I made it! I got a limo ride from the airport at my own expense. I may have been literally taken for a ride, but I don’t mind so much ‘cause it’s raining and all. Andy (valiant) is here already, and his Swiss accent is charming. I’m bouncing off the walls ‘cause I’m so excited! Hooray!
I couldn’t help but stare at the word “RABBI�? embroidered in gold on the yarmulke of the man a row in front of me, cunningly concealed under a baseball cap bearing the words “New York.�”
Gabe’s last day is tomorrow, so there was a potluck thing. Someone left a delicious pasilla pepper out, so I started eating it. This may not have been wise, since I just saw my spirit animal.
It was Jeremy’s birthday today, so the Keathlys and I piled into the old jalopy and drove over to their deluxe apartment in the sky. I foolishly neglected to bring my camera, so you don’t get to see their views or Jeremy’s very nice LeMond bike, which was probably more expensive than my green car plus a year’s worth of gas, insurance, and maybe even parking. Anyway, good times, bla bla bla. Jeremy recommended that I check out the Specialized Allez. Don’t tell Freewheel. It was on my list anyway.
I got to see the photos that Tor was taking, and he does indeed have a much nicer camera than I do. Also he did not get roaringly drunk and wasn’t too shy to take pictures of all the cute women there. Well, he probably knew them already, so whatever, shyness probably didn’t factor in.
The really interesting part was spotting Joe Scrimshaw in the background of some of the shots. Joe Scrimshaw!
It’s about foot sex!
So, really, I ended up having a two degree (or less) connection to four out of the five Fringe Festival shows that I saw.
It would be nice if on a day when I come bouncing and dancing into work, ready to kick ass and take names, if I would not get phone calls where the party at the other end starts crying. That’s just an FYI. I’m not saying that people should stop calling me at work and crying, but it would be nice if they didn’t have to.
Lisa, Paul, and Kassie all want me to go back to posting every thirty seconds. Bharat says two posts per day, and they have to be good.
“Who is this Bharat fellow?” you might ask, and that would be a reasonable question, because you might not know about my late nights struggling to program my way out of a paper bag. Volunteering on the Gallery project has taught me more about programming than all of my programming and computer science courses together. On the other hand, I had never quite gotten object orientation except as a handy way to do things until the elaboring variable scoping puzzles presented in Scheme form in CSci 1901. Bharat was my almost-mentor for a long time. When I was at my lowest he tried very hard to talk to me about it, despite not seeming to understand very well. He used to kick me in the ass when I was dragging. I used to have a faux bumper sticker up in my cubicle: “I’d rather be programming.” If it weren’t for Gallery, and by extension Bharat, I wouldn’t be, and I wouldn’t call myself a programmer.
Things that will stop me from posting this fall:
Oh yeah, I mentioned that I am considering writing a novel, and Kassie suggested that I write it on my blog. I’ve seen that done, and it only works if the reader has kept up to date because of the reverse ordering thing. I suppose that I could write a little php magic to put novel posts in order on a special page, but, uh never mind. I shouldn’t have said anything, because once you say that you are going to do something you look like a jackass when you don’t end up doing it.
It should be noted that I still post more than everyone except maybe Paul.
Continuing my streak of improbable luck, our neighbor Yolanda dropped off a free pass to an advance screening of the 40 Year Old Virgin. I was delayed, but showed up right at 7:30 in the butthole of the Twin Cities to find rock star parking waiting for me. I got a seat right in the front row. Maybe that wasn’t a great seat, but it was the last one, and it prevented me from getting any 93x feces thrown at me, since they were aiming for the middle of the crowd. The movie was hilarious and out of control. I almost worried that it was misogynistic and homophobic, but sometimes funny is funny, and the nice guy (who didn’t seem to be either) won in the end.
Also it was a musical.
The joke that any of you might make is that this movie is about me. Ha ha ha!
Don’t worry, 40 is the new 20.
Mama Lisa: We Partied Like it was 1999 - Literally.
I don’t remember the end part where there were boobies. Well, I kind of do, but that’s where it gets hazy. Very hazy. And dark. And everything tasted like rum.
My notes:
Get your skinny bitch ass down here, Paul
Spend the day in the bass bin
If the options are white or red, choose white because it doesn’t stain
Coming soon: my long distance relationship with booze
Backlit strippers — I mean burlesque dancers in the magic hour
Fucking Minnesota! JUST GO!
Everyone has to go to the bathroom, I just have to go in a timely manner
Hey, here we are!
I’ve been leaving a drunken, hungover, bitter, depressed mess all over my website. I must rectify the situation with an erudite post that enlightens and edifies my audience. Instead I will post pictures.
Cake Woman made me a cake. Finally, someone who gets me.
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Happy Birthday to John Ross, blackbird23005, JustinP & arkaitz!!!
The best part of waking up is a hangover in your cup!
I love you, Wilford Brimley, but this calls for motherfucking pancakes!
When did I have corn?
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