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I had drinks at the Seattle Tennis Club today. I have an...acquaintance that was trying to get me to join (I've expressed desire to play more tennis, and she can sponsor me). To set the scene imagine a posh, wealthy private urban tennis club in a town without old money. Now imagine a swaggering giant in a pink Lacoste polo, designer jeans, jeans belt, sneakers, and huge black sunglasses. I slid my little black monster into the parking lot while listening to Wu Tang's _36 Chambers_ album. When I got out, I laughed at how much my poor little car looked like a praying mantis among the corpulent Mercedes and luxury SUVs . It was hard for me to take things very seriously when the tiny old prune women were trying to look down their nose at me despite being a foot and a half shorter. I had some drinks and was consistently amused at how thin the veneer of luxury was there. I had a wholly pedestrian early dinner, and then I was saved from testing the courts by a squall.

I'm so glad that I'm just a dude.

After a few drinks, I uttered the following soon-to-be-immortal words. "Do you know who I am? Have you seen my stats?" This was, of course, my response to people staring daggers at me. Still, all the people I was with really heard was, "Have you seen my stats?" A new catchphrase is born.

Now, I'm listening to a jam song by The Crystal Method, DMX, Ozzy, and the ODB. It's as sublime as you think it would be.