Thursday, July 2 2009

Friends Like These

Don't be fooled by all the pretty, fellows: she's a sharpie!

As a social gadfly and quasi-public nano-celebrity I have a very large circle of acquaintances, colleagues and co-conspirators. My actual circle of friends is much smaller, and I cherish the ones I have all the more for it--including great pals like Melissa (that's her above).

I'm not soliciting pity here, or confessing to misanthropy (although I am guilty enough of that!) but I'm a terribly unreliable friend: out of the country half the time, busy on some project or quest the other half, and chained to slavery over a hot laptop the third half. I've been trying to schedule a quiet beer with my chum David, whom I've known for nearly 40 years, for a couple of weeks now, and we only live a half-kilometer apart! Also, when I am home off the road I'm either doing domestic stuff like putting in my garden or trying to catch up on writing (I've owed my publisher a book for nearly six years, and I've got an offer for another that's just been sitting there for six months) or I'm engaged in the other side of domestic bliss, spending time with my beloved, and I've pulled the ladder up after me and turned off the phone.

But friends show up in the least expected places. My social networking circle is pretty vast, and I keep in touch with folks around the world. When I'm in a strange city I like to see if I can hook up with one or another of them for dinner, a drink or chit-chat--just like chums do. When you travel over 100 days per year the mere act of sitting down and having a cup of tea with a kind soul can take away a lot of stress--a lot of studies confirm that people with larger social circles live longer, happier lives for it. You can't beat gemutlichkeit as a tonic, apparently.

I travel to Ohio at least twice a year, for business with our friends at LD Carlson and their retailers in the mid-West and all over. I discovered that a couple of folks I knew from on-line forums lived there, and one even lived very close to Carlson itself! Feeling slightly weird (after all, I knew these folks well, but it's the equivalent of a blind date when you've talked to someone but haven't met them even after years of correspondence) we arranged to meet for a chat.

That's Lisa, reading wisely, and too well

And you know what? I got a couple of delightful friends out of it. First I met Lisa, who is bright, articulate and fearsomely well-read--aside from her occasionally hilarious day-job at a consulting firm (her customer service stories have left me gasping for air, braying like a donkey) she's a blogger who reviews books at both Minds Alive On the Shelves and When Falls the Coliseum. She's also a great companion for lunches, dinners and general chummery, including helping a distressed traveller find dental floss on an emergency basis (you never can tell when you'll need more floss, so be prepared, I always say). Lisa gives me good book recommendations, and I give her wine advice, and it all works out.

I've already mentioned Melissa, who is a veteran journalist late of the Cleveland Plain Dealer and now blogging away at Domestic Putterings. She's put her years of experience as the Homes reporter for the PD to work in the blog and she's always got something cool to read. This week she even gave me a shout-out for Canada Day! Always great for gossip and celebrity/topical snark, she's grand company always, and now brings her new hubby John and animal wards Lenny, Buckwheat, Mr. Bighead and Snappy the Soup Turtle (okay, his name is McKenzie) to the mix--domestic puttering indeed!

When you put the three of us together and you get wicked good fun. It's usually at a restaurant or bar, sometimes involves organ meats, and always results in a good time. I'll never forget the night I nearly made the waiter faint with an innocent question about my appetizer: in my best hick voice, "That was good, but it wasn't sweet, and I didn't see no bread: just what did you feed me?" He blanched and started sweating right away, probably wondering how he was going to explain to this enormous, no-necked thug that he'd just eaten the thymus gland from an immature castrated bull. The three of us managed to keep straight faces for ten seconds and then guffawed at the poor man, who eventually recovered, assisted by a generous tip.

Then there's the night we went to Lola's, a magically delicious Cleveland joint run by Michael Symon, the Iron Chef guy. I came straight from the airport, dressed casually in a polo shirt and walking shorts. When we were seated the table behind us was distressed by my appearance, mocking my sartorial choices and making no attempt to be unheard. The best cure for rudeness is to fail to notice it, and for once I did just that besides, it's a bistro, not a white tablecloth joint). Michael came out of the kitchen looked around the room and headed in our direction. The table behind erupted like a bunch of Arnold Horshack's, 'Michael! Michael!', but suddenly fell silent when he walked right up to our table, pulled up a chair beside me, slapped me on the back and said, 'Good to see you again--I'm cookin' your food myself tonight!' Hee hee hee, good times, good times.

I'm looking forward to seeing my 'Ohio Girlfriends' (as my wife calls them) again. With friends like these, I feel like a pretty lucky fellow indeed, and the road is a little friendlier and happier for it. Thanks kids--see you soon.

Posted by Tim AT 8:38PM

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