A lot has happened since last posting. The only stuff I'm going to write about is the past 72 hours.
Thursday night, as I was waiting for the bus, I had a cop pull up to me at the bus stop and ask me what I was doing. I told him I was waiting for the bus. He started interrogating me. I was slightly freaking out as this went on, since I didn't want to be arrested as an illegal, deported, etc. So I said I was on an internship, and that I was living with my grandmother, which sounds bad, but hell, there's no rent and she does my laundry hahahapleasedon'tarrestme. I guess that disarming humour worked, since when I let slip that I grew up in Ottawa, the only thing the cop said was that he hates those f'n Senators.
Yes, he said f'n. You think I give a fuck if cuss-bombs fly?
So, Friday the plan was to go to New York and see my aunt's play. She was directing a play, and I had reserved a ticket and so the plans were set. My first instinct was to take the Greyhound round-trip, but I was advised that this was not wise. The Fung-Wah bus is the way to go, I'm told. 15 bucks and it's a direct express from Chinatown to Chinatown. A little online research and it seems to be a good idea. As for the way back, a redeye Amtrak will get me back to Boston on Saturday morning.
Normally my aunt would put me up, but under the circumstances, she said that she couldn't, and I think she felt guilty about it. She shouldn't have, since what transpired was pretty fucking epic and awesome in its own right. And while we're on this aside, I was asked if a train can count as a redeye, and the answer, to my mind, is yes. If you get on late at night and it's morning when you arrive, it constitutes a redeye. Hence, you can't really have a redeye flight from NYC to Boston, as the flight is only about 45 minutes. I'd hop on the last jet at 1am and arrive in Boston by 2am, completely fucked since the transit in Boston stops shortly after midnight. Anyway, back to the story.
Any bus company that eschews the typical booth/computer setup and just has a table/stool setup by the gate at South Station is good in my book. And so Fung-Wah is good in my book. The ride to New York took roughly 4 hours, and once I arrived I walked to Penn Station to gab my train ticket home, which was simple/easy since Penn Station is right beside the Empire State Building, and it's hard to be anywhere in lowertown Manhattan and not be able to see the damned thing. So I go, I get my ticket, and I try to get in touch with Lisa.
I get her voicemail. I make an active point of not wishing her luck, but despite that, things would still go awry that night. I'm getting ahead of myself.
So I make my way to the theatre, not that I'm trying to stalk her or anything, but I do want to grab my ticket for the show. Ticket pickup(or "tickup") isn't for an hour and change. There was a TGI Friday's not too far with a big Happy Hour sign advertising quite spectacular drink specials. Two margaritas, two plates of appetizers, some barstool philosophizing on the whole Canadian/American thing, 20 minutes, and 20 bucks later, I'm ready for just about anything but a night of high quality, professional theatre... which is to say that I'm feeling quite drunk. Lisa and her husband don't drink. Oh dear God, I think... I need to sober up like lightning or I'm going to make a total ass of myself.
Now, I knew my aunt had directed a number of productions, but I always had the impression that it was kinda community theatre-ish stuff. In other words, I had no idea that she was directing a play at the oldest theatre school in North America, and arguably one of the most prestigious and exclusive ones in the world. Self-Consciousness, ENGAGE!
I grab my ticket at the theatre and run across the street to a tea shop. Giant chai latte and an espresso chocolate chip scone.. need the caffeine to get sharp-witted. I feel a little more confident if not at all more sober, get back across the street, and feel remarkably uncouth as I'm chuckling at The Onion in the lobby while everyone around me knows each other and are probably talking about Truffaut or Salinger or something intelligent and artsy that I know a little bit about but nowhere near enough about to participate in a conversation with people who actually know their shit. We get invited in for the play. I grab my seat, a row and change away from my aunt, who's smiling and waving at everyone but me. In fairness, I resembled Jesus last time I saw her. The show starts, and it's actually quite funny and then a bell starts ringing.
"The fuck is that?" says one of the characters.
"Oh, I think it's the train bell." says another.
It was not the train bell. It was the fire alarm, and there was, in fact, a fire in the building, although kudos to the actors for reacting to it in a very believable manner. We left through a lobby filled with smoke to the street, where I was able to catch up, albeit briefly, with Lisa and her husband, and impress him and the few people gathered around with my ability to watch Carnivale on my Treo. Of course, watching HBO on public transit is always risky, because I'm pretty sure there's a clause somewhere that requires every episode of any HBO program to have some nudity, and I always get nervous when it inevitably happens, fearful that someone will think me a perv.
Of course, I've got a great comeback lined up should that ever happen: It's not porn, it's HBO.
Anyway, the fire is put out, FDNY are hailed as heroes, the show starts back up again, and then they start testing the fire alarm not 5 minutes later. The actors, to their credit, take it all in stride. The rest of the show was fucking great. I admittedly am no theatre buff, but the acting I saw on display felt a shitload more real than any of the stuff I've seen in my visits to Stratford and the NAC over the years. Just great stuff and enthralling to watch. Then again, I was much closer to the stage, so I may have picked up on it more.
Intermission: I'm invited to the cast party, and meet another Canadian named Danny. She reminds me in several ways of Reba Sigler. She's from Calgary.
The second half of the show was much like the first, only without the fire. So we go to the cast party and I feel a little out of place but people are pretty mingly and friendly even though I feel a little out of place, in a room full of artsy people who aren't only artsy, but skilled enough at it to be at this incredible lofty level... and I'm just a B average Economics major who sells Spring Break for a living in his off semesters. In the hope of having some common ground, what little acting and theatre I did during chilhood and high school come up. How I'm still known as "Frank" at a daycare in Ottawa. At one point I'm asked to do a chicken impersonation. It was deemed "thoughtful".
