He was born in Kerala but moved to Kolkota at a very young age. His childhood was spent running with his friends along the shores of the Bay of Bengal, skipping rocks on the water and watching the people all around him. In his memories, those are some of the happiest. Shortly thereafter, due to his parents' desire to travel "unfettered and free", he and his older sister were shuttled from relative to relative for the rest of his childhood. These relatives never treated him as part of the family; even minor infractions were met with severe corporal punishment. At heart, he was a sweet and gentle soul. Such treatment at the hands of people who are supposed to love you might have stomped out such a characteristic from most boys, but he took them as lessons on how not to treat people. His family was poor yet descended from the line of a minor king. Many of his relatives were wealthy and chose to flaunt that wealth in the face of the poor little boy who did not even have parents who wanted him around. He formed some friendships among his schoolmates, but every time he formed such friendships, he was shipped off to yet another relative.
He yearned for real affection, but as a result of his childhood, he became a bit of a loner. His parents reentered his life as a teenager, and he set about trying to please them as much as he could, playing the part of a dutiful son in an effort to earn their love (something that a son should NEVER have to do). He wanted to be an engineer, but his mother told him that his future lay in medicine. He dutifully followed his mother's wish and enrolled in medical school, earning medals for excellence. After completing his medical school education, the time came for placement in a residency program. Rather than paying a bribe that would ensure that he received a very cushy assignment at a top teaching hospital, he refused and was sent to a remote mountaintop village. He learned to love his life there, as the villagers were appreciative of his presence, and he was able to form friendships with many of them. Upon being accepted to a master's in surgery program, his father sent for him and told him that it was time for him to be married. He did not want to be married and told his father this, but his father told him that dutiful sons listen to their elders. He acquiesced.
Now, arranged marriages in India vary from region to region. In his home state, eligible bachelors were brought by their parents or other "head of the family" to the home of the parents of the prospective bride. The BRIDE would say whether or not she liked the groom, and that was that. On one occasion, the young man was taken by his uncle to the home of a prominent lawyer. The lawyer's daughter was completing her own medical education and was of marrying age. The young man was not interested and told his uncle that he had no intention of marrying a physician. The uncle did not want to insult the lawyer and insisted that his nephew accompany him to the house. When they arrived, the lawyer's daughter took notice of the shy, quiet and intelligent young man and noticed his gentle manner. She fell for him at that moment. Unfortunately. the reverse did not seem to be the case. Her father told her that the young man had no intention of ever marrying a doctor. She grew sad, but she would not allow this to get her down. Over the next year, the young man made several visits to her home to visit with her father, her cousin (another woman who was of marrying age), and her. The young man spent a lot of time talking to the cousin, and the young woman figured that that would be a match. Her father insisted that she get married soon, and she told him that if she could not have the young man, she did not care WHO she married. Her father set up a match with an engineer.
One night, the woman was working on her clinical rounds and was told that a "Dr. Artful" was on the phone for her. She was puzzled but took the call.
"Hello?" she said.
"Hi," the young man said. "Someone told me you were getting married."
"Yes," she replied. "to an engineer."
"But I thought that WE were going to, " he responded.
"Going to what?" she asked, still very confused.
"aaah...ummm.." the young man hemmed and hawed. " I thought that we were going to marry each other."
Her heart stopped. WHAT? The arrangements had already been made with the other family! And yet, the man of her dreams was back into it. She did the only thing that was logical. She fussed at him.
"You have been visiting our home for a year and never said anything!" she said.
"I know," he replied. "I was getting to know you. You were yourself when you were not trying to catch my eye, and I wanted to get to know the real you."
"But you said you never wanted to marry a doctor!" she countered. "I will NOT give up my career to marry you. You know that, right?"
"You are the exception to the rule-in so many ways. I did not want to marry a doctor, but you changed my mind. I only want to marry you." he said.
"You picked a fine time to say this! The arrangements have already been made!"
"What do I do?" he asked.
"Let me talk to my daddy," she replied. "We will be getting married. I will see to it. In the meantime, let your family know of this."
