But what I got out of it was the realization that I am crap about getting out of my wee apartment and interacting with the people whom I claim are my friends. In the year 2005, I have probably seen Esther (who lives about 7 miles from me) only slightly more than I have seen Chris and Jenny (who live about 4,000 miles from me). How is this acceptable?
Of course, part of the problem is that we have all hit this age and point in our lives in which we spend all day wearing away our souls for various benevolent employers; spontaneous outings run the risk of depleting us even further. When people invite me out to something, there is always this part of me that thinks: "Ah, hell. I'll end up staying too long and drinking too much and I'll feel like a fat sack of poo for the rest of the week and the things I want to do -- these little minor things that I have worked into my daily routine and now somehow can't go without, like one of those damned people who will be dead within the hour when the revolution comes because their air conditioning cut out -- will not get done and I'll spend too much money."
Sweet mother of the baby Jesus on a BMX bike, I am a sad individual that I can be crippled with such negativity over simply interacting with other human beings.
So anyway, here's my plan: On Wednesdays (or Tuesdays, whichever is mutually convenient) I will be social.
But, see, I've made it out to be some sort of obligation, giving it a name and little rules like, "I am not allowed to spend more than $10," so that I will actually do it. Brilliant.
Last night I was out at St. Paul's Dubliner Pub with a group of
"Man, there's almost no chance of your walking into a bar in Miami and hearing this music," said one of the guys (from Miami, of course).
"That's why I have no interest in going to Miami," I said.
America makes me nervous sometimes.
Ignoring the generic brilliance of this story's headline, I can't help but lament how hard it is to find a decent blaspheme in the mall these days.
There used to be a very nice Blasphemes N' Things store on the third level of the Mall of America, but they replaced it with a store that sells papal indulgences and cheese logs (a sort-of all-in-one store, I guess).