State of the Union

True, I missed it simply because I'm uninformed. But while I was watching the analysts talking about it on NBC, it occurred to me that that was probably a good thing. Bush couldn't have said anything that might surprise me, and I'm sure that 95% of the words that came out of his mouth (including "the" "and" "America" etc.) would have pissed me off.

Hilary Rosen: "It was outrageous that he began his speech praising Coretta Scott King, when just today he helped confirm a Supreme Court that opposes everything she and Martin Luther King stood for."

Mediator: "How so?"

Hilary Rosen: "They're consistently against affirmative action, gay and lesbian rights, extension of voting rights -"

Tucker Carlson: "Since when did Martin Luther King support affirmative action? I defy you to defend that."

My Offensive Braying

"I can't talk today" (I said in a whisper.)
"Good, that should spare the rest of us."

He was joking, of course, but I'm sure there's truth to the implication that I talk too much. Not being able to talk these last two days made me realize how much of what I offer the world is tied up in that one activity.

Can't Talk on the Phone

I have zero percent of my voice at the moment on account of this sore throat. So if it seems like I'm screening your calls, that's why (or, I actually don't want to speak with you :-p).

Unprecendented

Yesterday The Jilter did the unprecedented and faced confrontation. Apparently some of the people at his work had told him that I was a big flirt - which I don't deny; with enough friendliness comes free drinks, eventually - and this led him to believe that I was "easy," and therefore it wasn't SPECIAL that I liked him. What a drama queen! And not a little insane. I pointed out that he was acting like a total headcase who gave even ME a run for my money.

Anyways, the truth is that I like him, and so we reconciled. Maybe it will be a good change: for once I won't have to hear about being paranoid and irrational, because for once, I'll be the party delivering that speech. Perhaps, after all, the only ones who can stomach my neuroses are the ones who are too neurotic even to notice them.

Note to Self (when you're down)

Another thing that made me feel better was The Cramps. They were the soundtrack to my previous optimistic post.

"I don't wanna be your dear sweet friend. I just wanna beat your little pink rear end."

Everything else trivializes. Am I wrong?

PS, my throat hurts like a mother.

I Feel Better Now

I emailed The Jilter. My awesome friend, Yeah I Can Ride a Horse, pointed out that I was the one who got stood up, so it wouldn't be unreasonable for me to ask for an explanation. I think I'm so used to being the crazy paranoid party that I sometimes lose sight of what's my due. Like in this present case, HE was clearly acting more psycho than ME.

After I sent off the email, I immediately felt released from an enormous burden. It may be the hunger/fatigue of the hour talking, but I think I might not care anymore. I did everything I could do to make a good thing work, so if I lost my last chance for happiness, it certainly isn't my fault.

As for the rest, c'est la vie. As my awesome brother said, "What did you expect? You have to stay away from the good-looking ones."

(Of course, there are plenty of delusional ugly ones as well, who are capable of just as much assholery... Case in point, my brother's roommate. And Sam the law student. Nevertheless, it may be a good maxim to be on guard with the handsome face.)

My Poor Broken Heart

I just drowned it a Long Island Iced Tea, the first I've ever finished. Well, my friends tell me I'm much better-looking than the fool who jilted me. That means I'm better-looking than Tom Welling, aka Smallville's Clark Kent. Ha!

Yet for all that, it stings. He was the first person who gave me that spark of excitement since over two years ago (Asshole #1, if you're keeping track). It's true that I tend to get ahead of myself, and come to conclusions about people even before I know them. But I do know this for sure, that the Spark is something you know immediately, and no amount of familiarity can build it up if it isn't there the first time.

So sad...

Match Point

Like I said: I'VE HAD IT UP TO HERE WITH THE ASSHOLERY OF MEN.

Beyond that, Match Point was a FANTASTIC movie. I would still throw in my preference with Crimes and Misdemeanors, because it was funnier, but Match Point was not without some well-timed comedy itself (like when the tossing of the ring mimicked the ball on the net at match point). It also did a better job of fleshing out the choice that the protagonist had to make, and the consequences were weightier.