She immediately called her father, and after much melodrama and threats of suicide, her father acquiesced to his daughter's wishes.
And the young man? What was it about this woman who turned his head? He had been a loner up until this point, never seeking out or receiving honest affection. What he saw in her eyes was a kind soul, someone who he could see being by his side for years to come. He saw someone who would love him unconditionally and saw his children in her face. After a lifetime of denying that he wanted affection and desired the happiness that comes with finding one's soulmate, he could not deny his own feelings.
They were married and moved to the United States, leaving behind his family that never wanted him and the life that gave him so much unhappiness. He became a successful physician and an amazing husband and father. To this day, he is a kind, gentle, and affectionate soul who is all about giving hugs, smiling and laughing when his wife and two boys are around.
Last night, Grace and I attended an AMAZING performance of "Fiddler on the Roof", starring Chaim Topol as Tevye, the role he made famous first in London's West End and then in the Academy Award-winning film version. It also happens to be the favorite musical of the Artful Dad. As I watched Tevye sing "If I were a Rich Man", I saw Dad chafing at the teasing of his rich cousins and being made to feel insignificant. When Tzeitel begged her father to break off the match with Lazar Wolf, I saw the Artful Mom doing the same thing when the Dad made his affection for her known. And, most poignant for me, was the performance of "Do You Love Me" by Tevye and his wife Golda. You see, my parents still sometimes gently sing this to each other even after 43 years of marriage.
This morning, on Father's Day, I called to regale him with stories about how wonderful the musical was and how much I missed him. He asked a lot of questions about it (Did he tell the joke about the chicken? Did they have horses on the stage? How did they do the train station? How did Topol look?) and he was as excited as I was. At the end of our conversation, I told him how much I wished he had been there to watch it with me. He grew quiet, and I could almost see the smile on his face as he whispered into the phone "me too."
It is so hard to believe that I have such an amazingly loving father when I consider the lack of love he received as a child. I am glad that he had the fortitude to persevere through his hard childhood and not let that change the fundamentally wonderful person he is inside. Whenever someone tells me how much I remind them of my Dad, I take it as the highest compliment one could give me. You see, if I become 1/10 of the man my father is, I would consider myself to have lived a successful life.
Happy Father's Day, Artful Dad.
Sunday, June 21, 2009
Thursday, June 18, 2009
Second Post Today: Strange Search Term that Brought Someone to My Site
OK, so one of my favorite posts was the one about my Mom. It turns out to be a popular post, as I have noticed on my tracking meter that quite a few people have read it.
So today, I was looking at the visitor stats and found that someone from India had clicked onto the story.
Awww, I thought to myself. Maybe someone has a similar story concerning their mother as well. That is awesome.
...until I discovered the google search terms that led them to my site:
"Only Stories that Indian Mom Became Pregnant by Her Own Son."
WHO THE HECK WOULD ENTER A SEARCH STRING LIKE THIS???? That was NOT what my story was about, but apparently it turns up in Google search because it has the words Indian, Mom, pregnant, and son as part of the overall story.
There are some deranged people out on the interwebs...
So today, I was looking at the visitor stats and found that someone from India had clicked onto the story.
Awww, I thought to myself. Maybe someone has a similar story concerning their mother as well. That is awesome.
...until I discovered the google search terms that led them to my site:
"Only Stories that Indian Mom Became Pregnant by Her Own Son."
WHO THE HECK WOULD ENTER A SEARCH STRING LIKE THIS???? That was NOT what my story was about, but apparently it turns up in Google search because it has the words Indian, Mom, pregnant, and son as part of the overall story.
There are some deranged people out on the interwebs...
And All I Wanted Was a Free Movie...
I love movies. I watch them, I analyze them, and I (subjectively) criticize them. Those of you who have been reading my site for a while know that my love for movies is great. For example, even during the summer of the bar (also known as last summer), I made it a point to see every single big summer release leading up to and including "The Dark Knight" in IMAX (ONE WEEK before the bar).
