my custom when receiving such calls, I let it go to voicemail. It rang again and was ignored again. The third ring in three minutes made answering an annoying imperative.
“Good evening, this is Refugee” I said with a hint of annoyance. I could barely hear the voice on the other end, the caller clearly at a party with loud music in the background.
“[garbled, garbled, garbled] what’s your 20” the voice commanded.
“I can’t hear you, who is this?”
“Moving outside, stand by” my mystery caller said and suddenly became less mysterious. It almost had to be an old grad school friend, Dave, who else do I know that consistently speaks in clipped borderline militaristic commands. Dave and I met on the first day of our MBA program – we argued about the practical implications of the financial principle of Opportunity Cost in Advanced corporate finance class. Our argument continued after class, escalated to a bit of yelling and we became fast friends. He was a 29 year old former Lieutenant Commander in Navy Special Forces but only threatened to kill me with his pinky finger a couple of times.
“You can hear me know, right” he asked without bothering to wait for an answer before continuing “I expected to see you at this dinner; where are you?” Dave was referencing the gala that concludes the week of partying under the color of politics otherwise known as Congressional Black Caucus week. He and I routinely catch up on this night when he flies in from the left coast and I mosey down the street to see and be watch the scene with the Black glitterati of politics and entertainment.
“I couldn’t do it this year, my friend, something about them giving an award to that step-n-fetch-it clown Tyler Perry” I replied in a generally true but equally lame explanation.
“Fuck that, fuck him – you need to double time it down here because I need a wingman” Dave replied. “Hold one” he said quickly.
I could hear him on his other phone but couldn’t decipher the words. A minute later he returns to our call and states plainly “I’ve sent the car to your place; Tony is our driver and he has instructions to ring your bell every two minutes until you come downstairs in a tuxedo.” With barely a breath, he continued “and Tony is an old [Navy] Chief so he knows how to follow orders.” The line goes quiet.
I know that every word of Dave’s entreaties is true. Factoring the distance and traffic, I guesstimate that I have about 25minutes to shower and get dressed. I swallow hard, strip off my pajamas and get in the shower. Still affixing my cufflinks when I get the first ring, I indicate that I’ll be down in a minute. I grab bowtie and cummerbund, pat my pockets for the wallet, cigars, handkerchiefs, business cards, Crackberry, lighter, and pen. I emerge from my place not yet fully dressed and Tony is at the door of the limo.
“Good evening, Mr. Refugee, there’s champagne in the cooler, Coltrane on the stereo and a party waiting for you.”
To be continued…
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Ten Things I Would Have Tweeted This Week if I Twittered*
24 September 2009- Red pumps with a black business suit = great; red pumps with black ball gown = hooker.
- Every man should have the experience of saying no to a woman who is unaccustomed to hearing the word. It is an invigorating experience.
- The likelihood of a dude getting laid on Saturday night is inversely proportional to the degree of tooldom he displays to the bar staff.
- Every time I watch Top Chef it makes me want to drive to Zaytinya, find Mike I and repeatedly punch him in the face.
- I know that this is an inside joke, but LiLu did you invent this http://ninjaoffer.com/?
- Overheard at the bar: The only way she got into those pants was with a stick of butter and the grace of God.
- Get over to Little Miss Whiskey’s before it’s too cold to enjoy the best patio in the city. Don’t expect Whiskey.
- You know you’re old when: you’re talking to a woman in a bar and realize that you once dated her mother.
- Why do fun size Snickers bars taste so much better than their full sized brethren?
- A woman sitting next to me on the train just quoted Pablo Neruda; I would have fallen if she wasn’t married.
* Any of you should feel free to correct the conjugation of those verbs.
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I Know / I Wish
19 September 2009I know your boyfriend is an asshole and I haven’t even met him yet. I wish I knew you well enough to say.
I know you don’t like me and that I wouldn’t trust you to make oxygen into carbon dioxide. I wish that you would stop pretending.
I know that we’re back on friendly terms, can bend an elbow together even, but I’ll never be with you again. I do wish that I could bottle that look from the first time I rejected you.
I know that you and your fiancé are happily ensconced in your life and you know that I love both you and her. I do wish that you and I still had our great friendship.
I know that you mostly mean well when you keep offering me that gig. I wish that I could take you seriously.
