Plan A: The expected. The stated intent. The usual.

Plan B: Something else.

I knew it would be a slow day at the office on Friday, so I planned to finish reading Chuck Klosterman's new novel, The Visible Man. I was also thinking I'd eat lunch at Twisters, having my usual 1/4 beef Twister burrito with red chili (a 1/4 is a regular size...a whole burrito serves 10 or something). A Twister burrito has your choice of meat and beans, smothered with fries, choice of chili, cheese and a bit of lettuce and tomatoes to make it more colorful. It's tasty, but sometimes a gut buster.

One of the techs decided he wanted to grill (we have a grill in the warehouse for such occasions) for lunch, and so my lunch became a small steak, a cheeseburger, a brat and some potato salad. So, kinda close to what I was gonna have anyway (sans chili).

Friday was exceptionally slow. I finished the book around two. I had almost three hours to kill. I should have brought another book just in case.

A little after four, one of the guys in the band texted about getting a drink (or two) after work. I texted in the affirmative, and he said he'd call after he was done with work (this is usually six for him, but it varies). I took my phone with me when I went over to my brother's to say hi and play with the niece (she has been into her alphabet flash cards lately, telling me that she's "pretty good at my alphabets").

I left their place around seven. Malcolm hadn't called. About halfway home, my phone rang. Malcolm had been held up by work. He works with autistic or otherwise emotionally disturbed kids. One of them had eaten something he shouldn't, and Malcolm had been in the emergency room for the last few hours. And he wasn't done. No drinks, it might still be hours before he'd be free.

Originally, I thought it would be a wine night. Then with Malcolm's suggestion, it was going to be beer (beer is the safest and cheapest way to drink when you're out on the town). But I swung back to Plan A, poured some wine, and watched my Netflixed movies for the night. Hanna, a quite good (and quite violent for a PG-13) flick about a teenaged genetically altered and highly trained girl who seeks to exact revenge for her mother's death, was the winner.

Saturday began as Plan A as well. I cooked up eggs and sausage and toast to get me through the day. I recycled my paper, plastic, bottles and cans at the Plan B site because the Plan A site (closer than B) is near the UNM sports complex, and Saturday was the Zia Marching Festival. My high school band won Zia my junior and senior year. I didn't want to play dodge the kids and school busses, so I went with the Plan B.

I read a chunk of Keith Richards' autobiography, Life. It was the time of Sticky Fingers, for the most part. And it also included insights about using cocaine and heroin (usually together, as a speedball, inhaled through the nose). He described how, at first, kicking (going cold turkey) was like having a day flu. And then it kind of snuck up on you. The addiction didn't register until you were already hooked. And those cold turkeys were a bitch.

My Plan A for Saturday night was to attend a play at the Vortex with my brother (we had free comps because of our involvement in the previous play at the Vortex...which my brother directed), and then go to a local rock show.

And Plan A was beginning to look like a chore. An obligation. Something I had to do rather than, say, anything else. It's possible all the reading about Altamont and pharmaceutical shenanigans and general rock and roll decadence had something to do with changing my plans to B.

I pretty much decided on my afternoon walk that throwing out Plan A was much more attractive than going to a play that might suck, and then being that old guy nodding in the back of the crowd with a pint in his hand at the rock bar.

Plan B: A bender. Which is where that bottle of tequila comes in...

Matt Worley was informed later in the night that the play did, indeed, kinda suck. And with the non-hangover Sunday morning, Plan B looks pretty good in hindsight.