November 2008
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Yes, the girl coming out of a star has finally returned. Now you can once again tell me what you think of each entry. You should do that because it's easy and fun. Mostly for me. But also maybe for you. But also, you know, yeah.
I'll start posting about things that might actually be interesting again tomorrow.
As you may or may not have noticed, the number of spam comments on here has become somewhat ridiculous lately. So I dedicated a large portion of my day to finding a way to beat that. Ultimately, I went with the word-authentication thing you've all probably seen before. It seems to be working well so far, so I'm pleased with the results.
If any of you have any problems with it, please let me know.
I wanted to come up with something clever and un-cliche to say for this year's Thanksgiving post, so I went back and read last year's post. And I realized that the thing I'm most thankful this year is my job.
I mean, I have a job that I love. I look forward to work every day, as much as that's possible. I enjoy almost every aspect of my work. My co-workers kick ass. And though it can take a lot out of me, I don't feel like it's grinding down my soul. Plus, while I can't "win" everything I try to do, I know that I'm good at it. There's a lot of room for me to improve as an attorney, but I feel competent much more often than not. And that's a good feeling.
Yeah, I'm not rich. Not yet, anyway. I mean, I have lots of friends who are making, like, orders of magnitude more than I'm making. And I'd be lying if I said I wasn't jealous. But almost without fail, I've made more money each month than I did the month before. We don't have any shortage of work, and I can pay my bills.
I love my family and my friends. I recognize that I'm fortunate to have a roof over my head and heat during the winter. And I'm very, very thankful for all of that. But, honestly, after nearly a year of waking up and having no greater responsibility than watching five hours of Star Trek, I think I'm most thankful for the fact that I can stand on my own two feet and hold my head up high. My job isn't perfect, but it's getting there. My life isn't perfect, either, but it's closer than it was last year.
And for all of that, I am extremely thankful.
Things over on Heroes continue to be all uneven and shit. In one episode, we get a fairly decent Peter and Nathan plot, an interesting Parkman-Hiro-Daphne plot, a passable HRG-Claire story, and a bizarre Sylar-Elle tale. Oh, and Mohinder's there, too, this time reptile-splooged to a wall. Strange.
So, yeah. Peter's all pissed about losing his powers so Nathan agrees to take him to Haiti to look for, well, the Haitian. And then they get in an immature brother fight. Haven't we been here? I mean, why do the writers keep giving us stories, resolving them, and then bringing them up again? This is the equivalent of someone who swears they forgive you for fucking something up but then bring up every mistake you've ever made during an argument. It's lazy, I think, to resolve conflicts only to bring them back up again when there's nothing else to talk about. And this scene in particular undoes a lot of the growth Nathan's gone through--he was an asshole, then he selflessly flew away with Peter so that New York wouldn't blow up. And now he's throwing that in Peter's face? That seems really unbelievable to me. Still, the overall story of them trying to find the Haitian has promise.
Meanwhile, Parkman and Hiro are in Laurence, Kansas trying to get Daphne to stop being all emo. I have to say that Parkman failing to use his ability was awesome--"why are you turning your head sideways?" Good stuff. On the other hand, though, the Hiro's a ten-year-old plot has never been my favorite. I mean, if Mr. Petrelli was gonna fuck him up, why wouldn't he really fuck him up? Why not put him in a coma or make him forget everything completely? It makes no sense.
Speaking of characters that refuse to grow and change, we've got HRG being there for Claire, building up her trust in him once more, and then leaving right the fuck away. Even though she didn't want him to. And even though he didn't really need to. What a fucking jerkoff. HRG was one of my favorite characters during the first season, especially after how awesome "Company Man" was. The HRG-Claire relationship was one of my favorite for the same reason. But, again, it's as if the writers just didn't know where to go from there. Instead of strengthening the relationship further, they've chipped away at it using the same device over and over again. I think it just cheapens "Company Man" and the potential the characters had. But it was fairly entertaining.
Then there's Sylar. Let me make sure I understand what's happened with him. First, he's sort of a nerdy loser. Then he turns into a power-hungry, cold-blooded serial killer. Then it turns out that he's been constantly struggling against a built-in compulsion to kill. So he fights against the hunger and becomes a good guy. Then he loses his powers and the attendant urge to kill. And then, free of the negative influence of the hunger, he turns back into a bad guy. Does that make sense to anyone? Yeah, me, either. Sylar, along with Mohinder and HRG, are two characters that started off being awesome but then started being less and less so as the writers clearly had no idea what to do with them. Sometimes it just seems like it's too hard for the writers to come up with ideas that are both entertaining and consistent with what we already know about characters, so they sort of take a "wouldn't it be cool if..." mentality and fill in the character traits later on. It's frustrating as fuck.
