You can find me in the...

It's another Sunday evening and you know what that means... watching the clock at work and waiting for 7pm.  You see, my day started at 8am with walking my two shi-tzus Frodo and Rosie.  Then, I scrambled to get my house picked up (you never know what might happen on a club night) and rushed to work, cafe latte in hand.  After bumpin' some club music on the way to work while dodging the requisite I-75 traffic, I pulled into the Home Depot parking lot.   From 10am to 7pm, I enjoy a waiting game complete with a few families wanting appliances, and a customer asking me to design his kitchen on a CAD program.   After going through the workday motions, I realize that there is a mere 15 minutes left.  I haven't checked my schedule for the rest of the week have I?  Hehe.  After a world record for world's slowest march to the time clock, I made my way to my orange chariot (dodge neon) and proceeded to attempt to shock my older co-workers with explicit music (I'm an asshole like that).  I called up some of the guys, worked out the ride system, and made my way over to my friend Trey's house.   Before I proceed, I should mention that clubbing is kind of an artform for me.  I have a portable liquor cabinet in my trunk complete with a watertight compartment for storing club clothes. You never know right?  Also, as an aside, Sundays are a notoriously bad night for clubbing and only the most hardcore of clubgoers go out that evening. So, I grabbed a change of clothes from my trunk and headed inside Trey's strangely eternally unlocked door to change.   After stealing his cologne, and smiling at the thought of not styling my hair,  I headed into the kitchen where 8 guys were trying their best to race each other into intoxication.  The goal, become more intoxicated than your peers so you don't have to drive.  The winner... What?  Why does it have to be me?  Seriously though, I called "shotgun" after grabbing a crown and coke and proceeded to argue with those present. My position is that since I have called shotgun, I automatically am disqualified from driving, in spite of the fact that I am the least inebriated.  This led to shouts of vagabond and other such colorful language [it was a lot more colorful that that ;)].  After letting each person in the room know, with a wicked smile,  that I would gladly represent them con gratis should they need me once I became a lawyer, they each got in one last jibe and proceeded to move on to the next topic, who were we bringing out?  As guys do, each swore to provide a bevy of female comfor... company assuring the group that they could, at the touch of a cell phone button, have a veritable cornucopia of women from an endless pool of previous conquests.  After the bullshit had subsided, two guys brought girls they were, in their terms, "stringing along", one brought his girlfriend, three had women who magically never materialized, and I called a group of girls I've befriended who all love to go out and get trashed on some poor guy's dime.   The guys broke up into cars and everyone went to get their charges.  Trey, myself, and two of his erstwhile companions whose names escape me headed out in his Expedition down to Front Page News. 

Front Page for the uninitiated is a bar/restaurant/ mild new orleans lovefest.  If you don't already have a schtick, let me save you alot of time, Gumbo Ya Ya appetizer, Thai Sriacha Peanut Curry Ribs (hold the cilantro), and finish with a bread pudding.  That stuffs one large guy or two drunk people.   For drinks, rock the Captains Paradise until you're buzzing, and then switch to long islands with a shot of grenadine. Drink 2 oz of long island and add grenadine to the glass, trust me!  After getting what Emeril Lagasse calls "happy," it's about 11 and the girls show up.  Sarah is the redhead who smokes weed, but always smells like fresia, Vic is the crazy blonde who is what those in the industry call "a nutjob," and Tonya is the hot one.  They showed up with two girls from their sorority whom I had never met and we proceeded to put a head of steam on the evening.  Eventually, the night began and ended (more or less) at Velvet Room. 

Velvet Room is a well appointed nightclub off of Chamblee Tucker which plays hip hop and rnb mixes most of the night and caters to the african american community.  The choice was largely arrived upon by the girls who wanted to meet some of their sorority friends there.  So The guys and I crammed the girls into the Explorer, and headed out convoy style.  After arriving, the ladies took a few minutes to touch up and adjust, and we headed to the rope.  

