How the other half lives…

I’m blogging from the 25th floor of the J.W. Marriott in the Buckhead area of Atlanta, staring out the window of the Concierge Lounge at the Atlanta skyline.

By the time I had to book my hotel accommodations for this trip, pretty much every one in the Buckhead area was full. The Marriott was available, so I snapped up one of the few rooms they had left; one that offered access to the vaunted and otherwise-secret “concierge floor.”

You need key access to get up there. Once you’re in, it’s a feeding frenzy. Food and drink everywhere. On the buffet table I just barnstormed were seared shrimp on cheddar grits with a peach barbecue glaze, braised skirt steak skewers on a bed of black beans, and gnocchi with fresh squash, tomato sauce, and goat cheese. I could’ve added a salad and fruit to my plate, but why stand on ceremony when the options were what they were?

Every now and then, I get a glimpse of how “the other half lives.” Every time I catch a glimpse, the experience is galling and humiliating. The other half lives well.

How does one cross over to the other side of the street? My big plan is to sell a bunch of unused CDs on Ebay (why do I own the entire Creed catalog, anyway?). I don’t think my plan will work, but it’s clearly a start.

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