After years of waiting, the ITB Chick-fil-A has finally arrived. We are now one step closer to never having to leave ITB for anything. There was such a demand for this that the ITB Chick-fil-A even appeared in Round 1 of the 2011 ITB March Madness Tournament, and it didn’t even exist back then. Keep Reading
Google recently launched Google+, which is a social network, designed to compete with Facebook and Twitter. No one has taken the time to explain it to me, but from what I gather, Google+ consists of “Circles” that you put your friends in to, “Hangouts” for video chatting with your friends, and “Huddles” which allow you to send messages to a group of friends. There’s also a “Plus 1” feature, which is the equivalent of the “Like” button on Facebook.
I’ve been “using” Google+ for a week and have realized that theses circles, where everyone is sharing and plus oneing each other, make it more of a socialist network than a social network. The sharing and caring within these circles completely defeats the purpose of having a social network that is exclusive, which was the reason Facebook was created at Harvard in the first place. Sure Harvard was already exclusive, despite not being inside the beltline, but Facebook took it to another level. Users were required to have a harvard.edu e-mail address to join, which made sure that they were only friends with people who were in college, that the girls they stalked on Facebook were at least 18 years old, and that they only associated with people in their same tax bracket. The alternative was MySpace, which was mainly used by people that didn’t go/couldn’t get in to college. Even as Facebook began to expand to other schools, their “.edu” joining requirement ensured an ITB-esque exclusivity amongst members. MySpace continued its OTB status, catering to drop outs that logged on using free Wifi in internet cafés.
Just when users thought their elite Facebook world was safe, the floodgates opened and anyone with an e-mail address, mouth breathing MySpace users included, could join. The addition of these former MySpace users made it too risky to stalk girls, knowing that half of them could be in middle school, or worse, that they could be poor. Facebook has since opened their doors to people in other countries, furthering our nation’s immigration problem.
The Google+ circles had the chance to restore the exclusivity and elitism that Facebook had lost. I quickly realized that Google+ totally blew it when I found out that users don’t know what circles their friends are putting them in or when they’ve been excluded from a circle. There’s no point in being exclusive if people don’t know they’re being excluded from something. That’d be like starting a free Country Club. There’s no point of joining if they let anyone join. I’m not going to play blades on the same course as someone I don’t know. Also, everyone is considered equal when you’re inside a circle, making it impossible to tell who the richest person is, or how important certain people are. Google+ does not provide the elitism that we need in a social network.
In order to regain the lost exclusivity of Facebook, and inject some hierarchy into the egalitarian circles of Google+, I’m starting my own exclusive social network called ITB+ (pronounced “plus”, not “positive”. It’s a social network, not a blood type). Now, I’m not trying to compete with Mark Zuckerburg, I already know that I’m smarter than he is. I’m creating the exclusive ITB+ so that we can continue to only socialize with people we already know and grew up with. ITB+ features include:
ITB+ Beltlines – Instead of having an ITB circle jerk with those stupid Google+ circles, users will drag their friends inside different beltlines. You can see my beltlines below.
Other examples of beltlines could be; bartender friends that you don’t make eye contact with outside of the bar, friends from elementary school that got shipped off to prep school, etc. You can also rank your friends so you know who’s the most important in each beltline. Unlike Google+, users will know when they’ve been added to and excluded from a beltline. They’ll receive messages such as, “WNF IV added you to “Broughton” beltline. You’re in.” and “WNF IV started “The Club” beltline. You’re not allowed in.”
ITB+ Hangouts – group video chat, I don’t know why we need this, but it seems exclusive, because you probably need at least an iPhone 4 or iPad 2 to participate in a video chat.
ITB+ Games – users can play games instead of doing actual work at their jobs. Example: Cameron Villageville – similar to Facebook’s Farmville, but you manage Cameron Village. Be sure to watch out for those tenants that fail to pay their bills but still throw parking lot parties that draw huge crowds, literally 10’s of people.
ITB+ Huddles – I don’t need to send a group message to my friends to figure out my plans for the night. I know I’ll just see them out at Five Points every night. ITB+ Huddles are used when you have to send a mass text to get your friends to pick you up from whatever house you ended up at the night before.
ITB+ Market – All of your transactions will be recorded and posted to ITB+ Market. This allows your friends to see what you’ve purchased so that they can go out and buy the exact same thing, but in a different color of course.
