Friday night The Lad and I had dinner in my hood, narrowly escaping a big Critical Mass party courtesy of your friends from Burning Man. But what do I have against Burning Man? I like art. I like the desert. I liked that one bar we went to that used to be associated with Burning Man way back when. But I tend to picture a more Rustian crowd – the new Rust, who we ran into at Ian’s show on Saturday. He has a protruding goatee that he fondles constantly. “You’re like a 12 year old kid sneaking a cigarette,” I said. “Way too focused on it.”
Wipe that smile off your face, baby, and try to play cool.
All of this is me diverting attention from my main reason for blogging today, which is that me and The Lad went to dinner, like on a date. Not that this will materially affect anyone else. But I am nervously happy, with a phospherescent glow.
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