-- William Gibson, All Tomorrow's Parties
Breaking weblogging rule #1. Posting while drunk drunk drunk.
If you are an ex-girlfriend who has left me alone for months and months, now would have been the time to send me an email out of fucking nowhere full of fucked up shit that would have made me drunkenly go "Wuh tuh fuh?" Alternatively you could have called me at the bar "just to say hi".
Went to two bars tonight after dinner, with two different groups of people (well, save for Harry and Nick, the subset of the range which remained true throughout). Not so drunk that when the two girls asked the one guy what his first sexual experience was, the veto card was not cast, and so Nick K and I (that's Philly Nick by way of Wisconsin, not Yuma Nick K, who remains, I have no doubt, hilarious and super cool) jetted. Harry took off perhaps a half hour before that fateful question.
Theatre people. Whaddyagonnado.
At the first bar, since it was suddenly and no doubt miraculously (Hail Jesus) nice out, we sat outside at a plastic table, weighted, as the 'tender informed us, with a six hundred pound of concrete, to the sidewalk. It also sported a large umbrella (or, as Andrew insists on referring to them, "brelly") which Nick was forced to remove less the table be removed from us.
It should be noted that we went to dinner first, and that Sophy had started drinking far before the rest of us, as a "department happy hour" she had organized. She was, of course, the first to ditch. Pft. Tiny little Asian girl can't hold her liquor!
We were also asked by a man, who insisted that we not be afraid that simply because he was black, he was not a criminal, but he did have four daughters and a wife, all of whom were HIV positive (he himself having full-blown AIDS) and that while he was not asking for money, if we could buy him a sandwich...
As with all outings where this occurs, things are quiet until someone regales the rest of the group with the latest scam another homeless (or whatever?) persona ran past them for their perusal.
I related the experience Andrew and I had at 30th St. Station the other day as well, in which a very large man, who I didn't get a very good look at, walked behind us for several minutes singing about how he was going to fuck us in the ass like little bitches. Indeed, "fuck you in the stanky". And when I stopped to tap MAC, he sang out, "You gonna need money when you fuck with us." This city.
Cab ride home was uneventful. iPod continues to improve my life in that I no longer feel that it is rude to ignore the cabbie when he is talking on his cell phone, about gods know what. I maintain that cabbies live much more involved lives than pretty much anyone else, or that perhaps they have some sort of cellular IRC analog, like #cabbies4chat.
Time for the sleeping.
Tomorrow hopefully Batman Returns, with many humans who I enjoy, at various and sometimes entirely copious levels, being around.
Drunk drunk drunk.