To join, users will be asked a series of questions that only ITB people will know the answers to. This will prevent the kind of impostors who friend people they’ve never met on Facebook and then pretend to be from Raleigh. We won’t have to worry about poor people joining ITB+ because you’ll only be allowed to join by using a MacBook (or a PC that’s more than $1,200), iPad, iPhone 4, Blackberry, or other expensive toy. ITB+ will not allow users to sign in from places like the public library or coffee shops with free Wifi. Privacy shouldn’t be a concern since users have already learned everything about everyone else from the gossip that their parents pass down to them.
I’m expecting that ITB+ will become so successful that we’ll be able to have ITB secede from the rest of the internet within months. I’m sure I’ll come up with, or steal, some features from the other social networks to improve on ITB+. Feel free to share some ideas on how to make it as exclusive as possible.
“On Facebook, I had to keep my profile set to my college network, even though I graduated 8 years ago, so that I could still stalk profiles of girls who are currently in college. With ITB+, I can stalk them while giving off the image that I’m a young professional!” – Test User
“Next to being blackout at Five Points, ITB+ is the best way to make sure I only go home with some strange that’s socially acceptable.” – Test User
“I was afraid of leaving my ITBHarmony.com dating profile, but ITB+ has so much more to offer. Now I can tell my friends that I’m not one of those pathetic people that join dating websites.” – Test user[hr]
I know you probably won’t like that this post is part of your Father’s Day gift, since you demanded that I “shut down this stupid website” six months ago. However, I think this is the perfect platform to thank you for all the great fathering you’ve done over the last 20 some odd years. So here’s the last part of your Father’s Day present.
Thank you for coaching my sports teams and letting me play any position that I wanted to, even though all of the other parents yelled at you constantly while I was in the game. I know you told Mom that, “Winning is more important than building his self-confidence. He needs to grow up and be a man instead of crying when he doesn’t get his way.” I’m glad she made you understand how to coach me when she reminded you that, “If you don’t let him play, he’s just going to throw his brand-new sporting equipment on the ground, leave the field or court, and go sit in the air conditioned SUV until the game is over.” I’m glad you two finally compromised, so I could brag when we won, but blame my teammates when we lost.
Thank you for letting me use your number at the Club. Lord knows I couldn’t afford my own membership on the measly $100 a week allowance you gave me at the age of 13. Plus, having a number in the 1400s really showed people how ITB we are.
Thanks for being my Boy Scout troop leader. Making me an honorary Eagle Scout at the age of 11, so you wouldn’t have to be a troop leader anymore, was a great idea. Can you imagine how long it would have taken to get all those badges? We would have had to spend so much time together!
Thanks for favoring me over my sister, Mary Ivy Laura, even though you don’t outwardly show it. I’ll admit, there were times when I questioned my status as the favorite child. For example, when you paid for Mary Ivy Laura to live in New York during her two year “internship”, but refused to give me a dime after I spent 6 weeks living at Wrightsville beach the summer after my freshman year of college. This has been an impressive “long con” you’ve been pulling for the past 20 years, but I know I’m the favorite child. I’m confident that when the time comes (when we divide up your will) I’ll be first in line.
Thanks for ensuring that I had a less than 5 year-old SUV to drive the second I turned 16. Buying it when I was 15 and keeping it in the driveway as a reward for good grades was a good strategy, but we both knew how that was going to play out. Even though I got straight C’s, you caved in when Mom argued, “If we don’t give him a car we’re just going to have to deal with him even more. It’s the only way to get him out of the damn house,” as she poured another glass of wine. I thought it was odd that you placed stickers from colleges that were very far away on the rear window, as if you were attempting to influence my college decision.
Thank you for giving me a job even though I have no actual skills. Thanks for giving me my own office after I annoyed everyone in the cubicles around me by laughing hysterically at the e-mail chains that my friends and I spent all day on. Thank you for letting me tell everyone that all I do is close seven figure deals and follow Phish shows, when in reality I don’t even have the signature authority to buy so much as a piece of paper for the office.
Thank you for bailing me out of jail and having a lawyer on retainer since I turned 15.
Thank you for not trying to have any children after you had me. I know that you told Mom, “We can’t do this again, this was a mistake,” meaning you didn’t want to have any more children to take the attention away from me.
Thanks for pulling strings to get me in to college. Dragging me along to dinner with the Dean of Admissions and instructing me not to say a word while you reminded him about all the favors he owed you really showed me how pointless the SATs were. Offering him a donation for a new sports facility was a nice touch.