I know the bouncer Greg who used to go to my church, said hey, and in rare form, no one paid to get in.  We even skipped the line, a double rarity.   After entering what has to be the most cramped nightclub ever, we proceeded to race each other to max out our debit cards.   Luckily, everyone had just been paid the friday before, so we danced, drank, flirted shamelessly, ground against each other, and generally acted in a fashion that makes me glad I'm not Catholic. Worst confessional ever.   After the guys began to get drunk and tired, and the girls began to complain of leg cramps, Trey finally gave me the sideways nod in the direction of the door and me and Sarah, I believe, broke away to pay our tabs. 

Everyone piled back into the vehicle smelling of sweat alcohol, and eau de nausious.  between Trey and his overdone soundsystem and the rediculous rig at the club, we left with the teltale ringing in our ears of a good night.  It is in this moment leaning on each other tired and depleted that reality sets in.  We have each just spent several hundred dollars and have to work in the morning.  Some in the car grumble that they are getting too old for this, and I casually mumble an agreement as I begin an internal battle over calling out tomorrow.  Inevitably I do not, I simply take a cold shower, grab a gatorade out of the fridge, and grumble about the dogs taking too long to go to the bathroom. 

The next night sleep comes quickly, I come in the front door, check the dogs food and water, walk them, and crash.  That sleep, is truly the sleep of kings.

Revamp

I know it's been awhile, but this will be a fresh start for Ruminations, and I have much to talk about. I will follow with a fresh approach...  6 nights out and about on the town in Kennesaw, Atlanta, with friends, by myself, whatever the day may bring.  So please check up on me as I relay the schenanigans of me and mine and you enjoy the ensuing hilarity.

Libya: No Oasis for Western Ways

Libya is a decidedly dry country with 6.5 million residents and 85.3 billion dollars GDP.  The country produces roughly 12,951 per capita and the average yearly income is piddly. Italy Germany and France are it's main export partners, and it's main imports come from Italy, Germany, and China in that order.  50% of the country under 20 is unemployed, and one fifth of it's labor force is expatriot labor.  Libyan nationals making $320 per month only account for 12% of the population. The country's corrupt regime is run by a wildly wealthy dictator who cares little for his people and has solidified his position with graft, position jockeying and tribal real politik all at the expense of the common Libyan.

Which leads us to our current issue, The Libyans are revolting.  A former French colony, the Libyans had previously viewed their leader as a liberator, but have over time come to see him for the opportunist he is.  Now Western powers are reticent to become involved.  With the U.S. quagmires in Afghanistan and Iraq, and a growing rage in the Middle East, should the West become involved?  The answer is maybe.  We have several issues to address prior to our involvement.

Do we have the capacity to intervene? America has stretched herself thin, and in many ways, so has Europe.  The West is quickly learning the costs associated with being the worlds policemen are more than the the benefits.   We are forced to decide if we will represent Western corporate interests behind the veil of freedom and equality, or do we cut our losses and run?  The answer is uncertain.

Can we control the outcome? Wars involving poor and impoverished countries always end in a long and protracted engagement with less than desireable outcomes.  Throw Islam into the mix, and you have a highly volatile concoction.  The answer historically, is that the Middle East is a powderkeg of chaos which can be set off, yet never extinguished.

Is there a plan post action?  If recent actions in the Middle East are any indication, an exit strategy is a must.  The truth is, without more detailed knowledge of the disposition of rebel and government forces, the will to fight, and the desired goals of the rebels, we cannot give accurate information.

Do we know what we are getting? Who are the rebels?  In a society where thier opinions and views have had to be underground, we have no evidence of their connections, associations, or aspirations.  We don't know, and certainly if they were terrorists or agitators, they would never admit it to us.  Thus we are mired in intrigue.

For these reasons and more, we should let Europe fight this one out.  We should remove ourselves and allow NATO to handle it, sans US troops, US leadership, and US equipment. 

