Friday, March 21, 2003
Lead:
Following Erin's lead, as expressed on her co-blog, I can only offer my support to our troops, and suspend any in-depth or out-depth commentary on the armed conflict occurring in and around Iraq.
I would like to recognize, salute, and earnestly bless the souls of the 16 soldiers who died tonight in the helicopter crash (12 American, 4 British), and also anyone who died in the surgical strikes of last night in Baghdad, irregardless of relative desert.
Following Erin's lead, as expressed on her co-blog, I can only offer my support to our troops, and suspend any in-depth or out-depth commentary on the armed conflict occurring in and around Iraq.
I would like to recognize, salute, and earnestly bless the souls of the 16 soldiers who died tonight in the helicopter crash (12 American, 4 British), and also anyone who died in the surgical strikes of last night in Baghdad, irregardless of relative desert.
Thursday, March 20, 2003
Raise your Right-Click if You're Guilty:
(Coincidentally) Via an old acquaintance's away message comes this NYTimes Technology piece about....AOL IM away messages. Some obviously true, but no less frightening, implications are sketched not only by the writer, but by professional academics:
Not surprisingly, the real message in away messaging is between the lines. "I see away messages providing a venue for developing, nurturing and controlling the social network," said Naomi Baron, a linguistics professor at American University who taught a class last semester that analyzed away messages.
Flynn eschewed the dastardly procrast-enabler at his desktop in our Newell bedroom senior year, but I was, and am, a willing victim. I still think the benifits outweigh it's capacity for enslaving me. I am aware that it catalyzes, perhaps bloats, my need for contact, especially in a post-Colgate/campus environment. I don't think it hinders my growth as a realworld adult, or at least I haven't noticed any such trends without taking steps to rectify them.
I made a personally soul-shaking realization two months ago, when the internet was cut-off from my appartment at The School and my then-girlfriend was out of contact in Oregon, that I had a dependancy on the internet that could affect my mood and rev up my anxiety levels (bear in mind my anxiety about my faltering relationship was feeding into this e-addiction, but I think as a legit metaphor it works because both are about lack of connection). My internet connection was eventually repaired, but our relationship wasn't/isn't. Since, I cannot tell if I am more dependant on IM communication. I think I use it/scan away messages with the same frequency, but perahps slightly more desperation; having a certain level of support suddenly officially removed forced me to seek it elsewhere, and although during the day my amazing students/atheletes and friendly colleagues kept me distracted and content, the nights off-duty over the last months were lonely (if I have your number programmed into my cell phone, you're probably aware of this). I don't see IM as much a hinderance as it is a helpful tool. In fact, I mastered keyboarding in part because I downloaded and habitually used AOL IM in the winter of senior year at Watertown High School, back when I had only Tim Blum, Aamir Siddiqui, Pete Thurston and a few others on my buddy list (I owe Ravenwood Elementary School in Eagle River, Alaska for my superior foundation in typing skills: word to Mr. Carey and Mrs. Johnson). IM is highly conveniant and, since the advent of cable modems, free and constantly functional (indeed, convenience is exactly what makes it dangerous).
(At this point, I feel this post could A)continue at length, and B) get too personal, so I think I'll cut it short) Perhaps in some small way, IM use/abuse has affected my perceptions of happiness at my job, but I've confronted it and examined the phenomenon honestly. This is a dialogue I'd like to create among any of you diehard or occasional or anti- IMers. What do YOU think? Also, do you find away messages to be a substantive subject for a college course? Perhaps...
(Coincidentally) Via an old acquaintance's away message comes this NYTimes Technology piece about....AOL IM away messages. Some obviously true, but no less frightening, implications are sketched not only by the writer, but by professional academics:
Not surprisingly, the real message in away messaging is between the lines. "I see away messages providing a venue for developing, nurturing and controlling the social network," said Naomi Baron, a linguistics professor at American University who taught a class last semester that analyzed away messages.