I can pretty much deconstruct my love of movies into two categories: 1) Great Spectacle and 2) Artistic Filmmaking. In fact, just by knowing the name of the director, I can usually discern which of the two categories a particular film might fall into. Michael Bay, the "auteur" of "Transformers"? Spectacle. I am only going to see "Transformers 2" for a chance to see an IMAX-sized Megan Fox...er...
Obviously, I am a fan of the Mann. Last summer, I was excited to find that Mann was location shooting his next film here in Chicago, a film called "Public Enemies". It was the story of John Dillinger and the cop who tracked him down. Think "Heat" but in the Roaring 20s. Johnny Depp stars as John Dillinger and Christian Bale as the cop trying to stop him. Great stuff.
So this brings me to last Saturday. I was visiting a movie website that I frequent, and I noticed a contest for an advanced screening of "Public Enemies". The film is due to be released on July 1, but I could not pass up an opportunity to see the film...for FREE...2 weeks before that. I entered the contest. The contest required the entrant to write a 75 word paragraph describing their favorite movie gangster. This is what I wrote:
Favorite Movie Gangster: Sung Tse-Ho as played by Ti Lung in John Woo's "A Better Tomorrow"
Reason: Ho was my introduction to the antihero archetype of John Woo's HK gangster films. The character grows tremendously throughout the course of the first 2 "A Better Tomorrow" films and shows human traits of loyalty, remorse, and anger that lead to bloodly retribution when those close to him are threatened or killed. This showing of humanity in a gangster's guise allowed me to sympathize with the bad guys and root for Ho and Mark's success.
I won the tickets, and I was excited. And then I learned something else. Both Johnny Depp and Christian Bale are scheduled to attend the screening (what with it being the Chicago premiere and all). And, more important to me, is the fact that the Mann himself will be there. So while my friends squeal about Johnny Depp being in town, I am more excited by the chance to meet this most talented filmmaker.
And to think-when I entered the contest, all I wanted was a free movie...
I can pretty much deconstruct my love of movies into two categories: 1) Great Spectacle and 2) Artistic Filmmaking. In fact, just by knowing the name of the director, I can usually discern which of the two categories a particular film might fall into. Michael Bay, the "auteur" of "Transformers"? Spectacle. I am only going to see "Transformers 2" for a chance to see an IMAX-sized Megan Fox...er...
Obviously, I am a fan of the Mann. Last summer, I was excited to find that Mann was location shooting his next film here in Chicago, a film called "Public Enemies". It was the story of John Dillinger and the cop who tracked him down. Think "Heat" but in the Roaring 20s. Johnny Depp stars as John Dillinger and Christian Bale as the cop trying to stop him. Great stuff.
So this brings me to last Saturday. I was visiting a movie website that I frequent, and I noticed a contest for an advanced screening of "Public Enemies". The film is due to be released on July 1, but I could not pass up an opportunity to see the film...for FREE...2 weeks before that. I entered the contest. The contest required the entrant to write a 75 word paragraph describing their favorite movie gangster. This is what I wrote:
Favorite Movie Gangster: Sung Tse-Ho as played by Ti Lung in John Woo's "A Better Tomorrow"
Reason: Ho was my introduction to the antihero archetype of John Woo's HK gangster films. The character grows tremendously throughout the course of the first 2 "A Better Tomorrow" films and shows human traits of loyalty, remorse, and anger that lead to bloodly retribution when those close to him are threatened or killed. This showing of humanity in a gangster's guise allowed me to sympathize with the bad guys and root for Ho and Mark's success.
I won the tickets, and I was excited. And then I learned something else. Both Johnny Depp and Christian Bale are scheduled to attend the screening (what with it being the Chicago premiere and all). And, more important to me, is the fact that the Mann himself will be there. So while my friends squeal about Johnny Depp being in town, I am more excited by the chance to meet this most talented filmmaker.
And to think-when I entered the contest, all I wanted was a free movie...