Eventually me and this girl just start chatting, and we keep chatting for what some might call an extended period of time. And she's kinda shockingly open about herself and we're she's at in her life, which is something I'm not used to, but which is really quite cool since most people are so reserved, and I'm so not... so to meet someone who's rather like me in that regard is quite cool.
She lives by Penn Station, which is where I'm grabbing my train, so I walk her home. It turns out that she's coming up to Boston this weekend for a funeral, and I sheepishly suggest we meet up and eat something, because I think that's what you're supposed to do when you want to hang out with someone and don't want the specter of potentially fooling around hanging over the whole affair. I got her number and we parted ways.
And this is where I feel kinda guilty for feeling kinda optimistic about something that was kinda a lost cause to begin with. I called her last night to see if she'd be up for something today and she wasn't sure, since her schedule had changed, but she asked me to call her back. And I didn't, because... well, she's busy as hell, and I'm busy as hell, and as much as I got the sense we could both use someone to hang out with, I don't think we're it for each other. We were two people who randomly met and happened to click, and the idea of putting ourselves way out just to extend that for a little bit longer before inevitably flying apart and never seeing each other again... well, I just couldn't rationalize it with the workload I have and the fact that she's got a funeral to deal with. But if she's reading this, and she may well be since I'm debating texting her with the URL, I think you're quite the great person, and it's too bad that we'll probably never see each other again.
It's not terribly romantic, but it wasn't supposed to be about romance. More as it happens.
Monday, February 12, 2007
Sunday, January 28, 2007
On Falling Off The Wagon, The Holy Trinity, Gnocchi, Faking The Funk, And Cougars
Yeah, there's plenty to cover in this one.
First, this post isn't brought to you by Smokin' Aces, because it's really not that good. There's one scene that's absolutely, undeniably, fucking balls-to-the-wall fantastic, but the rest of the film isn't quite there. It's almost Guy Ritchie, but not. And when it accepts that and just tries to do its own thing, it's good. But... it's just not all a Guy Ritchie movie is supposed to be. Maybe it's the lack of British accents, or that it isn't all that funny... but it isn't a movie worth waiting in line and paying to see.
Although, Jason Bateman and Ben Affleck are damned funny.
In the new year, I made a resolution to lose 15-20 pounds before March 1st. I'm actually more or less on track for that... as I am considerably less bulky than I was at the new year. However, the meals I ate yesterday(McD's for breakfast and pulled pork for dinner) didn't especiallyIn the weeks that followed, I resolved to stop drinking. That totally didn't happen, as even now, as I write this, I'm moderately hammered, with the Sufjan Stevens blaring and my fingers flying as fast as they can with my mind trying to keep up on spelling errors.
The real trouble started Thursday, when I worked from home. I started earlier than I was supposed to that day, and worked later, so fuck you if you thought I slacked off. I did everything expected of me.
The Holy Trinity referred to is Booze, Drugs, and Customer Service. Not that I engaged in all three, but I certainly had the opportunity to when my uncle and his friend swung by my Grandmother's at lunchtime on Thursday, and they offered me tokes and tallboys. I don't smoke weed.
I'm almost always on customer service duty from noon to 3pm. And I did my duty, while managing my other work. And that''s all I've gotto say about that.
Today I had two plans: Take care of the work I didn't get done yesterday and see Smokin' Aces. I wound up doing both those things, and pub-crawling my way across downtown Boston, and having dinner at the best damn Italian joint in Waltham. The Chateau is awesome, and I ordered the Chicken Parm with Gnocchi because Gnocchi got mentioned on Season 2 of The OC... and that's the only excuse I got. But hell, it was good... it was really good. I will order it again, given the chance, because it's tasty as hell.
So I went on my train ride from Waltham to Boston with my aunt and uncle who were going to see Bob Seger at the Garden (TD Banknorth, not Boston... as Boston Garden was torn down far too long ago), and then we parted ways... not to reunite until... now, really, as they came back at 12:25 after missing the last train home... they cabbed to Waltham, so I really don't feel put upon by them being here... they live out in Leominster... which is far... and Waltham is more than far enough if you're cabbing.
My movie got out at 9:20, and the train was at 11:30... I hit three bars for a pint apiece as I made my way back to the Garden(which is also the train station, for those keeping track), and I came to a few conclusions... Cheers is a total tourist trap, but it's still a decent bar... any bar that has a massive lineup is, for all intents and purposes, Piccadilly's... And if I affect a light Scottish brogue and tell people I'm from Cape Breton and/or Halifax, they totally buy it, even though it's total bullshit.
So I end up at North Station/The Garden at 10:50, and I'm like, shit, I gotta kill 40 minutes, so I find a bar, McGann's, and that's where I become A Douche For All Seasons.
Her: You know, you could sit next to me and I could pretend I have a friend.
Me: I could. **walks away**
She was ugly, she was 30-odd, and she wasn't even trying to impress anyone with her plaid sweater over a grey Patriots sweater, and he;;, if a thirtysomething broad puts in the effort, odds are I'll be attracted to that, and not react adversely when the proverbial moves are put upon me. I was drinking a beer called ESB that wasn't especially good. All told, the three beers I had tonight, none of which I had before, weren't particularly good. UfO was okay, if you like heavy, strong, beers that don't really taste like anything... Sam Adams Winter Lager is a lot like Creemore, but not quite as good, as its aftertaste is kinda sharp and sour and lame... ESB was meh, thoroughly meh...