It's unbelievable how selfish men can be. I've come to the conclusion that male logic looks nothing like standard earth logic. As Margot said to me earlier today, men are proof that the chaos theory works: they simply put no thought into their actions until they absolutely have to. So to survive in their world, women have to play all these inane and foolish games that they don't even want to play, because apparently women represent the only half of the world that was born with a heart.

I will say this much about assholes. Some people refuse to watch Woody Allen because they think he's a bad person; but I believe that being an asshole makes him uniquely qualified to recreate them in fiction. His Chris Wiltern character was the singlemost accurate portrayal of a Guy that I've ever seen. And it was accurate because he committed every kind of outrageousness that women are used to - AND YET, he was not a monster. As in fiction, thus in life: every asshole I've encountered was always beset with the most peculiar and out-of-place sense of moral superiority.

Nose-Picker

Yesterday, a girl I don't like (in spite of my best efforts) was talking to me and a friend. Then right in front of us, in the middle of talking - I mean staring right at us with nothing to divert our view - she picks her nose and drops the booger in her mouth. This wasn't one of those indirect nose-picks, say with your thumb or index finger, that could possibly look like you're just rubbing your nose. Nay, it was an no-holds barred PINKY nose-pick, followed by her trailing said pinky to her mouth.

Stunned, I pushed a note toward my friend: "Did she just pick her nose and eat it?" He wrote back "YES" in capitals and underlined, as much in disbelief as me.

The Next Person I Date Is Going to Be a Woman

I've had it up to HERE with all the ridiculousness of men. I was supposed to have a date tonight - not a standing date or an implied date, but a firm, definite date with the day (Friday) and the event (a capella concert) set out beforehand - but instead I get stood up, sans any explanation at all.

I'm So Excited!

No, I'm not referring to this morning's Saved by the Bell... I'm talking about my asking out Dan King, who is the most charming and handsome guy, and I think he might actually "get" me.

Nerdstrom

1.
Zach: "That's it! Nerdstrom is going to regret the day he ever met Zach Morris."
Slater: "Most of us already do."

2.
Slater: "My grandfather was a bullfighter."
Jessie: "That's barbaric!"
Slater: "No it isn't. It's a sport."
Jessie: "It would only be sport if the bull had a sword."

Luxembourg; Eye for an Eye

I missed the first half hour the first time I saw Starsky and Hutch.

Huggy Bear: "Hey, hey, hey, slow up, man. Around here, we govern ourselves. Think of us like uh, Luxembourg. You dig?"
Starsky: "No, I don't dig."
Lamell: "You see, Luxembourg's a contitutional monarchy, an independent sovereign state established after the Treaty of Vienna."
Leon: "Technically, it a part of Europe. But in reality, they govern themselves. Like us."
Lamell: "Just like us."

* * *

Huggy Bear: "Oh, no. Hell no."
Hutch: "What happened? Did he shoot Corky?"
Huggy Bear: "Your boy shot his tail off."
Lamell: "Corky lost his tail?"
Starsky: "Yeah, well, you should keep that thing in a terrarium."
Huggy Bear: "Man, what the hell is a terrarium?"
Leon: "What the fuck is a terrarium?"
Lamell: "A terrarium is an artifirial ecosystem. It's designed to simulate Corky's natural habitat."
Leon: "Well, I can dig that. But I say we shoot him in the ass."
Lamell: "Oh, hell, yeah. An eye for an eye."
Hutch: "Whoa, take it easy. Huggy, help me out here."
Huggy: "Hey, hey, hey, slow up, fellas. An iguana can lose his tail and grow it back. He regenerates. That's how he escapes his predator."
Lamell: "Yeah, it's true. It's a defense mechanism. I read it in a magazine."
Leon: "So him shooting Corky's tail off and us shooting him in the ass, it really ain't the same thing."
Huggy: "Nah, the punishment don't fit the crime. "

Not on My Shit List

There's a girl who I was not the biggest fan of, on account of taste (hers) and endurance (mine). But I felt like a heel today when she walked my computer and saw the picture of my dog on my wallpaper, and she exclaimed over how adorable he is.

