"What was that?" my friend barked into the phone. "Are you in Seattle? You're not in China Town or Japan or anything, right?" While this question seems odd at first, said friend had indeed called me for this and that only to find out that I wasn't anywhere near home and wandering through back alleys of San Francisco. Oh the miracles of cell phones and a nomadic super-nerd.
"No, I'm here," I said, turning away from the sushi bar. "The itamae is apparently telling a really good joke. What's going on?"
What was going on was one of his lavish production parties at his Queen Anne condo overlooking Elliott Bay, and he wanted me to come. Never mind that we hadn't spoken in nearly three years, and our business venture had ended badly. I knew there was something up, but I figured it might be a good way to kill a Friday evening.
Plus, like all wannabes that threw crappy parties in high school, he overstocks every party now to compensate. So I found myself wandering about a party full of yuppies. I had a bottle of Patron in one hand and a lime and knife in the other. What was up was that he had a new startup and was pitching me; I was having none of anything but his hooch. I liked it that way. I wandered away when they started talking about strip poker, but it was a good night.
Saturday, I made the semi-bold prediction that it would be a good day, but the fates decided not to test me. Well, there was some Seafair traffic fuckup, but that was okay.
At the 50th street exit off I-5, I saw a couple kids dressed in somewhat gangsta clothes doing a bit of spare-changing. Normally, I wouldn't have given them a second thought, but then I saw their sign, which read, "Ninjas killed my family. Need money for kung fu lessons." I had to give that five bucks.
I shared a nice dinner with Mistersatan and his blushing bride, and then we watched Talladega Nights. The movie was gut-wrenchingly funny, but if you can't understand the concept of satire, you'll not get much out of it. Also, Amy Adams was stupidly cute.
I bid farewell to my boy, and I wandered up to see SupremePizzaMan and watch Tawnya host her first karaoke. She did very well, and I drank cheep beers and enjoyed life. I like a nice quiet evening of PBRs and butcherings of country standards once in a while.
I blew into Dick's with Wolfmother blasting out the sunroof and had a slight moment of profundity. I noticed how in a place like the Capitol Hill Dick's at 1:30 on a Saturday night there was a sort of egalitarianism that we strive for everywhere else in society. I'm sure there's a great American novel somewhere in that. Equality as a function of the fast food restaurant.
Today, I woke up at eleven and loafed around the house. I ate dinner at Trader Vic's and was pleasantly surprised at how good the steak was. After that, more Wolfmother and some Fatboy Slim. I may also have watched Ah! My Goddess. And now, I think some bed.
I needed a weekend like this.
"No, I'm here," I said, turning away from the sushi bar. "The itamae is apparently telling a really good joke. What's going on?"
What was going on was one of his lavish production parties at his Queen Anne condo overlooking Elliott Bay, and he wanted me to come. Never mind that we hadn't spoken in nearly three years, and our business venture had ended badly. I knew there was something up, but I figured it might be a good way to kill a Friday evening.
Plus, like all wannabes that threw crappy parties in high school, he overstocks every party now to compensate. So I found myself wandering about a party full of yuppies. I had a bottle of Patron in one hand and a lime and knife in the other. What was up was that he had a new startup and was pitching me; I was having none of anything but his hooch. I liked it that way. I wandered away when they started talking about strip poker, but it was a good night.
Saturday, I made the semi-bold prediction that it would be a good day, but the fates decided not to test me. Well, there was some Seafair traffic fuckup, but that was okay.
At the 50th street exit off I-5, I saw a couple kids dressed in somewhat gangsta clothes doing a bit of spare-changing. Normally, I wouldn't have given them a second thought, but then I saw their sign, which read, "Ninjas killed my family. Need money for kung fu lessons." I had to give that five bucks.
I shared a nice dinner with Mistersatan and his blushing bride, and then we watched Talladega Nights. The movie was gut-wrenchingly funny, but if you can't understand the concept of satire, you'll not get much out of it. Also, Amy Adams was stupidly cute.
I bid farewell to my boy, and I wandered up to see SupremePizzaMan and watch Tawnya host her first karaoke. She did very well, and I drank cheep beers and enjoyed life. I like a nice quiet evening of PBRs and butcherings of country standards once in a while.
I blew into Dick's with Wolfmother blasting out the sunroof and had a slight moment of profundity. I noticed how in a place like the Capitol Hill Dick's at 1:30 on a Saturday night there was a sort of egalitarianism that we strive for everywhere else in society. I'm sure there's a great American novel somewhere in that. Equality as a function of the fast food restaurant.
Today, I woke up at eleven and loafed around the house. I ate dinner at Trader Vic's and was pleasantly surprised at how good the steak was. After that, more Wolfmother and some Fatboy Slim. I may also have watched Ah! My Goddess. And now, I think some bed.
I needed a weekend like this.
unravled:
As promised.