I woke up this morning to an Internet of former immigration law experts who have evolved into law-of-war, constitutional law, and Mid East foreign policy experts. The mind boggles at what these geniuses will be tomorrow.

I need to step up my game. I’m just a guy who used to have some expertise in Eastern European culture and politics, who morphed into the digital equivelent of a car mechanic, but is currently retooling as a Dachshund caretaker and landscaper.

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Spent the weekend watching several schwanz-measuring contests. First, there was the “Who’s the Biggest Geek?” competition, followed by “Who’s Been a Geek Longer?” cagematch. Both of these were eclipsed by “Who Did the Most Cool Stuff When They Were In The Military 20 Years Ago?” scrum.

I did not participate. I was not there to help Heinlein change his typewriter ribbon, nor do I speak multiple non-human languages without a noticable accent. It goes without saying that I was never a Delta Force Scout Sniper Airborne Riverine Space Shuttle Door Gunner.

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Watching friends do well and become leaders in something is wonderful. Watching pricks who used to be dominant in their space become a footnote is almost as good.

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Did I mule a bottle of top-shelf bourbon down to Tennessee for a friend? Yes.

Did I mule two bottles of niche hot sauce down for another friend? Also yes.

Am I muling seveal bottles of Tennessee whiskey up to Kentucky? Most definitely, but I have to figure out how to not let Irish Woman find out about them.

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Quote of the weekend – I dress like this because it pisses other people off.

I hope to achieve that mindset someday.

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Note to self – When faced with the choice of having hippy-dippy pizza in a brewpub or having upscale steak and seafood for dinner, get a brown ale and a slice.

I want credit for not asking the waiter at the steak-and-alcohol restaurant whether the filet and ravioli plate was prepared by imported Peruvian sasquatch hunters and served by Miss Tennessee 2014 for the price he wanted. They did have an impressive choice of bourbon, though.

I also want to point out that it is hard to blend into a crowd of twenty-somethings who can’t afford what they’re ordering, salted liberally with older folks who are only there because the female in the relationship wants to be seen at a trendy place frequented by younger women, when you’re the only dude who’s sitting alone, wearing a colorful hawaiian shirt, and reading a novel.

Blending in in that environment would have required me to drain one highball glass after another, while wearing tan pants and a pastel shirt, and sitting across from a pile of mutton dressed as lamb. Now that I think about it, I’m OK with sticking out a bit at the restaurant.

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I think I may have pissed a few people off this weekend by not being ‘chatty’ enough. I’d rather be silent and assumed to be a fool than open my mouth and prove it, but that apparently is frowned upon in some social circles.