More as it happens.
First, this post isn't brought to you by Smokin' Aces, because it's really not that good. There's one scene that's absolutely, undeniably, fucking balls-to-the-wall fantastic, but the rest of the film isn't quite there. It's almost Guy Ritchie, but not. And when it accepts that and just tries to do its own thing, it's good. But... it's just not all a Guy Ritchie movie is supposed to be. Maybe it's the lack of British accents, or that it isn't all that funny... but it isn't a movie worth waiting in line and paying to see.
Although, Jason Bateman and Ben Affleck are damned funny.
In the new year, I made a resolution to lose 15-20 pounds before March 1st. I'm actually more or less on track for that... as I am considerably less bulky than I was at the new year. However, the meals I ate yesterday(McD's for breakfast and pulled pork for dinner) didn't especiallyIn the weeks that followed, I resolved to stop drinking. That totally didn't happen, as even now, as I write this, I'm moderately hammered, with the Sufjan Stevens blaring and my fingers flying as fast as they can with my mind trying to keep up on spelling errors.
The real trouble started Thursday, when I worked from home. I started earlier than I was supposed to that day, and worked later, so fuck you if you thought I slacked off. I did everything expected of me.
The Holy Trinity referred to is Booze, Drugs, and Customer Service. Not that I engaged in all three, but I certainly had the opportunity to when my uncle and his friend swung by my Grandmother's at lunchtime on Thursday, and they offered me tokes and tallboys. I don't smoke weed.
I'm almost always on customer service duty from noon to 3pm. And I did my duty, while managing my other work. And that''s all I've gotto say about that.
Today I had two plans: Take care of the work I didn't get done yesterday and see Smokin' Aces. I wound up doing both those things, and pub-crawling my way across downtown Boston, and having dinner at the best damn Italian joint in Waltham. The Chateau is awesome, and I ordered the Chicken Parm with Gnocchi because Gnocchi got mentioned on Season 2 of The OC... and that's the only excuse I got. But hell, it was good... it was really good. I will order it again, given the chance, because it's tasty as hell.
So I went on my train ride from Waltham to Boston with my aunt and uncle who were going to see Bob Seger at the Garden (TD Banknorth, not Boston... as Boston Garden was torn down far too long ago), and then we parted ways... not to reunite until... now, really, as they came back at 12:25 after missing the last train home... they cabbed to Waltham, so I really don't feel put upon by them being here... they live out in Leominster... which is far... and Waltham is more than far enough if you're cabbing.
My movie got out at 9:20, and the train was at 11:30... I hit three bars for a pint apiece as I made my way back to the Garden(which is also the train station, for those keeping track), and I came to a few conclusions... Cheers is a total tourist trap, but it's still a decent bar... any bar that has a massive lineup is, for all intents and purposes, Piccadilly's... And if I affect a light Scottish brogue and tell people I'm from Cape Breton and/or Halifax, they totally buy it, even though it's total bullshit.
So I end up at North Station/The Garden at 10:50, and I'm like, shit, I gotta kill 40 minutes, so I find a bar, McGann's, and that's where I become A Douche For All Seasons.
Her: You know, you could sit next to me and I could pretend I have a friend.
Me: I could. **walks away**
She was ugly, she was 30-odd, and she wasn't even trying to impress anyone with her plaid sweater over a grey Patriots sweater, and he;;, if a thirtysomething broad puts in the effort, odds are I'll be attracted to that, and not react adversely when the proverbial moves are put upon me. I was drinking a beer called ESB that wasn't especially good. All told, the three beers I had tonight, none of which I had before, weren't particularly good. UfO was okay, if you like heavy, strong, beers that don't really taste like anything... Sam Adams Winter Lager is a lot like Creemore, but not quite as good, as its aftertaste is kinda sharp and sour and lame... ESB was meh, thoroughly meh...
More as it happens.
Saturday, January 27, 2007
On Pan's Labyrinth
See It. Seriously, stop reading this and just go. It's rare that I find myself compelled to use the beautiful in describing a film... but I think it applies better than any other to what I saw today. It's just... great. There's parts where it's a little slow and rambly, but the ending is so worth it.
Very, VERY Highly Recommended.
Very, VERY Highly Recommended.
Monday, January 22, 2007
On The Colts, 45 And Otherwise, Salem, And Stopping Drinking
It's just Payton's year. That's all I have to say about yesterday's game.
Oh dear God I had too much to drink on Friday night. It started out simply enough... we were going to go to Scoletti's, start predrinking there, and from there it would be off to the wild bars of Salem, MA... as wild as bars that close at 1am can be. I picked up a 6pack, and that was probably my first error... because I knew I wasn't taking anything home, I bought what I thought I'd reasonably drink. I can't drink a six-pack and stay reasonable. Well, I can, but only if that's all I drink. If I'm pounding that to pregame... I'm going to order more once I hit the bar, and things are going to get shitshow in short order. So I'm pounding the beers at Scoletti's, we're snacking on pasta and chicken... a poker game is contemplated, played, and I win. Admittedly, I win with a somewhat dubious hand, but I win. At this point the beers are done and it's off to the bar.
I'm drunk. And as we enter Rockafella's, I decide it's a good time to order a drink, because that's what you do at a bar. A gin and tonic is what I asked for, a GIN and tonic is what I received, which is to say that it was strong. I vaguely recall some girl flirting with me but I wouldn't have said anything charming, clever, or sexy in my state. We left to go to another bar, O'Neill's. It was there that I met Papa. Apparently his response to my state was, "Now why'd you guys have to go and get Brian drunk?" I think I did a Jager shot somewhere around this point before we all returned to Scoletti's, where I threw up and fell asleep.
