Working for the Weekend

This was one wacky weekend. It began on Friday night, when I attended the classy Great Chefs affair, put on by the fine people at Greenwich Hospital. I sampled some of the fare from many of the best restaurants in the Greenwich area, including the Bulldog Bar and Grill (who get a mention here because they were one of our sponsors for Cardinals hockey and hoops).

Also to be sampled was some, um, libations. So I visited with the man from Red Hook Brewery (their Copper Hook Spring Ale is quite good), then the martini table (well, I'd never had one and my great friend and coworker Joy wanted one), then the scotch table (Joy's husband, Thomas is responsible for this), then some Merlot at our table.

Yeah, a bad combo indeed.

Now before you get your "Rob's drinking too much" jones on, that wasn't the issue. I was fine - a little toasty, perhaps, but I'm very smart when it comes to this. My drive home was ultra-peaceful, thank you very much. I also know that Joy, for one, wouldn't have let me out of her sight if I wasn't right.

The night went better than I could have imagined. The food was good, the drinks were fine, and the band was tight - playing a mean mix of pop hits from the 60's to the 80's (and very well, I might add).

I thank my boss for inviting me. I could, however, do without the image of he and my other boss dancing. Not with each other, of course, but you get the idea.

Joking, of course. I don't need another batch of "there you go again, slamming the bosses" emails.

Well, not a batch, just one. And somebody said something to me. I'd like to delve deeper into that subject (being critical in regards to WGCH not carrying games), but now's not the time. Let's leave the topic at this: a business exists to make money. I'm a broadcaster, and my bottom line is to call games, make smart programming decisions, and please our listeners. It might, in theory, sound like a difference in philosophy, but it's not. I understand the realities, but that doesn't make them easier to swallow.

I hope, in that one simple paragraph, I've resolved it. Moving on...

Anyway, I was dateless and we all decided to hit the road just after 10. I wish Sandi had been with me - it was the kind of night that she would have been awesome at. She would have mocked everyone (with my support, of course). And I know she would have looked better than anyone there. She is just too stylish. But there was no room for more at our table, so she was off at a book club party at a girlfriends' house.

I digress. Back to why the weekend was whack.

We agreed to be home by midnight - give or take. Sean was off at my moms' house. I was home by 11:20 and proceeded to begin feeling a wee bad. For one, my heart was racing as if it was the final lap at Daytona, and Tony Stewart was on my bumper (is that a good NASCAR reference? I don't know...). For another, midnight came and went...no Sandi. So did one...two...three...

I got maybe an hour's worth of sleep. Then I would toss and turn in bed...or on the couch...nothing worked. I was wide awake. I read some, but it wouldn't calm me down.

Damn.

I called her cell phone around 3:30. Not that I was trying to check up on her - that wasn't my intention. I was worried. When she says she'll be home around midnight, and it's now 3:30, and there's no word, I worry.

Fast forward to 6:13 - exactly. My cell phone vibrated with the sound of a text message. Long story short - she didn't feel well and crashed. She was mindful of calling me but before she knew it, it was, well, 6:13.

So I got my three hours sleep (tops) and moved onto Saturday - slowly and painfully, with a side of rain (or was the rain the main course?). In fact, I spent most of Saturday dealing with the rain - build a trench, climb onto the roof(!) to unplug the gutters, dig more trenches, clean the garage, and try to cat nap every now and then.

With that said, I didn't get straight to bed on the night that we flipped the clocks forward. Instead, I met my buddy Scottie to blow off the proverbial steam. Much needed, and thanks.

The band that I heard there was very good. Of course, I can't remember their name.

PJ's bar and grill in Baldwin Place will never be known as a trendy, classy hot spot. Instead, it should be known as a place with character and characters. More often than not, that should be good enough. I suppose I could look like an outcast there, but nobody treated me like one.

So that leads us to the calmest day - today. With the chill back in the air, Sandi decided to pass on the St. Pat's Parade in Mahopac. I almost did, but I felt like I wanted Sean to get there, so we set off, and my mom tagged along. Truthfully I could have (should have?) gone to the Greenwich parade, but I'll get back there again (I drove in in twice - once was a blast, once was a test of patience).

The moral of this weekend is the classic "I need a weekend to recover from my weekend."