|I'm late in coming
||[Apr. 9th, 2005|10:35 pm]
|||||Ask DNA - The Seatbelts||]|
If only that was true in all senses of the phrase.
Its been quite awhile since I posted. Here are a few highlights.
3 weeks ago we had a great party at Studio 201. Lots of people, good people. Lots of booze, salsa dancing, beer chess, and easily-smashed asian girls. What more can you ask for? The top of the world is seen, a beautiful picture is taken. A picture of Lorri, Chris and I is also taken but it also expounds on Chris' nipples. Unfortunate for the world!
2 weeks ago, I went to NYC. Rollins was doing some spoken word at the Zipper Theater, so me, the Schamis bros and Sarah (ES's gf) got some tickets for it. Oh the fun. The first night, Micah picks me up at Grand Central like I'm a cheap whore. Didn't even ask for prices, just cuffed me and showed me where to get subway tickets. On the subway, I have a few minutes of a strange claustrophobia. There were so many people! It was scary and exhilirating after being cloistered in lab for so long. Micah and I chill at his grandma's apartment. She thinks I'm Eamon, which is almost understandable. She's old and a bit addled, but sweet. I sleep on the floor after unsuccessfully trying two of his airmattresses that had leaks. Second day/night, Eamon and Sarah show up. Eamon is introduced to his new 1/2 asian brother from Ohio. Sarah has some Jane Austin club meeting where they will sacrifice babies and eat scones and drink darjeeling tea, or something. We drop her off and go hunting for food. Into Chinatown! Micah suggests dimsum. Eamon and I are hungry and demand food, the sketchier the better. We go into a dive of a chinese restaurant but it has GREAT food. I have a bowl of noodles with meat wontons, slices of pork and duck, and a pork roll. For like 5 bucks. The tea was so hot, it was this close to plasma. I think if it didn't sublimate into a 5th dimension we would have been destroyed in some fiery conflagaration. The tea was dispensed from an ice tea container, much like you see in other restaurants. However, such containers cannot bring tea to such temperatures. They instead had a tiny star in their basement that they used to brew the tea, then brought the tea up IN A LARGE GREEN BUCKET and dumped it into the tea dispenser. We devour our oriental treasures like they were made of a white powder substance. Into Little Italy for...Japanese knickknack stores! We kick around a store a few blocks from the restaurant. Micah explains the various pastel/fluorescent items and their functions to Eamon and me. I stand incredulous that these things were made by humans for humans. We tool around a bit, go back into the city to pick up sarah, then have coffee. We ride down to Times Square and wander around looking for the theater. Zipper is a great place. Its small, comfy and dark. Hank is in great form, yelling truth at the top of his lungs. His throbbing neck veins are more real than anyone's life. We have a great time. After the show, we tool around Time Square looking for food and fun. We give praises at the altar of consumerism, a 3 story montage of a woman advertising for Target. We wander around, realize we really don’t want to spend money on Time Square food, and catch the metro back into Forest Hills (where the Jews and Japs live, according to M. Schamis). We stop at a diner and have buffalo burgers, and drink cokes and water cause we are dehydrated like Paris Hilton after filming. We go back to the apartment, arrange bedding and what not. For the first hour or so, Sarah hangs w/ us and we have a great Kenyon-esque conversation. We are way to educated for our own good. Then Sarah, like all girls, winds down and kicks us out of the living room. We go into Micah’s room, and shoot the shit for even longer period of time. Fucking marvelous. Happiest I’ve been in several years. The next day, Micah is in torpor till late, then they take me back into the city to GCS. On the train ride into the city, I mention to Micah that Jon Stewart had made some sort of joke about some NYC rappers having a tiff and getting back together again. He says quickly ’50 Cent and The Game.’ I’m kinda surprised about how he has his thumb on the pulse of the urban culture. I conclude later that its because everyone in NYC knows about NYC happenings. Its like an automatic knowledge point, factoids that diffuse into you with the pollution. Not five minutes after Micah exhibits his Lore: NYC Rappers ability, 3 black dudes in ghettolicious attire start a conversation with each other. The most surreal experience ever – they went from comparative engineering of AK-47s to Foxy Brown to 50 Cent and The Game in about 10 minutes, in that order. It was so perfect.
