Showing posts from November, 2007

A Texan Walks into an Irish Bar

Tough Tuesday at work. How often I forget that cheer is just around the corner. I’m of legal age and am not enrolled in a court ordered 12-step program, so why not. Kennedy’s is on 57th Street. I sit down at the bar and order a pint of Stella. Bartender has an Irish accent, so does the d├ęcor; red tablecloths and mahogany. The crowd is older. In my first 15 minutes there I see a young guy about my age do the survey walk in and out. I walk in with purpose. The guy next to me is reading the Wall Street Journal. He wears navy blue Dockers with pleats, and a button down shirt of a different shade of navy. Short balding hair, he’s in the process of putting on pounds. Obviously out of town; in for business. I’m writing in my scratch pad; I’m not getting anywhere. MSNBC is plying Wall Street. Gas is down; the market is up 300 points. The Friday before is the exact opposite. I turn to him and ask what he thinks of the possibility of a recession given the market ups and downs. He says he ignores