only connect

J.R., one of the local characters, presented me with three pages secured with a huge paperclip tonight and said "read this, it's one page of a screenplay. read one page as a GIFT". I took it and read it while he wandered back into the D's parking lot. It was an odd, disconnected one-pager with a protective cover sheet. I don't know a thing about screenplay treatments but it didn't make any narrative sense to me.

He came back later and I asked if he'd finished the screenplay itself. "No, I need to get together with some really creative people! This is just the treatment!"

Later on, some young girls in field hockey uniforms wandered through, and our resident transsexual witch was giving teenagers tutorials on vampirism. After a few hours of this, and some badinage with the gang, I wandered off to the drugstore where I got some medicine and some dried fruit. I ate a few prunes in my car in the parking lot and stared up at the haze through my moonroof.

At Café Ruba later, it was the usual Satyricon as nickjb properly describes it. Every creepy person from every party you've ever been to on one patio. Their wireless network doesn't work yet, but A.J. is "working on it", which is a topic in itself.

I just want one kiss. Really.

PLAY BA'AL!!!

American Idol for Jesus.

No really.

Help...

Say it ain't so, Mike

I know he's been irrelevant for years and years, but Michael Stipe rocked my world 20 years ago and I have a tremendous amount of respect for his work through about 1987.

So it was a bit of a shock to see his "celebrity playlist" at the Apple Music store and find Justin Timberlake on it.

Here's hoping that either his publicist did the list for him, or he's got Alzheimer's.

TGI Ennui

I guess I'm off to disney tonight, since none of the girls I like will let me touch them. pbd and I can ride the teacups and drive the bears wild.

Right now I'm at the Borders at 19th and Newport, watching the craziness that is the rush hour develop. This is one of the busiest corners in town and it's full of yuppies revving their $80,000 luxury cars, poor mexicans in Chevy LUV trucks from 1980, catholic schoolgirls on bikes, cops pulling everyone over, and maniacs. One maniac in particular just shambled out of the bookstore and grabbed an ashtray and is in the corner with it, coughing and hacking.

I made a damned good stirfry last night. I do love hot red peppers. This weekend I want to go to India Sweets & Spices at some point and have Indian food.

I got an email on my Danger from the T-Mobile people telling me to call them because they had remotely diagnosed my phone as sick. It isn't dangerous, they said, but we want to replace it.

For the crime of hubris, the Gods sentenced substitute to this: That he should be intelligent, resourceful, interesting, and neurotic, and that he should remain celibate for one million years while watching his friends score with each other over and over and over. However, he got a really cool cat as a pet.

I still can't extract the audio from these swf files, damnit. Quicktime Pro doesn't seem to want to do anything with them and I can't find a decompiling tool. Grarmpf! Thwarted Geekery. It's really good stuff, too. Many clips of horny guys who think they're leaving messages for hotties. I DEMAND MY SEXUAL SCHADENFREUDE. SOMEONE HELP ME OUT HERE, CHOP CHOP, LET'S GET IT IN GEAR.