Thanks for being my alibi during the mansion fire. I know it was important that I had one, otherwise you would’ve had to pay $500,000 in hush money like our neighbors had to do.
Thanks for sending me to Camp Seagull all summer so you wouldn’t have to deal with me.
Thanks for putting down the down payment on my new house. I have no idea how people get $40,000 to put down without cashing in on their trust funds.
Thanks for paying all of my bills well in to my late 20s.
Thanks for not getting mad when I memorized your credit card number and spent over $10,000 when online shopping was first invented in the mid-90s.
Thanks for knowing all the other dads that own important places like Char-Grill, Cameron Village, Angus Barn, etc.
I know you’re probably bawling your eyes out at how sentimental this gift is. I’m sure my sister’s gift won’t come close to eliciting that type of reaction. Especially after last year, when she got you that stupid book that was autographed by your favorite author, a 50 year old bottle of your favorite scotch, and the exact type of Rolex you wanted. You did a great job of pretending to love her more that year. It’s good that we don’t even have to say anything for us to both know that you really appreciated the map of my ideal beltline that I drew for you and had framed. The fact that it still sits in the back of the attic just shows how much you care about it, and about me. Happy Father’s Day.
Everyone calm down. Your second favorite Bayside High Schooler is not really dead, but he may as well be. I was channel surfing last night and stopped when I saw AC Slater (Mario Lopez for those of you over the age of 33 and under the age of 18) standing on stage with a microphone. Was this the long awaited Saved by the Bell reunion? Was he at least hosting a marathon? Was the episode where Jesse overdoses on caffeine pills about to air? Unfortunately, none of the above was true.
I had accidentally tuned in to the Season 5 premier of America’s Best Dance Crew, also known as “ABDC”. Aside from the dyslexic acronym, this show has made me lose every ounce of respect I’ve ever had for AC Slater. The first time I saw the show a few years ago I wrote a eulogy for AC on Brahsome. I thought it wouldn’t last, yet 5 seasons later the show is more popular than ever.
Before I get to some unbelievable news about AC, let me first explain this shitshow. If you’ve never seen ABDC, it’s basically about a bunch of dance “crews”. We are told about the unique style of each crew’s “routine” and why we should be excited to see them “perform”. Each crew then gets interviewed by AC Slater and they generally make asses of themselves, while displaying the results of a K-12 OTB public education, capped off by a few semesters of community college. The crews perform a routine that showcases their “original flavor” and highlights their “sickest moves” while some shitty song you hear at Felson’s plays in the background.
The crews are then judged by former N’Sync member JC, Lil Mamma, and Omarion. Yeah, I don’t know who the latter two judges are either. They provide insightful commentary on the routines, using terms that I’m positive don’t exist in the dictionary. JC approved of one crew by saying, “your isolations were very nice”. However, Omarion wanted that crew to “push their isolations a bit further”. Not knowing what an “isolation” was, I continued to watch as the next crews “performed”. I still had no idea what was going on.
According to AC, the last four seasons of this show has “sparked a movement in the streets in every city across the nation” which resulted in “new crews going harder than ever before.” So now they’re holding competitions to determine which group of commoner community college drop outs is the best at flailing around on a stage. The competitions began in the “Dirty South” where the Jungle Boogie crew introduced “crankin’”, a new dance style where five idiots, wearing what appear to be windbreakers from the Jamaican Olympic team, run around on a stage like jungle animals. The judges critiqued their performance. I didn’t listen.
I thought about the good ol’ days when I idolized AC just for being AC and also for being married to Ali Landry for two whole weeks.
Some of you are thinking, “Two weeks? What the hell happened?” Well, Ali Landry annulled the marriage because AC cheated on her a few times, really close to, or possibly on their wedding day. After the annulment, AC went on to host random television shows and appeared on Dancing With The Stars. I thought he had already hit rock bottom, but I was wrong. AC Slater went from Ali Landry, to this…
Meet the Ghost crew, who resemble a group of Mexican gangster lumberjacks. How can AC go from Ali Landry to hosting a show featuring former gang members who leave a life of drive-bys and gang bangin’ to perform isolations (still don’t know what that means) with their crew? Hosting this show is even worse than his decision to play Greg Louganis in “Breaking the Surface: The Greg Louganis Story”.