Monday, June 15, 2009
The Struggle for Hours
The billable hour is the bane of the existence of most civil attorneys. In order to HONESTLY bill the requisite 8.5 hours per day, an attorney usually must work 10-12 hours per day. Now, as one gets more efficient in one's work, the number of total hours that needs to be worked decreases until one can almost work an 8.5 hour day and bill for 8.5 hours. Until that point, however, younger lawyers (especially first years such as myself) struggle to to work diligently on projects while taking care to bill clients ONLY for hours that have been put into their specific projects. Of course, I am not going to knock the amount of hours that I have to work (well, not much). My firm compensates me quite well for my work. However, when I think of the actual amount of money that I get paid in relation to the salary that I am paid, the benefits appear to be less and less. There have been too many canceled plans with friends and loved ones and more than my share of working weekends.
I have reached the halfway point of my first year as an attorney (well, billable year, anyway). My firm's requirements for hours are 2000 billable hours (not too bad in a world where 2300-2800 per year is not unheard of, especially in the current economic climate). Today, I realized that my current workload is extremely light. I was worried. Though I know that, with the oncoming deluge of litigation I would again be busy, what was I going to do in the meantime? How would I make my hours? It was this fear that prompted me to tabulate the hours I have worked thus far. The result? So far, in 6 months, I have worked 1100 hours (billable).
Sweet.
What that means is that I am 100 hours ahead of pace. That equates to TWO WEEKS OF VACATION?
Yeah, I am done sweating my light workload for the rest of the week.
Namby, break out the 20 year old Macallan...
UPDATE:
A meeting today with the partner in charge of a big case (one that will engage me for years to come) pulled the trigger on a lot of activity. My chances of me billing my minimum hours TWO MONTHS IN ADVANCE just went way up. This will teach me to complain and worry about hours....
I have reached the halfway point of my first year as an attorney (well, billable year, anyway). My firm's requirements for hours are 2000 billable hours (not too bad in a world where 2300-2800 per year is not unheard of, especially in the current economic climate). Today, I realized that my current workload is extremely light. I was worried. Though I know that, with the oncoming deluge of litigation I would again be busy, what was I going to do in the meantime? How would I make my hours? It was this fear that prompted me to tabulate the hours I have worked thus far. The result? So far, in 6 months, I have worked 1100 hours (billable).
Sweet.
What that means is that I am 100 hours ahead of pace. That equates to TWO WEEKS OF VACATION?
Yeah, I am done sweating my light workload for the rest of the week.
Namby, break out the 20 year old Macallan...
UPDATE:
A meeting today with the partner in charge of a big case (one that will engage me for years to come) pulled the trigger on a lot of activity. My chances of me billing my minimum hours TWO MONTHS IN ADVANCE just went way up. This will teach me to complain and worry about hours....
Monday, June 08, 2009
Stolen Lines #5
Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?*
What a silly question-of course I had. It all started with my distrust of friends. With as many friends and acquaintances that I have now, it is hard to believe, but at one point, I trusted no one. The story is an old one-one of betrayal that, even now, some 22 years after it all happened, I still have problems writing about it. I had a best friend in school. We were both awkward kids trying to find our own way, but he and his family were always kind to me. They invited me to evenings a the local dinner theater and the various fish fries that would occur. We became very good friends. He was my first and closest buddy. I never flinched telling him about my worries, hopes and dreams. We talked about girls and the ones we were interested in. We talked about school and the changes that would occur once we were in the real world. We also talked about college and how we would still be best friends. Both of us were part of the gifted program in high school. We were in all of the accelerated courses together and, through most of high school, we were in academic competition with one another. I suppose it was that competition that proved to be too much for him.
I still remember the day of the betrayal. I was summoned to the principal's office. Apparently, someone had witnessed me cheating on a Government test. Really? I thought. That was odd. Government was one of my best classes. Why would someone think that I cheated? Nevertheless, the accusation was enough to put me on trial in front of the Honor Council. I was nervous-this was kind of surreal. At the trial, I was sure that I would be acquitted-I mean there was no evidence! This was too much.
