Well, not really, but it's a maybe. My lovely firm is partnering with ESPN for a party Sunday night at Pearl Street. So, I have to work, but at least drink is involved. It's for Sunday night baseball. C'mon down peeps. You can get cable swag and I'm working on getting the important stuff (beer) (and food) discounted

Updates to follow

Always thought it ended this way

It's been one of those weeks. I've had 3 12+ hour days. Tuesday was no big deal, a business dinner that ended early enough I could still enjoy the night. Wednesday I found myself on Arena duty for the Sabres game, which in and of itself was fine, but I had to be ready for a Thursday road trip to Syracuse for a conference. The bus for that was leaving at 6am. That meant getting up at an hour that only be seen after a binge.

Of course, the Wednesday night hockey crowd wouldn't leave my crappy little Adelphia area until the 3rd period of the game was 2/3's gone. I'm shutting off lights, computers and 38 out 39 tvs. You'd think these things would suggest.

Stagger home at 10pm, back up at 4am yesterday, right to syracuse and sit through a conference in a room that was roughly heated to about 200 degrees and devoid of air, only to hope back on the bus with its excessive air conditioning. We got back into Buffalo at 6. I still had last night's Sabres game to work. I'm running through the already admitted crowd and turning stuff on, breaking down barriers and hoping the fatigue doesn't show (by this point, my knees are calling me names for the events of the past 20 hours).

Nothing like running on fumes, when you get your first epeep sighting. I had the pleasure of running into (e:vincent). I hope I wasn't babbling in an overcaffienated, unslept, oversugarfied (is that even a word)state. By the second period of the game, I felt like the Sabres were playing, like my knees were turning to water. The day was filled with crap catered food. I knew it was wrong when I peaked with an ice cream cone. The rain felt good. I had a "wait out the traffic" beer at cobblestone and the cool rain was reviving.

My boss said I could come in late, by daughter needed a ride to school this morning, so that slightly rumpled soul at Spot at 7AM was me, trying to wolf down a mike before it got me. It is possible to feel hung over when you haven't drunken much. I figured that was the only way to tell my taste buds I still cared.

Getting older sucks.....good thing I still got my looks......shaddup!

is such a study in Disingenuousness. I'm starting to associate the big ticket restaurants around town by the cable network that takes us there. I believe the thinking is that the if the network schmoozes the cable affiliate, the cable affiliate cranks out more support for the network offerings. It is usually 15 minutes about work and actual business talk spread over 3 hours of bullshit and over-Carnegie-izing.

You hear the phrase May Sweeps. For us, it means these occasions double. Tonight, it was Oxygen's turn. They took my department to Oliver's. We were seated and I couldn't help but think of the estrip post talking about steaks and restaurants, So I had one. It was alright, but not quite as good as Fiamma's when OLN took us there which was close to Chophouse quality as purchased by ESPN.

I work in a strange industry. The Western Door restaurant was produced by Discovery. TNT took us to Daffodil's. It's an empty shell of a social life. You see interesting places with people who are desperately trying to impress. No matter how hard they try, there is little I can do. They really have to wow my boss and her idiot of a boss (this schmuck is screwing with how you can see the sabres game on thursday). The networks with little to offer get to take them and us to Chef's since the
big cheeses can't be bothered to get into their cars.

The same screne gets repeated with false sincerity. Dinner, some tchotckeys, and hollow promises. I'm not complaining because I get to places I could never afford. I saw a former colleague at Spot Tonight who laughed at the travails. It cracks me up a little to see the same "dance" played out on basically an every other week basis.

I work in a strange industry.

It's true, you can too cool for your kids. My eldest is 14 and in the youth group at the Unitarian Church on Elmwood. My ex serves as one of the group's advisors. Each year the youth take over the Sunday service. I always look forward to it because it is one service that is honest and from the heart. Besides, it's one of the few times that the Grateful Dead, White Stripes and Black Eyed Peas feature in the hymns.

Anyway the kids come out and line the front of the church for the duration of the service. There is a section for quiet contemplation/meditation. My ex and I get along very well. She came up to me and asked if I'd pitch in at this spot. It became clear what she meant momentarily. The music the kids chose was Depeche Mode's "Personal Jesus" as interpreted by Johnny Cash. It's a great record with a baseline that can inspire the most rythmically challenged into a healthy bout of "White Man's Overbite." A few of the kids start getting into it. The group at one end including my child looked more like they were waiting for the song to end. My ex sprung into action, tossing a few precussion instruments to some and grabbing one young man into a dance. As she and her partner start up, my daughter eyes find mine. I feel that tell tale smirk coming across my eyes. She is suffering teenage mortificiation. As my ex started to briefly head in my direction, I thought my child was going to have a stroke.

Lucky for her, the song ended.

She recovered enough after the service to introduce me to her mom's dance partner. "You're the dude who hooked her up with U2?" I nod yes. He started to walk away. He leans back to my daughter: "Your parents are so cool."

The look on her face made my day.