I know that you’re married and I am no threat to you, your husband, or your marriage. I do wish I didn’t enjoy being around you quite so much.
I know that you’ve loved me since before I was born. I wish you didn’t have such a fucked up way of showing it.
I know you’ve been sober for five years now and your sobriety is more important than our friendship. I wish the two weren’t mutually exclusive.
I know that you’re a gentleman and a stand up guy. I wish you hadn’t placed me in a position that asked me not to be too.
I know that I am a deeply flawed man. I wish I spent more time trying to fix the fixable flaws and made less excuses to place flaws in the non-fixable column.
12 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, blogging life, crush with a little c, dumb things I have done, entertaining, I know I wish, random stuff, sucks to write this, the social contract | Permalink
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No Sand in the Eyes is the Start
15 September 2009A couple of weeks ago Anonymiss wrote a post about the primary elements of a successful long term relationship. In the comments, I noted that Love and Respect are the universally recognized concepts. The essential one that no one teaches you is the ability to fight fairly and well; she asked how one does that.
The best thing about my failed marriage is that the process of trying to save it helped teach me how to better be a partner. Arguments and disagreements will always occur, and just like people relationships are better judged in crisis than smooth seas. I won’t pretend that I always fight in this manner, but I do always try. From the perspective of a divorced man who spent way too much cash and time trying to save a failing marriage, these are the best lessons I learned from that experience.
- The number one rule. Just like a street fight the best way to win is to avoid it. Be sure that it’s worth it. Ask yourself if you really need to be right about this, if the question is really one that is worth the risk?
- Start with the end and work backwards. If you could script the conversation/argument, what outcome would you write? Is that outcome realistic? With the desired result in mind, what has to happen to achieve it?
- Don’t paint conversational corners. The only thing finite in an argument are your feelings so avoid concrete declaratives about anything else. Don’t declare motives to another person’s actions. Don’t end sentences with the word “period.” Those types of statements almost force a person to become defensive.
- A good place to begin. If you start with the assumption that no matter the outcome the relationship will still be standing, it helps a great deal. If you cannot begin with that assumption, then you need to have a clear idea of what you want from the argument.
- Limit arguments to the actual argument. If you’re discussing discussing “X,” intermingling or peppering the conversation with “Y” is inefficient at best and makes your partner feel like you piling-on at worst. If through the course of conversation “Y” becomes an organic part of the discussion, then discuss it but do acknowledge the change in subject.
- You may not if… If you cannot articulate why you’re upset, you do not need to have the conversation until you can.
- You also may not if… If you cannot discuss things calmly without yelling, you don’t need to have the conversation until you can.
- Commit the following to memory: “I am really angry/pissed/seething at you right now, I’m going to a neutral corner until I calm down a bit.” This phrase is especially helpful when combined with the assumption from number 4.
- No proxy statements. Bringing the opinions of others not present into the conversation is piling on and can unnecessarily damage the relationship of the third party with your partner. I.E. saying “…and your brother John agrees with me too” has limited purpose and can cause severe harm to the sibling relationship.
- Tape delayed conversations. There is a reason that the saw of counting to ten before speaking has lasted this long.
- Schedule and Script. Let us suppose that you were sufficiently angry about something that you thought going to neutral corners for a day or two was a good idea. Scheduling the argument with your partner gives her/him the opportunity to prepare as well. Writing a list of your grievances is also a good thing – resisting the affections of those who would mock you for this would be a good thing too.
- One wrong may be insensitive; returning it in kind is intentional. Your partner saying or doing something that causes pain does not grant license to be hurtful in return. Being deliberately or intentionally hurtful is the reddest of red flags.
- Benefit of the doubt. Almost every statement can be interpreted in at least one alternate way. If you don’t trust your partner enough to give her/him the benefit of the most charitable interpretation, then you have a larger issue. Consider that larger issue.
- Start, conduct, and finish with humility. There is no weakness in forgiveness, no failure in apology.
22 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, random stuff, something else I have started that I may or may not finish, the social contract | Permalink
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Give Me Some Help with a Speech…
10 September 2009One of my old high school football teammates and I crossed paths in the grocery store about a month ago. It had been more than a decade since we had seen each other so we decided that shopping could wait but getting reacquainted over a couple of beer couldn’t.