And Mohinder's no longer a reptile thingy.
Oh, and everyone lost their powers thanks to the eclipse. I think that this is probably the best and most ballsy thing the writers have done this season. It seems like they've increasingly been depending on special effects and people with abilities to move the plot forward, which is a shortcoming that wasn't prevalent in the first season. But now it looks like the writers have put themselves in a position where they'll have to go back to the basic premise of the show: these are supposed to be ordinary people with extraordinary abilities. Hopefully the writers will rise to the challenge.
All in all, one of the better episodes of the season so far. It was entertaining, dramatic, and funny at times. A lot of the characters got to play the roles they're meant to play--Parkman was really earnest, for example--and things are set up nicely for the next episode.
Before yesterday, I had seen The Smashing Pumpkins three times. Today, even though I went to Chicago to see them for a fourth time last night, I have still seen them only three times. Fuck you and your "illness," Billy Corgan. Still, the fact that you rescheduled means that I have a good reason to go back to Chicago in the not-too-distant future.
So what did I do in Chicago if not see my favorite band? Drink, mostly.
See, not only were the Pumpkins playing, but it was also the day of the OSU-Michigan game. And since RPM is a Michigan alum, he sort of cared. So we met up with Shakenneighbor (hereinafter SN) at some OSU bar. Everyone there was wearing Ohio colors and singing all these ridiculous songs. I was rooting for Michigan, mostly because I see them as the lesser of two evils but also because it would have been extremely embarrassing for OSU to lose to Michigan. But, alas, things went how we all knew they would. Michigan just isn't very good.
RPM and I only had one beer each at the OSU bar, but then it was time for the Wisconsin-Cal Poly game to start, so we went to a Sconnie bar a few blocks away. And we were the only ones there. And we each got a liter of beer. And things got sort of ridiculous from there.
By about 3, I was pretty good and drunk. And I was calling everyone I knew in Chicago to come hang out with us that night. Eventually, we got a few people together and went to some stupid pretentious bars before ending up at a dive that was ok but too loud to really talk.
Tired, RPM, SN, and I headed back to SN's place and crashed. We all got breakfast and then RPM and I drove home.
All in all, I'm disappointed that I didn't get to see the Pumpkins play again, but the weekend was well worth it.
I should spend more time in Chicago.
After exchanging a few messages and spending some time on the phone with a girl I met on the dating website I signed up for, we decided to meet up tonight. This girl is a doctor, so I'll call her Dr. Lady.
In messages and on the phone, Dr. Lady seemed sarcastic, funny, and engaging. I was cautiously excited for our get-together this evening. When the thing was over, I was left thinking "Huh, I wish I had stayed home and played video games." It would have saved me money and I wouldn't have had to go outside in the cold. Also, I started to be in sort of a bad mood after the date. This, I think, means that it didn't go all that well. Here's what happened.
It's not that Dr. Lady has a bad personality. Or even that our personalities clashed. it's that she exhibited no personality at all. She didn't laugh at any of my jokes. Which is fine--maybe I wasn't being very funny. But at the same time, she didn't make any jokes herself. I can't remember a single instance of her trying to be funny. She decided--based on the fact that I don't like wine or curry--that I'm a picky eater. I mean, I guess. Whatever.
But what was really off-putting was the conversation. First of all, there was no banter. It wasn't a back-and-forth thing. She would go on some monologue about how shitty her job was and then I'd make a few comments and she'd go off again. And it wasn't witty or entertaining stories she was telling me. No, she was talking about bedpans and people dying and how much she hated her patients. I mean, it got to the point where I had to make a joke about children dying from genetic disorders just to feel like I was an actual participant in this thing. And also because I wanted to see if that joke would get her to react in some way. No dice.
She didn't ask me about myself at all. I talked about my job a little and whatnot but at one point she literally said to me that she wasn't listening. How the fuck are you supposed to react to that?
I went to the restroom and when i came back to the table, she had broken out some medical literature she was supposed to read. I mean, that seems like it pretty much sums up the evening: this woman was disinterested not only in me but in the entire situation.
