Hose in the House, Mac's Speed Shop, Aborted Pub Crawl, Bocca: It Was Just Another Weekend in Greenville

My life has returned to semi normal.

My buddy Jose took off mid afternoon on Sunday for his IBM class in Atlanta. I'm glad I wasn't facing that 2-hour drive. Actually, we took it pretty easy this weekend. Jose and I behaved ourselves…well, Jose behaved himself. Thanks to a virus of some variety the previous week, he was still a little woozy.

Friday was a killer night at Nose Dive and Soby's. Bob and Meg, my Florida/pseudo South Caroliina friends, joined us.

A few of the Peddler Wednesday Night Irregulars put in a cameo at Soby's. It wasn't a late night, but we concentrated a lot into it.

We had every intention of hitting some joints downtown on Saturday, but didn't get much further than lunch and a beer at Blue Ridge Brewery. We did walk to the other end of Main Street to a new place called Mac's Speed Shop. It's a biker/tap room/BBQ joint. I was less than impressed. It's only been open a couple of weeks, I guess. I just noticed it last week.

Evidently it's a small chain out of Charlotte. All we did there was have a beer. Here's the thing: They put this place right across Main Street from Liberty Tap Room -- a much bigger and nicer tap room. And the location is about three blocks from Smoke on the Water, the best BBQ in downtown Greenville. No clue what the owners were thinking, but I see a real struggle ahead of them. Not the finest looking wait staff I've ever seen either. It looks as though the Waffle House sends its turn-a-ways to Mac's. These guys didn't get anything right. If this joint succeeds, it will be in spite of itself.

Saturday night was dinner at my newest favoritest Italian restaurant in Greenville, Bocca. Food and wine were excellent. The owner came out and regaled us with a story or two. What a character! We stopped for an after-dinner glass of wine at Peddler.

Lunch Sunday before Jose shipped out was at Smoke on the Water. I had visions of going to Blue Ridge Brewery and sitting outside for a beer or two later in the afternoon, but bagged it for a quiet dinner at home. I was a bit weary.

The cat is still under my bed, traumatized by all of the strangers in the house over the past couple of weeks. I suspect she'll be out in a day or two.

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Avengers in 3D: Hey, Guy in the Eighth Row, Could You Just Shut Up!

Because I've been trying to find things to do other than work, I went to see Avengers in 3D last week. There are only a few movies that I'm willing to pay the premium for to see in 3D, Avengers is one of those movies.

I mean, come on: Scarlett Johansson in 3D!

It was a 3:55 matinee. Because it's been in the theaters for two or three weeks, I figured I'd have the theater nearly to myself as I usually do for a matinee. Boy, was I wrong. It wasn't a packed theater, but I had to share it with about 30 other people. I'm used to maybe 5 or 6.

It was a stark reminder as to why I go to weekday matinees rather than evening or weekend showings. Movie audiences are full of boorish jerks.

Some guy and either his girl friend or daughter (I didn't look closely enough to determine an approximate age for either one of them.), came strolling in as the movie was beginning. I don't think anyone should be admitted once the movie starts, but theaters and I don't see eye to eye on this issue.  These two were the sort of inconsiderate jerks you would expect to disrupt the beginning of a movie by coming in late.

This clown talked and laughed his way through the entire 2 hours plus. Yes, there were a few funny moments, but you would have thought this guy was at a Ron White concert. In fact, the last time I saw Ron White in concert, I didn't laugh as often or as uproariously as this jackass did during this movie. Not only did he laugh, but felt the need to comment on everything that happened.

His girlfriend/daughter was somewhat more subdued, but seemed to have a need to offer moral support to the giddy idiot next to her by also laughing at inappropriate times as well. She did keep her comments to herself, so I guess that was one plus.

About the only thing this guy didn't do was make or receive a cell phone call. Otherwise, he was the rudest jerk I've ever been in a movie theater with.

The movie itself was outstanding. Joss Whedon -- of Buffy the Vampire Slayer fame -- cowrote and directed, so I expected it to be good. It was better than I hoped.

Lots of action, explosions, and special effects: Everything you want in a 3D flick.

Did I mention Scarlett Johansson in 3D?

Now I'm waiting for the new Batman movie, also in 3D.

I am convinced that 3D is the best way to watch an action movie. Besides, I look quite dashing in Roy Orbison horn rims.

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Back-to-Back Out-of-Town Company: My House Has Never Been So Clean

I'm actually trying -- not very hard mind you -- to get some work cranked out between spurts of out-of-town company. It's a losing battle. I am only semi motivated as it is under the best of conditions.

Give me a deadline and I meet it, but I require a deadline -- real or imaginary -- to force me to the keyboard.

Rapid-fire visits from good friends is more than enough diversion to stop up the old creative juices.

I had friends from Florida here for six days last week. I was actually gone to a Nissan event for one night of their stay. It shortened my host responsibilities to four days. I made up for it during the time I was with them. They headed home last Friday, apparently none the worse for wear.