The very short version of the rest of the story is that he is now the head coach at our alma mater, and asked me to give the pregame speech before this weekend’s game. For reasons that would take way too long to explain, this is a huge deal for me. What follows is the latest draft of my speech* – any thoughtful criticism would be appreciated.
There are only a few people in this room who had the great privilege of knowing Dr. Oliver Thomas. He was the football coach, and head student counselor here for almost thirty years. Your coach and I played four years for him, won conference and city titles with him, never lost a game on this field with him. In our time with Coach Thomas, we only lost three games, were nationally ranked three of those years, produced a handful of professional players, scores of collegiate players, and routinely smacked around your opponents today.
I would love to talk with you about any of those experiences, but if Dr. Thomas knew that I only had this time to address you, the newest members in the fraternity of young men who have worn these colors, and I spoke only of sport, he would be disappointed in me.
The legacy of this school is in the ninety years it has produced fine, and well balanced men. You will play many games, and there will be many people in your lives, and some who just want to be in your lives. Some of them will tell you that the scoreboard is what matters. I agree with them, but we will use different standards of measurement. The scores that matter will reflect the men you will become, the effort you will leave behind and the measure of character in your performance.
This day matters. This game matters. How you play matters, but only in the context of the man you become when this game is over, your high school career over, and you leave this hallowed institution as graduates.
Doc Thomas never cut anybody – people cut themselves; he always said. If you gave everything you had on the practice field, on game day, in the classroom and in the community you were forever welcome on his team. In life, you won’t get cut from anything either if you keep giving your all and in all things.
20 years ago your coach and I played this team to a virtual stand still on this field. We were ranked number one and they were number two. The game proceeded as expected between two good teams – a seesaw for most of it, but we finally got up five points with five minutes to go. They came down the field until they were on the one yard line with two minutes to go. And we stood em’ up. Four plays in a row, no quit.
Do you want to know the first thing that Doc Thomas said to me after the game? He said “that was a helluva game, Refugee; let’s see that same effort on your physics test on Monday.”
Play this game in the same way you live your life – on the field, in school, and beyond all of this – all go, no quit, until whistle blows.
* names and some details changed for obvious reasons.
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Shocked by Metro Employees
8 September 2009By the time I ascended to the Metro exit last Thursday night, I was angry with myself for having slept two stations past my stop and it being too late for a return trip. In deciding to be fiscally prudent and save the cab fare, I had doubled the fare home. It wasn’t until I was at the gate that I realized that my money clip (with my SmartTrip Card) was still on the train.
I resigned myself to having lost a couple hundred in cash, my drivers license, a credit card or two, and the several hours it would take to replace all of them, but first I had to exit the station.
“Excuse me, I left my wallet on the train, and it had my Smart Trip in there” I said to the attendant who was a few minutes from going home. I fully expected him to direct me towards the emergency exit and my fate of losing cash and time.
“What car were you on” he asks.
“The last one; it’s closest to the exit at my normal stop.”
“OK, hang on a second” he says and makes a phone call.
I am shocked by his efforts but still have low expectations.
“We found it. Let’s head downstairs; train should be here in a couple minutes.”
Five minutes later I have cash for the cab ride home, the same ugly picture on my license, and a renewed sense of the integrity and customer service of Metro employees.
One person went out of his way to help me, and two people looked at cash and decided to return it to its owner. Doing the right thing when no one is watching takes true honor.
***************
It should be noted that my money clip does not have a monogram – I have no trouble remembering my own initials.
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Open Letter to a Few Women in DC
27 August 2009I understand that there is a not insignificant portion of the men in this city who seemingly strive to harass, objectify, and verbally abuse you. I get it – I really do. The best I can express is sympathy as I am not a woman and empathy is not possible. My understanding, however, does not grant you or anyone license to display rudeness in the face of civility, hostility in the presence of cordiality.
A few of you deserving of special mention:
To the redhead at Starbucks this morning, despite your protests about my motivations and desire to “check out [your] ass,” I assure you I was simply holding the door for someone I mistook for a lady.
To the power suited woman rocking the red pumps in Kinkos, if a gentleman says “I love your shoes,” then a thank you is a more appropriate response than “I’m not interested.”