She kept saying that she had a shitty day at work and that several patients had died during the day. Now, hey, I understand feeling completely out of it and totally not social at that point. But then cancel and explain that you're feeling like shit and that you're going to be terrible company, anyway. I would have preferred to get together with her in a week when she was feeling "on" than tonight, you know? At least then I would have gotten to see her at what she considers her best. And if you aren't going to do that, then at least make some attempt to be interesting or, I don't know, personable.
It's not that she was rude or whatever, it's just that she was boring and unengaged.
Oh! And here's something that bothered me. She grew up in Wisconsin, went to undergrad in Wisconsin, and then went to med school in Wisconsin. That's all fine. But she told me that she had been accepted to med school when she was still in high school because of some special program that she qualified because she's so smart (she is apparently very smart, and she never sounded arrogant when she was talking about her intelligence, so that was good). But, anyway, so she wanted to be a doctor when she was in high school, when she was in undergrad, and, obviously, through med school. And, to me, that just seemed to underscore the entire boring vibe I got from her. I mean, it took me a long time to figure out who I am and what I wanted to be. And I can say the same for most of my friends. And in the process of figuring all of that out, I had a hell of a lot of fun. In fact, I would say that it's that process that made me who I am--finding yourself isn't about the destination but the journey. All that tacky cliche crap.
And here she is wanting to be at twenty-six the same thing she wanted to be at sixteen. Now, yes, she's accomplished a lot and that's awesome. But where's the growth? The indecision? The angst? I guess I'm just extremely suspicious of people who have their entire lives mapped out at sixteen and the stick to the plan. I mean, where's the room for spontaneity or improvisation? Isn't this the kind of person who would later say to you that you had to get married within the year because she needs to be married by 30? And who then says that you need to hurry up and have kids because she's always wanted to have two by the time she's 34 or whatever? I mean, is that someone you want to date?
So, anyway. She hugged me and I told her that she should call me if she wanted to get together on a day when she was feeling a little more herself. She apologized for being not herself.
If she calls, then I'll give her another shot because, I mean, she sounded like she had a really terrible day and having people die under your watch would really fuck anyone up. But I'm not gonna call her, I don't think.
So, yeah, I was sort of busy there for a bit. But I'm back now--one of my trials is over and the other one is being rescheduled.
Now, yeah, the housing and lending crisis or whatever really sucks. It's fucking over lots of Americans, and I fully acknowledge that, and it sucks, and I'm sorry--not that I played any part in it. But even in the worst situations, it's important to find the good news, the silver lining.
With that in mind, I have to tell you guys that I was filled with vengeful glee when I saw this story.
For those of you not in the know, Jeff Lewis is some asshole who's got a house-flipping show called "Flipping Out." In fact, to say that the man is an asshole is an understatement. The man is the most self-centered, narcissistic, manipulative, obnoxious, insecure, self-important, arrogant, terrible person I've ever seen. He owns this business where he flips houses, but that hardly matters. What matters is that he has, like, a thousand assistants. And they're ranked: first assistant, second assistant, first assistant to the second assistant, assistant in charge of assisting with all the shit removal. It's fucking stupid. This one man has created a more complicated office structure than most major corporations.
He does ridiculous shit like scream at his employees for not having all of the bottled water in his fridge have the label facing the same way. He goes around acting like these people aren't even worthy to pick up his cats' shit--and then he grudgingly allows them the privilege of picking up his cats' shit. And it's not like they have anything to do--they sit around and eat lunch for this fucker.
I can't decide what pisses me off more about the situation. On the one hand, people who are so ridiculously not self-sufficient make fill me with blinding rage. I'm not saying that I've never depended on other people, but the degree to which Lewis relies on other people to do simple tasks for him--getting his lunch (and making sure that they remember every one of his favorite things at various restaurants), cleaning up after his pets (and making sure that they give each the appropriate amount of affection), or whatever--is simply pathetic. I honestly would like nothing more than to see this fucker lose his fortune and have to live in a one-bedroom apartment with no one but himself to do this shit for him. I bet he can't even wipe his own ass. I bet he's not even aware that people wipe their asses because he's got an assistant who handles all of that unclean stuff for him.