Anyone who's that down with my dog is (with some reservations) okay in my book.

Ms. Bayside

Normally when I'm watching Saved by the Bell, it's always with a little bit of disbelief, that people actually found it to be funny/plausible/whatever enough to make it the smash hit that it was. I don't deny that I like the show, but I have a different plane of standards when it comes to retro things that is totally different from normal aesthetic/comic/whatever standards that I would apply to things that are current.

But every now and then, Saved by the Bell showcases a glimmer of GENIUS that makes me believe that the show's popularity was truly no accident.

For example, in today's episode, Bayside has a beauty pageant, and Zach makes a bet with Slater that he can help Screech win the title. There are a number of gems here:

1. The premise itself: Screech upstages beauty queens.
2. The peerless Jesse spotlight during the talent competition: her unbelievable interpretive dance piece: "The caterpillar emerges from the cocoon...and finds that she has wings! Fly, fly!"
3. Slater (who enters the pageant to try to upstage Screech) flexes his muscles for the swimsuit competition...and gets only a stone-cold silence.

And finally...

4. Kelly's talent rehearsal. I think this is the one time in Saved by the Bell history when they employ the device of Subtlety. Her performance of "Blue Moon" is mediocrity par excellence, with the hackneyed gestures and elementary syncopation. If you pay attention, and if you've ever seen (or been) an awful singer, it's wonderful!

The Death of Eric Cartman

Jimmy:
Hey fellas, w-where is Cartman?

Stan:
Cartman isn't our friend anymore.

Kyle:
We're ignoring him.

Token:
Ignoring him? How come?

Kyle:
Beause he's a fat racist self-centered intolerant manipulating sociopath!

Token:
Oh yeah.

* * *

Another great Cartman moment: "Good Times with Weapons." Cartman thinks he has the ninja super-power to turn invisible. So he takes off all his clothes and tries to sneak by an assembly of parents...and flashes them instead! Ha ha!

Current Audio

Flaming Lips, "Yoshima Battles the Pink Robots."

Now playing in the coffee shop where I'm studying. I remember that this song was on the mix cd that my chubby friend Jake once made for me (to improve my awful tastes); this was before he started blowing me off.

Prick

In my generation, I'm not too much of a narc. For example, if a friend misses a class, I have no problem making him a copy of my notes. In general, I'm okay with sharing answers as long is it won't get me suspended. If it's something important, then I might refuse to supply a free hand-out - sometimes even if it's a friend, and sometimes, in rare theoretical situations (like when a sorority president asks a sister if she could copy and reword slightly a paper they both have to write for an English class), even if there are extenuating circumstances.

Kids these days must do things differently. Today in my German class (with undergrads), some no-neck I've never seen before asks me what we had to do for homework last night. I show him the pages in my workbook. He flips through them a minute, and asks, "Can I copy this?"

"Um, NO." I think emphatically not! Not only was the teacher standing six feet away, but also, we all have to take hits like that now and then, and all the rest of us just suck it up.

That was some nerve. This is why I hate jocks.

I Am Beavis and Butthead

The only "interesting" (a relative term) thing I do is watch MTV (at night; Saved by the Bell in the morning), and afterwards comment on it in this blog; therefore, I have devolved into a one-man Beavis and Butthead. It's a testimony to how much MTV I've seen in recent months, that I can even make that reference.

