Sunday, January 25, 2004

Bit of a wasted weekend, I'm afraid. And not wasted in that good 'blitzed out of my mind way'. Still sober. Two weeks. Can't wait for this fucking induction phase to be over.

So anyway, Friday - I came home from work and went to bed. I got something like 14 hours sleep.

Saturday - saw a double feature of 'My Little Chickadee' and 'Blazing Saddles' at Symphony Space. 'Chickadee' was okay. Odd edits. Odd camera work. And with all due respect to everything she accomplished over the course of her life, Mae West just really wasn't a good actress. She was just, well, the Madonna of her day.

'Blazing Saddles,' however, was wonderful. I've seen it before, of course, but never in a movie theater. With a crowd. Amazing. Best damn time I've had at a movie in a long time.

Came home from that and thought I was getting together with Mike, who had joined me at the first movie, but he was nowhere to be found.

I went out with Stuff and a couple of his friends instead. We went to a couple of Hell's Kitchen bars (not the trendy ones). Good time, though we were all tired. After that, I went home to sulk and watch 'Family Guy'.

About 10 p.m., SB finally called. No getting together this weekend.

About 11 p.m., Brian called to ask where the hell I was. It seems I had forgotten that some of the rugby boys were going to Marie's Crisis to sing our little gay hearts out. I eventually met them, but I really wasn't in the mood for it. One, the annonying chorus-boy-wannabes were out in force. Two, every other song was a solo and it didn't take more than a couple of times being shushed by some drunk queen to make me want to hit someone. Three, I really wanted a drink. There's a four and five, too, but I think I'll keep them to myself.

Point being, not a fun evening.

Walked home in the cold. Bracing. Helped me get my head together.

Today. Well, truth be told I did absolutely nothing. I woke up really late. Read a book by Richard Matheson, 'Hell House', which was amazing. Went to the gym. Watched 'American Pie'. That's it.

My other bit of fun was reading 'The Little Book of Neuroses' by Michael Thomas Ford. He's always good for a chuckle. And he's really cute.

My other adventure in literature was reading . . . well, starting, 'In the Days of the Comet' by H.G. Wells. Herbert George is an acquired taste, rather like Dickens. Or more to the point, I suppose, Victorian literature on the whole is an acquired taste. Rather like Anne Rice entombed in snow. All the words, but none of the passion.

So I'm slogging on through it. The copy I'm reading from is a recent eBay purchase. Almost a hundred years old. I love old books. Just the thought of how many hands have touched them, how many minds they've touched in return.


Now I'm off to bed so I can get up early and do laundry.

Top o' the world, ma.

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