Flynn eschewed the dastardly procrast-enabler at his desktop in our Newell bedroom senior year, but I was, and am, a willing victim. I still think the benifits outweigh it's capacity for enslaving me. I am aware that it catalyzes, perhaps bloats, my need for contact, especially in a post-Colgate/campus environment. I don't think it hinders my growth as a realworld adult, or at least I haven't noticed any such trends without taking steps to rectify them.
I made a personally soul-shaking realization two months ago, when the internet was cut-off from my appartment at The School and my then-girlfriend was out of contact in Oregon, that I had a dependancy on the internet that could affect my mood and rev up my anxiety levels (bear in mind my anxiety about my faltering relationship was feeding into this e-addiction, but I think as a legit metaphor it works because both are about lack of connection). My internet connection was eventually repaired, but our relationship wasn't/isn't. Since, I cannot tell if I am more dependant on IM communication. I think I use it/scan away messages with the same frequency, but perahps slightly more desperation; having a certain level of support suddenly officially removed forced me to seek it elsewhere, and although during the day my amazing students/atheletes and friendly colleagues kept me distracted and content, the nights off-duty over the last months were lonely (if I have your number programmed into my cell phone, you're probably aware of this). I don't see IM as much a hinderance as it is a helpful tool. In fact, I mastered keyboarding in part because I downloaded and habitually used AOL IM in the winter of senior year at Watertown High School, back when I had only Tim Blum, Aamir Siddiqui, Pete Thurston and a few others on my buddy list (I owe Ravenwood Elementary School in Eagle River, Alaska for my superior foundation in typing skills: word to Mr. Carey and Mrs. Johnson). IM is highly conveniant and, since the advent of cable modems, free and constantly functional (indeed, convenience is exactly what makes it dangerous).
(At this point, I feel this post could A)continue at length, and B) get too personal, so I think I'll cut it short) Perhaps in some small way, IM use/abuse has affected my perceptions of happiness at my job, but I've confronted it and examined the phenomenon honestly. This is a dialogue I'd like to create among any of you diehard or occasional or anti- IMers. What do YOU think? Also, do you find away messages to be a substantive subject for a college course? Perhaps...
Cholerogaine!
Maybe it's just because I'm in Watertown lately and primed for a good laugh, but this really cracked me up: a classic Onion improvisation on a ripe riff.
Maybe it's just because I'm in Watertown lately and primed for a good laugh, but this really cracked me up: a classic Onion improvisation on a ripe riff.
Dad and Lunch:
I met up with my father for lunch today in a place we probably hadn't been to in years: Rte 11's The Clubhouse. The food isn't that impressive, but the theme is "sports teams" and was a favorite because of the kids/sports-themed movies they'd usually play on all their large televisions (The Sandlot, Big Green, Major League, etc) or else whatever sporting event was being broadcast.
So, of any restaurant in Watertown that would likely have the NCAA tournament on, it would be The Clubhouse. Well, consider it Watertown's telling statistic of the day, but every set was tuned to CNN for live war coverage. No games. Hmmm.
[Note: many of Watertown's restaurants are actually fantastic, due to the influx of Italian immigrants in the early 20th century. (This is also why we have, for a town of 30,000, St. Anthony's, Sacred Heart, and Holy Family Catholic parishes, in addition to my own St. Patrick's). Nearby Sackets Harbor boasts a number of excellent seafood joints, and one tasty microbrewery with bad food.]
I met up with my father for lunch today in a place we probably hadn't been to in years: Rte 11's The Clubhouse. The food isn't that impressive, but the theme is "sports teams" and was a favorite because of the kids/sports-themed movies they'd usually play on all their large televisions (The Sandlot, Big Green, Major League, etc) or else whatever sporting event was being broadcast.
So, of any restaurant in Watertown that would likely have the NCAA tournament on, it would be The Clubhouse. Well, consider it Watertown's telling statistic of the day, but every set was tuned to CNN for live war coverage. No games. Hmmm.