Ok, that was a 24 hour intermission. More on how that went down at the end of this session. We now return you to your regularly scheduled blog.
Last week I went up w/ most of my Shadowrun group to a gaming convention at Smith College. It was a disorganized con, but that’s about par for small college conventions. I went to demo some White Wolf games, gave out a bunch of swag and had a good time. Except for the after con events. Matt makes friendly with one of the con girls, who invites us back to her house where a ‘pink’ party is taking place. Never one to turn down a party at an all girls college, I, of course, am there with bells on. First thing that should have turned me down is the INS-like investigation into my age, name, favorite color etc. If they would have just asked if I was 1) male and 2) straight, we could have fast forwarded quite a bit. Back to the party. To get a plastic band around our wrists for entrance, our names are logged into a book that I’m sure will be used to track down all males I have ever associated with and castrate them, and thereby freeing all the womyn they have ever oppressed. Was that a digression? Oh yes. After the logging of my name for the eventual investigation into all XY chromosome bearers I have ever met, there comes the Test of Alcohol. Ok, we’re at a college campus, a small one at that. I forgot that some people aren’t legally able to buy booze. So I hand over my ID, which is gone over with a blacklight, and am certified over 21. Another plastic band is wrapped around my wrist. Feeling quite bound by their chauvinistic plastic wrist wraps, I follow Matt, who is in charge of searching for alcohol by default. He finds it in the form of 3 jello shots. Lousy jello shots made with, I’m sure, rubbing alcohol and the bile of neutered dogs. And only 3 of them. For god’s sake, if this is what the world is like when women are in charge, I’m glad I live in a male-dominated society. With our gelatinous courage consumed, we enter onto the dance floor, where things are looking up. Lots of women, a few men (Navy Choir or something was visiting. Whatever). Some pretty, some not, some hot, but all look like they’re having a good time. Some are grinding on each other. A few start taking off shirts. What a great party, right? So why does everyone look so damn angry with me? Is it just me? No, the rest of the guys are getting similar looks. Hmmm…have I killed any Smithy relatives? If so, it was by accident and likewise slipped my mind. I cannot fathom the vibe of this room, angry and unfun. After about 30 minutes, I leave and go back to the con to find my host. I confer and confide with the girls remaining there that the party was a bit off. “Oh, that’s because that Haven House is a man-hating militant lesbian house! Tee-hee!” I was my hands of these girls. If I go back next year, I’m demanding a hotel room, an appropriate escort who wants to have fun, and a listing of all non-man hating parties. This, my friends, was bullshit.
We’re finally on this week. Woot. Not much happened this week, of interest. Worked my ass off in lab, and hopefully have something to show for it. I’ll have to do data analysis tomorrow morning. Last night, I asked Matt if he wanted to go out to a new club/lounge in New Haven that I read about (Firehouse 12). He said ‘sure. I’m going to invite this girl, Morgen, who my friends have been trying to hook me up with for a bit, to go with us.’ Fine, I say. I’m out for a good time, good conversation, and a good drink. This was the cause of the 24 hour intermission, as I went out. Eat it! Well, Firehouse 12 ain’t quite open yet. Strike one for our hero. We mosey on to Café Bottega, which has a happening jazz band made up of locals. It was really fun, but the drink prices were awful. I have about a 3rd of a bottle of wine (Santa Anastasia, IIRC). Morgen, who is a nice but shy girl, makes good conversation. I enjoy the music. Matt is currently working on her tonight. More how that turned out next episode.
Tomorrow morning, I’m driving up to Brian and Kara’s for a brunch, chit-chat, and then a Tori Amos concert in Hartford. Its just her and a piano and a harpsichord. I can’t wait. This will be great.