It turns out that what I thought was a Dream About a Cell Phone, was an actual memory. Late Friday Night a Roxy lorded her’s over mine.  I just thought it was a dream because Friday was very long night.  I realized my mistake  when I walked into Sushi Groove las tnight and she was still flaunting the phone.  I quickly went outside and tried a Thomas Flair on a Bike Rack, and now I have a sprained toe.

In other news, Las Vegas hoodlums can’t throw a punch.  The guy in the video ended up with only a broken collarbone and a busted jaw. They stole his cell phone, but not his hat.

Dinosaur Jr. is playing the next two nights at the Great American Music Hall.   This is going to be Great! 

Big Lebowski at the Red Vic Movie House tonight.

It turns out that there are no Midnight Easter Services in San Francisco. So I went to 11:00 AM mass at Old St. Mary’s, in the Financial District.  It’s a Paulist Church.The Paulist’s are missionary Fathers. They seem like really good guys. The service was inspirational. The Fathers  were joyous and celebratory.

I would rather they read from the King James, instead of the ‘living’ version of the Bible.  If you can get past that, I enthusiastically recommend stopping in some Sunday.

The Americanized Gospel Readings remind me of this Rowan Atkinson Sketch. (Atkinson is most famous for his Mr. Bean Character)

"Nazareth the Amazing"

I just had breakfast at Petite Robert. Their terrific apple sausage reminded me of a conversation I had last weekend in which the subject of Loca Luna’s Sangria came up.  Phoenix, having insight into how it is made,  has always tried to warn people off of it.    Whenever someone tries to explain to me the horrors of some food,  like how it is made, or how the animals are treated,  a voice in my head that sounds a lot like the Fat Bastard starts yelling “Get in to my Belly”, and I end up wanting that food more. I can’t help it.   Somewhere along the line I got it into my head that we become better people if we eat the food before us, without question.     There are a many  reasons for this, but here are a couple you might not expect.

Firstly, having the ability to enjoy all manner of food means that you will never have to hold your nose when someone of a different culture makes you dinner.  You will be apt to enjoy whatever they make, whether it be tripe,  monkey, or something worse. There is nothing worse than someone making a face at someone else’s dinner table. Nothing.

Secondly,  believing that you can control the cleanliness or  ickiness of the things you eat is a small bit of self-delusion.   One day you are going to get real comfortable with yourself thinking you have eliminated the unsavory elements from your diet, and somebody is going to come along and tell you how your favorite dish is REALLY made.   Why give somebody that kind of power of you?  Learn to like everything and you will be protected from that sort of trauma.

Thirdly, The energy you spend caring for the  well being of the livestock could be better spent. Perhaps on people.   The animals and the vegetables are here for our enjoyment, we do them a disservice if we elevated them above their station.   It speaks to our character that we are  good shepherds to the creatures in this world.  Being responsible and caring for the little things makes us better people.  But caring for sheep because you have personified them doesn’t elevate sheep, it devalues  people.  And seeings how so much is riding on us, that seems like folly to me.

Of course, Alex made this point better with his hilarrious "Stick it up your ass PETA" post.

</LECTURE>

I had two very short but vivid dreams last night.  The first one was about a cell phone that I want.  Not much to say about that dream.  

In the second dream I had learned the basics of the Pommel Horse.   Nothing tricky mind you, in fact I was using a bike rack for a pommel,   but I could support my weight, swing my legs around, and ‘walk’ from one end to the other.     It was amazing.    I think, since I have started learning gymnastics at the age of thirty, the Pommel Horse dream is really just an incarnation of the Flying Dream that we all have occasional. The feelings of lightness and freedom are exactly the same.

I was finishing up breakfast this morning when I remembered that second dream.  The sense of loss was palpable.   For a couple of hours part of me  thought it could do that stuff.  I can’t, but the day before, at the gym, I did a Bar Muscle-Up.  A Muscle-up is like a pull-up, but you keep going until you find yourself supported above the thing you were hanging from, which in this case is a pull-up bar.  Imagine getting out of a pool: you pull yourself out of the water a bit, and then you push yourself a bit until only your arms are locked and only your lower body remains in the water.    It’s the same minus buoyancy.

