Noise Pollution

“Axel,” the girl one bench over is practically screaming into her phone. “Axel. A-X-E-L. I guess she had the baby. I saw it on Facebook. Isn’t that a weird name?! Axel Joseph. I thought it the name was going to be Brian. Or Matt. But Axel? Wow…” she babbles on.
From the girl’s complete shock I can tell she must not watch The Middle, where the oldest kid is, in fact, named Axel. Though if we’re going to get technical I’m pretty sure on the show the name is spelled Axl. And quite frankly, if I’m making snap judgments based on her loud very pubic phone call I’d have to say she’s probably not from around here, probably from the middle, and probably should be watching The Middle. I don’t know if it’s her thick Michigan accent that gives it away, or her next phone call. As she chats I hear “I’m in Teddy Roosevelt Park near the train station.” Hmm, okay, but not quite the way I’d describe it.

It’s Five O’clock Somewhere

As I crack open my beer, Michelob Ultra – the athlete’s choice, I quickly glance at the clock. The digital face reads 4:02 in neon green numbers. It’s not 4:02 in the early hours of the morning, it’s 4:02 in the late hours of the afternoon. I’m unemployed – ahem, on what I worry could be a permanent hiatus – bored, and thirsty.

I've already gone to the gym today (hence choosing the beer for the athletic types), I’ve gone to the grocery store every day this week, and I don’t have any dishes left to do. I’m watching a repeat of House Hunters for the 3rd time (don't buy that ugly house) while waiting for Gilmore Girls to come on in an hour (just get together with Luke already!).

Okay, so it’s only 4:02 and I’m drinking alone in my apartment. But what if I were on a beach in Bermuda this very moment? It’s 5:00pm there. And, hell, it’s 5:00am in Tokyo. I raise my bottle in a toast to the club kids who must be drinking halfway across the world with me.

It’s happy hour no matter what the real time is. I am happy this hour. Because you know what? It’s Five O’clock Somewhere.