The post with no title part 1

I don’t have a lot of friends that I could call up and say, “Let’s go to a movie.” In fact I was given three $150.00 lightning tickets at work and it took me three hours to find someone who could fit in the Stanley Cup champs, and even then he brought someone else because I could think of no one else and I had gone through my cell phone, everyone was either busy or unreachable. I said all that to say this, I go out alone. Tonight I went to see Capote at Channelside. It wasn’t a bad movie, but certainly not something that I would file under artistically important. It had that art cinema feel to it that I like, but Hoffman’s character had an annoying nasal voice and it made me cringe at some points. The movie ended and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten since lunchtime (this was about 10:00 pm at this point). I went down the stairs and then up the escalator (have you noticed that Channelside doesn’t have down escalators) to Bennigan’s. I hopped up to the bar and ordered the baked potato soup. It wasn’t bad but I made a soup 10 times better just last week at home. I don’t know why I even bother eating out, since I started applying myself in the kitchen I have been disappointed in restaurant food. Anyway, I was trying to stomach the soup and up to the microphone walks this guy who looks like he stepped out of an Abercrombie ad. He must have needed some liquid courage because he walked to the bar and asked for a Jaeger Bomb and the annoyed bartender gave it to him. From there you had a group of people (and elsewhere in Bennigan’s) who were happy just talking to each other over the dull roar of other people who were happy to talk to each other who now had to compete with comically bad one man cover of Matchbox 20’s 3 Am. I paid for the soup and left. I had my parking stub validated at the movies and it only cost $0.50 for parking for the whole time. When I got to the little booth where you pay, I realized that I don’t have change because I NEVER carry cash. So I had to deal with the look of death from the parking attendant when I handed her my checkcard. I don’t give a fuck, if she knew anything she wouldn’t be a parking attendant now would she? It is now 10:58 and I am right back where I should have just stayed the whole night. My apartment. It is where I have my new dish chair from Urban Outfitters, my fridge, my food and most importantly what I don’t have, some trendy dude singing a song that was bad when the original artist performed it. I have him to thank though, because of him, I wasn’t the most pathetic person out and about tonight.