This Friday my buddy who used to be from Florida, but now lives in Tucson, is scheduled to arrive mid afternoon. If you are at least somewhat alert, you've probably already deduced that he is the guy in the "micro brew" photo. He has never visited me in South Carolina. We'll have a lot of ground to cover. He'll be here two nights before heading to Atlanta for some work-related class/meeting/boondoggle. He will then return the following weekend in case any stone of drinking opportunity was left unturned during his initial weekend.

Here we are with one of the wranglers at Eatons' Ranch in 2009. I remain convinced she liked me better.

He and I once spent two days and nights on a pub crawl along San Antonio's River Walk in search of its best margarita. Those were the good old days before he got hitched in his 50s and somehow produced a set of twins. But all of that is a story for another day. It's quite the tale.

The one good thing about back-to-back weeks of company is that the joint only needs touched up in the cleaning department. I've already washed the guest-bathroom towels, as well as the guest-bed sheets. I'll have to give the carpets a swipe with the vacuum, but that'll take five minutes.

I guess I'll wipe down the guest bathroom as well. Already looks pretty good from a distance, though.

I've restocked the fridge and the bar.

I get more excited about out-of-town visitors -- or visitors of any stripe, really -- than my cat does. She spent the five days of last week's company curled up under my bed. I doubt she'll be much more enthusiastic about someone else being here this weekend. Neither of us does cartwheels over change.

Oh well....

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Does Driving Like a Jerk Make Someone a Bad Person?

I'm not sure what's happened to civility on the highway, but, for the most part, it's gone.

I don't think much about it until a motorist does something surprising, like, well, something nice.

Although I live in South Carolina, where motorists tend to be less aggressive and more accommodating, there still seems to be the absence of general goodwill and the we're-all-in-this-together feeling of camaraderie that was once in evidence on our roads.

Now it's a dog-eat-dog mentality that encourages behavior that is not only rude, but can often be dangerous.

Nowhere is such activity more prevalent than South Florida, where I lived for nearly 25 years. Drivers there give new meaning to the term "rude." Whether it's because so many are transplants from the Northeast, new arrivals from South America where driving is a contact sport, or simply tourists who figure the thousands of dollars spent on a Florida vacation entitles them to be jerks, South Florida's highways are an exercise in defensive driving. Rude, aggressive driving is contagious and it has reach epidemic proportions in South Florida.

But South Florida is simply a glaring example; such behavior is now the norm across the country.

Have we really become so self absorbed that we can't allow another car to merge into traffic ahead of us. Will six car lengths really make that great a difference in how quickly we reach our destination?

I've seen motorists guard their position in traffic with a relentless fierceness that they probably couldn't muster to protect their children from a midnight home invasion.

What prompted my thinking about this was a motorist in a blue Dodge Caravan, who slowed down and flashed his headlights at me, allowing me to merge onto I-85 earlier today. I sped up, pulled into the line of traffic ahead of him and gave him a wave of appreciation as I accelerated away.

Sadly, I can't remember the last time I experienced a motorist acting with such civility as this Caravan's driver.

On those rare occasions when someone does do something nice, I always acknowledge it with a smile and a wave. And in this, I am in the minority. I've stopped keeping track of how often a motorist who I have allowed into traffic ahead of me actually acknowledge my kindness; it so rarely happens. No, I'm not curing cancer by surrendering my position in traffic, but that's the point. It requires literally nothing from me: no effort, no energy and no cost.

Moreover, a little acknowledgment doesn't cost that motorist anything either.

Maybe I am longing for something that simply is beyond our me-myself-and-I culture.

Too bad.

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A Short Trip in the Wayback Machine: Reliving a Little Piece of My Childhood

I saw something the other evening that I haven't seen in 40 years: lightning bugs.

Some Florida friends who were in town visiting and I were sitting on my screened front porch when one of them shouted, "Hey, look at that!"

My initial reaction was, not another 1970s Impala on 24-inch rims, which my neighborhood seems to be overrun with.

Nope, it was a firefly. We spotted one then another and another. Pretty soon my side yard and the field across the street were thick with them.

This is my fifth summer in South Carolina and I haven't seen them here before. That doesn't mean they weren't around, but I never noticed them. In fact, I had forgotten all about them.

I can remember as a kid in Ohio chasing them around, and sometimes putting them in a jar. But I haven't given them a thought them in decades.

Yet, here they were, nonetheless, in huge numbers well within reach. I resisted the urge to run out in the yard and capture one. The fact that, these days, they may well be able to outrun me had nothing to do with my self discipline; I really just wanted to sit back and admire them.

Lightning bugs. Wow. I guess I'm easily amazed.

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Some TV I Will Miss Next Season

For all intents and purposes, the major TV networks have decided which of its stable of primetime shows will and won't return next season.

I watch a lot of TV when I'm home. I have a DVR and record several shows that I then watch at my leisure. Sometimes I have more than my fair share of leisure, so I get to keep up with most of the shows that I have even a minor interest in.