Mock Trial: Legal Litigators or Alcohol Induced Actors

When I was younger I always dreamed of being a lawyer.  As time progressed and stole the years of my youth, I began to believe that I didn't have the stuff of lawyers.  I had no drive, I wasn't that smart, I wasn't socially blessed.  But as time progressed, I returned to school, brought my grades up, changed my major, and saw the light at the end of the tunnel.  Now sporting a 3.0, I began to look at eventually conquering that last windmill.  The Mock Trial Team.  I envisioned a group of overly dedicated scholastic slave drivers who were hounded by family and an internal need to succeed.  I found that in order to become a member of a team, one simply had to attend the requisite course and show aptitude and interest and you too could become a member.  So I joined a class called Trial Evidence and Procedure believing it to be a traditional theory based socraticly taught course.  Which would be followed by a tryout for the team and my eventual ascention.  I could have never known the reality.  The class is a hands on primer, a collegial carbon copy of the technical school model.  A hands on dirty hands version requiring the students to participate and stage different mock trial scenarios and gain experience through performance.  I thought of it as a Theatre class.  And then I got the fever.  For a short time I got a burst of desire to excel and propel my team to the heights of the class.  Nothing would stop our domination!  And thats when I realized we were all college students.  The very students that wrote papers last minute, drowned themselves in alcohol, and played games on their computers during class were now going to shift, become responsible, meet deadlines, and be available.  After heading the group until the first trial, I realized the folly of my thinking.  I would have to take a much more hands off approach.  so I stepped back and analysed my next move, reassigning roles within the group, and allowing others to test the waters of leadership in the hopes that added responsiblility would engage the members.  After weeks of preparation and conflicting schedules we performed against other class teams for spots in upcoming competitions.  Three of our group were chosen for outside competions alongside the "masters."  This is it! We've made it! Now we're with the Big Boys!  Excited for this chance to learn from the "Old School,"  I waited for our first meeting.  In the interim, members dropped out, last minute replacements were found, and schedules were worked out.  The meeting came and went and I realized what was what.  We were all just students (albeit some with experience), and everyone was trying to find their niche in a conflicted and confusing process.    I also learned that the win is not in a great performance by an individual or even by a lawyer and his/her witness.  The victory is in the ebb and flow.  The whole court case should sound smooth and fluid with bumps that are minimized and marginalized and clear cut easily understood ideas.  The defense needs to discredit the prosecution, and the prosecution needs to befuddle the defense.  The closing ties everything together, and imprints a lasting impression on the mind.  The final result is a story told.  And that is victory.  Victory is in the story.  But that was not my only impression.  These people work hard, and play hard.  I heard jokes, and stories, and saw drinking and obscenities, and I realized we were not just going to Duke to kick some ass as stiff necked tight collared automatons.  We were going to Kick ass, Take names, and get silly afterwords.  And that's alright too ;)

Bringing Sexy Back at Door 44!

There are nightclubs and then there are nightclubs. 