To the Plain Jane married woman at the seafood counter at Whole Foods, when I asked what you were planning to do with the Skate, sneering “Making it for my husband” only makes me doubt the existence of a man who would marry you.
To the past her prime platinum blonde who I encountered sitting at my local, it had been a really long day for me. I had just finished working/cooking the bulk of the evening and had endured the indignities and accusations from the aforementioned women throughout my day and I still found enough civility to offer you a light without speaking a word. I know that you “can” light your own cigarette, and can state the obvious.
None of you, however, can change me.
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Loose Lips
24 August 2009My dear friend, the Only Slight Sleazy Lobbyist, and I were at the tail end of the best kind of late and lazy summer Sunday. Our unplanned day included top down driving around the city, a farmers market, a spin through Haines Point, a trip to the batting cage, and a couple of beers on a patio. We went back to his place to watch the end of the Giants game on the massive porn machine that adorns his wall. It didn’t take too long for us to realize that game was a replay from the previous night so we switched to the latest episode of Entourage.
E, my favorite character on the show, was having a conversation with his sort of girlfriend when he accidentally called her by his ex-girlfriend’s name.
OSSL: That ever happen to you?
Refugee: Once. In bed with a woman too.
OSSL: Are you serious, what did you say?
Refugee: I didn’t know it happened… in my defense, we both had been boozing for a while. I woke up the next morning and she was on the couch and really frosty toward me. She and I were in a generally weird place, so I just thought she was in one of her moods. I left. It wasn’t until much later in the day that I got a text from her that asked “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”
OSSL: How did you respond?
Refugee: I still had no idea what happened so I replied “Inasmuch as I haven’t a clue, what are you talking about?” Then she told me that I said another woman’s name while we were in bed. There really was no recovery from that, but that’s not the worst part for me.
OSSL: Oh god, what’s worse?
Refugee: I really just wanted to ask her what name I said.
15 Comments | bars aka where we get the booze, dating, Only Slightly Sleazy Lobbyist, random stuff, women | Permalink
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You Can Give That Person My Number… or, The Longest Missed Connection Ever
17 August 2009I like Bar X in a conceptual and cognitive sense but don’t truly feel it as my place for unquantifiable reasons. I still get there randomly because my friend K, one of my favorite people on this planet and my favorite bartender, keeps one shift a week there.
I had just found a stool at the mostly crowded bar when K found me with a beer and a “So get this!” “A few months ago I did something I never do, answered a call from a number I didn’t recognize” she continued. “It was around the time that I was looking for a new gig, so I thought that it might be from a job. It wasn’t! It was from some guy that I dated long ago and now he won’t leave me alone. He keeps texting and calling me and just sent me one right before you came in.”
“K, have you had the blunt conversation with him yet?”
“No, I guess I have to now.”
Other people needed K’s attention, but as she set my second beer before me, I told my slightly related story.
“So… I had finally forgotten the number of a woman whose number I used to know by heart and haven’t had a reason to call in a long time. I had deleted her from the phone, and my number changed so she didn’t have mine either. A month or so ago, I was drinking at a bar near her house. I had just enough booze to mistake calling her for a good idea. I got a wrong number and I was delighted to have been saved from myself.”
“Go on” K said warily.
“Two weeks later she runs into an old mutual friend who GIVES HER MY NUMBER.”
“Oh, that’s a major party foul” K said, her empathy showing.
It became a needed foul as I recently needed to ask this woman for help (for a friend) regarding an area of her professional expertise; but I still don’t need the temptation.
As my third beer arrived, I heard the familiar “Dooo, doo, do, do, dooo” that opens Stevie Wonder’s As from his legendary double album “Songs in the Key of Life.” Bar X has a nice jukebox; and As is not a terribly obscure song. However, I doubt that many people in the room where born when it was released, 1976, suspect even fewer knew the song, and was just shocked that someone would play it.
As around the sun the earth knows she’s revolving
And the rosebuds know to bloom in early May
Just has hate knows love’s the cure
You can rest your mind assured
That I’ll be loving you always
“K, I need to know who played this” I almost demanded.
“It wasn’t me. Maybe it was T [the other half of one of the city’s best bartending tandems]”
“T, did you play this” I asked him with the same level of urgency.