[Note: many of Watertown's restaurants are actually fantastic, due to the influx of Italian immigrants in the early 20th century. (This is also why we have, for a town of 30,000, St. Anthony's, Sacred Heart, and Holy Family Catholic parishes, in addition to my own St. Patrick's). Nearby Sackets Harbor boasts a number of excellent seafood joints, and one tasty microbrewery with bad food.]
Wednesday, March 19, 2003
Bracketology:
My (quixotic) current picks for the NCAA Final Four are Kentucky, Kansas, Texas, and Syracuse.
Let's go ORANGE
My (quixotic) current picks for the NCAA Final Four are Kentucky, Kansas, Texas, and Syracuse.
Let's go ORANGE
Reading Report:
In the street again, Miss Lonelyhearts wondered what to do next. He was too excited to eat and too afraid to go home. He felt as though his heart were a bomb, a complicated bomb that would result in a simple explosion, wrecking the world without rocking it.
~Nathaniel West, Miss Lonelyhearts
(he's like a hard-boiled proto-Salinger)
In the street again, Miss Lonelyhearts wondered what to do next. He was too excited to eat and too afraid to go home. He felt as though his heart were a bomb, a complicated bomb that would result in a simple explosion, wrecking the world without rocking it.
~Nathaniel West, Miss Lonelyhearts
(he's like a hard-boiled proto-Salinger)
Tuesday, March 18, 2003
The bastard son of irony and sincerity is a desperate blend of confused icons:
Watson wore a military medic's helmet emblazoned with what appeared to be a red cross and a T-shirt bearing a variety of badges or patches. On the tractor were banners reading "Salute to Veterans" and "God Bless the Troops." An American flag flown upside down in the traditional signal of distress flew from the vehicle. Another flag depicted tobacco leaves.
Is this the first post-modern act of protest?
Watson wore a military medic's helmet emblazoned with what appeared to be a red cross and a T-shirt bearing a variety of badges or patches. On the tractor were banners reading "Salute to Veterans" and "God Bless the Troops." An American flag flown upside down in the traditional signal of distress flew from the vehicle. Another flag depicted tobacco leaves.
Is this the first post-modern act of protest?
...For a Better Tomorrow:
So, last Saturday evening, I communed with the spiritual/formalistic forepeople of Colgate Experimental Theatre Co. when I caught one specific occurrence of the Neo-Futurist's "Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind: 30 Plays in 60 Minutes." As they say, "if you've seen the show once, you've seen the show once" and the next time I'm in Chi-town, I'll definitely make it back for a second first-time.
If you are reading this and are a member of C.E.T.C (odds of this, given my usual readership, are 1/3), I cannot describe the sensation of seeing "our" show after having done it myself. These guys and gals are just amazing, and the show has been in current re-existence for years! It makes me want to drive to Colgate next week and help with the Spring show, or at least to make sure to take the necessary weekend off to see it.
Every weekend, the Neo-Futurists debut at least a few, if not more, NEW original plays, mixed in with older standards and survivors. Some of the titles from my "menu" read:
1. "So scared you can't shit your pants"
30. "Endless polka vamp." (self-explanatory)
1. "Sometimes the best things in life (and the convience store) are free"
5. "Ballad of the Broken Chair from Noelle and Sean's Dining Room (with special guests The International Gay Sock Puppet Chorus)" yes, puppets and experimental theater go hand-in-sock.
7. "Art Imitates Life (but Life takes it as an Insult)"
The process for getting in is disorienting, as well. If you don't get your spot in the instant-line that forms around 1040ish PM, you don't get in. They hand out buttons and herd you into a waiting room with magazines, comfy couches and chairs, and backgammon boards. From there, they allow you in one at a time through one of two doors into the actual peformance space, but only after you roll a die and pay $1 plus the number you roll in dollars. Probably the best value in Chicago.