And then my best friend showed up and told everyone there that he saw me change the answers on a test after it had been turned in. I was in shock. That had never happened. Yet, he was there bearing false witness. This was completely out of left field. I felt short of breath-my shirt felt tight around my chest. Just the other day, we had been making plans for after a running meet. Why was he doing this?
Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?
At that point, I realized that I could trust no one. I would spend the rest of my life alone and would drive people away just so I would not have to live through a betrayal like this ever again. I had my revenge, of sorts. All of this happened during my 10th grade year. I went back to school as an 11th grader, and though I had been acquitted, whispers followed me around school.
"Artful is a cheater...no wonder he does so well on tests...the teachers should watch him...I mean, his OWN BEST FRIEND knows...cheater..."
Those were some of my darkest days. I had no one in my corner. I remember being depressed and I remember the emptiness of my school existence. I just put my shoulder to the grindstone and soldiered on. I did pretty well that year, and eventually the whispers died down. My former friend had taken all of our mutual friends with him, and I was left alone.
And then a funny thing happened-the first day back for my senior year, I was notified that I was one of two National Merit Finalists from our school. There was no cheating one's way to THAT! I also started taping the high school football games, and as payment, the principal gave me the BEST PARKING SPOT IN SCHOOL-a visitor's space right in front of the building. Fall gave way to spring, and I found that I had been accepted to all five of the schools that I had applied to. I was being invited to some of the football parties. I was letting people get to know a version of me...but not the real me...for as people were extolling my virtues and letting me know how glad they were to finally get to know me, I knew that they were not learning about the real me. At the same time, I took a small measure of pleasure in the fact that I was in the "in crowd" while my former friend was on the outside looking in. At the same time, this was all just superficial. I was counting the days until I could escape to college.
The first semester of college, I stuck to my guns and tried to maintain my independence. I was not a nice person...no...scratch that...I was an ASSHOLE. I now recognize it for what it was-a defense mechanism designed to drive people away from me and keep myself safe from getting hurt. It seemed to work pretty well. I never saw my actions as those of an asshole, but in retrospect, I cringe over some of the things that I said and did. The night that it all changed is something that is etched in my memory. I was in bed while others in my suite in the dorm were outside my room. They did not know I was in the suite. I could hear them talking...and the conversation turned to me and what a jerk I was. I started. That was never my intention-I never wanted to hurt anyone's feelings; I just wanted to be left alone. When my roommate came in, he was shocked to find that I was there the whole time. I felt horrible, but I told him that it was not nice that people said things behind my back. He asked me what did I expect? I had reached the point where my reputation at school was in danger of being permanent. He then asked me...
Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?
I started. The problem was not with my former best friend-it was with ME. He will always have his shallow pathetic life, but that is no reason for me to have the SAME! My roommate (now one of my lifelong friends) and I spent the better part of the rest of the night talking. The next day, I took the step of finding everyone in my dorm suite and personally apologizing for my attitude and word of the previous six months. I knew that one apology would likely not be enough, and I intended that my actions would speak louder than my words. It took some time, but by the time my college years ended, I had made great strides and enjoyed many friendships. Since then, I have made a lot of friends, and the people who know me can attest to the fact that I am always ready with a smile on my face, a hug, and, where needed, a good glass of wine and a sofa for conversation.
Still...sometimes my mind goes back to the events of high school and the patience that my college roommate showed in giving me another chance. Where would I be had he not done that? Likely, I would be alone and would not have the blessings of so many friends and acquaintances who care about me. I made a conscious effort to change everything that night, and though it is hard sometimes, I still make an effort to be open and honest with the people that I meet. Of course, I always run the risk of getting hurt, but without risk, there could be no reward-and the rewards have vastly outweighed the hurt over the years.
*I stole the first line of this post from the play, Betrayal, by Harold Pinter as part of Grace's Stolen Lines series of blog posts.