“Nope” T answered with a hint of curiosity about the origin too.
As now can’t reveal the mystery of tomorrow
But in passing will grow older every day
Just as all is born is new
Do know what I say is true
That I’ll be loving you always
I turned to face the bar looking for someone who displayed an indication of ownership of the GOAT* of love songs. Surely someone would be bopping a head, dancing a little but nothing.
“K, I really want to know who played this” I almost pleaded.
“I wish I could help you, Refugee, but do you really think that she’s in here?”
“Probably not; but I am so I can’t rule it out” I replied repeating one of my long held beliefs and turned to scan again.
Did you know that true love asks for nothing
Her acceptance is the way we pay
Did you know that life has given love a guarantee
To last through forever and another day
Just as time knew to move on since the beginning
And the seasons know exactly when to change
Just as kindness knows no shame
Know through all your joy and pain
That I’ll be loving you always
As today I know I’m living but tomorrow
Could make me the past but that I mustn’t fear
For I’ll know deep in my mind
The love of me I’ve left behind Cause I’ll be loving you always**
No one offered a clue. I got my tab resigned but hopeful simply because someone played a song.
“Thank you, K. Love you lots; and if you find out who played that song you can give them my number and I won’t be any part of upset.”
___________________________
What obscure to slightly obscure song do you love so much that you would cross a room to talk to the person who played it on a jukebox?
___________________________
* Greatest Of All Time*** for those who don’t know, and yes it is the GOAT in my mind, if only my mind.
** For a full reading of the lyrics, click me.
*** Yes, I know that the acronym doesn’t hew to grammatical standards, but I dig it anyway.
___________________________
If you haven’t checked my new blog – dedicated to recipes that I make for my clients and friends – go here.
___________________________
For anyone who notices and likes the slightly changed look of the place, the pictures are courtesy of LiLu
7 Comments | bars aka where we get the booze, Crush with a big C, dating, random stuff, Uncategorized, women | Permalink
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A Brand New Baby Blog
16 August 2009I am a sufficiently good cook that people pay me, happily and handsomely, to make food for them in their homes, but I suck at writing down recipes. Often my clients will ask me for a recipe and I will give them some bullshit excuse explanation about giving away trade secrets and a wink. The fact of the matter is that most of them exist only in my head and I am often too lazy busy to write them down.
To give me some direction in an effort to change my shiftless-ass habits a place to structure this effort, I started a new blog. Recipes from the Restaurant Refugee is designed to force me to record dishes so I will have a compilation of things I have created when my booze addled brain can no longer recall them. Having them handy for clients is a nice bonus too.
Currently there are very few pictures of my food as I neither posses a digital camera (have I ever hidden my happily Luddite nature?) nor the time when I am cooking to stop and take pictures*. I will do my best to remedy that in the future.
I will be migrating recipes listed on this blog to the new place, and my goal is to post at least three original recipes per week.
Thanks for visiting.
Eat well, drink well, be well, my friends.
* In early September, I plan on having a “Media Dinner” with the express purposes of having a great time with friends and taking pictures of some of my cuisine. If you are a good photographer, interested in trading a good meal for photos, and most importantly interesting (I care more about the quality of the dinner party than the photographs but only a bit more,) or you know someone who is, send me an email – restaurantrefugee(@)gmail.com.
3 Comments | blogging life, Dinner Parties, entertaining, random stuff, recipes, something else I have started that I may or may not finish | Permalink
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Karma: Sometimes Instant, Sometimes Delayed, Sometime Mistaken
6 August 2009“You don’t know me, but it would be my pleasure to get your next round for you” I said to a gentleman at one of my favorite watering spots. It was an effort to fulfill a promise I made to myself several months back.
“I’m not one to turn down a free drink, my friend, but I don’t know you. I, I, I, I’m not saying that you are, but just in case you should know…”
“That you’re straight? Taken? Not…”
“That there’s anything wrong with not being straight” my slightly flustered but quickly recovering stranger replied.
We shared a brief and mutually acknowledging laugh as I motioned to the bartender for another round.
“I’m Refugee.”
“Tony” my new friend said as a scotch arrived for him and a bourbon for me. “Now I’m really curious about this drink.”
I’ve had a couple of “there but for the grace of god moments” since this recession began. When I first saw Tony, however, it was different – affirming.