Today's topic: the All-American Rejects
These guys used to be so cute! I always thought their music was pretty dopey, but it was still worth it to dish it out for their live shows because they were so darn cute. That is, until their new (??? because it seemed like the single was released on radio over a year ago) video for Move Along. I never thought I'd say this about anyone, but they need to put on some weight. Those guys look terrible now, esp. the singer/bassist, who used to be such a doll. Take off the weight, and suddenly he looks like he's about 40; plus his nose gets bigger. And can you believe it, he's younger than me!

Well, maybe it would have been harder to believe back when I was, say, actually young.

Puffy

When is this guy going to stop capitalizing on Notorious B.I.G.? Both his $$$ and his respectability. I just saw "Biggie's" new video. Boy, that Puffy is just hateful.

Pat Healy

I was talking on the phone last night and the topic came around to There's Something About Mary.

"The Healy character was so excellent! He made the movie."
"Yeah, Healy. That guy reminds me of Rob."
"... Wow. You don't have a very high opinion of Rob, do you? You and Brian both."
"It's not that, it's just that you can't believe anything Rob says. He and Brian are always bullshitting."
"You're kidding me; Brian too?"
"Oh, definitely."
"I could see that about Rob, but I wouldn't have guessed it about Brian."
"Yeah, I'd say that only about 20% of what either of them says is real."

Tranny

She was definitely not the first tranny I've ever seen, but this was the first time I was seriously surprised when I heard the betraying voice. I think it mostly had to do with the context; all the other trannies I've encountered were in gay clubs, so it never caught me off guard. Today, I was asking the person behind the MAC counter if they had a brow brush - totally unsuspecting. She was a bit heavier-set, which I think goes a long way to softening the lines. Plus, as a MAC representative, her make-up of course was going to be flawless...in a MAC sort of way (which is still more understated than the traditional drag stylings).

Addicted

by Simple Plan. Man! I love this song. Not just because it's poppy and catchy (I'm a dic(k)-, I'm addicted to you!), but the lyrics speak to my heart. Sometimes I think the stupidest people write the best love lyrics. For example, in all of my Middle English poetry class, the only stuff I really liked were the anonymous love poems, which essentially were like the drinking songs of the local yokels.

I considered buying the album for this one song, but - dammit - the rest of it is rather uninspired. So goes it.

Current Audio

Buck Wild
"What to Do"

Man on Fire

I only saw the last ten minutes, so maybe I needed a context to get it. But from where I was standing, it looked like another story about black man's life being thrown away for a little white girl. Is it just me, or is there something disturbingly antebellum/colonialist about that?

Okay, so there are many touching stories about a person sacrificing his or her life for a loved one. But what made this one seem NOT among this group was that it was not a familial tie or a romantic tie; nor did the sacrificer appear to have much agency in his death. On the contrary, the girl's mother was standing right there, waving goodbye to the black man as she sent him to the murderers, and running off with her daughter in a relieved embrace - without even a backward glance.

I was suspicious about this movie from the beginning because it involved an adult black man in the service of a small white child - how many PC directions could there possibly be? What I saw did not dislodge my suspicions. What was Denzel Washington thinking? I thought he was supposed to be a model and trailblazer for black and minority communities.

The Butterfly Effect

Although the premise was ludicrous, and although Ashton Kutcher was supposed to play a cogitative type of guy (pshah!), it wasn't half bad. The protagonist sacrifices being with the one he loves in order that she and everyone else might be happy - oops, I guess that was spoiler. The one thing I don't understand, though, is when exactly his character decided that he was in love with her, because it was in no obvious before he started travelling through time.

The OC Stinks

Why do I keep letting it break my heart like that? I used to think that the second season was terrible, but seeing it again (with all the awful parts on FF), I noticed that it was at least superbly funny. Season 3 doesn't even give me that. And they can't even keep the story straight: is Taylor a loner or isn't she? Is Summer popular or isn't she?

One more thing: when Sandy started talking about the judge's estranged son, I thought - from the way they framed it - that Johnny was going to have turned out to be that son. It seems like they closed the door on that option (which is good, because it really wouldn't have made sense), but I predict that Newport will soon be seeing a new bad boy. You heard it here first.