While AC Slater is not actually dead, he’s been dead to me for the past few years. That was until Forrest showed me some stunning new information regarding AC and the rest of the Saved by the Bell cast. Not only did AC (and Zach) bang all the girls on the show, but in 1993 he even had his way with some random chick. By “had his way” I mean “raped”. No, he didn’t rape some chick from Valley in a Saved by the Bell episode that focused on violence against women. He raped an actual person, allegedly. Now we all know rape isn’t funny. Except when it happened to Forrest at Camp Sea Gull during that game of capture the flag with a……I can’t go any further into that due to a 15 year old lawsuit that’s still tied up in court. From this news article from May 11th, 1993, we can see that AC was accused of rape. Normally, I would assume the male was innocent, just like the Duke Lacrosse players. However, AC is sort of a Mexican, which means he’s probably guilty of this. Apparently, NBC paid the girl $50,000 to keep it quiet. We all know how ITB that is. This story was corrobarted by Screech, in his tell-all book “Behind the Bell”, which I’ll be reading and reviewing soon.
This shocking news has made me rethink my love (no homo) for AC. He obviously did whatever he wanted in the 90s by banging a lot of hot girls and doing drugs on set (even during the “No Hope with Dope” episode). But I just can’t get over him hosting this ABDC atrocity. So, RIP AC Slater, you’ll be missed. Goooo Bayside.[hr]
42nd Street Oyster Bar has always been an ITB landmark. I’ve always been a big fan of this place as a pre-bang or pre-bar destination. Girls love the “atmosphere” and every guy knows that oysters are the shit because they’re an aphrodisiac, which makes girls wanna hook up (even more than normal).
Trust me, I know good (average) seafood from having eaten at the Sanitary Fish Market & Restaurant and Dockside at least 100 times (I’ve got the t-shirts to prove it). So I obviously have no problem paying more than I should for food that is overhyped, as long as I’m at an ITB approved establishment. What I won’t stand for, however, is the possibility of dying; yes dying, after eating dinner at a restaurant.
“Wednesday evening, I started feeling really bad. All of a sudden, I got so violently ill, we had to go to the emergency room,” said Fields, whose eyes were still red from the illness a week later.
“I felt so bad I thought maybe this could be the end,” he added.
“By this afternoon, the county had roughly 40 reports of sickness, mostly diarrhea and vomiting, from customers who had eaten there in roughly the past week, said Andre Pierce, Wake County’s director of environmental health and safety.
Reports from the popular eatery on West Jones Street are being evaluated, and anyone with similar symptoms should call (919) 856-7400.”
Diarrhea and vomiting, think about how badly that would go over once I got on the Felson’s dance floor. I would actually have to use the bathroom stalls for their intended purpose.
“The common thread has been that people have eaten steamed oysters, and we’ve isolated it down to all of those steamed oysters coming out of Louisiana,” Hurley (the owner) said.
Well there’s the problem. Everyone knows it’s safer, and classier, to eat oysters from North Carolina, where you don’t have to worry about freshwater influx, septic tank overflow, and the remnants of the second worst natural disaster in the history of America (Hurricane Fran was the first, I was without power for TWO whole days). It’s much cooler to have an oyster roast at your own house, where you can ensure that the oysters are from Morehead, or at least somewhere in North Carolina.
At first I thought maybe a busload of outsiders, who aren’t used to fine (average at best) dining, ate at 42nd Street and got sick because their palate wasn’t adjusted to such amazing oysters and chicken fingers. I wouldn’t normally care about the well-being of others, but this really hit home on Monday, when I got a call from Mary Caldwell Hovington.
Mary Caldwell H.: “I feel really sick, I’ve been throwing up all morning.”
WNF IV: “Gross. You pregnant again?”
Mary Caldwell H.: “No! Why do guys always automatically assume a girl is pregnant if they say they’re sick?”
WNF IV: “Because they usually are pregnant….”
Mary Caldwell H.: “Well, I’m not pregnant. I think I have food poisoning, I ate some oysters at 42nd Street last night.”
WNF IV: “Oysters? Those are an aphrodisiac, you know. You are totally pregnant. Who was the lucky (now unlucky) guy?”
Mary Caldwell H.: “I’m NOT pregnant, I was out with a girlfriend.”