I woke up with a wicked hangover and stumbled my way to the Salem commuter rail stop, pelted by brutal winds. When I got downtown there was enough of a wait that I had time to tour downtown boston a bit. I found a nice little pub and had a breakfast that didn't sit well before hopping the train out to Waltham.
And so I look at the effects of my drinking that evening, and I find myself wondering how my drinking helped that night. I was so drunk I was pretty much useless from a social perspective. Would I have been better if I were less drunk? Well, I would've been more coherent, to be sure, and less likely to have thrown up. So, should I have drank at all? What am I like when I'm stone sober?
Well, I'm not so good there either. I was pretty bitter and disgruntled at AM's show last Friday when I started to sober up and realise the place was full of dudes. So, I need an inbetween happy place where I'm outgoing, sociable, "on" in the parlance of our times. And that inbetween happy place is found with Red Bull, Rockstar, Arush... energy drinks.
I noticed two things while I was working New Years in Montreal with Breakaway. One, I was being really sociable and outgoing, and two, I was drinking energy drinks like a motherfucker. I think that I'm outgoing, fun, and coherent when I'm riding high on that much caffeine, and I much prefer that buzz to the buzz of being drunk.
Now, that's not to say I don't see the benefit in sometimes being drunk: When I need help falling asleep, a couple beers or a tall glass of something rum-based is going to put me in that nice space where it's so easy for me to fall asleep. And hell, if I'm out for a nice dinner, I'm not going to say, "Nah, I'll pass on that merlot... just a can of Red Bull will be fine. But at the bars, clubs, etc? Energy Drinks seem to be the way to go.
Setting up my home office was easy, and now I can, in principle, work from home with relative ease. I'm probably not going to that often, at least not in the next couple weeks... but once things get settled with pay and all that jazz... well, it'd be nice not to have that biatch of a commute every morning and night... not that I mind leaving at 9am and getting home at 1am... it's just, it'd be nicer if I didn't have to do that every single day.
More as it happens.
Oh dear God I had too much to drink on Friday night. It started out simply enough... we were going to go to Scoletti's, start predrinking there, and from there it would be off to the wild bars of Salem, MA... as wild as bars that close at 1am can be. I picked up a 6pack, and that was probably my first error... because I knew I wasn't taking anything home, I bought what I thought I'd reasonably drink. I can't drink a six-pack and stay reasonable. Well, I can, but only if that's all I drink. If I'm pounding that to pregame... I'm going to order more once I hit the bar, and things are going to get shitshow in short order. So I'm pounding the beers at Scoletti's, we're snacking on pasta and chicken... a poker game is contemplated, played, and I win. Admittedly, I win with a somewhat dubious hand, but I win. At this point the beers are done and it's off to the bar.
I'm drunk. And as we enter Rockafella's, I decide it's a good time to order a drink, because that's what you do at a bar. A gin and tonic is what I asked for, a GIN and tonic is what I received, which is to say that it was strong. I vaguely recall some girl flirting with me but I wouldn't have said anything charming, clever, or sexy in my state. We left to go to another bar, O'Neill's. It was there that I met Papa. Apparently his response to my state was, "Now why'd you guys have to go and get Brian drunk?" I think I did a Jager shot somewhere around this point before we all returned to Scoletti's, where I threw up and fell asleep.
I woke up with a wicked hangover and stumbled my way to the Salem commuter rail stop, pelted by brutal winds. When I got downtown there was enough of a wait that I had time to tour downtown boston a bit. I found a nice little pub and had a breakfast that didn't sit well before hopping the train out to Waltham.
And so I look at the effects of my drinking that evening, and I find myself wondering how my drinking helped that night. I was so drunk I was pretty much useless from a social perspective. Would I have been better if I were less drunk? Well, I would've been more coherent, to be sure, and less likely to have thrown up. So, should I have drank at all? What am I like when I'm stone sober?
Well, I'm not so good there either. I was pretty bitter and disgruntled at AM's show last Friday when I started to sober up and realise the place was full of dudes. So, I need an inbetween happy place where I'm outgoing, sociable, "on" in the parlance of our times. And that inbetween happy place is found with Red Bull, Rockstar, Arush... energy drinks.
I noticed two things while I was working New Years in Montreal with Breakaway. One, I was being really sociable and outgoing, and two, I was drinking energy drinks like a motherfucker. I think that I'm outgoing, fun, and coherent when I'm riding high on that much caffeine, and I much prefer that buzz to the buzz of being drunk.
Now, that's not to say I don't see the benefit in sometimes being drunk: When I need help falling asleep, a couple beers or a tall glass of something rum-based is going to put me in that nice space where it's so easy for me to fall asleep. And hell, if I'm out for a nice dinner, I'm not going to say, "Nah, I'll pass on that merlot... just a can of Red Bull will be fine. But at the bars, clubs, etc? Energy Drinks seem to be the way to go.
Setting up my home office was easy, and now I can, in principle, work from home with relative ease. I'm probably not going to that often, at least not in the next couple weeks... but once things get settled with pay and all that jazz... well, it'd be nice not to have that biatch of a commute every morning and night... not that I mind leaving at 9am and getting home at 1am... it's just, it'd be nicer if I didn't have to do that every single day.
More as it happens.
Thursday, January 18, 2007
On The Girl, Elation, Spring Break, and Fat, With A Shoutout To Charlie Murphy
So, the girl I met Friday night. Susan. I called her on Sunday evening and left her a message... she never called me back.