Sigh....memories of experiements past made me laugh several times today on the 11hour drive to Watertown, including:
"On the Rocks" ("can't-can't" because we "can't-can't? Erin, you're the bahst)
seeing "Coremon" from the audience
attempting to block "From Bono to Lionel..." (and writing it, too)
"SONG AND DANCE!!!"
(apologies for the inside jokes to those looking in)
So, last Saturday evening, I communed with the spiritual/formalistic forepeople of Colgate Experimental Theatre Co. when I caught one specific occurrence of the Neo-Futurist's "Too Much Light Makes the Baby Go Blind: 30 Plays in 60 Minutes." As they say, "if you've seen the show once, you've seen the show once" and the next time I'm in Chi-town, I'll definitely make it back for a second first-time.
If you are reading this and are a member of C.E.T.C (odds of this, given my usual readership, are 1/3), I cannot describe the sensation of seeing "our" show after having done it myself. These guys and gals are just amazing, and the show has been in current re-existence for years! It makes me want to drive to Colgate next week and help with the Spring show, or at least to make sure to take the necessary weekend off to see it.
Every weekend, the Neo-Futurists debut at least a few, if not more, NEW original plays, mixed in with older standards and survivors. Some of the titles from my "menu" read:
1. "So scared you can't shit your pants"
30. "Endless polka vamp." (self-explanatory)
1. "Sometimes the best things in life (and the convience store) are free"
5. "Ballad of the Broken Chair from Noelle and Sean's Dining Room (with special guests The International Gay Sock Puppet Chorus)" yes, puppets and experimental theater go hand-in-sock.
7. "Art Imitates Life (but Life takes it as an Insult)"
The process for getting in is disorienting, as well. If you don't get your spot in the instant-line that forms around 1040ish PM, you don't get in. They hand out buttons and herd you into a waiting room with magazines, comfy couches and chairs, and backgammon boards. From there, they allow you in one at a time through one of two doors into the actual peformance space, but only after you roll a die and pay $1 plus the number you roll in dollars. Probably the best value in Chicago.
Sigh....memories of experiements past made me laugh several times today on the 11hour drive to Watertown, including:
"On the Rocks" ("can't-can't" because we "can't-can't? Erin, you're the bahst)
seeing "Coremon" from the audience
attempting to block "From Bono to Lionel..." (and writing it, too)
"SONG AND DANCE!!!"
(apologies for the inside jokes to those looking in)
Monday, March 17, 2003
Some poets...
impress so much they induce futility, others impress me so much they inspire like fire next to Kleenex™. Previously mentioned Dean Young is fire to my delicate, papery, copyrighted self.
More brilliance, a big chunk from his poem
"Note Enclosed with My Old Jean Jacket"
...I too have heard the crickets
of Earth straining their leash in thin weeds,
anxious, anxious for the record stores to open.
It seems at any moment a new music was about to be
discovered like an inland passage to a golden
shrine and all would be familiar as the beloved's
name heard in a crowd, my jacket unwashed but
absolved, patched by a woman who joined
the Peace Corps and lost all her hair
to a disease that mostly affects chickens.
I seethed and yearned like the suicidal sea,
my jacket weighing over me no more than a couple
size D batteries, not nearly as much as all the meat
I've eaten amassed if one imagines such a frightening
karmic mess like all the time we spend asleep joined
end to end, horror of dark accumulation. Oh,
I'm nearly lost sending you this jacket. Always
something lost and ripping, thick tears spilling
through us, drying like my jacket draped
over the radiator after sleet...
Don't kill me if my poetry starts resembling his, though I'll try and keep that from happening. I think I kind of write like him sometimes, only minus the humor (mostly). We both like similar sadnesses, trees, mid-size unrhymed lines, and dealing with losing love/lovers.
impress so much they induce futility, others impress me so much they inspire like fire next to Kleenex™. Previously mentioned Dean Young is fire to my delicate, papery, copyrighted self.