My handstand is still weak, and my cartwheel is hysterical.  I can do 34 consecutive pull-ups. I can do 7 with my legs pointed out in front on me,  making a L shape.  My ‘L’ is  obtuse.

But enough gymnastics.

I think I am going to Midnight Mass tonight.  Have a Happy Easter Everyone!

God Bless.

Here is a scene from the San Francisco SouthPark episode. 

Here is a link to the trailer for Miller’s Crossing, which genuinly gets better every time I see it.  The trailer doesn’t work right for me, but maybe it will for you.

If not, here are some of the best quotes:

Eddie Dane: Where's Leo?
Hitman at Verna's: If I tell you, how do I know you won't kill me?
Eddie Dane: Because if you told me and I killed you and you were lying I wouldn't get to kill you *then*. Where's Leo?
Hitman at Verna's: He's moving around. He's getting his mob together tomorrow night. Whiskey  Nick's.

Eddie Dane: You sure?
Hitman at Verna's: Check it. It's gold.
Eddie Dane: You know what, yegg? I believe you.

Verna: That's not why you came, either.
Tom Reagan: Tell me why I came.
Verna: [seductively] The oldest reason there is.
Tom Reagan: There are friendlier places to drink.

Verna: What're you chewin' over?
Tom Reagan: Dream I had once. I was walkin' in the woods, I don't know why. Wind came up and blew me hat off.
Verna: And you chased it, right? You ran and ran, finally caught up to it and you picked it up. But it wasn't a hat anymore and it changed into something else, something wonderful.
Tom Reagan: Nah, it stayed a hat and no, I didn't chase it. Nothing more foolish than a man chasin' his hat.

Johnny Caspar: You think that I'm some guinea, fresh off the boat, and you can kick me! But I'm too big for that now. I'm sick a' takin the scrap from you, Leo. I'm a' of marching into this goddamn office to kiss your Irish ass. And I'M SICK A' THE HIGH HAT! [Puts on his hat and coat]
Johnny Caspar: Yiz fancy pants, all a yiz.
Leo O'Bannion: Johnny, you're exactly as big as I let you be, and no bigger, and don't forget it, ever.
Johnny Caspar: That's right, Leo. You're the big shot around here, and I'm just some schook likes to get slapped around.

Speaking of Mobsters, It took them four episodes to get up to speed, but this season of the Sopranos has started to get good.      The show is best when the camera does most of the talking, but there was some great dialog in last Sunday’s episode, especially when Christopher  and Tony argue over who gets to ask the  favors on a Sicilian Wedding day.

Speaking of movies,  my Grandmother’s Movie Queue is Getting Low again.   Somebody please give me some suggestions. Here is what she has watched so far. The rating next to some of the titles is based on conversations I had with her.

Big Fish	04/12/06
My Fair Lady: Special Edition  (Too Hard to Understand)	04/05/06
The Best Years of Our Lives	03/29/06
Fried Green Tomatoes	03/27/06
The Legend of Bagger Vance	03/16/06
Pay It Forward	03/15/06
To Kill a Mockingbird	03/09/06
Breakfast at Tiffany's	03/01/06
How to Lose a Guy in 10 Days	03/01/06
My Big Fat Greek Wedding	02/15/06
The Jazz Singer	02/15/06
Notting Hill	01/09/06
Seabiscuit	01/09/06
All About Eve       (Too much fast talkin)	12/16/05
The Notebook	12/16/05
Cary Grant: His Girl Friday / Cary Grant on Film, 1940	04/12/06
The Patriot, 2000	03/27/06

Still in Queue

Cinderella Man	PG-13	Drama
It Happened One Night	UR	Classics
Meet the Parents	PG-13	Comedy
Meet the Fockers	PG-13	Comedy
Titanic	PG-13	Drama
Hitch	PG-13	Romance
Ray	PG-13	Drama
Secondhand Lions	PG	Drama
The Last Samurai	R	Action & Adventure
The 40 Year-Old Virgin  (her Idea, not Mine)	UR	Comedy

Yesterday a group of us from work went to Jillian’s to play pool.   Sometime around the third game, a woman, who was there drinking with a group of her colleagues, came over to talk to me.  It was a needlessly awkward situation since I kept saying, “I am leaving in a couple weeks”, and “I don’t like to talk too much” and stuff like that. I was polite, but I didn't give an inch.   She eventually returned to her crew, which applauded her courage.   I pretended not to hear the applause.

