This was a DC Naked Half Smoke from Bold Bite Menu in Bethesda.
I was happy with it, overall. The bun was great, condiments were well chosen and the only issue was it had structural integrity problems, as condiments would not stay on it.  Could have been my eating technique, but the half smoke itself was delicious.
On the other hand I had just finished a flight of beer from Rock Bottom Brewery.
This.
This is why I have too much crap in my house. I cannot even play this tape. I mean, I remember maybe going to Sam Goody. I was probably wearing black jeans and a sweater, even though I lived in San Diego.
More than likely it was at Plaza Bonita or Mission Valley malls, considering that’s where I spent most of my ‘rat time.
But now it’s just a hunk of solidified petroleum, and this entire album can be streamed with better fidelity.
Yet it is still taking up room in my condo.
It’s been time for a purge, and I feel like this is the year.
via Instagram
As I’ve gotten older, I think about how my celebrations have changed.
In my teens, they required leaving the house and getting away. In my 20s, they were bar focused and social. In my 30s I started thinking about having experiences, places that were unique in some way, different from places I’ve been before.
Now I’m 40 and I just want to sit down, have animated conversations and drink high end booze in the comfort of someone’s home.
Pictured above is Djinn with a favorite toy at a friend’s house. She basically illustrates the relaxed sort of comfort I’m talking about.
I miss it.
I miss the long train ride, gazing out the window for stretches at a time, watching the landscape change slowly from the familiar to the not so familiar, to the foreign.
I miss my annual walk down the length of the train, the knowing nods, the recognition and admiration of tribal paraphernalia, and the flashing green light of someone I haven’t digitally met yet.
I miss the arrival as it transitions from the foreign to the not so familiar to arriving at a place and time that I find unerringly familiar—a place that I would consider a second spiritual home.
I am awash in memories, of good times, of late nights. Memories of glorious die rolls that killed a party, and rowdy drinking that ended up with me actually falling into the street and wondering if that was what it was like to live in Boston.
I miss friends, all of them.
The Friends seen once a year, bartenders that remember you year after year.
The Strangers become Friends met only once in line to purchase something, or browsing the same booth in the expo hall because you both love this one weird thing that no one else has heard about yet.
And most of all The Friends I hang out with often—but in a 96 hour setting that unites us physically and celebrates several of the mutual hobbies that make us friends.
So yeah. There it is. I feel better getting it out. I’ve placed these feelings into a verbal box, and now I’m going to put it away on the internet.
To those attending, I wish you a safe and happy return.
As for me, I’ll be focusing on the silver lining, which lies in the financial benefit of not attending—which I am totally not negating via several rigorous sessions of online retail therapy.
Peace.