More brilliance, a big chunk from his poem
"Note Enclosed with My Old Jean Jacket"
...I too have heard the crickets
of Earth straining their leash in thin weeds,
anxious, anxious for the record stores to open.
It seems at any moment a new music was about to be
discovered like an inland passage to a golden
shrine and all would be familiar as the beloved's
name heard in a crowd, my jacket unwashed but
absolved, patched by a woman who joined
the Peace Corps and lost all her hair
to a disease that mostly affects chickens.
I seethed and yearned like the suicidal sea,
my jacket weighing over me no more than a couple
size D batteries, not nearly as much as all the meat
I've eaten amassed if one imagines such a frightening
karmic mess like all the time we spend asleep joined
end to end, horror of dark accumulation. Oh,
I'm nearly lost sending you this jacket. Always
something lost and ripping, thick tears spilling
through us, drying like my jacket draped
over the radiator after sleet...
Don't kill me if my poetry starts resembling his, though I'll try and keep that from happening. I think I kind of write like him sometimes, only minus the humor (mostly). We both like similar sadnesses, trees, mid-size unrhymed lines, and dealing with losing love/lovers.
Sunday, March 16, 2003
Bahst Sunday Ahver:
Anyone who knows me, or here's me complain regularly, might know about my issue with Sundays. Bad/sad things always happen on Sundays, and in general (since high school) I've loathed the atmosphere of Sunday afternoon and evening no matter where I am, until now...
Today might have been the perfect Sunday. Of course it helps that I'm on vacation, but there were extras:
Donahoe leftover pancake-batter breakfast part II, and lazing until 1:30 with the four of us ruminating on life, food, and past.
Then, Reetu and I caught the new David Cronenburg film Spider at the truly incredible Music Box Theater. The film was decent, a different side of Cronenburg, but the theater itself has to be experienced. It's like a bigger version of the "No Hay Banda" theater in Mulholland Drive, complete with a portly, masterful pipe-organ player near stage-front playing standards with bravado. A superb venue, very classic. They have year-round special events, indie films, screenings of classics, festivals, etc.
She and I bussed down Clark, then walked through "Boys' Town" to get to the lake front, where we sat on the rocks and talked about families. We proceeded then to put on a dynamite frisbee demonstration which had to wow anyone watching. The weather, by the way, was gloriously 65 and gently breezy. Loads of thawing, freed Chicagoans were out and smiling it in.
We had a sultry dinner at The Blue Bayou (pun unintended, but let me say that Chicago stores have some of the most creative titles I've seen. A hairdresser in the gay neighborhood is simply called Good Head, another favorite salon bore the name Curl Up and Dye. nice, baby, nice) including YaYa Gumbo and cajun-rubbed cheesburger (remind me to work "cajun-rubbed" into a poem soon). And the biggest baked potatoe I've ever seen, much less attempted to eat.
Now, more relaxation as I prepare for the long drive home to Watertown (11 hrs). A DVD screening is in order. Sigh...Chicago has been good to me.
Anyone who knows me, or here's me complain regularly, might know about my issue with Sundays. Bad/sad things always happen on Sundays, and in general (since high school) I've loathed the atmosphere of Sunday afternoon and evening no matter where I am, until now...
Today might have been the perfect Sunday. Of course it helps that I'm on vacation, but there were extras:
Donahoe leftover pancake-batter breakfast part II, and lazing until 1:30 with the four of us ruminating on life, food, and past.
Then, Reetu and I caught the new David Cronenburg film Spider at the truly incredible Music Box Theater. The film was decent, a different side of Cronenburg, but the theater itself has to be experienced. It's like a bigger version of the "No Hay Banda" theater in Mulholland Drive, complete with a portly, masterful pipe-organ player near stage-front playing standards with bravado. A superb venue, very classic. They have year-round special events, indie films, screenings of classics, festivals, etc.