I was a little distraught, but understanding these things do take time, I let it simmer for a day or two. Then I got my new cell phone, and I'll admit I was conflicted on how to proceed. I knew that getting a new contact was an excuse to try and get in touch with her again, half in a "so, do you want to do something or no?" sense, and half in a "if you do, here's the best number you can reach me at sense." But yet, in my initial inquiries to friends, I was advised against this course of action. Don't call, they said. Just change your voicemail and if she gets in touch she gets in touch.
I was not keen on this proposed alternative.
Cue Charlie Murphy, from his guest stint on the animated version of The Boondocks: "Bitches love it when you text 'em." Now, I'm pretty sure the animated version of Sam Jackson berated him after he said that, but dammit, there is truth in that. In the time since I first heard that line, I've texted more and called less... and it's paid dividends. So I think that texting her is the best idea, and I do: hey this is brian from fri night my new number is ... call or txt me if you still want to do salsa lessons :)
I thought it would be a rousing success. It wasn't. As I write this now... yeah, she hasn't called or texted. Which on the one hand sucks, but on the other hand frees up my Saturday night... so I think I'm going to go to The Animation Show 3, which is just now kicking off it's tour. I think it's going to be really awesome to see... much as was the first Animation Show back in 2003.
Things are settling down nicely here in Boston. I've finally got an IP phone so I can work from home, and that's handy. I have my local cell phone, and all is well. Earlier this evening, the head director of the company sent out a mass email going over the week, in which I got a "big welcome". And it felt really fucking nice, which is, I admit, a little unexpected that it feels so good... but it does. So I'm writing this on a fairly high note despite never hearing back from that girl. Which is a low note.
I'm down to 170 pounds from 178 at Christmas. This is good... and as long as I keep hitting the lean cuisine and keep staying away from the Friendly's and the Big Macs, I think I can hit my goal of getting down to 160 by the end of February. Gotta look my best on Spring Break, you know.
And on the topic of Spring Break, I gotta say I feel far more optimistic this year than I ever have in the past regarding the on-site stuff we're going to be doing. This isn't a shill or anything, I'm just saying... in past years, I've felt concern about the direction things were taking and I think that fear was confirmed in a couple years where I was being told over and over that everything was going to be great and I didn't see the greatness under discussion really congealing... it's a similar view I had on Rona Ambrose's Greenhouse Gas Plan. For weeks beforehand she was always like, "Hey media, wait until you see my global warming plan. It's totally awesome. I'm going to set out some tough standards for big polluters and they're going to have to deal with it." And the media said upon hearing this, "Great! What's the plan?" And Rona replied, "I don't want to tell you just yet, but trust me, it's totally awesome. So if you'll excuse me, I have to go force industry to agree to this awesome plan." So the media says, "all right, sounds good, let us know when the plan can go public." And then the plan went public, and it blew goat dick, and the media was like, "what the hell, rona? this plan freakin' blows!" And Rona's only response was "I'm sorry, I guess you didn't hear me when I originally introduced it, but this plan is totally awesome, so you're clearly mistaken."
I guess the moral of the story is just because you say it, doesn't make it so. And it's for that reason that I'm kinda glad I haven't been seeing a lot of big talk... just big action. This year is going to kick ass... the staff, the parties, the bookings... everything is just coming together in a way that feels RIGHT. And I think it's going to be the best year yet.
More as it happens.
I was a little distraught, but understanding these things do take time, I let it simmer for a day or two. Then I got my new cell phone, and I'll admit I was conflicted on how to proceed. I knew that getting a new contact was an excuse to try and get in touch with her again, half in a "so, do you want to do something or no?" sense, and half in a "if you do, here's the best number you can reach me at sense." But yet, in my initial inquiries to friends, I was advised against this course of action. Don't call, they said. Just change your voicemail and if she gets in touch she gets in touch.
I was not keen on this proposed alternative.
Cue Charlie Murphy, from his guest stint on the animated version of The Boondocks: "Bitches love it when you text 'em." Now, I'm pretty sure the animated version of Sam Jackson berated him after he said that, but dammit, there is truth in that. In the time since I first heard that line, I've texted more and called less... and it's paid dividends. So I think that texting her is the best idea, and I do: hey this is brian from fri night my new number is ... call or txt me if you still want to do salsa lessons :)
I thought it would be a rousing success. It wasn't. As I write this now... yeah, she hasn't called or texted. Which on the one hand sucks, but on the other hand frees up my Saturday night... so I think I'm going to go to The Animation Show 3, which is just now kicking off it's tour. I think it's going to be really awesome to see... much as was the first Animation Show back in 2003.
Things are settling down nicely here in Boston. I've finally got an IP phone so I can work from home, and that's handy. I have my local cell phone, and all is well. Earlier this evening, the head director of the company sent out a mass email going over the week, in which I got a "big welcome". And it felt really fucking nice, which is, I admit, a little unexpected that it feels so good... but it does. So I'm writing this on a fairly high note despite never hearing back from that girl. Which is a low note.
I'm down to 170 pounds from 178 at Christmas. This is good... and as long as I keep hitting the lean cuisine and keep staying away from the Friendly's and the Big Macs, I think I can hit my goal of getting down to 160 by the end of February. Gotta look my best on Spring Break, you know.