Ten minutes later she returned, asking if we wanted to go grab a drink at the bar of the Hotel she worked at. I told her no thanks: I was one part tired and three parts not interested.  She kept volunteering a “side tour” of the hotel.  I pretended not to hear the come-on implicit in such an ivitation.   She eventually left.

I was tried, so I left my colleagues and walked over to the W to see Josh.   On the way Heather called me.  Before I continue I should note that it was while driving to Santa Cruz with Heather that I first heard that Pinback song, and that Heather and I both sang it loudly and incorrectly along the way. You know you have written a catchy song when you get a non-singer like me singing along with it on his first listen. 

So Heather calls me and says very nice things about being sad that I am leaving. She also said she posted something on the slowdown, but I can’t find it. (When I finally got home last night I looked and not finding it, tried to send her an email and instead sent her back her own post-break up letter.  I’m an idiot, sorry).  Anyhow, we had a great conversation, which is not a hard thing to do with Heather.   I told her that I too was sad to be leaving but I was pretty much worn out.

That is an understatement.   I took a nosedive on that last ski trip and have not recovered.  And now that I am leaving, I am pretty much in Shut-Down mode, which is to say that even if I have the energy, motivation, and courage to try and meet someone, It would be foolish since I have decided to leave.

So I say goodbye to Heather, making nebulous plans to meet up before I leave, despite her fears that I won’t be able to keep my hands off of her because she it super-hot, and walk into the W to search for Josh.   He isn’t there but I noticed a very attractive woman sitting there so decided to sit at the bar anyway, and have one drink. (Pimms and Ginger ale: Looks like a Roy Rogers, and there is hardly any alcohol in it. Its better with Ginger Beer, but they didn't have any.)

She is listening intently but rarely chiming in to a conversation between her girlfriend and a guy they just met who is having dinner at the bar.  They look like they are having a great time, whereas I am sitting alone, and look like I am half asleep.  But  I had already decided that I had to talk to her. 

Josh, it turns out, was in the back clocking out, and came out long enough to invite me over to John Collins.  I told him I would catch up with him later, and that  I had to meet someone, motioning to the woman across the bar.   I asked the other bartender exactly what my angle was here: Should I buy a round for all of them, for instance.    I didn’t ask in order to actually get advice. I asked, instead, because I knew that once I asked, self-respect dictates that I follow through.  But it turns out that the Bartenders  advice of, “Go say Hi”, was pretty solid, so I tried it.

I walked over and introduced myself, telling her that I was feeling a mite left-out  over on the other side of the bar. I then met her friend, and the guy they had been talking too.  Unfortunately for me they were about to go dancing, but she invited me along.   At this point I foolishly said I was meeting somebody here.   I didn’t say it to defend my being alone at a bar, or to get out of dancing. I said it to stall, but mostly because I liked the symmetry of it, having just told Josh that I was sticking around to meet her.    I figured that if we hit it off, one day she would ask me who I was waiting for the day we met and I could tell her, honestly, that it was she.  

Were that things were so easy.   The Bloke they were talking to says, loudly, that “Hey I read that book too, you always got to time-box things!”   I had no idea what he was talking about but it felt a bit like he was throwing a block.  I should have recognized that the little weasel was declaring war.

I really didn’t want to be on the defensive here but I assured everyone that I have no idea what book he was talking about.  “The Game”, he calls it.   To which the Girl I was talking to says , “Its Ok, I read GQ, I understand”.        Argghhh! How did things go so awry!

