Mister GQ

          Walter needed to obtain new clothes before his vacation in Ireland, so I accompanied him to Brooks Brothers for a fitting. He may not be as ancient as Harold, but where Harold is tiny and kind of shriveled like a walnut, Walter seems more debilitated. He must have been a large, tall guy when he was younger, and now he's like a big sack of organs. In the elevator, all I could focus on was the way he was sucking breath, every movement stiff and painful. I never want to be like that.
          We took a cab to Brooks Brothers, I escorted him inside, and they whisked him off to a fitting room. I spent the next ten or fifteen minutes wandering around the store. I lusted after their suits, ties, cologne, pretty much every product on the shelves. A single suit jacket would bankrupt me. Also, the tie that Stephanie gave me for free must have costed upward of $60 off the rack. Eventually, Walter came out and we had to wait for his adjustments to be completed. The next half hour was spent sitting in a soft armchair and reading the in-house publications (catalogs semi-masquerading as cultured journalism). The music was excellent for a retail store, the establishment was very quiet, and there was nothing overly interesting to concentrate on; combine these factors and you have a battle with drowsiness. Though I had no responsibilities at the moment, I was disinclined to pass out in front of Walter and struggled hard to stay alert. We made it back without incident, following a cab ride in which Walter and I discussed the finer points of the Emerald Isle. I'm jealous of his itinerary; Ireland is the place I most desire to visit in the world.
          For some reason, I felt very daring in conversation today. First, I busted Chris C's balls about his all-blue outfit ("What's your favorite color?" "Blue." "Yeah, I know.") and earned some snark in response. I then pushed the envelope with Jim F: "Have a good night!" "I'm not leaving yet." [disappointed tone] "Why not?" I mused about what off-brand M&Ms should rightly be called and relaxed before my shift was finished. Afterward, I met Emily at Our House East, where we briefly sat under the jurisdiction of a strange, impersonal bartender and were forced to talk to randoms. We then moved to a table, where we were waited on by an equally weird server and shared a conversation about politics, rednecks, and West Virginia. After this, we bailed to get home and smoke hookah. Nathan and Alaric were present as well, and Matthew S, Johnny and Wyatt all made the trek over to our place. We largely listened to music and watched Electric Sheep for a while, then switched to an assortment of videos of lightning. We tracked the Scotland independence referendum (the decision was a wise No), then played with a clever Facebook app called "Take This Lollipop" (click.) Without spoiling the surprise, I had an especially good round with the inclusion of everyone currently in the room. Finally, I committed a justified wutter foul: knocking over a beer while striking at Alaric's hand when he tried to circle-game me. I did manage to break the circle and relished the two punches, but it was less fun when the boys mixed me up a witches' brew to "restore my valor." Hint: cheap red wine, lemonade, vermouth, and vodka do not combine well. I put on my big boy pants and killed the drink, becoming the second to fall and climb back up.
          Quotes of the day:
"You're very observant. Dangerously observant." - Chris C
"There's wives in the water!" - Emily
"Racism is dead in America!" - Johnny
"Secularism is fucking pussy." - Wyatt
"Look, it's Ryan Miller's five hole!" - me, re: the Gateway Arch
...
Wyatt: "Have you ever noticed that the cartridge is orange?"
Johnny: "The cartridge is yellow."
Wyatt: "... ...I'm colorblind, John. Race doesn't matter to me."