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Can't Sleep - Might As Well Update
05/06/2002 - 2:44 a.m.
And now, Weekend Update, with Red.
Lessee - Friday night the girlf and I went out for some NPR-flavored goodness when Sarah Vowell and David "Don't Call Me Dave" Rakoff spoke at one of the many fine institutions of higher learning here in the Boston area. With us were one of the girlf's best pals, one I had as yet not met, and the pal's pal as well. I had to go into superhyperoverdrive to get there on time, and made the near-fatal mistake of taking a cab once I had parked on ultra-swank Newbury Street. The cabby was one of them there furrin fellas, from one of them there furrin lands.
This was no problem, except for two things - first, he didn't speak English well. This meant that when he went right by the road where he should have turned, I got pretty peeved. See, Boston on Friday night is a traffic nightmare, and I had visions of us going nowhere real fast, especially with him not understanding me when I said "Stop the filthy cab and let me walk it'll be faster than going the complete wrong way you yoyo." Luckily I was able to get him to not go the super extra long way.
It wasn't hard, actually - all I had to do was say, in a firm tone of voice, "Hey, you're going the long way, why didn't you take the road that goes right there, maybe you should just let me out here," and the cabby made a very illegal u-turn and went right back where he should have in the first place. So that was the first problem.
The second problem was that he had on a radio station broadcasting talk radio in his native tongue, which would have been fine except for the fact that he is apparently deaf, judging by the volume he was playing it at. This, coupled with my peevishness at the traffic and my fear that I was gonna be late and be that guy who walks in after the show has started and disturbs everybody, put me in a right fine humor. Come on, come on, let's get there already, what's wrong with you you cabdriver you!
We finally arrived near my destination, where he proceeded to take almost a minute and a half to give me 14 bucks back from my $20. Considering that I had 2 minutes to get to the show, this was just about a minute and a half too long.
And whose brilliant idea was it to put the auditorium in a building called something completely different and not tell me? Huh? Anyway, I finally found the theatre, found the girlf, found our seats, and sat down with at least 12 seconds to spare.
David and Sarah came out, alternated reading pieces twice, and then did a Q&A. David Rakoff seems like someone most people would like to know. Sarah Vowell seems like a future embittered spinster. I think she could avoid that fate by realizing that everyone in the world doesn't hate her. How she can do that, I am not sure, but perhaps toning down the cynicism would help. Saddest moment of the night - the girlf's pal's pal was tempted to ask her out, but decided he didn't want to be the target of her withering scorn. Poor pal's pal. Poor Sarah.
Second saddest - I forgot to ask them what their secret superpowers are.
In case you were wondering - she looks nothing like you think she would. In fact, she looks a lot better.
D Rakoff, on the other hand, looks exactly as you think he would. Eggzaktlee.
Then we all went to a nearby dive bar, one of the few remaining in Boston proper, had some cheap drinks, and a lovely getting to know you all chat. The girlf's pal was ace, the pal's pal was - well - ok, I think. I'm not quite sure. We'll see if I ever see the guy again, before I make any kinda solid judegment. I had to get up wicked early on Saturday, so we went to the girlf's place and went to sleep. Apparently I spoke in my sleep quite a bit in the early part of the snoozefest, including asking what time it was, because I needed to go. Where? Who knows.
Saturday was a complete and total yarg-fest. A work-day, because we had a release to get through, which started at 8 am and ended at pert near to 6 pm. Not an unusually long work day for me, but Elvis on a pogostick, I get to work at 8 am about zero times a year during the regular workweek, let alone on effing Saturday.
All went well, and then Saturday night the girlf and I went out for mighty fine Mexican chow and tequila with my boss, who's also a pal of mine, my boss's girlf, who's also an ex of mine, and another pal of me and my boss and my boss's girlf, who is also my boss's ex. Aren't we all grown up and civilized. My my.
That was mighty swell, and I got just the perfect amount of drunk. Yummy. I snoozed in the car on the way home, and could barely summon up the energy to get undressed. I fell into bed, where I spent the first part of the night sleep-talking again, including telling my girlf that despite her belief to the contrary, "Speed is all-American." In my dream, she was convinced that he was "from Europe."
Yes, Speed Racer again. I know. I know.
Today Sunday was pretty fine. Slept late, had some fine interpersonal relations with the girlf, then went out to see Spiderman. Not too shabby, if you can ignore the coincidental run ins with the Green Goblin. 8 Million people live in New York. You'd think Spidey and the Goblin could manage to spend one day in the city without bumping into each other, but no. Apparently not. It's density.
Then we went back to her place, made pizza and Sculpy monsters, and watched guess what yet again? Yup, that darned Six Feet Under, cuz it's Sunday and all, and what would Sunday be without an episode of the show Red loves to hate. Or is it hates to love?
And now I have to try sleeping again, because my earlier attempt was pretty effing unsuccesful - as you can tell if you check the time stamp above.
Best Google from last week - "some cool German words." Urf.
Music to be insomniac by:
Der Moderne Man - "Anakonda" (Deutschland Deutschland compilation)
"Am Orinoco und Amazonas
Im demilicht des tiefen Dschungels
Liegt sie wie lebloss auf der Lauer
Die Wurgeschlange - Anakonda!"
See what I did there? I went and moved my diaryring to a rings and reviews page!
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