My Friend Danny

I had started a blog entry about how much I love my neighbors earlier this morning, but then my friend Danny arrived so I stopped. When Danny, Sal, and I got home this afternoon, I quickly finished my thought and posted it… Now Danny is standing in the kitchen and telling me that I should blog about him and our time together today.

Don’t ever dare a blogger to blog something.

I met Danny about three years ago when he first moved to Charlotte, when he was volunteering (interning?) at the Blumenthal Performing Arts Center in an unpaid attempt to convince them to hire him. (He got hired, and I frequently cite him as a brilliant job seeker.) We’ve been great friends ever since.

Danny and I both see a lot of shows — sometimes shows that he’s seeing as an employee of the theatre company, sometimes shows that I’m seeing as an MTA nominator — and we have a tradition of seeing them together. Somehow we have terrible luck and end up suffering through bad shows together, which has become something of a running joke. (“You’re inviting me? It’s going to be awful, isn’t it?”) But still, there’s something to be said for good company.

Danny and I joke that he is my “back-up boyfriend” and indeed, he’s usually my date when Sal is unavailable for a movie or a play, and is always a delightful companion for the evening. He’s spent countless evenings hanging out at our place, watching movies and television shows with us, and in general being sociable. He’s had us over to his home in the middle of an ice storm and cooked us dinner, and is always an impeccable host.

And he almost always has a bottle of wine in hand when he shows up, which is more than a little bit of why I love him.

When Sal and I aren’t feeling sociable, and don’t want to do anything, we still find ourselves saying, “Let’s be lazy tonight and not do anything. Wanna invite Danny over?” And that’s just freakin’ awesome.

And now, after daring me to blog about him and the great times we have hanging out together, he’s yelling at me to let him use my computer.

Son of a bitch — these are my friends.

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