WNF IV: “Oh, well you probably have food poisoning then. Everyone that’s eaten at 42nd Street has gotten sick, I think it’s some sort of oyster flu. They get their oysters from Louisiana so they’re probably still contaminated by all that Katrina shit.”
Mary Caldwell H.: “I’ve gotta go, I feel sick.”
WNF IV: “Name it after me if it’s a boy.”
So I just wanted to get the message out to those of you who may be in town for the holidays. I know 42nd Street is always on the list of places to dine if you haven’t been home in a while. Be careful, because you might get sick, or almost die.
After talking to the owners of the building that once housed “the only bar in the world” (according to the poll results), it’s official……Nelson’s is dead. Pause for a moment of silence. Before I continue, I want to take time to say goodbye to Nelson’s. Nelson’s was the cause of 13,324 random hook-ups. The place where 49,242 jager bombs were taken. The scene of countless “fights” that inevitably turned into a group of guys yelling at each other in the parking lot before going to late night. No fights actually occurred, but that one night I swear I would have beaten the shit out of that commoner if he hadn’t driven off in his Nissan Xterra. Nelson’s was also the cause of 62 trips to planned parenthood. It was the birthplace of 94 DUIs, including mine. It was the only ITB bar (other than Crowley’s) that never once turned away an underage ITB female. Finally, Nelson’s served as a safe haven for ITB residents who couldn’t stand the thought of having to associate with the less fortunate (poor people). Nelson’s, you will be missed by many. Although I only remember 10% of the time that I spent there, I will never forget the impact you had on ITB.
For those of you who haven’t killed yourselves yet, step back off that ledge, because according to this sign, Foster’s is moving back to Cameron Village in May.
Let that sink in for a minute. At first, I was unsure why Foster’s only spent $40.40 on signage. The signs on the building are so small and plain. An announcement of this magnitude deserves to be put on a 40 foot banner hung from the Broughton bell tower (yeah I’ve been inside it), or should at least make the front page of the N&O. You wouldn’t find any news about this epic comeback on News 14 Carolina, since cougar Heather Childers still hasn’t responded to my e-mail. All News 14 cares about is poor people shooting each other over drugs or “inner city crime” as they call it, the “drought”, “rising gas prices” and the Charlotte Bobcats. They even cover stories about OTB, it’s absurd. Well none of that affects me, so why bother even reporting on it? There isn’t a drought, I have water (and an awesome lawn because of it), crime doesn’t exist where I live, and I’m glad gas prices are going up. $5 a gallon gas makes it harder for poor people to drive, thus clearing the road for my SUV. It also makes the roads look nicer because poor people can’t drive their crappy cars around town. (Note: Crappy cars are defined as anything that was made before 2006 and isn’t a Range Rover/Tahoe/Escalade/BMW/Mercedes) Sometimes I’ll drive laps around the beltline (careful not to go outside of it) just to use more gas in hopes that I’m lowering the supply and making the price go up. I’m not sure if this actually works because I don’t really understand the economy.
I’m sorry, I’ve gotten off topic, I was so confused as to why the signs on the door of Nelson’s (RIP) were so small, but then it hit me, the smaller the sign, the more exclusive Foster’s at Cameron Village will be. If there was a huge banner hung from the Broughton bell tower, all those douchebag gel heads would see it on their way to “Tool Pigeons” or that run down warehouse they call a bar named “Lucky B’s” or “Around the Corner” or whatever they call it. Seriously gel heads, just pick a name and stick with it. Having such a small sign will ensure that Foster’s continues to be exclusive as shit. We have to make sure it stays that way, so those downtown commoners won’t show up and spread their STDs all over the place.