On the other hand, though, all of these fucking people that he surrounds himself with are pathetic. They are the very definition of spineless nitwits. If I found myself working for this guy and he started berating me for forgetting that he doesn't like onions in his pico de gallo salsa, I'd go to the kitchen, get a whole onion, shove it down his throat, and then scream at him that I don't like any asshole in my onion. But all of his employees are like "I'm so sorry that I messed up, it's completely my fault. Even though you never told me that and this was the first time I've ever gotten you food from this place, I absolutely should have assumed that based on the fact that you don't like chives on your baked potato. Please forgive me, I'm so sorry." And on the rare occasion that someone does quit, they're wusses about it then, too. They're like "Thank you so much for this wonderful opportunity, but I just don't think I can do as good a job for you as you deserve, so I really think it would be unfair to continue working for you. I'm sorry." And of course he eats that shit up!
The point is, I fucking hate this guy and I'm glad to see that his business is suffering. God, I hope he finds himself giving handjobs for mountain spring water someday soon.
One of the things that you sort of know when you're a lawyer is that nothing ever goes to trial. It just doesn't happen. Mr. Vice and I opened our office in February and we've each had one trial so far, which isn't very many when you consider how many cases we've each handled.
Many clients start off telling you that they're completely certain that they want to try their case. But as you begin to develop a better understanding of the case and the witnesses, it's a lot easier to see where each case has huge weaknesses, so even if a case looked really good when you got it, it could start looking worse the more you learn. And at the same time, the prosecutors don't want to spend a whole day working on just one case when they've got literally thousands more waiting for them in their offices, so they tend to come up with offers that are a little better than what the initially gave you. The result is that clients start to get cold feet at the same time that the DAs make offers that are sometimes too good to turn down. So the client takes it, the trial is off, and everyone's happier than they would have been had the trial happened and things didn't go his or her way.
But sometimes clients look at a situation and decide they don't have anything to lose. Or they're innocent and refuse to ever admit otherwise. Or they're guilty but think they can beat the charges. Or the prosecutor's offer is so ridiculous that the client has nothing to lose. Or at least one of the parties is crazy.
Either way, sometimes trials do happen.
In fact, sometimes--like next week for me--two trials suddenly become a full-on "go."
Hiro's back, and he's eating some of that crazy African's hallucinogenic thing. But it's not hallucinogenic, it's fucking astral-projection time-travel shit. And so Heroes uses one of its favorite devices again: we get a glimpse into the past to find out what's up in the present. And, like most of these episodes, this one pays off pretty well.
We flash back to events we saw during the first season, only we see new aspects of everything, this time seeing the role Arthur Petrelli played in the major Petrelli-family events of the first season. What we get is a look at a man who's really, really fucking mean and ruthless. Sylar is clearly still the best villain this show's ever had, but Arthur Petrelli is a clear second, I think. I mean, the man bosses Linderman around and could probably whip Sylar in a fight if he got close enough.
In the end, what we get is a portrait of a cold and calculating man willing to do pretty much anything to accomplish his goals. But, although we know that his goals include blowing up New York, we don't really know what he wants to accomplish other than that. And we also don't know why, other than that he's a homicidal maniac. Still, if the purpose of the episode was to build up Mr. Petrelli as a villain, I think it worked.
I also think the episode did a lot to flesh out Angela Petrelli's character, to a point. I mean, I can understand why she's so frightened of and angry at Mr. Petrelli now. And the present-day Angela Petrelli--the one who's bossing Sylar around and doesn't seem to care who she pisses off--makes a little more sense now. I mean, I'd be pissed if I found out that my spouse had been systematically erasing my memory for years in order to continue plotting against our children uninterrupted. And, of course, Angela's reaction--calling in the Haitian and poisoning Arthur--couldn't be more different than Mrs. Bennett's, who pretty much just rolled over on the whole "you erased my memory a whole lot" thing. Also, how many times are we going to see that device. I mean, ok, I guess that people erasing other peoples' memories makes sense, but do we need to have two different instances of it in two analogous relationships? Seems like a little more originality wouldn't have hurt.
We also see some stuff with Claire's bio-mom, her brother (another member of Claire's strange, extended family), and that guy that Mr. Bennett kills at the end of the first season--I forget his name. All of that stuff was ok, but I did think it was a little contrived that Claire's mom caused the train wreck that Claire ran through in the first season.
More interesting were the scenes with Mr. Bennett, Elle, and Sylar. First off, by injecting these scenes into the story, we get a little more continuity on the whole "hunger" subplot with Sylar. It's a little more believable now that he was a good person who did one terrible thing, then tried to control himself. But then, of course, he lost that control, and it's cool that it was Mr. Bennett that set him loose--imagine all the heartache he could have saved. I think those scenes did a lot for the Sylar character.