What a silly question-of course I had. It all started with my distrust of friends. With as many friends and acquaintances that I have now, it is hard to believe, but at one point, I trusted no one. The story is an old one-one of betrayal that, even now, some 22 years after it all happened, I still have problems writing about it. I had a best friend in school. We were both awkward kids trying to find our own way, but he and his family were always kind to me. They invited me to evenings a the local dinner theater and the various fish fries that would occur. We became very good friends. He was my first and closest buddy. I never flinched telling him about my worries, hopes and dreams. We talked about girls and the ones we were interested in. We talked about school and the changes that would occur once we were in the real world. We also talked about college and how we would still be best friends. Both of us were part of the gifted program in high school. We were in all of the accelerated courses together and, through most of high school, we were in academic competition with one another. I suppose it was that competition that proved to be too much for him.
I still remember the day of the betrayal. I was summoned to the principal's office. Apparently, someone had witnessed me cheating on a Government test. Really? I thought. That was odd. Government was one of my best classes. Why would someone think that I cheated? Nevertheless, the accusation was enough to put me on trial in front of the Honor Council. I was nervous-this was kind of surreal. At the trial, I was sure that I would be acquitted-I mean there was no evidence! This was too much.
And then my best friend showed up and told everyone there that he saw me change the answers on a test after it had been turned in. I was in shock. That had never happened. Yet, he was there bearing false witness. This was completely out of left field. I felt short of breath-my shirt felt tight around my chest. Just the other day, we had been making plans for after a running meet. Why was he doing this?
Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?
At that point, I realized that I could trust no one. I would spend the rest of my life alone and would drive people away just so I would not have to live through a betrayal like this ever again. I had my revenge, of sorts. All of this happened during my 10th grade year. I went back to school as an 11th grader, and though I had been acquitted, whispers followed me around school.
"Artful is a cheater...no wonder he does so well on tests...the teachers should watch him...I mean, his OWN BEST FRIEND knows...cheater..."
Those were some of my darkest days. I had no one in my corner. I remember being depressed and I remember the emptiness of my school existence. I just put my shoulder to the grindstone and soldiered on. I did pretty well that year, and eventually the whispers died down. My former friend had taken all of our mutual friends with him, and I was left alone.
And then a funny thing happened-the first day back for my senior year, I was notified that I was one of two National Merit Finalists from our school. There was no cheating one's way to THAT! I also started taping the high school football games, and as payment, the principal gave me the BEST PARKING SPOT IN SCHOOL-a visitor's space right in front of the building. Fall gave way to spring, and I found that I had been accepted to all five of the schools that I had applied to. I was being invited to some of the football parties. I was letting people get to know a version of me...but not the real me...for as people were extolling my virtues and letting me know how glad they were to finally get to know me, I knew that they were not learning about the real me. At the same time, I took a small measure of pleasure in the fact that I was in the "in crowd" while my former friend was on the outside looking in. At the same time, this was all just superficial. I was counting the days until I could escape to college.
The first semester of college, I stuck to my guns and tried to maintain my independence. I was not a nice person...no...scratch that...I was an ASSHOLE. I now recognize it for what it was-a defense mechanism designed to drive people away from me and keep myself safe from getting hurt. It seemed to work pretty well. I never saw my actions as those of an asshole, but in retrospect, I cringe over some of the things that I said and did. The night that it all changed is something that is etched in my memory. I was in bed while others in my suite in the dorm were outside my room. They did not know I was in the suite. I could hear them talking...and the conversation turned to me and what a jerk I was. I started. That was never my intention-I never wanted to hurt anyone's feelings; I just wanted to be left alone. When my roommate came in, he was shocked to find that I was there the whole time. I felt horrible, but I told him that it was not nice that people said things behind my back. He asked me what did I expect? I had reached the point where my reputation at school was in danger of being permanent. He then asked me...
Tell me... have you ever thought...of changing your life?