“About six months ago, I was in line at my bank. The guy in front of me went to the teller and did something truly extraordinary. I watched as he explained to the teller that when he was depositing his unemployment check that teller gave him too much cash back. I watched a guy receiving unemployment return a hundred bucks to a bank that would never have known he got it. An ethical man will do the right thing when no one is watching, a truly exceptional man will do that thing even when it also costs him something.”
Tony was nodding in affirmation and familiarity.
“I was stunned by this act of morality in an frequently profane world. I wished I had done something to acknowledge it right then and there but I just went to the teller and handled my transaction…”
“And now you try to ‘Pay it Forward’ by buying drinks for random people?”
My memory for faces (and too many other things) can be shaky, but I am pretty sure that I burned that face in my mind. I was determined that I would remember him and buy him a drink, or a coffee, or just say thank you for giving a quick recharge to my battery of faith.”
I don’t know whether Tony was too embarrassed to admit that he was receiving unemployment benefits, being too modest about something he considered ordinary, or I just remembered the wrong face. The odds of the last option were pretty thin; but maybe discretion was more valuable than my thanks or admiration.
“Yeah, I just pay it forward some days when I’m feeling flush. Nice to meet you, Tony.”
8 Comments | random stuff, recession realities, the social contract | Permalink
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Midlife Non-Crisis
29 July 2009The Disgruntled Citizen of the World, otherwise known as Valerie, the author of the When I Become Queen Blog, is having a Midlife Crisis. Hers is primarily related to music but I can relate on so many levels. What began as a comment on her post has morphed into full on rant…
I am a late 30 something and exist, rather proudly for the record, on the other side of the generation gap. Lady Gaga could walk into the coffee shop where I am writing and slap me with impunity as I could neither pick her from a mug book nor identify a single one of her songs. I generally lament the state of contemporary music and have happily severed my relationship with it with few exceptions. I have simply decided that my time is better spent further exploring the brilliance of Coltrane, Marvin Gaye, Sinatra, and Nancy Wilson’s of the world than finding the gems among the screeching, preening, self congratulatory artists that would lay claim to their collective mantle.
I detest reality television (Top Chef being the notable exception) and brag about never having seen a single minute of American Idol.
I loathe current comedy which, to my taste, has descended into a morass of fart jokes and gross-out humor. I’ve seen every episode of Frasier (thanks to Lifetime’s reruns) and ponder if there will ever be a spiritual successor to the brilliantly pithy and wryly told stories of the Crane brothers, et al.
When forced to send text messages, I ostentatiously and unapologetically use semi colons and parentheticals. I refuse to date women who send me more than two “LOL’s” per week regardless of the medium. I will not Twitter, Facebook*, or subscribe to any other self-important social medium (though I readily acknowledge the irony of my blogging.)
I don’t begrudge anyone, especially my friends on the other side, the indulgences I reject. I happily visit them at places like Recessions where I’ve been known to down spectacularly large mugs of Miller Lite and sing karaoke. As the saying goes, some of my best friends are younger than me. I don’t consider myself any wiser, more sophisticated, or better than them… just older and with occasionally differing tastes – tastes that reflect my version of life on this side.
I am happy here and have one hundred percent confidence that, for me, the grass is greener, the bourbon richer, and the women more interesting from this vantage of the generational fence.
_______________________
You know it is Wednesday and I took my turn as contributing editor at DC Blogs. Go on check out that which moved me more than most this past week.
The following excerpt is one that I wanted to include but the Executive Editor and I ultimately agreed was a bit much for DC Blogs. It certainly deserves your attention, however, if you’re not already hip:
It took me several years to fully understand the lyrics to the Ready for the Word song Digital Display. If I had this handy instructional post from City Girl’s Blog, my accent on the learning curve would have been much faster – Finger Licking Good-Part III contains explicit material.
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History, Context, and the Benefit of Doubt
22 July 2009I was five when I learned that I had an uncle I would never meet because he was strange fruit on an Alabama poplar tree.
I was ten years old the first time the word “Nigger” was hurled at me with venom.
I was eleven the first time I noticed bias from a teacher directed at the only Black kid in the class.
