friday
Mislaying my Palm shoots my whole schedule to Cucamunga and back. I raced to the Brattle, where I now sit typing, only to discover that this film doesn't start until 4:30.
I haven't knowingly been this early to a film since I went to go see Batman 12 years ago. That would have been in Ellsworth, at the Maine Coast Mall. (I think that's what it's called. It's the one with Pop's Chowder House in it.) I can't even remember who I saw it with, if anyone. My dad? Shrug.
Meant to do lots today, but hit only some of them, due to timing (maybe I will rename my consultancy (is that an actual word? Mac OS X's text editor red-underlines it) to "Late Start Productions" or something) and circumstance. Here is a little map. Imagine little prog running like Little Billy from the family circus all over a map of Cambridge, leaving a dotted line behind him as he gets into all sorts of trouble.
As it was, I was happy that the evening's audience-participation thing was Napkin Poetry (where Jim does a scat riff on bits of doggerel that people write on cocktail napkins and then pile at his feet), which was different than the one I saw last time, Celebrity Deathmatch (where Jim and the band improvise songs about fighting various entities that the audience suggests (and which turns into a love song at the end)). Jim saves a few of the napkins that he reads through to make a final refrain when he's done, and two belonged to me and Karl -- my "That wasn't chicken" and his "Gravy floats". So, we felt that we had won.
The opening act was sort of lame. I can't remember his name, but he has built himself up around being "anti-folk". I suppose I felt the same way about him as I do about evangelical atheists. Why are you telling me this? I don't care enough about God or folk music to connect with either of you, I guess.
I haven't knowingly been this early to a film since I went to go see Batman 12 years ago. That would have been in Ellsworth, at the Maine Coast Mall. (I think that's what it's called. It's the one with Pop's Chowder House in it.) I can't even remember who I saw it with, if anyone. My dad? Shrug.
Meant to do lots today, but hit only some of them, due to timing (maybe I will rename my consultancy (is that an actual word? Mac OS X's text editor red-underlines it) to "Late Start Productions" or something) and circumstance. Here is a little map. Imagine little prog running like Little Billy from the family circus all over a map of Cambridge, leaving a dotted line behind him as he gets into all sorts of trouble.
- Walked to Central, took the T to Davis Square. Relaxed with coffee and new Ursula K. Le Guin novel at the Diesel for a half hour or so.
- Walked to O'Reilly, intending to pick up my own draft copy of The Book. Peeked in the window, and saw only my cupped-face reflection. The office was dark! I had forgotten that the whole joint's on an involuntary two-week vacation. Foo. I had also wanted to chat with Jon about my latest grad school adventures, and print out some evaluation forms to present to the evaluaty types who work there, but it was not to be.
- Walked to Porter and took T to Kendall to make a 1pm appointment with my friend's boss at the MIT LCS. Thought I knew which building the LCS was, but I was wrong. Last year, when Noah (the friend in question) gave me a mini-tour of the campus, he pointed to a very tall building that had a giant metal ball on its roof and said: "There's the earth sciences building, with that big radome." I remembered radome, because not too long before that I was playing the PSX game "Metal Gear Solid", the endboss of which is a giant robot that you must destroy in parts, the first of which is its radar-encasing radome sphere, a word I had not heard before then. So in my mind, the connection was made: Noah == LCS == radome. After finding a phone and making two 50-cent calls to Noah, I was set straight, and the meeting occurred as planned.
- Having been once again reminded of my lack of a cell phone, I wanted to go to the phoney place, now that cthulhia had explicitly shown me where it was. But: no time!
- Had to T back home to fill out the long-delayed account-change forms for the house cable bill to my name, then tape them to the door for the former housemate to later fetch and complete, and then I
- scooted up Putnam to Harvard Square and the Brattle to see Little Otik. Once again told myself to restart my media log website.
As it was, I was happy that the evening's audience-participation thing was Napkin Poetry (where Jim does a scat riff on bits of doggerel that people write on cocktail napkins and then pile at his feet), which was different than the one I saw last time, Celebrity Deathmatch (where Jim and the band improvise songs about fighting various entities that the audience suggests (and which turns into a love song at the end)). Jim saves a few of the napkins that he reads through to make a final refrain when he's done, and two belonged to me and Karl -- my "That wasn't chicken" and his "Gravy floats". So, we felt that we had won.
The opening act was sort of lame. I can't remember his name, but he has built himself up around being "anti-folk". I suppose I felt the same way about him as I do about evangelical atheists. Why are you telling me this? I don't care enough about God or folk music to connect with either of you, I guess.