She and I bussed down Clark, then walked through "Boys' Town" to get to the lake front, where we sat on the rocks and talked about families. We proceeded then to put on a dynamite frisbee demonstration which had to wow anyone watching. The weather, by the way, was gloriously 65 and gently breezy. Loads of thawing, freed Chicagoans were out and smiling it in.
We had a sultry dinner at The Blue Bayou (pun unintended, but let me say that Chicago stores have some of the most creative titles I've seen. A hairdresser in the gay neighborhood is simply called Good Head, another favorite salon bore the name Curl Up and Dye. nice, baby, nice) including YaYa Gumbo and cajun-rubbed cheesburger (remind me to work "cajun-rubbed" into a poem soon). And the biggest baked potatoe I've ever seen, much less attempted to eat.
Now, more relaxation as I prepare for the long drive home to Watertown (11 hrs). A DVD screening is in order. Sigh...Chicago has been good to me.
Accounting for Alcohol:
Okay, it's been a long and friendly Saturday in Chicago with Reetu, Kyle, and Julie during which we had Truffautienne romps and slow depressant lows. I will now try and recount every unit of alcohol I consumed in the last twelve house:
#1 - During the breakfast of experimental pancakes, and following Kyle's whimsical lead, I enjoyed a tall, bulbous wineglass full of crappy red wine.
#2 - Then I gulped another before we set out for the day at 3pm
meta#3 - after an "L" ride, we stopped in Binney's Beverage Depot and purchased a sixer of HARP to conceal in my messenger bag for later stoning use.
#3 - Walked and found Govner's, a spacious pub already packed with twentysomethings wearing beads and green tees, in which we paid $18 bucks for four plastic cups full of green-dyed Miller Light, so that's drink #3
#4 - moments later, watching the Illinois v. Indiana NCAA hoops Big 10 tournament, Kyle bought us all Apple Pucker shots at $2 bucks each. mmmmmm.
#4.5 - we adjourned to Michagan Ave., to the park adjacent to the Art Institute, feeling the glorious air and tossing Julie's green neon frisbee with varying accuracy but constant amusement. Badasses that we are (and lacking a proper bottle-opener (DOH!)) we used the edge of some electric transformer to open two Harps to share between us, and were subsequently accosted/entertained by wandering South Chicagoans offering us homemade rum 'n coke that Kyle accepted (being Kyle)
#5 - some Red ale on tap at Randolph Street Pub, where we also had a meaty (except Julie) lunch and I played Elvis Costello and the Beatles on the jukebox.
#6 - a cup full of draft Moosehead lager at O'Toole's Pub, downtown Chicago
#7 - sips and gulps of Julie and Reetu's beers at O'Toole's due to their issues with mass carbonation intake and mid-drinking binge fatigue.
#7.5 while trying to wait in line for entrance into various Lincoln Ave. pubs, Kyle and I shared a sereptitious Harp while Kyle struck up chatter with some drunk Alabaman fuck who had a festive "Fuck Iraq and anyone wearing a turban on St. Patty's Day" tee.
#9 after abandoing pubbing temporarily, we hit up Jewel, the local grocer, for "Car Bomb" supplies for appartment mid-gaming: Guinness, Bailey's Irish Cream, and two shot glasses. First "Car Bomb" was shared with Jules and counts as one-and-a-half units. We played the image-text funny game with paper and pens.
#10.5 Second car bomb, this time w/Kyle. Very smooth and creamy, and all in one gulpation.
#11.5 Guinnes enjoyed along the journey from their appt. to the Neo-Futurist's theater North on Clark.
#13 Pint of Summit India Pale Ale (extra hoppy!) at HopLeaves bar around the corner from the theater while we waited for the "line" for the show to form.
