:mattLandia:

Bet #1. 12:32 p.m.

During lunch, I wandered into Urban Outfitters, where to my surprise, I bought a blazer. I suppose I had a moment of blazer envy, because of my team mate John came in to work looking smart and ‘fall-ish’ in a very cool Burberryesque blazer. If it weren’t for my UO discount card (thanks Karen!) I might have passed this blazer by, but after a furtive look around to make sure my punk-rock conscience was on a smoke break, I slid my credit card to a stoned looking employee who sealed the deal. I took the blazer home, threw on a hipster tee, faded jeans, and brown boots, was quite pleased with myself. Not my normal look, but October appropriate and a safe bet.

Bet #2 6:15 p.m.

Natasha and I played the game all couples play. “Where do you want to eat?” “I don’t know. Where do you want to eat?” “I don’t care, you decide.” “I’m not particular, you decide.” “I chose last time.” “I don’t know. What part of town do you feel like going to?” “I don’t care, you’re driving.” And so on and so forth. After a few scintillating rounds of this, we decided we’d give Django a try.

Djangos was a good bet. “Named after Django Reinhardt, the influential jazz figure of Gypsy origins, Django is the meeting point of influences reaching to Asia, Latin America and North Africa with a distinct Mediterranean accent….” Blah blah blah. The place is downtown-artsy, has three levels including a bar, restaurant / art gallery, a deck, and a downstairs club. We decided to sample a bunch of appetizers including the calamari (great), the rock shrimp (good), the beef skewers (good), and the Lamb and Swiss pizza (yuck from me / good from Nat). All in all a decent dining experience, and I think I we got out of there for under $40.

(My favorite moment: As we left, I was accosted by a speed-walking-cracked-out-lifestyle-alternative-street-resident who, with a gaping toothless mouth smacking away at unidentifiable chunks of a sandwich, asked me, “you wanna tek me in der an buy me sum dinnah?” After declining his kind dinner invitation, he sped passed me into the restaurant, walked around in a quick circle and then speed-walked his way back out past me and further down Peachtree Street.)

Bet #3 8:15 p.m.

All was going well. I was enjoying the weight and style of a new blazer, I had a belly full of tasty dinner treats, and now my date and I were off to see a play called Killer Joe. Killer Joe is billed as a “thrilling black comedy that will leave you hoarse from guffawing, if you don't choke on the fried chicken first...”

The only thing ‘thrilling’ was the feel of theatre bleachers (built out of two by fours, string, and some loose plywood) swaying under the weight of a full audience. I was particularly thrilled to have no less than 5 patrons who all tipped the scales at 300 lbs+ sit in front and behind us. Thilling indeed. I was hoarse from guffawing, if ‘hoarse from guffawing’ means quiet with the occasional chuckle or ‘hmphh’ sound of an almost-chuckle. And it was a black comedy, if by ‘black’ you mean the lighting was near-dark a lot and ‘comedy’ in that there was a moment of full frontal male nudity. It wasn’t a total loss however. I was reminded how much I like the word ‘can’t’ pronounced ‘kaint’, an empty Pabst Blue Ribbon carton will work well as trash can, and that all good southerners know a bucket ‘o K Fry C is good for the soul.

Next time I'm invited to see a play about a pyschotic redneck assasin in a love triangle with a backwoods debutante and her trailer trash kin - all bets are off.