The Comfy Corner

2:30AM on a Tuesday night, I am awoken by the raucous chatter of young hooligans beatin' their gums loudly in my kitchen as if it were a regular speakeasy. Blearily, I stumble out of my bedroom door to tell the young rag-a-muffins to pipe down and I remind them of the time of day. The next evening I settle into my bed with a blanket and a cup of tea and watch "The Truman Show" with a candle burning and a chocolate brownie cheesecake in my hand. The morning after that, I go to get my mail (a linen pocket square that I've been waiting for anxiously). On my way back from the mail, however, I ran into some buddies of mine and shot the shit for an hour and a half on Main street, complaining about the pace of New York City and how you can avoid getting mugged by simply screaming the word, "WHAT?!" at your pursuer, and the practicality of those new-fangled toe shoes and how they might cure an aching back. This conversation was quite taxing so I settled in for an afternoon nap post retrieving my mail. Now I find myself sitting on the porch on Main Street, sipping coffee and blogging.

What does this say about my personality? Well, I am an old man. A regular wet blanket through and through. I avoid activities that might excite my weak heart. When I go to bars, I go to quiet bars and I drink gimlets. I am a home body. I prefer candles and Ella Fitzgerald to a night of clubbing. I prefer cooking an Ina Garten meal and listening to Michael Buble than going out to dinner. I prefer nostalgic comedies to loud thrillers. I prefer Rodgers and Hammerstein's classic melodies to the busy music of today's composers. Okay, so maybe it is also just says that I am a big homo, but in general I think it says that I just prefer my peace and quiet to the incessant noise of a juice joint.

And I've come to realize that this isn't necessarily a great quality of mine. This is a part of my personality that I have to actively work on. I know that I need to get out and explore the world and I know that I'm not going to make any connections or get anywhere in life sitting in my bedroom. So, I sigh loudly and put on my club outfit on occasion and bump and grind with the best of them. But, it's just so much ya know? The loud music, the people hitting on you, the embarrassing drunken confessions of your friends. My senses can only handle so much! If only we could go back to the days of sitting around in our drawing rooms smoking cigars and drinking port and we could call that a crazy night. But alas, we've reached a point where a "crazy night" involves hash being slipped into the hooka and then that crazy Australian girl from the Cirque trying to give you a "space cake" and you waking up inside of giant metal tube with your pants off and no recollection of how you got there. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I can't keep up with kids these days! I haven't the energy and if I tried, then I fear the ole ticker might give out. So I'll content myself with my Ella, my port, and my blog and occasionally, when I'm provoked  enough, I'll put on my red pants and hipster glasses, get wasted, and pose for Warhol-worthy photos in the clubs with the rest of them. Stay comfy y'all.