It is One of the Blessings of Old Friends that You Can Afford to be Stupid With Them

Friday was the last day of my class. Met some interesting folks. We had people from New Jersey Transit, NYSE, Mount Sinai Hospital, even MTV Networks. Different industries, different projects, same problems. Lots of work and lots of fun. I’m guessing my favorite question won’t be on the exam, but it goes something like this:

What’s the difference between managing a project and Project Management? Managing a project is managing a project, and Project Management is talking about managing a project. Yes, even armed with my newfound knowledge, I remain an incorrigible cynic.

We had arranged to meet up after class got out, so I texted Gill when I was leaving and started walking north while she and Mordecai headed south. We found each other on 6th Avenue somewhere south of Greenwich Street. Gill had spotted a brick oven pizza place with margaritas just a couple blocks back. Olio.

Margaritas with my wife, pizza, and a spot at the table for my dog. I accepted her terms.

I have learned of the similarities between Mexican food street vendors and lady’s clothing consignment stores. Neither will be passed without a thorough investigation. Gill successfully augmented her wardobe, and we got back home about a half hour before our friends Dave and Cindy were flying in from Syracuse for the weekend. We had some cocktails at the apartment, then the four of us headed over to Chelsea Market to start our evening.

We got on the High Line for an elevated view of patio restaurants, and chose The Standard Grill for dinner. Great meal, with possibly the coolest washrooms in NYC. And dangerously good Espressitos. These are the things I focus on.

After dinner, we headed into Greenwich Village looking for some live music. Checked out The Back Fence, The Bitter End, Slane Public House, but settled on Cafe Wha.

We had a booth with a good view of the stage. The 9-piece house band was a blast, playing an everything-but-the-kitchen sink songlist. The buckets of Coronas were a nice touch.

Exhausted, and maybe a little bit drunk, we walked back to the apartment to let Mordecai out and call it a night.