And on the topic of Spring Break, I gotta say I feel far more optimistic this year than I ever have in the past regarding the on-site stuff we're going to be doing. This isn't a shill or anything, I'm just saying... in past years, I've felt concern about the direction things were taking and I think that fear was confirmed in a couple years where I was being told over and over that everything was going to be great and I didn't see the greatness under discussion really congealing... it's a similar view I had on Rona Ambrose's Greenhouse Gas Plan. For weeks beforehand she was always like, "Hey media, wait until you see my global warming plan. It's totally awesome. I'm going to set out some tough standards for big polluters and they're going to have to deal with it." And the media said upon hearing this, "Great! What's the plan?" And Rona replied, "I don't want to tell you just yet, but trust me, it's totally awesome. So if you'll excuse me, I have to go force industry to agree to this awesome plan." So the media says, "all right, sounds good, let us know when the plan can go public." And then the plan went public, and it blew goat dick, and the media was like, "what the hell, rona? this plan freakin' blows!" And Rona's only response was "I'm sorry, I guess you didn't hear me when I originally introduced it, but this plan is totally awesome, so you're clearly mistaken."
I guess the moral of the story is just because you say it, doesn't make it so. And it's for that reason that I'm kinda glad I haven't been seeing a lot of big talk... just big action. This year is going to kick ass... the staff, the parties, the bookings... everything is just coming together in a way that feels RIGHT. And I think it's going to be the best year yet.
More as it happens.
Sunday, January 14, 2007
On AM, Movie Moments, Leagues, and Cab Rides
But first, a digression on me having a laptop now, and having DSL installed in my grandmother's apartment. Generally speaking, I like it. With my work schedule such as it is... I gotta download just to keep up with my shows... and this winter, it's going to be a doozy.
Rome on Sundays... and 24, Heroes, and Studio 60 all on Mondays... it's a lot of content considering I don't finish on Mondays until 10:30pm. The upside is that the torrents should be up by the time I finally commute home.
And since I've gone out my way in the past to say so... not last year, but the year before and also the season before that...
WATCH THE NEW 24 TONIGHT, OR JACK BAUER WILL GO HACKSAW ON YOUR GOOFY ASS!!! 8pm, Global/Fox.
So last night a *scratch* DJ AM *scratch* saved my life... his mixing, not mine. Perhaps the tale of the evening should begin at its beginning... I'm new in the office, but I've fallen in with my coworkers pretty quickly, and wanted to keep that up, so I decide that yes, this socializing with coworkers thing is a good idea, and I drop 20 bucks for a ticket to see DJ AM. The plan was for myself and Scoletti to get a ride to Jacob(?)'s place, where everyone was meeting and from whence we'd be cabbing to the club. Sully(my boss) was going to go his own way and swing by with his ladyfriend later on in the evening... but the three of us(myself, Scoletti, and Sully)were all that was left in the office.
So we started pregaming. We sniped a couple beers and a bottle of cheap rum from a fridge and it was on. Went to Jacob's, had another beer... and it was off to the club. I recall telling a bad joke or two during the cab ride.
I was looking forward to seeing new parts of Boston... as I only know small chunks of downtown Boston thus far. In principle, seeing the club district would be a cool new thing for me... except the place was on the Boston Common... which is the one place in Boston I know. So... that was a minor bust. The club was quite nice though, and I suppose it's the canadian in me that makes me think 5 bucks is a perfectly acceptable price for a beer at the club, since my coworkers seemed to think it rather expensive.
I saw a prime opportunity to get some photos of myself silhouetted against some lighting panels, so I took a few, one of which is now my new facebook photo if you're wondering. The opening DJ was pretty decent, not doing anything fancy, but laying tracks on top of tracks, and exercising generally good taste. I was pounding Bud Lights pretty steady until AM himself came on.
If you've been to the dance cave... or maybe if you've just been to a club that happened to have a DJ playing who was really good... you may have had that moment where you just stop giving a fuck about the people around you and start screaming along with the songs, dancing spastically with hands in the air and all that jazz. AM delivers that without the constraints of genre that can sometimes hamper an evening at the dance cave when you think, as much as bloc party and bowie et al kick ass... sometimes you just wanna hear some 50 Cent. Not a lot, but some. Perhaps laid on top of the new Beatles album being played in reverse, and despite sounding awful on paper, it works beautifully.
I started sobering up at roughly the same time I realised the place was a damned sausagefest. 4 or 5 to 1, easily... and I realised I wasn't going to meet anyone. I played the desperation card, half-throwing myself at a couple of larger girls which didn't work as I was sobering up and in no mood to willingly chase that which I knew I didn't want. The mindset was that of, "Should I throw myself on a grenade to see if I can still feel anything at all?" and the answer I provided myself was, "No, no you shouldn't." I was kinda okay with that and more than a little disappointed when a girl dug her heel into my toe.
She apologized, I said no big deal, and I started walking onward when her friend grabs me by the shoulder. "My friend likes you, she thinks you're cute. Go for it." So, presented with that rather conclusive evidence, I go for it, we get to chatting... and I find out the following: Her name is Susan, she's an architect, and she's 24, originally from Virginia, and up for salsa dancing sometime. Blister In The Sun comes on, and she goes over to another friend of hers... this one's been being hit on by a guy who looks about 275 and in his early-mid 30's. Not Susan's friend's type, presumably... but is Susan protecting her friend? Not really, as Susan seems more interested in me(and who can blame her?). Blister In The Sun ends, AM starts a transition into something I instantly recognize, and in the span of this 5 seconds... Susan's friend who was getting hit on flees her pursuer, grabs Susan, and they're both gone before I get the chance to ask for her number. AM finishes his transition:
Ah, now I don't hardly know her
But I think I could love her
Crimson and clover
The song, one I consider among my all-time favorite love songs, and Susan's rapid departure, timed and combined so perfectly as to have been ripped from the movie version of my life, hit me with such force as to nearly render me a blubbering mess in the middle of the dance floor, a shell of a man filled not with man, but with sadness and regret. And then the lights came up and she was still gone. And I was... not happy with how effected I was by all this. At least, I was unhappy with the effect, which was to make me unhappy. Had she and I made out during Crimson and Clover, I probably would've been beside myself and giddy with joy, thinking that this was it and that she was the one. And as I'm standing by the exit, thinking about what just transpired, and how the hell I'm going to get home, I'm told...
