8:32 AM, Nov 3, 2006 
And At The Top We Fly
Yesterday was a good day. I was able to sleep until almost 8am. I got to work and got a lot done, and even had enough time to finish my personal project of reformatting the backend of bahua dot com. I rolled out the change, and even implemented a new feature or two. I had an easy drive home, because of the new route I found. It involves a street that I won't reveal to you scumbags that I will henceforth refer to as CHAMP Street. It's named as such by me, because it works like a frigging CHAMP, as opposed to Broadway, which has taken to serving as a slightly mobile parking lot as of late.
Anyway, I got home, made some dinner, and got dressed for the evening. I have been selectively picking clothes from the hamper full of clean clothes and from the dryer. Last night, I pulled a pair of boxers from the dryer, and found a twenty dollar bill crumpled up in the lint trap. Score!
I went outside to catch the bus at about 6:38pm, and walked a block to a spot where I thought the 51 had been rerouted in these heady, construction-rich times. I was right. It rolled up four minutes after I got to the stop, and at 6:58, it dropped me off exactly across the street from my destination: Fitz's Blarney Stone. Fitz's is a great bar. Kansas City loves its dive bars- Midtown especially loves them- and Fitz's is a great dive bar in Midtown KC. Exposed brick, bars on the windows, wobbly crappy old tables, unfinished unpainted drywall, partially painted segments of wall and floor, and most importantly: $6 pitchers of Flying Monkey. The men's room has no door, but a pair of swinging saloon-style shutters that don't swing shut. I love Fitz's.
Erp and Terra arrived soon afterward, and we grabbed a table. Maggie, who we hadn't seen in ages, arrived a little later and we got to some serious Skipbo. In short, Erp and I got owned by Terra and Maggie. As the pitchers came and went, our tongues loosened a bit, so we started talking about politics, religion, the war, art, architecture, transportation, infrastructure, with smattering of beer talk. It was awesome.
In the later moments while the crowd was starting to form, people started feeding the jukebox. Somebody played, "In My Dreams," a song by REO Speedwagon that I don't think I had heard in over fifteen years. Terra had left by then, but Erp, Maggie, and I all sang along with it very enthusiastically. I was in third grade when that song came out in 1987, and I loved it then too. I downloaded it when I got home and listened to it over and over again on my way to work this morning, belting it out in falsetto while pumping my fist.
Enthralled by the rapport the three of us had unexpectedly struck in conversation, we hesitantly called it a night by around midnight. Erp and I went over to Pancho's for some excellent burritos, and Maggie went straight home. It was a great Thursday.
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