I Don't Know Most Of The People Who Know Me

A new sports bar has opened here in the Gate City, a joint on N Elm (near Pisgah Church) called Sloppy Seconds. Last Friday evening, I stumbled into the place just after 9. I was meeting Derek and Steve and we were trying to ascertain if Sloppy Seconds has any value as far as watching College Gameplan or Sunday Ticket. It doesn't. It's too well lit in there. The bar area is too small. And there were dozens of kids racing all over the place. All undesirable things when considering where to pass the time as the hard-hitting football action is going on. Anyway, an interesting conversation happened as the 3 of us were sitting there. Derek had just come from the Wing Joint on Battleground. He informed me that there was a guy there asking if I was coming out for the night. And everybody should know I almost never go out on a weeknight before 9. Anyway, I asked Derek who this guy was. Derek described him to me as the guy who rides a motorcycle. I had no idea who Derek was talking about. That's where the conversation got interesting. I told Steve and Derek that I don't know most of the people who know me. They couldn't agree with me more. In fact, Derek noted that everyone knows me around the seedy Gate City bar scene; yet, I rarely know the people who know me when they say hello or whatever to me. Andy will tell you this is 100% true. There was rarely a night that went by in the town Elaine Benes is from that didn't involve me asking Andy, after someone came up to say hi, "Who is that? Do I know that person?" I never remember anybody. It's a sign of narcissism. No doubt about that. Hence, it's true that I don't know most of the people who know me.

Later last Friday, Steve, Derek, & I made our way over to the Wing Joint on Battleground. There we found one of the most annoying women I have come across all year. This woman is really into the silly trivia machines they have in there (I believe they call it Buzztime these days. Back in the day it was called NTN.) and I had apparently met her sometime over the summer. I had zero recollection of the chick. Nada, as my man James Spader said in Pretty In Pink. She remembered me though. Evidently she sat and played the trivia game with me for a number of hours and wouldn't leave until she beat me. She informed that she never did - shocking (as many of you know, I am very difficult to beat at answering random trivia questions). This pale-skinned chubby trivia wannabe was itching for a rematch. The only problem was, I refused to play. Most nights I don't play at all. I'm there to watch sports and talk to my friends, not to play trivia. This trivia loving anti-beauty did not like this. And she wouldn't leave the damn bar. She stayed til 2. I was doing everything I could think of to get her to leave me alone. At one point I got a napkin and sent her a fake love note telling her I pined for her freckle ravaged Irish skin, hoping she'd either get pissed at the sarcasm and leave or take me seriously, get freaked out that a sociopath like me was into her, and leave. Getting her to leave was the key. Is that clear? And I failed. It made for a tedious night. I did mock her though. To her face. Alas, I think she was too drunk to get upset. That's the problem with alcohol; folks who would normally take great offense at what I was telling them, either get too drunk to understand that I'm mocking them or don't seem to care.

Q had mentioned recently his desire to get everyone together over at the Bananabees on Battleground for karaoke on some Thursday. Well, it happened last week. Not that anyone in our group sang. No one did. It was fun nonetheless. Why? Because the shots were flowing. We had Laurie, Q, Steve, Derek, Felt Flower, and yours truly out. I was there about an hour and a half and had 4 shots of whatever Q, Derek, or Laurie had the barkeep shove in front of me. And I gotta hand it to the Bananabees staff, these were some big ass shots. Well, in the midst of our shot-taking flurry, I started going up to the karaoke host and requesting songs. The kid obliged me. I kept requesting my man Christopher Fucking Wallace. And then I started screaming at the over 60 crowd in the Bananabees to get off their asses and rap some goddam Biggie Smalls. Then I went over to a party of 12 and asked why they would ever eat the shitty food at Bananabees. I was ill behaved. Nobody seemed to care. Eventually 2 little kids did that Soulja Boy dance, and yes, I had to leave. I'm afraid that image will be forever lodged in my head. We might go back again. Everyone says they had a great time. Maybe not Felt Flower though. I was mocking her endlessly. Why? Because she had a felt flower in her hair. Ridiculous.

I went to see the new Wall Street the other day. And it was passably entertaining. Josh Brolin was awesome, as always these days. The story wasn't remotely believable though. And the kid who played Gordon Gekko's protege or whatever is not a very good actor. I saw him in Eagle Eye one day when I was bored and staying at the Embassy in Atlanta or someplace. He was bad in that stupid movie too. I will say this though - the girl who plays Gekko's daughter, she was quite fetching. Although not nearly as fetching as her co-star in Pride & Prejudice, obviuosly...

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