#14 Last drink of the day, a last Guiness with Kyle as we rest after the intense hour of experimental theater (ll:30-12.30) listening to OK Computer harmonizing (like Gina and I do), and generally feeling happy while Reetu and Julie wander off to buy frozen pizza from (again) Jewel. We are hungry.
At no point today was I dizzy, at a few points was I drunkish, always was I happy to be where I am and how I am. What, another....? Sure
#15.5 - Another "car bomb" (this time solo) accompanying reheated frozen pizza as bedside snack. mmmmmm/zzzzzzzzzz
[This post is dedicated to all past and present Colgate Experimental Theater peeps]
Okay, it's been a long and friendly Saturday in Chicago with Reetu, Kyle, and Julie during which we had Truffautienne romps and slow depressant lows. I will now try and recount every unit of alcohol I consumed in the last twelve house:
#1 - During the breakfast of experimental pancakes, and following Kyle's whimsical lead, I enjoyed a tall, bulbous wineglass full of crappy red wine.
#2 - Then I gulped another before we set out for the day at 3pm
meta#3 - after an "L" ride, we stopped in Binney's Beverage Depot and purchased a sixer of HARP to conceal in my messenger bag for later stoning use.
#3 - Walked and found Govner's, a spacious pub already packed with twentysomethings wearing beads and green tees, in which we paid $18 bucks for four plastic cups full of green-dyed Miller Light, so that's drink #3
#4 - moments later, watching the Illinois v. Indiana NCAA hoops Big 10 tournament, Kyle bought us all Apple Pucker shots at $2 bucks each. mmmmmm.
#4.5 - we adjourned to Michagan Ave., to the park adjacent to the Art Institute, feeling the glorious air and tossing Julie's green neon frisbee with varying accuracy but constant amusement. Badasses that we are (and lacking a proper bottle-opener (DOH!)) we used the edge of some electric transformer to open two Harps to share between us, and were subsequently accosted/entertained by wandering South Chicagoans offering us homemade rum 'n coke that Kyle accepted (being Kyle)
#5 - some Red ale on tap at Randolph Street Pub, where we also had a meaty (except Julie) lunch and I played Elvis Costello and the Beatles on the jukebox.
#6 - a cup full of draft Moosehead lager at O'Toole's Pub, downtown Chicago
#7 - sips and gulps of Julie and Reetu's beers at O'Toole's due to their issues with mass carbonation intake and mid-drinking binge fatigue.
#7.5 while trying to wait in line for entrance into various Lincoln Ave. pubs, Kyle and I shared a sereptitious Harp while Kyle struck up chatter with some drunk Alabaman fuck who had a festive "Fuck Iraq and anyone wearing a turban on St. Patty's Day" tee.
#9 after abandoing pubbing temporarily, we hit up Jewel, the local grocer, for "Car Bomb" supplies for appartment mid-gaming: Guinness, Bailey's Irish Cream, and two shot glasses. First "Car Bomb" was shared with Jules and counts as one-and-a-half units. We played the image-text funny game with paper and pens.
#10.5 Second car bomb, this time w/Kyle. Very smooth and creamy, and all in one gulpation.
#11.5 Guinnes enjoyed along the journey from their appt. to the Neo-Futurist's theater North on Clark.
#13 Pint of Summit India Pale Ale (extra hoppy!) at HopLeaves bar around the corner from the theater while we waited for the "line" for the show to form.
#14 Last drink of the day, a last Guiness with Kyle as we rest after the intense hour of experimental theater (ll:30-12.30) listening to OK Computer harmonizing (like Gina and I do), and generally feeling happy while Reetu and Julie wander off to buy frozen pizza from (again) Jewel. We are hungry.
At no point today was I dizzy, at a few points was I drunkish, always was I happy to be where I am and how I am. What, another....? Sure
#15.5 - Another "car bomb" (this time solo) accompanying reheated frozen pizza as bedside snack. mmmmmm/zzzzzzzzzz
[This post is dedicated to all past and present Colgate Experimental Theater peeps]