While many of you might see this as the asinine statement of the evening it has a certain transcendental truth to it.  And that is this, some nightclubs are actually nightclubs and some nightclubs are venues.  Take Door 44 for example.  Door 44 is a nightclub found on 44 12th St in Atlanta.  On a busy night or any time after 12pm you will find yourself faced with a combination of baddies ranging from Boris, Dr. No, or even the ubiquitous John Cena staring back at you with all the scrutiny of a Homeland Security agent guarding entrance into the CONUS (Continental United States).  After passing your background check (Did you bring Pretty Women?), you get the nod and the wave, and enter into the sexiest club in Atlanta.  This club is small by my Compound, Opera, standards, but exudes a sexiness not found in most of its erstwhile companions.  In fact one gets the impression that Door 44 might be the slutty friend of Opera, Compound, and Primal that gets excluded from the society outings for fear of how she might behave.  Door 44 is the one you take home to your mom, but then realize the tactical error as she begins to trace her toungue around the rim of her glass at dinner or deepthroats shishkabobs.  Her scent lingers when she passes, and she hugs others just a little too long.  And you're pretty sure she just pinched your dads ass.  as you walk further in, the Red Louis Vuittonesque wallpaper reminds you of an old french Brothel, while the glass cased counter filled with assumedly fresh rose petals adds the right touch of romance to an establishment that's one martini away from getting fucked.  Add in the metal art on the walls with fleur de lis', and the flat panels with Art Nouveau Backgrounds and scantily clad women in the foreground grinding away against indescribable objects.  The VIP is not exactly VIP, its on ground level and clearly within view of the masses, but it is roped off so as to say: this is our side, and that is yours, see our oppulence and despair.  This would normally describe a seedy bar until you factor in that the entire entrance is a dancefloor, and in the background behind his podium lies the arbiter of justice himself.  Spinning a delighful blend of hip hop and top 40's with snippets of rarer fare, The Judge (that's what I call him) lays down the law with some of the most innovative (albeit premixed) backbeats and transitions to be found in a nightclub (sans visiting DJ's).  And who could forget the bartenders?  These lovely ladies slither sexily behind their counter delivering deliciously luscious libations to the awaiting masses.  They actually interact with thier patrons (imagine that?) and respond well to good tippers.  Don't be shocked to see Aphrodite staring back at you from across the counter locking you with her emerald eyes as she hands you your first (of several) comped drinks.  This trendier atmosphere attracts a more refined crowd despite its attempted "street" personna, and it shows both in the attitude of the patrons and the interactions.  The ladies are plentiful and seem to be outnumbered, which is quickly rectified by the smooth and predatory gentlemen (ahhhm... me) that are happy to part them from their platonic escorts (sorry dude, but she's not taken, although you have been ).  I found several of the ladies I... talked?... to that night to be shockingly interesting and not drunk and stumbling like the majority of the Dancehall style clubs.  And there wasn't a single butaface in sight(sorry ladies, but guys have different esoteric needs).  The end result is that the venue is exceptional, and I will be found frequenting it's red hued heights smiling across from ( not down at) you on a sultry evening here soon. ;)

The Final Solution: Grazing the green grasses of Kennesaw State University

Attn: The Sheeple@ KSU

Ok...

So Students decided to camp outside of the police annex at Kennesaw State University two nights ago in protest of homelessness, and in support of Homeless Awareness day or something.   Why on earth would you trivialize homelessness by camping outside of a campus police department on perfectly manicured grass in brand new tents with guitars and marshmallows over sterno cans in some sort of callous attempt at coming off as caring or being socially responsible.  Of course no one likes the homeless' plight.  But I'm pretty sure adding to the Coleman coffers is not beneficial to any homeless people.   And guess what?  We were all aware of homelessness.  If you really cared, you'd volunteer to help the homeless, and get your friends to go too! That's real progress.  not a touchy feely "Koombayaahh" damn weinie roast fascade of a damn awareness campaign.  I thought that time would temper my immediate disdain, but it has served only to temper the flavors of my disdain and accentuate the notes of displeasure within.  I even went and walked through Ground Zero of the "squalid" sectors of multifamily tents laced with the smells of Off Backwoods Mosquito Repellant.  The Home Depot or Walmart thanks you for your purchases, now go home and leave homelessness to those who sadly do it best... actual homeless!

In the Beginning...

I've often thought about starting a blog and here it is. I'm not sure what's good and well in regards to blog posts as I've never really followed anyone else's blog posts, so if I'm out of wack, too bad. I think as this is my first offering, I'm going to make it about a series of thoughts that consistently runs through the course that is my mind. I thought by giving this blog the title of Ruminations I would speak to it's nature as thoughts not necessarily acted upon so please don't be alarmed by the wild machinations of my dropped on head as a kid mind. ;)