Sure, it may *seem* like a non-VOID weekend: beer and pizza, dancing, cider
and bratwurst, dancing (on stage), beer, dancing, beer and bbq; repeat
until bored. Adam, for one, sure is piqued at my level of activity. But I
see it differently.
I was going to write this out in my usual finely textured prose, but it's
late, so I'm going to leave it in wire-service update form.
====
[Thursday]
Passed out in office
Searched for the CD, Big Willie Style, and failed.
Ditched plans to meet Sonny in Hollywood
Got locked out of my office and had to call the cops.
Envied Dan Kohn, personally and at length for his personal and career
success. Not to mention snagging tickets in BA First :-)
Went to Sid's & wrote the letter mentioned in the last VOIDpost
Staggered home
====
[Friday]
Stayed in OC to come into the office at the crack of noon, to sign my
travel forms. They're especially upset about Australia, which is 30 days
overdue and I lost the airticket receipt and had to file an exception memo
with the dept chair and ...
While looking for the CD at home, I found the ticket receipt.
Foolishly posted the letter to Boston anyway
Time for the Grad student party at the pub.
Avoided D. from last time's random post-AGS-party social debacle. Still
won't look at me, much less talk to me for having asked her out and failed.
Instead, I got suckered into another post-AGS-party social debacle: The
First Annual UCI Swingers' Ball.
Mind you: I'm wearing my ultrastylish Caltech Alumni sweatshirt, ratty
black sweatpants, and Digital Alpha flip-flops (hi John!).
So I waltzed in barefoot to a room of stylin' 40's swingers. Well, waltz
might be an understatement. Perhaps it began with a k; passed through an l,
a t, and a vowel; and ended in a z.
But I learned, with an enthusiastic partner whose bf was conveniently out
of town :-)
Crashed at home, took some calls, and Sonny madeup for Thursday by inviting
me to eat at 3:30 AM
====
[Saturday]
Woken up by a call from a friend with a cryptogram. Tried, but didn't solve
it; had the right idea, though: Rob demolished it. Wasn't any use, though:
rather than solve the cipher, my friend copied another player's solution.
CobraBoy wanted to see Bulworth; Greg had his cider and bratwurst.
For the record, here's how to get to Bolcer's:
Tustin Ranch, heading north
First signal past Irvine Blvd is La Colina - take a Left
Then an immediate Right on Ranchwood. #12351.
We went to Greg's and quaffed copious quantities of red grape cider, until
we started rating the bodaciousness of CNN newsbabes.
Back to campus for the show, "I Love My India".
Well-done, show. Too many Bill Clinton jokes, too few nuke refs.
It was a depressingly fine audience: 500 of So Cal's finest collegiate
Indian-American boys and girls, mackin' like there's no tonight.
As I sobered up during the show, I got more depressed: these folks at UCI
are cool and talented and plugged in, and I'm still quite outside and still
a geek. This is still a tough one to accept: I may be more attracted to
Indian women, but it ain't vice versa, since there's a much larger pool of
cool-as-locally-defined-and-still-reasonably-smart-and-hard-working Indian
guys.
I was discombobulated enough, I went to the Speculum to distract myself
with a movie.
21 screens and nothing on: all godzilla and deep impact.Other two were
Horse Whisperer and Camelot. That's how commercial this is. Both movie ATMs
were out of cash, too.
Stomped back: Drove down 133 and Pacific Coast Highway to calm down.
Wandered Balboa.
Depressed to discover another romantic spot, the pier. I hate having to add
one more special-moment-spot to my stash of getaways around the world. I
have unrequited hideaways waiting in every port, it seems.
Several dozen Prom night couples were out on the town in Balboa tonight,
limos and all.
Found the beach. All this time, and I was never too clear on where Newport
Beach was, after all.
Called from the beach. Nothing like the gentle surf, temperate breezes,
water lapping around your ankles, and a moonless night to trigger a
cellular urge.
First SaL's machine in Boston, because I know she'll enjoy the image of me
in dress pants rolled up to my knees and Tevas wandering out to sea; then a
woman in Santa Monica I really like who I can humor and who humors me and I
find attractive and just can't hook up with, to say: "your court now; I
quit calling"
Then a random bar, where a drunk babe nudges me to ask, "is your beer warm,
too?" and proceeds to NOT have a conversation. Turns out she really only
cared about the temperature of the Corona. Sigh.
And here I am at Norm's. At least Lois knows me: "hey, computer guy!".
Rohit "computer guy!" Khare