Obama's HQ in Elizabeth opened recently, a week after he made an appearance at the Grady Cole Center. Hillary's office in SouthPark started up last night. And Bill Clinton is speaking at Halton Arena today.
North Carolina is a big deal this time around.
Look for events uptown over the next few weeks.
Thursday, April 3
Time for a conspiracy theory
Big Brother is watching.
I walked by my window as I was getting ready for work yesterday morning and noticed this ominous structure staring right into my apartment. It hadn't been there the day before, and must have been erected under cover of darkness.
Later in the day, I asked a police officer strolling through the park what was going on. He didn't really know, except that the thing had apparently been a waste of $60,000 and could be used to look down over large crowds. Right. Just after our conversation, a police helicopter began circling overhead.
I grew even more paranoid after I asked my roommate, whose room faces the park, whether he had experienced any strange nightmares the previous evening. Actually, he'd dreamed he was a CIA operative. One minute he was fighting with who he thought to be the good guys. Then his handler ordered him to terminate them. But we're on the same side, he said. Trust us, his handler replied.
Someone please monitor these posts over the next few days. If you notice any Newspeak or other worrying deviations from my regular ramblings, please contact editor@charlottemagazine.com immediately.
I walked by my window as I was getting ready for work yesterday morning and noticed this ominous structure staring right into my apartment. It hadn't been there the day before, and must have been erected under cover of darkness.Later in the day, I asked a police officer strolling through the park what was going on. He didn't really know, except that the thing had apparently been a waste of $60,000 and could be used to look down over large crowds. Right. Just after our conversation, a police helicopter began circling overhead.
I grew even more paranoid after I asked my roommate, whose room faces the park, whether he had experienced any strange nightmares the previous evening. Actually, he'd dreamed he was a CIA operative. One minute he was fighting with who he thought to be the good guys. Then his handler ordered him to terminate them. But we're on the same side, he said. Trust us, his handler replied.
Someone please monitor these posts over the next few days. If you notice any Newspeak or other worrying deviations from my regular ramblings, please contact editor@charlottemagazine.com immediately.
Tuesday, April 1
Unfortunate bar photo of the week
Courtesy of, naturally, the Breakfast Club.
Another winner:
Best use of a Fake ID
Send in your own favorites. This site has a bunch.
Another winner:
Best use of a Fake ID
Send in your own favorites. This site has a bunch.
Monday, March 31
Renters always get screwed
I live in Fourth Ward, on the park, right next to the Harris Teeter. A nice part of town. But,
Cars in the building's outdoor parking lot (where my truck resides) are always getting broken into. Mostly, it's crackheads scrounging for change. I know this because a friend stayed over once, and a crackhead took all the change from her car.
A car was even stolen.
Also at issue:
Someone put his Christmas tree at the edge of the lot, where it remained for over a month, soaking up dog piss.
Non-residents abuse the parking lot. (We've been promised, via elevator memorandum, that towing will begin soon. Don't get any crazy ideas.)
There's no garbage pail in the lobby.
But back to the robberies. After a particularly worrying spree, an owners' vote was called on the issue of security cameras. It failed (despite the efforts of my own landlady, who is a saint). Instead, we got a pile of cards to hang from our rear-view mirrors that said something pathetic like "Stop, Thief! I promise there's nothing good inside."
A quick survey of my neighbors reveals the cause. Most of us rent. The Powers That Be don't have to worry about their cars or piss-ridden evergreens. The checks will come either way.
Sucks to be a peasant, doesn't it?
Cars in the building's outdoor parking lot (where my truck resides) are always getting broken into. Mostly, it's crackheads scrounging for change. I know this because a friend stayed over once, and a crackhead took all the change from her car.
A car was even stolen.
Also at issue:
Someone put his Christmas tree at the edge of the lot, where it remained for over a month, soaking up dog piss.
Non-residents abuse the parking lot. (We've been promised, via elevator memorandum, that towing will begin soon. Don't get any crazy ideas.)
There's no garbage pail in the lobby.
But back to the robberies. After a particularly worrying spree, an owners' vote was called on the issue of security cameras. It failed (despite the efforts of my own landlady, who is a saint). Instead, we got a pile of cards to hang from our rear-view mirrors that said something pathetic like "Stop, Thief! I promise there's nothing good inside."
A quick survey of my neighbors reveals the cause. Most of us rent. The Powers That Be don't have to worry about their cars or piss-ridden evergreens. The checks will come either way.
Sucks to be a peasant, doesn't it?