Yes, my time might be better spent volunteering at a downtown soup kitchen; but because of my travel schedule, my random spurts of downtime are more easily filled with watching TV than accomplishing something of any consequence. At least that's what I tell myself.

In that spirit, here are the cancelled shows that I will most miss:

ABC

"Missing." This show that starred Ashley Judd was originally developed as an 8-episode miniseries. Despite creating a cliff-hanging final episode, the original plotline was concluded in that episode. I'm not sure this show could have held an audience for a 13- or 20-something-week run next season. So I get it.

CBS

"Unforgettable." I became a Poppy Montgomery fan during her stint at "Without a Trace." I like the premiss of "Unforgettable," that had Montgomery's character cast as a police detective who remembers everything she sees. But I watch as much for Montgomery as I do the show's entertainment value. She's hot and I'm a guy. So shoot me.

FOX

"The Finder." This is a quirky little show from the producers of "Bones." The main character can find any one or any thing once he sets his mind to it. It was brainless entertainment which is exactly what I want out of my TV viewing.

NBC

"Awake." I loved the idea behind this show's plotline that had the main character living his life in both reality and a dream world and not being able to tell which was real and which wasn't. He was a police detective -- who isn't these days? -- who solved the current crime in one reality with clues from the other. It was a novel premiss and I'll be particularly sorry to see it go. (Note: After I originally posted this blog the final episode of the season and the series aired. The producers brought the storyline to a conclusion: Like "Dallas" from decades ago, the entire season was just one huge dream. The main character awoke to find that none of it happened and that both wife and son were still alive. It was a then-the-bus-crashed-and-everyone-died ending. Cheap, but tidy.)

"Harry's Law." I've blogged about this show a couple of times and actually stopped recording it when -- for no reason that I can figure out -- the producers gave resident hottie Brittany Snow her walking papers. Somehow my DVR began recording it again mid season and I have watched a few episodes. Mostly David E. Kelley managed to rein in his far-left tendencies -- the very thing that motivated me to stopped watching "Boston Legal" its last two seasons -- and so I didn't feel too bad about watching it. But unlike the other shows on this list, I'm not really sorry to see it go. It morphed into just another lawyer show from its original premiss. That certainly didn't make it better.

Those those are my favorites that got the old heave ho.

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Contemplating Golf in a Very Deserted Cincy Airport

As I write this I am sitting in the Cincinnati airport -- actually in Kentucky -- cooling my heels for 3 hours waiting on a connecting flight to Nashville. Nissan is flying me to its media launch of the 2013 Altima.

I have never seen a major airport so deserted. It's 9:30 a.m.; I am sitting in a little alcove off of Concourse B and I feel like the sole survivor of a nuclear holocaust. I can see the employees of a couple of the shops standing out in the concourse -- no doubt hoping another survivor will stumble by -- but that's about it. Every once in a while a member of the cleaning crew will come by pushing a cart loaded with cleaning stuff in search of someone to clean up after.

I am not exaggerating when I write that it has been at least 2 or 3 minutes since I last saw a fellow traveler walk by. Every once in a while an airport or airline employee wanders by, but even they are few and far between.

Is it a little eerie?  Why, yes it is.

It is in this somewhat surreal setting that I will wrap up my 3-day experiences toting a score standard from hole to hole at the BMW Charity Pro-Am Golf Tournament.

Even for someone who makes his living transforming thoughts into words, I am hard pressed to sum up my unbridled joy at walking off the 18^th green for the last time on Saturday.

Three days of watching golf, playing golf or even thinking about golf is more than anyone should have to suffer.

Here's what playing a hole of golf sounds like -- at least when I played:

Plink  "Dammit; shanked it. Did anyone see where it went? Mother f…. that's another lost ball.

Plink  "Aw jeez; it's in the trees! Did anyone see it come out? Crap; another lost ball."

Thud  "Nuts; hit behind it. I could have thrown it farther than that. At least I can see it. Anyone see the beer cart?"

Dink  "Topped the son of a…  That'll put a smile in it. I don't think I brought enough balls. Somebody please find the beer cart!"

Plink  "Thank, God; on the green in five. What's the par on this hole? Please tell me it's 7 or 8. Three! WTF! Where's that damn beer cart?"

Whoop whoop whoop whoop  "Yep, I can still throw a nine iron farther than I can hit a ball with it. I'm going to the clubhouse for a beer."

Yep, I could go the rest of my life without setting foot on another golf course.

I worked with the same walking scorer all three days. We tallied it up and determined that it took 41 holes before we saw anyone sink a putt longer than 4 feet. We may have seen another three or four putts of more than 4 feet made on the remaining 13 holes. It was abysmal.

There were plenty of pros at 15, 16 and 17 under by the third day of play, but we hadn't been with any of them. One of the pros in my foursome on the last day finished at 4 over par. There are beach volleyball players who don't spend as much time in the sand as he did.

Suddenly I feel like, if I properly applied myself, I could play on the PGA tour. I like sand.

Nah, it's still golf.

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