I also think that the Elle character keeps getting more and more interesting. She's gone from being sort of a spoiled sociopath to being sort of a confused proto-adult longing for acceptance. She really did like and believe in Sylar, but then Mr. Bennett forced her to give that all up. I'm sure that Elle and Sylar are going to meet again, and I can't wait to see what happens.
Then, of course, we get the big cliffhanger with Hiro waking up to find the African guy deader than shit and Arthur lurking. So now the question is: will Arthur take Hiro's powers. And, if he does, can that somehow be reversed? Because as much as I like Hiro, it just wouldn't be the same if he didn't control space and time.
This is a story I told to some friends tonight while we were at the piano bar. I feel like sharing it universally, so here you go.
When I was much younger, maybe between eight and eleven, I got it in my head that I would go exploring. The house I lived in had four bedrooms. One was mine, one was my mom's, and the other two were just sort of there. No one ever really used them. Of the two unused bedrooms, one was very boring. It was my de facto play room. We kept all of my crap in it. If it was a toy or a musical instrument or a useless thing that I liked for some reason, it was in this room. For that reason, I was in that room all the time. I was used to that room. I was comfortable there.
The other unused bedroom was much more exotic. That room had a bed in it, so whenever some relatives or old friend of my mom would come visit, that's where they'd stay. As a result, it developed this sort of off-limits reputation in my mind. That wasn't a room I was allowed in because it was the guest room--even if we didn't have a guest, it belonged to someone else.
But on this particular day, I decided that I wanted to explore this room and see what I could find. So I went into it and looked around. There was a bed and a dresser and some other stuff. The closet had a lot of extra bedding and pillows and stuff in it--the better to accommodate guests with. But the thing I remember most was a tall, thin, white cabinet. This was a strange thing to have, I thought. There weren't any similar cabinets anywhere else in the house. This was a unique object in my little life.
Naturally, I opened the thing. What I found inside confused me. There was all this baby stuff in it. There were little shoes and frilly bibs and things like that. I couldn't understand why anyone who didn't have a baby would have any of this stuff. But I wasn't really deterred by any of that--I kept digging. And I kept trying to reach higher--the cabinet was taller than I was, so this was sort of a struggle. Somewhere at the extreme ends of my reach I found something very interesting and mysterious. It was a piece of blue cloth that had been folded into a neat triangle.
I had no idea what this thing was--I had never seen anything like it. So I took it out into the living room and I did about the only thing I knew to do with a mysterious folded object: I unfolded it. And as I unfolded it, I realized what it was: it was an American flag. More than that, it was the biggest American flag I had ever seen. In my memory, it takes up the whole of our living room floor.
I stared at this flag and wondered why we had it. The only place I had ever seen an American flag before was at school, and the only time I paid attention to it was during the Pledge of Allegiance. But here it was, a giant red, white, and blue flag, spread out on my mom's rug.
My mom was at work, and it was a long time before I could ask her why we had this thing. But when she finally got home, she explained to me that the cabinet contained all the items from my short life that she thought were important. She had kept my first pair of shoes and my baby album and all the bibs that she had made me when I was a baby. She had kept all the drawings I had made in school. And she had kept this note that I had once written her where I apologized for something I had done that had made her angry. I remember very clearly that she kind of laughed at it because I had spelled the word "when" with a "Q"--sometimes, when you grow up speaking primarily Spanish, the word "when" seems like it should be written "quen." It made sense to me at the time.
And then we got to this giant American flag I had found.
To this day, my father is a mystery to me. I know what he looked like because I've seen pictures of him. But when I try to remember him, I can't. I just remember these pictures. I remember that there was always a picture of him in my room when I was growing up. And I remember that one time, my mom took the picture off the wall and pulled it out of the frame and showed me the back of the photo. My dad had written a note to me there. It was a long note, and I only remember a little of what it said. It told me that I should be proud of myself and my name and my family. It told me that my middle name--Ismael--came from my uncle. And that my uncle was named after his grandfather. It told me that both my uncle and great-grandfather had been good, honorable men. And it told me that I should try to do the same thing--I was the third person in my family to have that name, and I should do my best not to let the last two holders down.
The day that I read that note from my dad was one of the days that I felt closest to him. The day that I unfolded that American flag was one of the other times that I felt like he was a real person rather than some genetic abstraction.