I started. The problem was not with my former best friend-it was with ME. He will always have his shallow pathetic life, but that is no reason for me to have the SAME! My roommate (now one of my lifelong friends) and I spent the better part of the rest of the night talking. The next day, I took the step of finding everyone in my dorm suite and personally apologizing for my attitude and word of the previous six months. I knew that one apology would likely not be enough, and I intended that my actions would speak louder than my words. It took some time, but by the time my college years ended, I had made great strides and enjoyed many friendships. Since then, I have made a lot of friends, and the people who know me can attest to the fact that I am always ready with a smile on my face, a hug, and, where needed, a good glass of wine and a sofa for conversation.
Still...sometimes my mind goes back to the events of high school and the patience that my college roommate showed in giving me another chance. Where would I be had he not done that? Likely, I would be alone and would not have the blessings of so many friends and acquaintances who care about me. I made a conscious effort to change everything that night, and though it is hard sometimes, I still make an effort to be open and honest with the people that I meet. Of course, I always run the risk of getting hurt, but without risk, there could be no reward-and the rewards have vastly outweighed the hurt over the years.
*I stole the first line of this post from the play, Betrayal, by Harold Pinter as part of Grace's Stolen Lines series of blog posts.
Friday, June 05, 2009
Notes from Happy Hour at the Artful Blogger's Bachelor Pad
Date: 06/04/09
Attendees: the Alleged Lady and the Namby Pamby (and two others). Daisy and the Esquirer were ensconced watching their beloved Red Wings lose to the awesome Penguins (heh heh) and Grace was otherwise occupied, so it was just the four of us.
Fun notes:
1) Namby was exhausted from his adventures of the previous evening (read no sleep for Namby). He and the Lady arrived at the same time, and they immediately wanted to see my new Denny Crane chairs. What are those, you may ask? Well, in the television show "Boston Legal", the characters Alan Shore and Denny Crane would close out each show sitting in amazing Italian plastic patio chairs that looked like easy chairs, smoking cigars and drinking Scotch. Yes, I purchased my own pair of these chairs for my balcony. After looking at (and experiencing) the chairs, Namby went inside to make himself a drink, and the Lady called for him to make one for her as well. Namby proceeded to make a dirty vodka on the rocks (Belvedere + olive juice) for the Lady-or so he thought. He was adding Bombay Sapphire gin to a martini shaker, and I asked him what he was doing? "Oh, making the Lady's drink", he proclaimed. "The Lady asked for Vodka, Namby", I replied. Namby looked at me quizzically and then nodded. He corrected himself and decided to make a gin and tonic for himself. At this point, one might assume that he simply poured the gin from the martini shaker into a glass and added tonic. One would be wrong. Namby proceeded to add tonic water to the shaker and SHAKE IT UP (cue song from the Cars).
Tonic water, as Namby soon realized, is carbonated. Cue gin and tonic carbonation explosion all over my living room.
Yes, the suave, debonair Namby Pamby was COMPLETELY out of it yesterday.
2) I put out an assortment of cheeses, fruits, and nuts. I tend to go overboard on my cheese trays, and I have a fondness for softer cheeses and some firmer Goudas. As my guests were remarking on the wonderful textures and flavors, the Lady offered this bon mot:
"I only really like them when they are REALLY HARD AND REALLY SMELLY."
Namby and I snorted (after all, at heart, we both have the sense of humor of 12 year olds).
"That's what she said."
3) Because he lives in the burbs, Namby has taken to occasionally crashing in my guest room. Unfortunately, on those occasions, he has failed to bring changes of clothes and...ah...undergarments. This has led to at least one occasion with Namby asking to borrow my underwear.
Yeah.
Anyway, on this occasion, I told Namby to remember a change of clothes for the next day. Namby showed up with a new shirt, a fresh box of underwear, and fresh socks. Because he left early enough to catch a train, he did not need them, but he proposed leaving the items at my place for future nights in town. So now-Namby has a drawer in a dresser in my guest room. I think that I feel a little uncomfortable with that. The Lady, of course, found this all hysterical.
4) The Lady kicks butt on the drums (when she does not drop the sticks), guitar, AND the microphone on Rock Band. Namby, on the other hand, made an admirable effort but was coordinationally challenged with the instruments (although, to his credit, this was his first time playing the game's instruments). Namby does, however, know how to belt out a tune.
