The drive up was something of a nightmare -- the drive is really just over four hours, but due to impenetrable traffic and multiple accidents, it took me three hours just to get to the other side of Austin. But I finally arrived, mostly intact, at solipsiae's cozy apartment. After palling around with her adorable cat Musket, she introduced me to the Nintendo Wii, which was fun to fuck around with. The first thing we played was some crazy-ass Mario Brothers derivative where you are presented with half a second during which to figure out what bizarre hand gesture you must make in order to solve a brief puzzle. This process is explained to you by a 'luuded-up announcer who seems out of place in the game's mercilessly energetic Japanese mise-en-scene, but I only play, I do not hope to understand. Sports games also made an appearance, and I turned out to suck at bowling (as in real life, but also as in real life, booze made me not feel so bad about it), and not suck as bad at boxing, because beating-people-up skills transfer. We trekked to a nice little bar near her place for a few drink (including a rather perfectly compiled martini), then back home to hang out and talk before I guiltily repaired to her bed, which is just obscenely comfortable even if you're not used to sleeping on a floor. (Guiltily because she gave me the money spot while she slept on the couch, a cruel inversion of the normal guest-host dynamic.)
The next day, solipsiae hired herself out on the cheap to be my personal shopper, and hooked me up with some kicks that are just way too cool for me. I also picked up some shirts, a couple of comics at "Dallas' best gay-friendly comic shop", and delicious potato pancakes at a Vietnamese-run New York deli. We saw Children of Men, which I didn't like that much -- it had some powerful emotional moments and lots of visual appeal, especially in the big setpiece moments, but I wasn't awed by any of the performances and overall, the story lacked a spine and seemed to drift around from setpiece to setpiece linked only by some highly implausible moments. Still, a lot of people I respect loved the thing, so maybe there's more to it than a smarted-up chase movie. Back to home base for a while, where my lovely and talented host prepared homemade sushi and we killed time before heading out for a glimpse at Dallas' burgeoning club scene. We heard a decent band (they reminded me a lot of Erasure, only with an ultra-tight live drummer instead of a beatbox), one okay DJ and one great one, and I threw my hands in the air and waved them around, although, really, I did care. Sleepy and only a little lit, home we went for blessed sleep.
I took my leave of the Big D early, since I've been swamped with work, but three cheers for solipsiae, who is a terrific host and a good pal, a sparkling conversationalist and a gal who knows a thing or two about breakfast. On the way back, I continued my "let's spend all the money that otherwise would have gone towards a gun" spree by picking up a new pair of Tims and a couple new pair of jeans, in hopes of halting my tendency to overdress for work. When I got back to SA after a breezy easy drive, a bunch of new stuff from Paperback Swap was waiting for me, as were my new business cards for the freelance gig, which I love even though they will result in me never getting any work ever again. What a boss weekend, says I, and a nice prep for what is, between my work-work load and my home-work load, going to be a hell week in my head. And how was yours?
What's your favorite bar game?
Who is your identification figure on "The Venture Brothers"?
2008. Tickets. Predict.
Do you have business cards?
So, you know those little pockets on the sleeve of some jackets? The ones that are too short for pens, too thin for cards, too small for cigarette packs? What on earth are those things for?
The New York Times magazine, following its longtime commitment to 'discovering' completely meaningless social trends 10 years behind everyone else and then assigning them ridiculous names to inflate their bogue importance (remember "hipublicans"? "man-dates"?), has discovered -- gasp! -- that there are certain negroes who enjoy rock music! They are, henceforth, to be known as "blipsters".