My mom explained to me why we had that flag. See, my father was a veteran. He fought in the Korean War. I think he was a Marine, but I don't remember that detail for sure. My mom told me that, when my father died, his coffin was draped in the American flag. She told me that his friends--the people he had fought with--took that flag and folded it into a neat triangle. She told me that his friends presented that flag to her, his widow, and me, his youngest son. She told me that this was a big deal, and I believed her. And she told me that she had kept the flag not for herself, but for me.
From that moment forward, I revered that flag. When I got older and I learned that you're never--NEVER!--supposed to let the American flag touch the ground, I was and continue to be deeply regretful of the fact that I so irreverently unfolded my father's flag and laid it out on the ground. When I moved halfway across the country, the only artifact of my father's that I asked my mom for was that flag. And in an apartment that's otherwise completely unkempt, that flag occupies one of the few exalted places.
And so that's why I love the American flag. And that's part of why I love America, too. If that makes any sense.
I drink lots and lots of water. At restaurants, I usually go through at least a glass before I even order. And I go through several glasses during the meal. This is apparently not the norm, since most of my friends don't touch their water at all during a meal. And this leads to frustration because most waiters think that most people don't need refills during a meal. Which in my case is simply not the case.
But I digress. There is nothing more refreshing or good than a nice, tall glass of ice-cold water. It's just so fucking satisfying and pure. And it's even more so if it's cold.
So let's start with that--an ice-cold glass of pure water--as the perfect beverage. And now let's make it progressively worse. First, you make it warmer. The hotter water gets, the less enjoyable it is. So the worst thing you could do to water is serve it hot. Then let's add shit to it. Instead of having pure, clear water, let's murk it up with nonsense.
You know what you get if you do all that? You get fucking tea. Tea is a disgrace. Tea is to water as the orcs were to elves--a cheapened, corrupted version of something that was pure and beautiful.
My point here is that if you want to make a good drink, you need to do more than pour hot water through shit. Because when you do that, all you get is something that taste like a swamp.
And that goes for coffee, too.
I guess I have to admit that I was wrong. In fact, I wasn't just wrong: I was very, very wrong. But I'm happy that I was.
I have always been proud to be an American. I have always appreciated the sacrifices that other people made to make sure that I grew up here. And, while I have become increasingly aware of the many flaws our country has, I have always firmly believed that the fundamental principles upon which this nation is built are sound, true, and beautiful. In recent years, however, it's been harder to defend my almost blind faith in my country and its government. And that has broken my heart. No one likes to see something they love crumble.
President Obama honestly fills me with hope and optimism. I recognize that he's just a man, but I truly believe that he's a good man. He's intelligent and he's articulate, yes. But more importantly, I believe him when he says that his goal is to make America better for everyone. I believe him when he says that he will work with Americans of every denomination and party to work for our common goals. There are a lot of details to be sorted out, but I believe in Barack Obama.
It's never been hard for me to be proud to be an American, but I hope that now it will at least be easier for other people to understand why I feel that way.
But even though I'm optimistic about our country's future as a whole, one thing makes me very, very sad. Right now, it looks like anti-gay-marriage amendments will pass in Arizona and Florida. From what I'm reading right now, it looks like a similar amendment will fail in California. But the fact that it's so close is enough to take some of the shine off of an otherwise very good evening.
As far as I'm concerned, denying gay Americans the right to marry--even if you give them all the same rights but make them call it something else--is unacceptable discrimination. And it hurts me to see that, on the same night that we take a real, important step towards bringing a real end to one form of discrimination, so many people voted in favor of another.
On the whole, I'm hopeful and pleased with tonight's results. But, as always, things could be better.
So, yeah, I voted. I usually hate getting up early and that was still true today. But I didn't want to stand in some huge line and I have work to do today--which sucks, by the way. But I went and voted and it wasn't too big of a pain in the ass and there were more people there than I've ever seen and there were a lot of younger voters, too. And a bunch of people registering. Many of them seemed to me like maybe they were voting for the first time. I find this encouraging.
I've voted in every presidential election that I've been eligible to vote for. And a lot of the local elections, too. And this is the first time that I've voted for a candidate that I really, really believe in. That was a strange feeling, and I kind of choked up.
So, yes, Halloween happened. From what I can remember, it was a hell of a lot of fun. We played the newly created Pulp Fiction drinking game and then the traditional yearly game of asshole. I never rose above the rank of vice-asshole, so things went badly (or well, depending on your point of view) for me.