The First Week of School

is the only time I'm on top of things. As a result, I'm exhausted. Imagine if I did this all the time!

Tacitus

There's a guy in my class who wants to study Tacitus. I used to think that he was an offensive and horrible person, until I noticed the pattern: he just happens to be an extremely shy person who finds his one comfort zone in tirades. That is, you can't get him to talk, literally, unless it's a topic he feels very passionate about - and by passionate, I mean ANGRY.

Anyways, yesterday my prose comp professor started talking about imitating the classical prose styles of Greek and Latin writers, advising that we shouldn't try to imitate anyone's personal style. "It is possible to write Latin like Tacitus, but many people make mistakes when they try. To write like Tacitus, you have to have a particular way of thinking. And Tacitus' way of thinking is to write about good things, while turning it so that it seems like it is a bad thing."

Aha! So Tacitus is pessimism. Suddenly it all came together.

You know who you are!

My friend, Yeah I Can Ride a Horse, is the coolest cat on the block.

So Far So Good (So What!)

A quick comment on my first two days of class: my German class is surprisingly fun, and I'm starting to get the hang of things. My Sophocles seminar looks like it will be awesome, if I can do all the work.

I have another class in about an hour that I know will the thorn in my side, and a fourth class on Friday that is the real wild card; so I will withhold any exuberances until then.

Venom

I realize I'm rather a hater. How many times have I violated that rule, if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say anything at all? Although I seem to be ragging on everyone all the time, I'd like to say for the record that I actually like most people, and I love my friends and loved ones, even if I'm ultra critical of them.

The chief exception, of course, is Veejay, whom I simply don't like.

Now that that's out, a fresh tirade: there's this guy in my office who (like Veejay) has this seventh-grade mentality where he belches as loud as possible as often as possible. It is GROSS. He never so much as says "excuse me." God help me.

Happy Birthday, David Johansen!

The sickest queen of EVER turns 56 today.

The Only Child

I was talking to my brother about why my party was less than stellar: it was because we had two people in the group who just COULDN'T stop talking about themselves. If it's a one-on-one conversation, or a small group conversation, it's not as irritating, and sometimes I don't even notice it. But when it's a large group conversation, the egotist must really do violence to the flow of things in order to bring the topic back to herself. And everyone notices it, but people are too polite to object, and so we have to talk about things that don't really interest us - all uncomfortable but the one - or when we don't know the egotist very well, things that concern us not at all.

Example: topic: to be a dork and know it, or to be a dork and think you're alpha male?
"The Phi Psis may be dorks, but they were better than the Sig Eps. The Sig Eps are such douchebags."
"Remember me and Stoner Dan? That says it all."
"..."
"Oh, was he a douchebag?"
"Don't you remember? I went out with him once because Naif tried to set us up, and that was bad because..."

When I related this to my brother, he said, "I know exactly what you're talking about. I noticed that people who are the only child tend to do that."

He was right: both egotists were the only child. I ran this theory by my mom, and she posited that maybe these people are so used to having no one to talk to they have to take advantage of it when they do have a listener.

Of course, I know other only children who ARE properly socialized; nevertheless, a factor's a factor. It's seems so harmless, but I think future parents would do well to take note: it stands to reason that you're going to miss out on something if you don't have brothers or sisters.

Bad Time

It's a mysterious thing. Yesterday I got together with the same group of people who before were So Much Fun, but yesterday's party, for some reason, was a Bad Time. Who can explain the whys and wherefores of a group chemistry? Just like the random good night out is a surprise, last night's carefully planned bad night out was a cause for bemusement.

It's not like people weren't trying; my friends are real troopers, and I appreciated that. Maybe we were too tired (if so, we shouldn't have gone to Denny's afterwards; but there's this thing that happens at a Bad Time where you don't want to give up until it's salvaged). At one point I thought, if this weren't my party, I'd be outta here.