5) Near the end of the evening, Namby proposes watching the film Iron Man, a film that the Lady had not watched. I set it up and we settle in to watch. Namby asks for more wine, and I provide it. He then promptly falls asleep.
6) The Lady and I agree that "When Harry Met Sally" is the best romcom out there. Namby feels it is "Love, Actually" and that "Notting Hill" is a close second. I think that Namby has an unhealthy infatuation with Hugh Grant.
I cannot wait for the next gathering.
Attendees: the Alleged Lady and the Namby Pamby (and two others). Daisy and the Esquirer were ensconced watching their beloved Red Wings lose to the awesome Penguins (heh heh) and Grace was otherwise occupied, so it was just the four of us.
Fun notes:
1) Namby was exhausted from his adventures of the previous evening (read no sleep for Namby). He and the Lady arrived at the same time, and they immediately wanted to see my new Denny Crane chairs. What are those, you may ask? Well, in the television show "Boston Legal", the characters Alan Shore and Denny Crane would close out each show sitting in amazing Italian plastic patio chairs that looked like easy chairs, smoking cigars and drinking Scotch. Yes, I purchased my own pair of these chairs for my balcony. After looking at (and experiencing) the chairs, Namby went inside to make himself a drink, and the Lady called for him to make one for her as well. Namby proceeded to make a dirty vodka on the rocks (Belvedere + olive juice) for the Lady-or so he thought. He was adding Bombay Sapphire gin to a martini shaker, and I asked him what he was doing? "Oh, making the Lady's drink", he proclaimed. "The Lady asked for Vodka, Namby", I replied. Namby looked at me quizzically and then nodded. He corrected himself and decided to make a gin and tonic for himself. At this point, one might assume that he simply poured the gin from the martini shaker into a glass and added tonic. One would be wrong. Namby proceeded to add tonic water to the shaker and SHAKE IT UP (cue song from the Cars).
Tonic water, as Namby soon realized, is carbonated. Cue gin and tonic carbonation explosion all over my living room.
Yes, the suave, debonair Namby Pamby was COMPLETELY out of it yesterday.
2) I put out an assortment of cheeses, fruits, and nuts. I tend to go overboard on my cheese trays, and I have a fondness for softer cheeses and some firmer Goudas. As my guests were remarking on the wonderful textures and flavors, the Lady offered this bon mot:
"I only really like them when they are REALLY HARD AND REALLY SMELLY."
Namby and I snorted (after all, at heart, we both have the sense of humor of 12 year olds).
"That's what she said."
3) Because he lives in the burbs, Namby has taken to occasionally crashing in my guest room. Unfortunately, on those occasions, he has failed to bring changes of clothes and...ah...undergarments. This has led to at least one occasion with Namby asking to borrow my underwear.
Yeah.
Anyway, on this occasion, I told Namby to remember a change of clothes for the next day. Namby showed up with a new shirt, a fresh box of underwear, and fresh socks. Because he left early enough to catch a train, he did not need them, but he proposed leaving the items at my place for future nights in town. So now-Namby has a drawer in a dresser in my guest room. I think that I feel a little uncomfortable with that. The Lady, of course, found this all hysterical.
4) The Lady kicks butt on the drums (when she does not drop the sticks), guitar, AND the microphone on Rock Band. Namby, on the other hand, made an admirable effort but was coordinationally challenged with the instruments (although, to his credit, this was his first time playing the game's instruments). Namby does, however, know how to belt out a tune.
5) Near the end of the evening, Namby proposes watching the film Iron Man, a film that the Lady had not watched. I set it up and we settle in to watch. Namby asks for more wine, and I provide it. He then promptly falls asleep.
6) The Lady and I agree that "When Harry Met Sally" is the best romcom out there. Namby feels it is "Love, Actually" and that "Notting Hill" is a close second. I think that Namby has an unhealthy infatuation with Hugh Grant.
I cannot wait for the next gathering.
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