"She's not going to be impressed if you're all slack-jawed like that."
Her other friend, the one not being hit on by the big ol' creep, the one who originally told me to go for it, was there. And I was slack-jawed, although I was probably telling myself it was shell-shock at the time so as to console my lack of being a man with manly phraseology.
Fun Fact: The Shins, who I'm sure many of us know and/or love, misspelled the name of their band. They're named after the mayor and his family in The Music Man, a family I can attest from personal experience is spelled Shinn. So... yeah. Phraseology.
Anyway, I ask friend of Susan if she's still in the club, and she says yes, and I really need to go for it because Susan's a really nice girl and can't make these moves for herself because she's really shy and not the type to make eyes at a boy the way she did at me, apparently. Susan shows up a few minutes later, and I get her number, and I tell her we're going to do salsa sometime. And I hope we do... because she's exactly the kind of girl I think I should be dating at this point in my life: established, attractive, smart, all that good stuff... that should make her rather unattracted to a guy like me: making good money, attractive, smart, but still in school and currently living with his grandmother.
The only rationale I can come up with is this: It doesn't matter if you don't think you're in her league, as long as she thinks you are, all other considerations are kinda moot. I ask her if she knows the song Crimson and Clover, she says she loves it, I assure her I'll call her, wish her a good night, and she's off to take care of the friend that was getting hit on by the creep.
So now I have to take this girl out for dinner and dancing, which is an opportunity I relish, and think should be a lot of fun. And then it hits me: How the fuck am I getting home? My grandmother lives as close to Boston as anyone in my family... she lives in the burbs, kinda... more or less the equivalent of Keele campus as compared to downtown Toronto.
Boston, it seems, does not have a vomit comet service. So I cab, alone, and it's just shy of 35 bucks with tip. This is not fun, I dare say it's unfun, and future outings will no doubt involve investigations into how late the subways run. I know the last commuter train is just after midnight... so it doesn't bode super well... but hopefully things can be done or hotels can be booked or she has an apartment downtown and I'm sufficiently suave that she wants to invite me up.
More as it happens, and I suspect more will.
Rome on Sundays... and 24, Heroes, and Studio 60 all on Mondays... it's a lot of content considering I don't finish on Mondays until 10:30pm. The upside is that the torrents should be up by the time I finally commute home.
And since I've gone out my way in the past to say so... not last year, but the year before and also the season before that...
WATCH THE NEW 24 TONIGHT, OR JACK BAUER WILL GO HACKSAW ON YOUR GOOFY ASS!!! 8pm, Global/Fox.
So last night a *scratch* DJ AM *scratch* saved my life... his mixing, not mine. Perhaps the tale of the evening should begin at its beginning... I'm new in the office, but I've fallen in with my coworkers pretty quickly, and wanted to keep that up, so I decide that yes, this socializing with coworkers thing is a good idea, and I drop 20 bucks for a ticket to see DJ AM. The plan was for myself and Scoletti to get a ride to Jacob(?)'s place, where everyone was meeting and from whence we'd be cabbing to the club. Sully(my boss) was going to go his own way and swing by with his ladyfriend later on in the evening... but the three of us(myself, Scoletti, and Sully)were all that was left in the office.
So we started pregaming. We sniped a couple beers and a bottle of cheap rum from a fridge and it was on. Went to Jacob's, had another beer... and it was off to the club. I recall telling a bad joke or two during the cab ride.
I was looking forward to seeing new parts of Boston... as I only know small chunks of downtown Boston thus far. In principle, seeing the club district would be a cool new thing for me... except the place was on the Boston Common... which is the one place in Boston I know. So... that was a minor bust. The club was quite nice though, and I suppose it's the canadian in me that makes me think 5 bucks is a perfectly acceptable price for a beer at the club, since my coworkers seemed to think it rather expensive.
I saw a prime opportunity to get some photos of myself silhouetted against some lighting panels, so I took a few, one of which is now my new facebook photo if you're wondering. The opening DJ was pretty decent, not doing anything fancy, but laying tracks on top of tracks, and exercising generally good taste. I was pounding Bud Lights pretty steady until AM himself came on.
If you've been to the dance cave... or maybe if you've just been to a club that happened to have a DJ playing who was really good... you may have had that moment where you just stop giving a fuck about the people around you and start screaming along with the songs, dancing spastically with hands in the air and all that jazz. AM delivers that without the constraints of genre that can sometimes hamper an evening at the dance cave when you think, as much as bloc party and bowie et al kick ass... sometimes you just wanna hear some 50 Cent. Not a lot, but some. Perhaps laid on top of the new Beatles album being played in reverse, and despite sounding awful on paper, it works beautifully.
I started sobering up at roughly the same time I realised the place was a damned sausagefest. 4 or 5 to 1, easily... and I realised I wasn't going to meet anyone. I played the desperation card, half-throwing myself at a couple of larger girls which didn't work as I was sobering up and in no mood to willingly chase that which I knew I didn't want. The mindset was that of, "Should I throw myself on a grenade to see if I can still feel anything at all?" and the answer I provided myself was, "No, no you shouldn't." I was kinda okay with that and more than a little disappointed when a girl dug her heel into my toe.