Ach. You can't always get what you want. What an appropriate lesson to learn again in my aging years.

Javier

Let me just say that I was thinking today's post was going to be called "Turtle Races," until that event got totally eclipsed by the absurdity that transpired afterwards. I'm talking about Javier, who was SMOKING HOT, I mean like I haven't seen in a long time - but that's not why he upstaged the turtles.

I met Javier because he was listening in as I regaled my posse with my favorite joke (the foullest thing I've ever heard). Because I met him in a joke setting, or perhaps because he was smoking hot, I assumed he had some kind of a sense of humor. It especially occurred to me that he would have a sense of humor when he basically asked me to make out with him. "Okay, well why don't I get your number..." I began; but Javier cut me off. "I don't want phone numbers or dates. You can either kiss me now or you'll miss out." "What? Aren't you afraid of diseases?" I asked, because STDs happen to be a pet conversation piece for me. "If you worry about all that, life wouldn't be worth living," he said.

I was expecting him to burst out laughing...but instead, he got up and walked away!

OMG. Even if he were dead serious about his proposal, you would think he would treat it as a joke, after failing, just to save face! We determined later that he probably went off to try his line out on several other girls. Because the fact is, there are a lot of dumb hos out there, and if he asks 10, I'm thinking 5 are bound to say yes.

It just goes to prove what I've said all along: you can't compete with a dumb ho. The dude was smoking hot, though, I'll give him that.

Anyways, back the the original topic: turtle races at Brennan's, a Thursday night regular. What great fun! The main event attracts a very particular clientele, one that can be best described as "douchebag." The host acts like Ryan Seacrest, and all the guys there come to watch girls bend over, to give you an idea. But it was different, snaps for that. And the really great thing was, I later discovered, that they also had a live band inside, that played COVERS. The best kind of party! My friends and I had ourselves a blast. I mean: SWEET CHILD O MINE. I WANT YOU TO WANT ME. Need I say more?

Nightmare

I don't know where this came from, since I avoid horror movies if I can help it, but last night I dreamed one of the most horrific images I've ever seen. It involved a man sticking his finger down his throat, emitting a huge amount of projectile vomiting, and A WOMAN'S SOBBING HEAD spilling out amidst the many human body parts (fingers, toes) floating in the vomit.

Perhaps it had something to do with last night's South Park episode, in which Kenny eats a manitee spleen on a dare, then vomits it out, then eats his own vomit again on a dare. Since it was on syndication, they censored out the last part and ran a notice that read: "The part where Kenny eats his own puke has been cut for your protection." Protection!

Anways, if you're interested in plot: the dream started off as a trip to some nice Pacific island. My brother was posing in front of a nice ocean view, just in front of a fenced off area, and I was taking a picture. A bear was seen lurking within the fenced area, and hunting him was a savage - a headhunter, as it turns out. My brother at this point turns into some generic guy, and has an irresistable urge to jump the fence and hunt the bear too. I think he might have succeeded, because it really pisses off the savage, and as a token of revenge, he does the aforesaid puke trick, and announces something like, Behold the fate of your daughter!

Suddenly I realize that I'm watching a movie, because I'm screaming at the sight of a screaming severed head, and trying to cover my eyes. I also realize that I'm a guy - a very loser-ish guy - on some kind of a date. As I run away screaming from the movie, I'm pursued by a very gaunt, androgynous-looking librarian woman. She's trying to convince me to go home: she realizes that I'm lonely, but I shouldn't be there trying romance her. I look over my shoulder and I see another androgynous woman sneaking out the door behind me. It is clear that she and my date have had some kind of a tryst just now, but I also know, without a doubt, that this woman is...dead.

That was really scary. When I was woken (thankfully) by my phone ringing, I was almost too scared to get up and answer it.

