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There's an Addams Family pinball machine machine on the floor above my department. It's not pachinko, but it does the job nicely. There's also a football video game—how's that for a waste of perfectly good circuitry?—with a sign on it asking people not to yell while playing it. Sheesh. Troglodytes.
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So, much to my surprise, we went to a multiplex tonight to see Teddy Bears' Picnic, Harry Shearer's directorial debut. It wasn't surprising that we went to see the movie—I'm a big fan of Harry's and have been looking forward to it for some time—but, rather, that it's an ultra-low budget unrated independent film shot on digital video playing at a multiplex. Well, almost a multiplex, only four screens rather than the standard eighty-seven, but it was still on a screen that could have been used for something like The Time Machine or (never in a million years) We Were Soldiers. You know, real movies. I'm supposed to be at the company for at least a few more weeks, but I swear it seems like the project is drawing to a close. It's an uncomfortable feeling.
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We saw Repo Man at The Red Vic Friday night. It was a lousy print, projected incorrectly—without the final reel attached at first—with an appreciative yet occasionally annoying audience, especially in the case of the neo-punker kids sitting in front of us, who reminded me quite a bit of the Stygian Triplets. I was expecting those sort of people to show up for this movie, but why do they always have to sit so damn close to us? Feh. We got a new teevee set yesterday (one that doesn't overscan and has component inputs for the DVD player, yay), so it shouldn't be as much of an issue in the future. Sometimes it's just easier to stay home and watch it at the correct aspect ratio without other people around. And I still have over half of my refund check yet, which of course completely justifies the expense. This month's picture is a bit of a cheat, being three years old. But there it is. It was once one of my favorites, but now I'm not so sure. While going through the raw footage for kittypr0n at home (writing down what happens at what timecode so we'll be more prepared in the studio), we'll often comment on it. And, then, invariably, we'll hear ourselves saying the same thing on the tape. It's creepy.
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Would Sid Vicious have used a celphone?
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This morning I found two Chick tracts in the subway station: the anti-gay Doom Town, and Are Roman Catholics Christians? (The answer, unsurprisingly, is no.) Being a queer who was raised Catholic—the key word being "raised," of course—I can only assume someone is trying to tell me something.
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In retrospect, I suppose "hell" should be capitalized. 3:09pm Dark hair has started to return to my upper lip. Only a few, and they're invisible after a shave, but that still means it's time to get zapped again. In a few Saturdays. This last Saturday was originally supposed to be spent at home doing nothing in particular, but it didn't quite work out that way. It turned out Burnout had recently been up to Mendocino, and our stock was getting a little low (well, old, anyway), so we drove out to his place in Richmond. He rolled a joint like he always does, and Maddy accepted, but figuring we wouldn't be there for long I declined. I hate driving stoned, particularly in the East Bay. I've done it more than once, and it sucks. It's not so much of a problem for him, of course; his extreme tolerance for the stuff never ceases to amaze me. Of course, his past as a heroin addict surely has a lot to do with it. (And, unlike some ex-junkies I could name but won't, doesn't let it define his existence.) (If I were to name one, it would be that pretentious git The Leader.) (But I'm not going to.) After that, he probably doesn't even notice. Anyway, he invited us to join him as he took his beagle Daisy for a walk in the park. We were expecting it to be a local park, maybe an acre of lawn with a basketball court and a swingset (still my immediate definition of a "park" after growing up with one nearby); instead we went for what amounted to a hike in Wildcat Canyon Regional Park. I'm still not sure if I'm glad I wasn't stoned. By this point we were getting hungry (and Maddy had it doubly bad, what with the munchies and all), so we abandoned our original plan of driving to Oakland to eat at King Yen in favor of picking up burritos from a taqueria near Burnout's place. I'll admit, I was a little surprised when he suggested it, much as I was surprised when he suggested us joining him on Daisy's walk. I am, after all, so...well, different. Y'know, in the way that gets potentially unwanted attention. Particularly in Richmond, where there aren't many caucasians, let alone curiouslyly tall goth trannies. The stare factor was pretty much nonexistant, though. While eating, I reflected a little guiltily that we only get together with Burnout when buying grass. He doesn't seem to take it personally. And it's not like we see any of our other friends on any more of a regular basis. We left later than we'd expected (and had I smoked when we got there it would have been completely out of my system, but alas), and as such decided against going into Berkeley like we'd been considering and instead went straight to the Jessica McClintock Outlet in South San Francisco. October's still a ways off, but provided my body shape doesn't change too drastically between now and then, it's never too soon to be looking for a wedding dress. The problem right now, of course, is that it's the cusp of wedding season and the eve of prom time. At least, that's our guess as to why the place was so packed, and with teenaged girls. Again, nobody gave us a second glance except for the occasional doubletakes related to my height and Maddy's blue hair. We didn't buy anything, partially because I didn't dare go into the dressing room: it wasn't individual dressing rooms, but rather a group changing area. No privacy, in other words, and while I'm fairly passable, I ain't that good. Granted, my breasts are real, but they aren't quite as large or as fully formed as one would expect given the size of my body. It's not so much of a tell when I'm fully clothed, but I couldn't help feeling it would be a big fat tell otherwise. Also real is the hair between them which I'm usually too lazy to shave unless I'm be wearing something which exposes that area, and I wasn't that day. Alas. Maddy, who has a thing about group showers, completely sympathized, assuring me that she wouldn't have gone in, either. Maybe in a couple months, after the season ends. As I was browsing, feeling like I was finally looking for a prom dress of my own (and that may well be the sort of thing I go for; I don't have to be traditional if I don't want to), I was reminded of renting a tux for my prom way back when. The guy at the store acted as though there was the slightest bit of difference between them. Another of The Big Lies. sometime after midnight #3, as we speak. | ||
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