- Gnawing beef jerky while driving has lost the thrill.
- Olive, my new best friend from Omaha, makes the best old fashioned I’ve ever had. Worth the drive. She’s a bartender at The Broiler Room.
- Henry – a young man (attends college majoring in theatrical lighting / marketing) is passionate about theater. He overheard my conversation about my play, commented on his hatred of theater of the absurd (I didn’t ask him,) spent numerous minutes telling me the vitality and necessity of theater, and offered to “let you buy me a drink” once my buddy and Henry’s mother had left the bar. Personally I wanted Henry to leave the bar. His mother was damn good looking and frankly I wanted to buy her the drinks with a shared bed being at the end of this rainbow. Henry depressed the hell out of me. Not because he mistook me as gay. Middle aged ringless man sipping cocktails at a hotel bar who’s talking theater. It’s not a illogically leap. But he’s so willing to slide onto his back for an opportunity to maybe network with someone he hopes has connections. Nothing makes a man feel as antiquated as being cast in a creased paperbacked cliché by Jacqueline Susann. I wasn’t flattered. I felt like I needed to wash my hands. I left Henry at the bar and climbed into my bed – alone – and sighed my disappointment in mankind.
- I loved getting up this morning and attending the earliest Mass and feeling the unity of like-minded communicants.
A good weekend.