Bizarre courtship rituals: part one
Thirteen steps for a last-ditch hook-up attempt
On a recent Saturday night around 1 am, I am sitting with some friends in a booth at Stool Pigeon's. To the left of us are two tables, about the only ones left with any people.
One has a group of four drunk girls--not bad looking, but nothing overwhelming--and a small, wiry guy in a red polo shirt. His eyes dart around frantically, and every time another male passes he makes an overt, awkward gesture at the girl to his right, who is apparently his girlfriend. When we look at her, he glares at us.
At the other table are two guys wearing baseball caps, cargoes and pastel shirts. We catch one of them mouthing the words when a Dave Matthews song comes on. They start to formulate a game plan. Here is how it plays out.
1. Order two shots of Jägermeister. Look each other solemnly in the eyes, clank the shot glasses, bang them once on the table, shoot them, cough, wipe mouths.
2. Deep breath.
3. The burden falls on he who is closest. Lean partially into the conversation at the other table and laugh at the first joke you hear. When the nearest girl notices you, begin talking to her. Ask some open ended questions; laugh first to let her know when you're trying to be funny.
4. The wingman must now inject himself into the conversation. Everything is going according to plan. He, too, must make a loud joke or humorous observation.
5. Shake hands with the man in the red polo shirt. Now he cannot stop you.
6. The man in the red polo shirt stands up and announces that the girl sitting to his right is his girlfriend. This is unexpected by all parties. Brush it off.
7. In ten minutes, with conversation now brought to an uncomfortable lull, give the girls what they really want. Jäger shots. Yes, buy one for the man in the polo shirt as well. But first double check that he wants one too, to make him understand his imposition.
8. Clink your shot with all the girls', spilling as little as possible onto your hand. Take shot. Wipe hand on pants.
9. The shots didn't help. Bring out your camera phones. This gives you the chance to put your arm around someone.
10. Oh no. The girls all get together, and one of you has to take the picture. You do not want to be the one taking the picture. Pretend to have a great time either way.
11. No luck. Red polo shirt exerts his considerable command over the group of girls and rushes out the door with them. They don't resist.
12. Survey the bar. The waitress is cute. And she is required to give you your bill. Leave a huge tip. Walk up to her to pay it, instead of letting her come to your table. Be aggressive. Ask her how she is doing.
13. She thanks you and runs behind the bar. Leave quietly, but confidently.
On a recent Saturday night around 1 am, I am sitting with some friends in a booth at Stool Pigeon's. To the left of us are two tables, about the only ones left with any people.
One has a group of four drunk girls--not bad looking, but nothing overwhelming--and a small, wiry guy in a red polo shirt. His eyes dart around frantically, and every time another male passes he makes an overt, awkward gesture at the girl to his right, who is apparently his girlfriend. When we look at her, he glares at us.
At the other table are two guys wearing baseball caps, cargoes and pastel shirts. We catch one of them mouthing the words when a Dave Matthews song comes on. They start to formulate a game plan. Here is how it plays out.
1. Order two shots of Jägermeister. Look each other solemnly in the eyes, clank the shot glasses, bang them once on the table, shoot them, cough, wipe mouths.
2. Deep breath.
3. The burden falls on he who is closest. Lean partially into the conversation at the other table and laugh at the first joke you hear. When the nearest girl notices you, begin talking to her. Ask some open ended questions; laugh first to let her know when you're trying to be funny.
4. The wingman must now inject himself into the conversation. Everything is going according to plan. He, too, must make a loud joke or humorous observation.
5. Shake hands with the man in the red polo shirt. Now he cannot stop you.
6. The man in the red polo shirt stands up and announces that the girl sitting to his right is his girlfriend. This is unexpected by all parties. Brush it off.
7. In ten minutes, with conversation now brought to an uncomfortable lull, give the girls what they really want. Jäger shots. Yes, buy one for the man in the polo shirt as well. But first double check that he wants one too, to make him understand his imposition.
8. Clink your shot with all the girls', spilling as little as possible onto your hand. Take shot. Wipe hand on pants.
9. The shots didn't help. Bring out your camera phones. This gives you the chance to put your arm around someone.
10. Oh no. The girls all get together, and one of you has to take the picture. You do not want to be the one taking the picture. Pretend to have a great time either way.
11. No luck. Red polo shirt exerts his considerable command over the group of girls and rushes out the door with them. They don't resist.
12. Survey the bar. The waitress is cute. And she is required to give you your bill. Leave a huge tip. Walk up to her to pay it, instead of letting her come to your table. Be aggressive. Ask her how she is doing.
13. She thanks you and runs behind the bar. Leave quietly, but confidently.
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