I should mention that she is blond, but from Costa Rica. She seemed impressed that picked up on her slight accent.  We seemed to be having a really good conversation. We talked about her dream of opening up a hotel in Costa Rica, which, coincides with my plans of opening up a hotel in Guatemala. So there wasn't really hostility at this point, just that  this twirp had made it seem like I was reading out of some playbook and I was too tired to play along.  Eventually the conversation returned to better footing.

When it was time for them to go. I asked if I was still invited and she make eye contact with her friend before confirming. This was the first mixed signal of the night.

Then I asked them to wait for a second while I got my bill, but after less than a minute the three of them said that they were leaving.  This was the second mixed signal, though perhaps I am being generous when I call it ‘mixed’.

I finally pay my bill and leave. I see them about two blocks down the road walking, and decide to pack it in. I was heeeding  Gabriel Byrne’s Advice from Miller’s Crossing: "There's nothin' more foolish than a man chasing his hat."  Besides, I am leaving town in a couple of weeks. Blah Blah Blah.

I let the taxi take me home. Once there I checked the slowdown for Heather’s post, couldn’t find it, misfired that email to her, and then realized how big of a wimp I was being.  Byrne ended up with butkis in that movie.  So I go back out, jump in a taxi, a head to Fluid.   Which is dead.   There are maybe twenty people and no sign of the two girls.  I was just about to leave when I see the dude standing at the bar. He waves me over and says that he had run upstairs  to change clothes, and when he got back here they had left.    I am pretty sure he was making this all up.

First off, let me say that he was about 5’6’’ and stank of Drakar Noir.  Any guy who had a Junior High Gym class  in the late 80’s can’t forget that smell.   I asked him what the hell “the Game” was, and though I don’t remember his answer he confessed that he was in fact throwing a block. I called him out on ushering them out the door while I was getting my bill, but he maintained that she said she was expecting me to meet her here, not walk her here.

He confessed that he was only talking to the brunette, who was very attractive herself,  in order to get to the blonde. He went on to explain that the guys at the W know him because he always leaves with a girl.  His two favorite techniques are “Do you want to see the view from my apartment” and “Do you want to meet my dog”, to which, he says, the women agree and the bartenders roll their eyes.

So there I was at an empty “ultra-lounge”, listening to this little braggart prattle on about his prowess with the ladies.  A half-dozen gigantic black guys come in, after arriving in some sort of Party Bus, and the only women in the joint were all already sitting in their laps.   The music however, wasn’t that bad.

So I cashed in my chips and went out to catch a Taxi.  There were more mammoth black dudes outside and the biggest of them was admiring a beat-down Buick Skylark parked in front of the club. I stood amongst them for a while trying to hail one of the many empty taxis, but they didn't seem to see me. I let out an involuntary chuckle when the biggest of the crowd said he would have to take the front seat out of the Buick  and drive it from the back.  I had heard about guys doing that before, like Shaq, but it still made me laugh.

They all did a quick double when I laughed, noticing for the first time that a white dude had snuck into their midst.  “You scared me” the 350 pounder said.

Plans for the weekend? Ed and Kory are in town.  I don’t know what we are going to do.

 I really need to make it over to Foreign Cinema Friday night, and then probably Pink Afterwards. Or maybe Dolce since Marsha and Brook will be bartending, which should be fun. Marsha bartends at Impala and let me know that Mary will soon be back there. Mary’s got style for miles and miles.  So I’ll be at one of those four places.

Scott Howard says he’ll put the Mackerel on the menu for me if I email him in advance, but I’m not that needy that I would actually take him up on that offer.

New guy Mark was bartending there, and when talk turned to Pimm’s beverages we found we had a mutual friend in  XYZ-Josh. Josh is another guy I’ll have to go say goodbye to, but first, Colleen at the Cinema. She always says the nicest things.

I don’t really have anything to say today.  I wrote a screed on Legal Immigration but its too screedy.  Jeremy summed it up better when he went George Carlin on the term “Undocumented Worker”.  His point was that people aren’t so lenient on “Undocumented Pharmacists”. 