Troubled Teen

My friend was telling me about her younger sister, who at the onset of high school is turning into quite the headcase. I've written about this girl before, about how her whole thing in junior high was to be included in the "popular group." She succeeded, and then recently, the popular girls dumped her, and she fell into depression. She convinced her mom that she was too depressed to go to school, so for the whole month of December, she stayed home and planted herself in front of the TV (which could well be the WORST possible thing for a depressed person to do). My friend, her older sister, is rightly concerned about her academic future, because at this rate she'll never pass her exams and keep up with her classes. And then there's this girl's psychological future, which is a whole other bag.

Her mom is too soft to discipline her, her dad tries to buy her affection with shopping sprees (to compensate for being a deadbeat dad for most of her life), she has no respect for her older sister (my friend), and she idolizes her older brother, who is an underage DUI-getting depressed pill-popping in general bad seed headcase himself - who furthermore is slightly emotionally abusive to his younger sister because he doesn't realize how much she looks up to him. No one tries to lay the smackdown, because they're all afraid of alienating her more.

This year, for New Year's Eve, she went out to dinner and then said she would spend the night at a friend's house. It didn't occur to the mom until about 11 to check out the story, which of course didn't check out. Andrea's friend had said that she was staying at someone else's house, and so on and so forth until the mom called all Andrea's friends and found that she was at this boy's party in the next town over. So she storms out of the house a little before midnight, and breaks up a party full of drunk fourteen-year-olds; and the whole family's New Year's Eve is ruined by all this chaos.

A depressed teen turning to the bottle for comfort? Sounds like a formula for alcoholism. What do you do with such a troublemaker?

Nothing to Report

It's been a long time since I've come up with such a complete blank. Today I woke up, ate lunch, played with my dog, returned some videos, wrote some emails, walked my dog, ate dinner, researched nightlife on citysearch (worthless), read four pages of Gravity's Rainbow, fell asleep, talked on the phone, and watched tv. Quentin Tarantino was on Conan; I think he (Tarantino) is on coke, which is strange because he's also put on a lot of weight.

The only really funny thing I saw today was Conan's Walker Texas Ranger clip, which featured Haley Joel Osman having a totally normal conversation with an old man about Cherokee heritage. Then out of nowhere he announces, "Walker says I have AIDS."

According to citisearch, there are about 4 (good) clubs in the Hollywood area that spins hip hop and has a dance floor. I'm quite certain that can't be right. Citysearch's recommendations are as follows (as far as I can tell):

- A.D. (Fridays Asians dominate)
- Circus Disco (gay scene)
- Xes (impossible to get into; celeb hangout)

Nevermind, that's 3, not 4. And why does citysearch think anyone would care so much about decor? I want to know about the music, not whether the curtains are velvet.

Fanny and Alexander

What a sad tale, and a little chilling. Effective use of light and color actually captures a variety of moods.

Also rented: Shrek. Quite enjoyable, I think better than its sequel.

Happy New Year!

I should know better than to expect that any new year will be different. They will all be difficult, there will always be things I would want to blot out of my mind forever. Nevertheless, last year was particularly painful - so much so that it made me start this blog; and I was depressed for roughly 1/3 of the time - and I can't help but hope that 2006 might be better.

One can't forget, 2005 has maintained its pluses has well: the best family, and dog, and great friends that I love to pieces; and for the most part, we've all kept our health, the most important thing of all. And as much as I've had issues about my career choice, I've realized that either directly or indirectly, I'm doing exactly what I want - not least of all with this blog. So I've always wanted to be a writer: well, I'm writing. The only thing missing is the fortune and fame, but there is still some value to be had without it. I remember Chuck Berry saying in his documentary that people in the neighborhood were making all that great music for themselves when he was growing up, and all Berry wanted to do differently was to go national with it. It may be the case that I'm supposed to be one of those neighborhood people.

So all in all, I have to admit that I'm very happy right now with the way things are. The only thing that really leaves me sad is the thought of going another year without the one I love. But that's okay, too. If there's anything I've learned with getting older, it's how to make the most of the consolation prizes - which sometimes surprise you.