More importantly, Foster’s is back in its original location, and it’s about damn time. We’ve all been going through withdrawal from Nelson’s, (and cocaine of course, Forrest says it’s almost impossible to do in Foster’s because that bathroom is so disgusting, it’s a good thing he could at least go to Churchill’s and just do it right off the bar). One thing I am going to miss about the Five Points Foster’s is the size of the building. There was nothing better than spending 19 minutes standing in the 4 foot wide space between the bar and the booths as I would try to walk from the front of the building to the dance floor. It was nice to spend that time conversing with fellow ITBers who were 2 inches away from my face. I can only hope that the staff from Nelson’s who went to work at Foster’s at Five Points will come back to where Nelson’s used to be so they can work at Foster’s in Cameron Village. If that’s confusing to you, it’s not to these guys. They know that where ever I go there’s a ton of money being spent on jager bombs and huge tips. Instead of wasting time getting real jobs, they stay where they know I’ll be spending tons of money three nights a week. Their level of service is impeccable, especially from that 40-year old, although that should probably be expected from someone who’s been in the business for so long. The bouncers are on point as well. An ITB friend of mine noticed that the bouncers aren’t actually checking your birth date on your ID, they’re checking your ZIP code. That’s right OTBers, don’t even bother. Keep up the good work guys, the real world can wait another ten years. As much as I hate to see Nelson’s closing, it’s reassuring to know that the exact same bar is taking its place. Finally, I can go out at night confident that I won’t run into anyone that I don’t know. Thank you new owners (dad) of Foster’s in Cameron Village, you have given me, and many others, a reason to live.[hr]
These days it seems that the only thing people want to talk about, and rightfully so, is whether or not Nelson’s is going to close. I’ve heard a lot of rumors but don’t know what to believe. Is Nelson’s closing because of a recession? If they are closing, can I blame this on terrorism? This must be Hillary Clinton’s fault. Did Harris Teeter ruin the kitchen area of Nelson’s beyond repair? To try to clear things up I went straight to the source, Nelson’s. I saw this sign posted outside when I was there on Thursday night, Friday night, and Saturday night.
First of all, who knew that Nelson’s was a restaurant? Apparently, Nelson’s has a menu and serves food during the day. I had just assumed that this ridiculously nice bar was built for my friends and I to get blackout in from Thursday through Saturday. I thought the marble counters and full length doors on the bathrooms were there to conceal the recreational drug use. It’s so much easier to get blackout when people don’t have to worry about others walking in when five people are sharing a bathroom stall. If I had known that I could go to Nelson’s and get a good Citrus Soy Marinated Hanger Steak with wilted spinach and grilled shitakes or a Salmon Creek Farm Pork Chop with braised collards and goat cheese grit cake, I would have eaten there at least 3 times a week.
Secondly, if Nelson’s is closing their restaurant but keeping the bar open, what do I have to worry about? I’ve got no problem with them closing, as long as they aren’t changing anything and are still open from Thursday night through Saturday night so ITBers can continue spend their allowance there. I haven’t noticed any changes so far, although the other night something odd happened. I was walking in and that random guy who stands at the door (I don’t think he’s a bouncer because he never makes anyone leave, and he doesn’t check ID’s because there are almost as many underage girls at Nelson’s as there are at Crowley’s, which is exactly why I go there) told me there was a $5 cover. I walked right by him, you know why? Because I’m important and I don’t pay covers. Maybe the $5 cover is (or should I say was?) to keep out all the gel-head douchebags from the Glenwood South area, pictured below.
(This picture contains 4 gallons of hair gel and a combined 15 hours spent in tanning beds. The 2nd person from the right in the background is not a burn victim.)
Everyone knows these heathens can’t afford a $5 cover since they spend all their money on hair gel, the tanning bed, and Heineken. That’s one of the things that I love (or should I say “loved”?) about Nelson’s, all of those Guido losers didn’t fit in so they rarely showed up. I always try as hard as possible to look down on these guys when I see them at Nelson’s to let them know how important I am. I’m glad they instituted the $5 cover though, maybe they’ll stay away for good. That’s got to be the only reason for the cover, there’s no way Nelson’s is running out of money and actually needs to have a cover. I thought that I was the one keeping that place in business anyway, what with all the shots and jager bombs that I buy there. Money can’t possibly be the problem.
I know you’re probably thinking “William, shouldn’t you know what’s going on? Aren’t you real good friends with the owner because you’re both so ITB?”. Of course I know the owner, he’s friends with my Dad, and yes we are both ITB as shit. I haven’t had time to talk to him about it, but I’m sure that, as the sign says, everything is fine.
I’ve heard a few people say that Nelson’s is going to eventually close completely. This can’t be true. I’m not worried though, if it is true I’m sure my Dad’s lawyers will find somebody to sue or something so that Nelson’s can stay open. If worse comes to worst, I can always cash in some stock options or part of my trust fund and buy Nelson’s myself. There is no way a place like Nelson’s should ever close for any reason. I’ll be on the edge of my seat waiting to see what happens over the next few weeks or at least until I talk to someone important. Let’s all hope that Nelson’s gets these “Mechanical Issues” fixed so we don’t have to entertain the thought of possibly going to a different bar with common people.