(I hate it when people say ‘Emergency Situation’, just say ‘Emergency’, EVERYTHING is a situation!. And there is too much usage of the prefix ‘pre’…..There are only two states an oven can be in: Heated and Unheated, ‘Preheated’ is a meaningless fucking term…. You know what I tell these people?  Pre-Suck my genital situation”-George Carlin (More or less))

Or perhaps Steyn Summed up my defense of legal immigrants best when wrote:

Here's my immigration "compromise": We need to regularize the situation of the 298 million non-undocumented residents of the United States. Right now, we get a lousy deal compared with the 15 million fine upstanding members of the Undocumented American community. I think the 298 million of us in the overdocumented segment of the population should get the chance to be undocumented. You know when President Bush talks about all those undocumented people "living in the shadows"? Doesn't that sound kinda nice? Living in the shadows, no government agencies harassing you for taxes and numbers and paperwork.

Ok, that wasn’t my point exactly, but I’m nothing if not quoting Mark Steyn Articles.

On a side note: It has been three weeks since my iPod broke. I don’t miss it much, but I miss the music quite a bit. All I have in my apartment is a famous Lauren S. Mix Tape.   This one has the Pinback song that I can’t help singing along to. I just realized that I have been singing it all wrong though. To my defense, what the heck is a "cootie wootie"?   Here is the actual Chorus:

STOP ITS TOO LATE
I'M FEELING FRUSTRATED
I SEE NO SIGN OF FORTRESS

I SEE NO SIGN OF FORTRESS

Yeah, he picked me up at 6 in the morning.    He didn’t say anything about my hair, except to point out that my gray hairs showed up more.  He’s been undermining me like that for about 8 Years, when he first told me I was going bald.  “You’re going Bald”, and “All that muscle is going to turn to fat once you turn thirty” are his two favorite sayings now that he can’t torment me with IRA advice.

While I was gone he put a new tire on my Chrysler, sent it through the smog check, took it to the shop to fix the exhaust, then drove it randomly for 150 miles so the computer would reset, then took it back for a smog check, and then went to the DMV to get my tags. 

You can’t beat that.

For Christmas last year I got him a kettlebell.  A kettlebell is basically a cannonball with a handle--   The gift equivalent of a lump of coal.      This is psychological warfare at its finest.  The Christmas before last we bought each other Glocks.

Anyhow, he picked me up at the airport, and then he took off for the Appalachian Trail.  He’s going to be hiking 15 miles a day. Did I mention that before? He’s much slimmer than he was in the photo.

That night I met Rich, Dave and Kelly and their friends at Loca-Luna. Loca-Luna hired a hip 99x DJ  to conduct party-games until 10pm.  It was great!  He was so cool, and he walked around on tables and stuff.  I wonder why he didn’t have a cool headset microphone, those things are killer. Maybe they couldn’t handle his SUPER-LOUD-VOICE!    There was this game where people got partially undressed!  Hahahahaha, that’s too funny!  If you won a game you got a free Jose Cuervo T-shirt!  I was too nervous to get up but man that would have been cool.

Asshole.

I kept drinking the Sangria hoping he would get close enough to push into the pond.   It  would have been the perfect return to Atlanta. I could have pushed him in and then left with my hands raised in victory.  I would have been a hero.

Saturday was spent at the Lauzons’.  xBox 360 FightNight, Karate-Champ, Sinistar, and then the real fight.

Sunday I had Pig-n-Chick BBQ (Still not seeing what the fuss is about) then went to the Tavern at Phipps to watch some golf  (heh).   No Pimms. No Hendricks.  No Tequilla better than Patron.   By the end of my string of aborted drink orders the Bartender had resigned to buy my first two rounds.  

On the flight I watched the first half of the Jarhead. Somewhere around half-way through I caught myself watching Narnia on my neighbor’s screen.   I’m not going to say Jarhead was bad, but I was more concerned with the fate of the Centaur in a children’s movie that I had already seen.  I'm simple minded I guess.

Hmmm.. I had something else to say…  oh yeah,  I drink the Luna-Sangria  What of it?