I was fourteen the first time that I found myself on the thoroughly correct side of the law but the wrong side of a police officer who took me to the station in handcuffs because I had the “wrong attitude” and the temerity to be “uppity” when I was right.
I was sixteen the first time a store clerk not so subtly hinted that I couldn’t afford to shop were I was standing.
I was seventeen the first time I was stopped for driving a car in neighborhood where most people who drove there didn’t look like me. “Failure to come to a complete stop” was the reason.
I was eighteen the first time I was advised by some Caucasian gentleman that I might need only a half tank of gas and should move on.
I was twenty the first time I was asked if I was an “affirmative action hire.”
I was twenty three the first time a grocery store owner asked to inspect my bag before leaving the store.
I was twenty five the first time I had a series of terrific phone interviews, but saw the change in an interviewer’s eyes upon first meeting, followed by the shortest interview on record.
I was twenty eight when a false alarm at my home led to the arrival of a couple of police cars, me being handcuffed in front of my then wife and neighbors, before I received an apology for the “misunderstanding.”
I was thirty the first time I began writing down the time, date, location, and taxi number of every working cab that passed me when I needed a ride home. At the end of each week I sent dozens of incidents from the prior seven days to the taxi cab commission for investigation. Eight months of letters, and nearly eight years later I’m still waiting for the call back.
I don’t know if it was the first time, but the first time I remember being told by a woman that she “doesn’t date black men” was when I was thirty two.
I was thirty four the last time I was confused for a valet, bellman, porter, busboy, etc. even though I was the boss*.
I was thirty six the last time someone asked for the manager and upon seeing me declared that they’d rather speak with someone in charge.
It was two weeks ago that I stood at the host stand of one the “best” restaurants in the city I was visiting when I was ignored by some past her prime flibidigibit. A Caucasian couple entering after I did was greeted warmly and taken right to their table.
No one would call me a militant or an “angry black man.”** I have two advanced degrees from top universities, national recognition as an expert in my field, multiple publications to my credit, and am widely recognized in my city. None of that protected me from all of the aforementioned slights and it didn’t protect Harvard Professor Skip Gates either. There are two sides to every story, but history – mine, his, and the world’s – demand that the professor gets the benefit of all doubts.
* all of those jobs are noble and necessary occupations, and I wouldn’t be ashamed of any of them, but white guys in tailored suits aren’t often thought to work at those level jobs
** not that militancy or anger wouldn’t be a bit understandable
24 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, parents, random stuff, restaurants, the social contract | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee
Housecleaning Friday…
17 July 2009My new favorite text message: “It’s 5:30; do you know where you’re drink is?”
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The republicans are right: It is about time that Latinas end their long history of oppressing white men in this country.
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All of the people who complained about the disproportionate coverage of MJ’s death were right: the media never obsesses over the death of some people except the Billings, Joan Benet, Natalee Holloway, or too many other people to name.
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Even though I swore I wouldn’t return to Bar Dupont unless it was at the end of a Bayonet (apparently the end of a well wielded mascara wand was equally effective,) I went back recently and can confirm that it still sucks more than a hooker or a Hoover.
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I just found another reason to love a Canuck. Margaret Wente may be a partisan ideologue but she sure is funny.
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When Screen on the Green was cancelled, I wrote this post questioning the existence of philanthropy and the moral bearings of the über wealthy. Well SOG is back, and Richard Branson is doing a good turn too. Virgin Festival is free this year – this almost makes up for that that reality television show he inflicted on the public back in 2004.
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Dear Chef from last night, my food ought not be a mini statue to your ego. If I have to knock it down before I can eat it, you’re really just pissing me off. I know that there are some people (usually with more money than good sense) who are easily impressed by the excessively whimsical aerosol spray in the mouth of a course – but do know that their numbers were small before the economic downturn and they are dwindling fast. Rule of thumb – cook to satisfy the soul, the palette, and the eye in that order.
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To everyone that keeps asking about my Old Man, thank you again for your kind wishes and words. He is rehabbing well and getting his ass kicked at backgammon by the home healthcare nurse that I love.
10 Comments | advice I'm slightly qualified to give, bars aka where we get the booze, blogging for a good cause, booze & boozing, dumb things I have done, I Got Five on It Friday, parents, random stuff, restaurants, the social contract | Permalink
Posted by restaurant refugee
