Hmm, so what's been going on for the last few days? I hate it when I don't write for a while. I feel like it's time I've spent and invested, and lost. Not that every moment of my life is something to write home about (just every other one, right?), but … you know.
1) Dinner party on Wednesday. Soothing to the soul. Nothing quite like a room full of good friends (without a bar separating us), good smells coming from the kitchen, and more wine than you can shake a shrivelled up, defunct liver at. My Wednesday night fête de dîner will be postponed this week as it's Thanksgiving, perhaps the silliest of all American holidays considering that it's now common knowledge amongst grammar school children that Columbus was, in fact, a mass murdering, self-serving, evil, and stupid man ("What, this isn't India?" "Well, do you smell curry?") TG will be spent with friends at the racetracks. Thaaaat sounds interesting. Something new, anyway. I've never been to the tracks. What does one wear? I need to know, so I can choose something inappropriate.
2) My long weekend (I get four nights off a row each week, by very careful design and the paying of my dues for the last year) was pretty dull. I was bored. I was lonely. But I was in no mood to go out and fix these two adjectives. Tried a little "okay, I guess I'll go have an adventure" thing on Thursday, popping down to the local Saint and Half Moon bars. Saw some people. Wasn't in no mood. Went home and watched more X-Files (season 6 just came out). Read myself to sleep. Rock and roll!
3) Friday night is my Monday morning. (And, conversely, on Monday morning, as I see Decatur street backed up with commuters on their way to the CBD, I know I'm moments away from my Friday night.) Worked at Lounge Lizards. Fun night. Good band. Long set. Busy, but not overmuch. Met a few new "keepers." These are people one meets while bartending whose company and bar behavior is satisfactory, but then they go the extra distance. They prove to be so charming or their presence in your life is so lucrative that one invests a certain amount of time and energy trying to cultivate something more than just purely abbreviated merry-making. Yah, so there were a couple of those last night, which really makes a poor, struggling bartender's night brighten considerably. I was so tired after I left my shift (5:30am) that I forgot to take home my money. What the fuck is that about? Rang the bar this morning when they opened, asking to put my stuff in an envelope in the office. "You're a dork," was the response. "Yah, no duh."
4) Looking forward to/dreading my upcoming holiday travel plans. Going to see the 'rents and the rest of my west coast family in Southern California in December. Here's the conundrum: I love my mommy and daddy tremendously. Although we could all communicate a little bit more, I don't consider a month or so of silence as indicative of indifference. Nor, I hope, do they perceive my bouts of laziness as such. If I lived within commuting distance to the 'rents, I'd see them every week. Whether they liked it or not. I'm just really not very good on the phone. Also much-missed and loved, my cool-ass bro, my über-hip cousin J, my room-brighteningly-fantastic auntie S. I chomp at the bit to get to see them again. If only I could surmount the petty problems I have with the three L's of real estate. Their location, location, location gives me hives. All those 90° angles. All those manicured lawns. Nothing in SoCal seems built pre-1981. I have the added 'problem', by comparison, of currently living in the oldest, most decaying city in the country which also boasts the most character. Stark, antiseptic cream-hued stucco is really going to rub me the wrong way. I usually show up at one of the 'rents houses, ensconce myself therein, and bask in the presence of loved ones, eschewing any unnecessary outings that might put me in a situation where I have to deal with the locals. Even a task as simple as running to the grocer puts an unseemly scowl on my face. "Have a nice day," indeed! I once replied, to that odious, empty, west coast mantra, "I believe that is a choice each person must make for himself, and I am choosing not to have a nice day." More than just getting a weird look, I think I was one word away from having security called. Yah, so to sum, it's just not my "comfort zone" there.
5) Know what the best part about going away is? Coming home. It's funny, and I've learned to look forward to it, but coming back to my house after a week or so elsewhere, I am always shocked at how high the ceilings are. Silly thing, but it means a lot to me. Ceilings aren't this high in the rest of the country because the houses weren't built in sub-tropical climates in the mid 19th century, pre-A/C, where the excessive and inhuman(e) heat had to go somewhere, so architects built 14 foot ceilings in most houses. How many times have I come home from a trip, plopped my ratty duffle bag down in the foyer and just said, "Wow" with a big, dumb, jetlagged grin.
6) I forget what number six was.
7) I played this stupid but amusing game with some customers last night. They barked out area codes and I told them where they were. I had 90% accuracy. The coup occured with, "Okay, what's 267?" I thought about it and replied, "Philly." Before the guy could interject, I added, "…but cell phones only." I win! I'm a geek!
I'm trying to network my Mac (OS9) with Nalcée's PC (Win ME) over my home network (router) for file sharing. TCP/IP won't just allow these two rivals to chat like old girlfriends. I need software. Either an AppleTalk protocol for Nalcée's PC, or a NetBios for my Mac.
I see there are some products out there. (1, 2, among others.) I'd like to … ahem … "evaluate" these products for more than 180 seconds.
If any net geeks out there have a solution for either my Mac or Nalcée's PC, and you wouldn't mind sharing … er, purely on an "evaluation" basis of course … some relevant software, do drop me a line and I'll bake you some cookies or something.
Housemate Nalcée is the bassist for a grind core band. This is a genre of music I never really cared for at all, but I gotta admit, since living with him, I've come to appreciate many aspects of it. Most fun, of course, are the titles of death metal songs. 'I Cum Blood', 'Hacked In The Face With A Chainsaw', 'Fetus Ripped From The Vagina With Salad Tongs' and other such very specific silliness.
While watching a Cannibal Corpse DVD tonight, I started a list of songs I'd like to hear Nalcée's band, "Scrotesque" play: