
Wednesday marked the annual excursion to the Saratoga Race Track, basically an excuse to sit at a picnic table with a half-dozen friends, drink the quaff of choice, and hand hard-earned money to a stranger behind a counter in exchange for a slip of paper that will be thrown away an hour later after the f&@!ing horse decides to peak too soon and choke on the lead in the final straightaway YET AGAIN... *seethes*
Actually, I can't complain: we managed to turn a profit for the day ($19 paid out, $34 and change gotten back), so all was well. Would that I could say the same for Trey, who won zilch. Or poor Col, who won zilch for the second year running. Poor dear. Other than that, it was pretty uneventful all told. We all brought coolers, because any place that charges $6.50 for a cheeseburger on apaper plate frankly does not deserve our cash. We took shifts, wherein a few of us would guard the table and the drinks while everyone else went up to the rail to watch the race itself, then switch off for the next one. It worked well.
After that, we had dinner, then drinks, then more drinks, then... Well, not me, as I was, like, driving and all. But it was good times, all told, especially since we ended up at a bar that had Warren Zevon and Tracy Chapman on the jukebox.