She apologized, I said no big deal, and I started walking onward when her friend grabs me by the shoulder. "My friend likes you, she thinks you're cute. Go for it." So, presented with that rather conclusive evidence, I go for it, we get to chatting... and I find out the following: Her name is Susan, she's an architect, and she's 24, originally from Virginia, and up for salsa dancing sometime. Blister In The Sun comes on, and she goes over to another friend of hers... this one's been being hit on by a guy who looks about 275 and in his early-mid 30's. Not Susan's friend's type, presumably... but is Susan protecting her friend? Not really, as Susan seems more interested in me(and who can blame her?). Blister In The Sun ends, AM starts a transition into something I instantly recognize, and in the span of this 5 seconds... Susan's friend who was getting hit on flees her pursuer, grabs Susan, and they're both gone before I get the chance to ask for her number. AM finishes his transition:
Ah, now I don't hardly know her
But I think I could love her
Crimson and clover
The song, one I consider among my all-time favorite love songs, and Susan's rapid departure, timed and combined so perfectly as to have been ripped from the movie version of my life, hit me with such force as to nearly render me a blubbering mess in the middle of the dance floor, a shell of a man filled not with man, but with sadness and regret. And then the lights came up and she was still gone. And I was... not happy with how effected I was by all this. At least, I was unhappy with the effect, which was to make me unhappy. Had she and I made out during Crimson and Clover, I probably would've been beside myself and giddy with joy, thinking that this was it and that she was the one. And as I'm standing by the exit, thinking about what just transpired, and how the hell I'm going to get home, I'm told...
"She's not going to be impressed if you're all slack-jawed like that."
Her other friend, the one not being hit on by the big ol' creep, the one who originally told me to go for it, was there. And I was slack-jawed, although I was probably telling myself it was shell-shock at the time so as to console my lack of being a man with manly phraseology.
Fun Fact: The Shins, who I'm sure many of us know and/or love, misspelled the name of their band. They're named after the mayor and his family in The Music Man, a family I can attest from personal experience is spelled Shinn. So... yeah. Phraseology.
Anyway, I ask friend of Susan if she's still in the club, and she says yes, and I really need to go for it because Susan's a really nice girl and can't make these moves for herself because she's really shy and not the type to make eyes at a boy the way she did at me, apparently. Susan shows up a few minutes later, and I get her number, and I tell her we're going to do salsa sometime. And I hope we do... because she's exactly the kind of girl I think I should be dating at this point in my life: established, attractive, smart, all that good stuff... that should make her rather unattracted to a guy like me: making good money, attractive, smart, but still in school and currently living with his grandmother.
The only rationale I can come up with is this: It doesn't matter if you don't think you're in her league, as long as she thinks you are, all other considerations are kinda moot. I ask her if she knows the song Crimson and Clover, she says she loves it, I assure her I'll call her, wish her a good night, and she's off to take care of the friend that was getting hit on by the creep.
So now I have to take this girl out for dinner and dancing, which is an opportunity I relish, and think should be a lot of fun. And then it hits me: How the fuck am I getting home? My grandmother lives as close to Boston as anyone in my family... she lives in the burbs, kinda... more or less the equivalent of Keele campus as compared to downtown Toronto.
Boston, it seems, does not have a vomit comet service. So I cab, alone, and it's just shy of 35 bucks with tip. This is not fun, I dare say it's unfun, and future outings will no doubt involve investigations into how late the subways run. I know the last commuter train is just after midnight... so it doesn't bode super well... but hopefully things can be done or hotels can be booked or she has an apartment downtown and I'm sufficiently suave that she wants to invite me up.
More as it happens, and I suspect more will.
Thursday, January 11, 2007
On Quick Things That Really Aren't, The Wages Of Global Warming, and Of Incompetence As Well.
Tomorrow night I'm going to see DJ AM at a bar here in Boston. I'm not entirely sure what to expect, but a ton of my coworkers are going, so this is a really good opportunity to meet and socialize with them. Everything I've heard about AM is that he's absolutely amazing live... so we'll see. Fingers crossed.
It "only" took me an hour and a half to get to work today. Considering it normally can take upwards of two and a half, this sounds good. Considering it would take 20 minutes if I drove at a decent clip(there's a highway that basically runs door-to-door from Nana's to here)... it's really kinda bad.
I heard squawking today as I walked across the parking lot from the mall to work today... since the office is on the edge of the parking lot for the mall where the bus drops me off. Well, what do I see but some Canada Geese squawking and screaming in a small group. And I'm thinking... I've never seen Canada Geese in January. It was very warm a few days ago. And now it's very much the opposite. Is the cold weather fucking with these guys' migration habits? I really don't know anything about geese other than that they fly south for the winter, so I may well be talking out my ass here, but it was something I noticed.
Fast forward to my supper break. I go partway across the parking lot to where there's a grocery store. I go in, and ask the guy at the hot table for a few chicken strips. He puzzles over them for a minute or two.
Him: Do you know how much these usually are?
Me: Nah, I've never ordered them before.
Him: *pauses* Well, this is how much they are today.
I look at the bag. He's given me 5 all-white chicken strips for 89 cents. Sweet! They didn't have any sauce for the strips, so I actually had to buy a bottle of barbeque sauce before using what I needed and chucking the rest out. It was wasteful... but hell, for everything I paid a little over 3 dollars and I certainly got that much value out of it.
So thanks, grocery dude. You sorta made my night. Tomorrow night, it'll hopefully be made by DJ AM.
More as it happens.
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