The Blog of Many Hats

So, last night was just a little bit unexpected.

My wife and her co-workers got together for a sort-of Christmas party. Spouses were not included, so I told my wife that she should go out and enjoy herself and that I would be at Villa Antonio, our favorite restaurant, smoking cigars and drinking scotch until she was done.

When he's not crazy busy, I like to chat with Chris, the bartender. Chris was definitely crazy busy on Friday because he had a party of 80 "cocktailing" in the bar area when I showed up. But he got a few minutes to breath and tell me that Sammy Hagar was in the restaurant.

Woo hoo! I can't drive 55, baby! Half of Van Hagar inna house!

Now, I'm not one to fawn all over celebrities, but I do like to at least say "Hi" if I get a chance. I've met Congresswoman Sue Myrick and our esteemed mayor in this same restaurant.

Unfortunately, Sammy was cordoned off from the masses and was unreachable. But Chris told me they'd purchased a bottle of Sammy's tequila just for the evening and he suggested that if I wanted to meet Sammy, I should buy a round and have one of the waiters escort me to Sammy's room with it.

So, I had him pour out 5 glasses of Cabo Wabo with little lime wedges and off I went with Anthony -- the sommelier and son of the eponymous Antonio -- to meet Sammy.

Sammy was an extremely cool guy. He shook my hand and insisted that I sip, not shoot, his tequilia. So I sipped it, and I was glad I did. Cabo Wabo has a very mild but interesting flavor and it goes down very smooth. A little bit of lime right afterwards is the perfect complement. I usually only do a few obligatory shots of tequila on Cinco de Mayo when they send the hot chicks around to sell shots of Cuervo, but I could see myself drinking Cabo Wabo often and enjoying it. I'm almost certainly going to add a bottle to my liquor cabinet.

I chatted with Sammy and his entourage briefly, and then I got out of their way so they could enjoy their evening. No sense wearing out your welcome.

About an hour later, they disappeared out the door with a few cute chicks from the bar.

All in all, it was a very fun evening, although I paid dearly for mixing the tequila with the scotch. That's an experiment I will definitely not repeat.

A particularly uninteresting post. The author pauses for a moment, deciding what to write, then decides he has nothing important to say. "This is," he thinks, probably just so that I can see what a second post on the main page would look like, with a separator after it.

Suddenly, a second paragraph occurs to him. I know, he thinks, I will experiment with the idea of using italics to indicating that I am thinking.

The post ends, anticlimactically.

This is the first sentence of the first post. This is the second sentence. This sentence serves to augment and clarify the preceeding two sentences.

This sentence of the post is here to point out that the final sentence of the first paragraph failed miserably at its job. This sentence serves to point out the the previous sentence is engaging in mindless bickering and is not actually contributing anything constructive to the post.

This sentence attempts to take the post in a whole new direction, but fails. This sentence tries to back up the previous one, but fails as well. This sentence comments on the awkwardness of having each sentence of the post refer to itself, to previous sentences in the post, and even, in some cases, to future sentences like the punk ass bitch of a sentence that begins the next paragraph.

This paragraph takes charge of the post and tells the preceeding sentences that, henceforth, there will be none of this self-referential nonsense going on. The previous sentence failed to note that the average blog reader will be put off by this drivel, but is promptly cut off in mid

Sensing that no good can come of this post, this sentence decides to end things, hoping that it will be construed as a commentary on the fragility of life and the need to live with one another in harmony. This sentence sneaks in, just before the post editor is closed, and tells the previous sentence to go back to communing with all the other pinko commie leftist sentences, noting slyly that perhaps it would find a home among the writings of Michael Focault or Noam Chomsky.