Here's the costume rundown. (We had originally planned a Quentin Tarantino theme, but only some of us ended up going along with that):
pH as Gogo Yubari from Kill Bill 1:
Mr. Vice as Captain Coons from Pulp Fiction:
Here's me and RPM as Jules Winnfield and Vincent Vega from Pulp Fiction after they had to deal with "The Bonnie Situation":
Now the Tarantino theme breaks down a little. First, you have X-tina dressed as a pirate:
Then there's L-Dawg as a Compassionate Billionaire Pirate Dragon-Hunter (Who's Occasionally Psychic):
Finally, Mr. Utah had the best costume of the evening, in my opinion. Here, now, is the sixteenth president of the United States of America, the Great Emancipator himself, Abraham Lincoln:
Anyway, it was a fun night. We did end up on State Street, but things down there were fairly calm and also fun. I did not get us kicked out of any establishment, which is more noteworthy than I'd like to admit.
So, Co-SME, The Reeg, RPM, and I went to some undergrad Halloween party hosted by The Reeg's friend tonight. I spent the early portion of the evening doing what I normally do at large parties: stand around and looked pissed.
I also went outside and criticized their beer pong rules. The proper way to play beer pong is with two teams of two people, with each person having six cups arranged in a triangle in front of them for a total of six cups per person and twelve cups per side. Here in Wisconsin, people are too afraid to drink that much, apparently, because everyone does it with one pyramid of ten cups per side. It's lame.
Anyway, their table was homemade but not up to The House standards and their rules were strange. But at least they called it beer pong. Beirut is a city, not a fucking drinking game.
As I was standing around in the kitchen looking for a plastic cup to put some beer in, an amazingly hot girl walked in. I mean, she was pretty hot, but what made her even hotter was the outfit she was wearing. She had black latex high-heeled boots that went to about mid thigh. Then she had a skirt that was about seven inches long and consisted of two latex squares held together with laces. Then there was some sort of corset-like latex top--lots of cleavage. And bright red hair. She immediately caught my eye because I love that whole latex goth thing. And, also, she was walking around half-naked and was pretty cute.
The goth girl had a friend with her. The friend was this Asian girl dressed in a rainbow tubetop and some leopard-print pants with a fake rubber cock coming out of the fly on her pants. Some people dress up as Batman for Halloween, some dress up like a tranny. Whatever.
At some point, not much was going on and these two cute girls were standing there talking amongst themselves. So I went up and talked to them. And the goth girl and I actually kind of hit it off. She's a crazy geek girl and can talk fluently about computers, video games, and a bunch of other cool shit. But the whole thing is stupid, I think, because she's so fucking hot and, well, I'm so fucking not.
We keep talking and I find out that she's a computer programmer, a student working towards some sort of biology degree, and a stripper. Yup, a stripper. A fucking stripper. So now I'm at a party talking to a really hot girl wearing an outfit that hardly covers anything but nonetheless makes her way hotter and she's a stripper. I've stepped into someone else's life.
Eventually, she makes some comment to her friend, who's now talking to RPM, Co-SME, and The Reeg, and walks away. Maybe she was talking about how lame I was, I don't know. Later, I see her sitting on the couch on the phone. And, after standing outside with the tranny while Co-SME and others smoked, we came back inside, I sat down next to the stripper, and told her to give me her number. And she did.
So now I have a stripper's phone number. And here's my question: what the fuck am I supposed to do with it?
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wunxfqszvi, at I Wasn't Ready For the Midget, saidnytB0q kfvitjaojcpa
ntzvuvzecva, at There Are Many Purposes to this Post, but the Most Important One Is to Make Lauren Feel Guilty, saidGi68ZN rasmpovdmygm
orugnrngeu, at "Where You Once Belonged", saidnDKe8E tfggjsdgjbue
nerodohf, at Gay People Strike Again, saidyy112X gorcebzpfhfg
omsrnrnw, at The Kaplan Thing (Updated), said2Yl9T8 kcfjvhjslflp
ymmzqhwv, at "The Kindness of Strangers" or "Setup Takes Forever", saidDTnpjg jyqxzzpbttne
lckhlxo, at To Biglaw or Not to Biglaw, saidlhtjaQ qngirskgwohg
odnctgk, at At Least Jessica Alba Is Hot, saidCXLgfZ feahibxearcp
bcxcvmmvxv, at The Last Beginning, saidJRNhFy povejffkmmbh
