Sunday, January 25, 2009

No. 9

Beer: Otter Creek Vermont Lager
Date: January 23rd, 2009

Place: Mountain Home, Stowe, Vermont

Friday did not end the way I expected when I woke up Friday.

I had a plan to drive to Connecticut to see my friend John. We were going to drive up to Mt. Snow in Vermont the next morning and do some snowboarding. There was the possibility that something might come up.

John and his wife don't use credit cards. If they don't have cash, they don't have stuff. Don't do things. Don't make plans. They are adults. They are responsible. They delay gratification. They play when they can pay. I respect the heck out of them for that and think that we could learn a lot from John. Wall Street system can learn from him. But Wall Street doesn't have jobs.

As a grad student, John gets loans. Which come in on Mondays and not Fridays. So my Fridays, when arranged around say, snowboarding, and around friends, say John, sometimes take left turns when I thought they were going to go right.

One of those turns led to me being on the road for four hours on Friday night, listening to Obama's Dreams of my Father, thinking about how long it had been since I was in the habit of taking road trips. Spontaneous ones, at that. Ones that start at 8pm on a Friday and end a quarter shy of midnight.

I had one beer with a friend from work, Zack, and a couple of his buddies from college. Turns out, their school and the Otter Creek I had were in the same town. Which I didn't know when I had bought the beer twenty five minutes before at a filling station off the side of a snowy state road.

I left five beers behind at the cabin Saturday. Hoping that someone who didn't use credit would find them and consider them a gift. A gift from their future, frugal self.

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