Blah blah blah Museum blah blah blah collaterals---and 11:52, I was finally on my way to lunch with Dodo.
He had been my first room mate (and I think the last, cos we moved to a bigger office and all creative guys occupied one big room) in my first stint in advertising. He gave me his copy of Liz Phair's Exile in Guyville and I so owe him for that precious precious act of kindness. 9 years later, I still listen to Exile and it is as rocking and poignant today as it was in 1995.
So there he was in National Sports Grill smiling and devouring a salad in the smoking area, The Postal Service CD near his plate. He doesn't smoke but I do, and by just being in the smoking area, he had immediately brought us to where we left off a couple of years ago. (Still a huge fan of details) The familiarity of his presence was comforting. Beer at the end of the day comforting.
And so we talked music.
Loving Postal Service. Gibbard's from Death Cab for Cutie who we're also loving, but Postal we love more. Raveonettes. Josh Rouse. Pernice Bothers. Loretta Lynn and Jack White. (Reminder: Burn him Stars and The Shins.)
Vince Torres dropped by before 1 pm after saying previously to Dodo that he was scared of me. Hmmm. Vince was the first guy I ever had under me. No, that sounded wrong. He was the first guy who I instructed --- well, not really --- I was his boss. Period. I missed him too.
More relaxed and older, the entire repartee was quick, fun, and familiar. (So Thor, you're maintaning a Captain's Blog.)
After 4 bottles of San Mig Light and discussions on Star Trek Voyager and Mandy Moore, I realized I was happy. And it wasn't really that difficult to be happy. Sometimes, all it takes is a phone call. Sometimes, nothing at all.
You can turn around and like where you are.