Stranger In Town

I've lived here in Charlotte for four-and-a-half years now, and I'd like to think I know my city. I go out. I've been to a lot of nice restaurants. I hang out at the Whitewater Center. I talk to people. I work for the news. I'm paying attention to what's going on. Somewhat. But in my four-and-a-half years here, I've never been uptown at lunchtime. Never.

Tuesday, I actually had time to take a lunch break (a rarity), so I drove uptown to meet my girlfriend. She had a coupon for a free taco at Salsarita's. That was all it took.

There was nowhere to sit inside, so we scurried across the street to the Wachovia Plaza. It was cloudy and gray and gloomy and crisp, so nobody was sitting outside. Inside the atrium, we found a table with two friends who didn't mind our company. Afterward, we went for a walk before we both had to go back to work.

The whole time, I couldn't make eye contact for more than a few seconds. I was too busy looking at everything.

First off, we had lunch in a GIANT GLASS ATRIUM. Usually I eat a baloney sandwich at my desk. I was impressed.

Secondly, I've been to the Overstreet Mall but never realized that through a series of elevated walkways and interconnected corridors, you could walk from the Wachovia Plaza to the Hearst Tower, a length of five city blocks, and never have to use a crosswalk or even go outside. Inside, we passed a second Salsarita's, two Caribou Coffees and two Starbucks. That's a lot of refried beans and caffeine. There's also a McDonald's next to a cigar shop, which, according to my girlfriend, always smells like Romeo y Julieta and Big Macs.

And then there were the people. I'm no stranger to Salsarita's, but I've never been to the one on South Tryon Street in Uptown Charlotte at noon. It was packed, and not just inside the restaurant. Every guy was wearing nice pants and a button down shirt. Every woman was at least business casual. I'd never seen that much khaki in one place at one time.

Wow, I thought, this seems like an exciting place to live. And then I remembered: I already do.

My girlfriend is over it. She has to go up there every day and fights the crowds and traffic and finds this whole lunch thing to be more of a routine than a spectacle.

I told her she'll have to come down to my neck of the woods for lunch next time. I'll take her to Pressley Park Restaurant, a greasy spoon a mile away from where I work. It's nestled back inside a gaggle of warehouses and pay-by-the-hour motels. Posters of the 1993 Charlotte Hornets adorn the walls. I don't think it's a big deal, but she might not be able to make eye contact.

Settling For Nashville

I just got back from Nashville, a city rich in culture and country music and many many interesting things to do that do not revolve around board games, all of which escaped me to some degree as I sat around for hours upon hours this weekend, playing a board game. Despite promises that we wouldn't, my brother, his wife and I plopped down in a hotel room at the Gaylord Opryland and played Settlers of Catan. Several times. At one point, we did open the French doors to the balcony so, you know, we could see what that was like.

Don't get me wrong: we took walks inside the hotel, trips to downtown bars and a spent a night at the Grand Ole Opry. But we also rolled a lot of dice. Settlers is a game in which you build up resources like ore, grain and wool, then build things like roads and cities, which give you victory points. First one to ten wins. I swear it's less nerdy than it sounds. 

My brother and his wife introduced me to the game, and now it's become my obsession for the moment. That's partially because I like the game and partially because I met my girlfriend over a round of Settlers and at least in that respect, I've been on a winning streak ever since.

In all other respects of Settlers, however, I performed with the prowess of the New Jersey Nets. There's no reason I should have lost every single game this weekend but yet I did, prompting some really gently condescending responses from my brother (who won all but one session). "You really need to work on getting points early," he said after I'd just lost my fourth game in a row, with the same tone in which you'd give golf advice to somebody who doesn't actually own a set of clubs. His wife and I got him to admit that he'd been practicing up on an online version of the game. Somehow, his victories seem a little less pure.

So I return home from Nashville, with some new cowboy boots in my bag and new memories in my mind. Ask me how my weekend went and I'll tell you all about the great music and the beautiful resort and the lovely weather, all of which would have been even better had I been able to get to ten just once.

Tux Deluxe

One of the hard and fast rules of working in television is this: If you don't work in front of the camera and/or you're not a manager, you need to do your best to come to work every day dressed like a hobo.

I'm not saying I do that. I enjoy a nice pair of slacks. I really do. But on some days I show up for my job in my "Virginia Is For Lovers" t-shirt and a pair of jeans where the pocket protrudes from a hole in the leg. Nobody seems to care, unless my socks don't match. That's a different story (which you can see here).

So when I was given the opportunity to not only be on television, but also to wear a tuxedo, I jumped at it. Even the people who get paid to be in front of the camera won't look as good as I will, I thought. The very nice people at Charlotte Today arranged for me to be dressed in a penguin suit. Then they threw me out on set with models who obviously know what they're doing. By comparison, I'm like a squirrel: fidgety, dodgy-eyed, and primed to spontaneously run off in any direction. Also, I was glad I remembered to brush my teeth. I'm sure models hate morning breath.

Still, I want to say thanks to the people who helped me look good. Because of you, I'll stop wearing wrinkly clothes to work from now on. Or at least I'll try. I'm not quite sure how my iron works.