September 30, 2002
What if they gave a war and no one came?
But then imagine that instead of a war, it was my birthday party, and instead of no one coming it was actually attended by all of you.
So what if THAT? Huh?
Um...let's do journalism style:
Who: Me
What: Birthday
When: Saturday 10/19 comma evening of
Where: Not sure yet. Out to dinner and then to 26 mix for some 80s music is what I am thinking.
Why: Because it's the surest way I have to guarantee presents from you slackers. See this way you can just buy me dinnner and a few drinks. And not even a whole dinner! Because maybe there will be lots of you!
So...that's it I guess. If you have good ideas for where a lot of people can comfortably eat dinner in SF then by all means talk amongst yourselves; my only stipulation is, not sushi. Unless we make it at someone's house, which I am also down with.
Erica and Jacob also both have birthdays right around then, so if you two were wanting the Saturday night for something else involving everyone, hey, I am flexible. (It's the yoga.)
Posted by didofoot at 04:10 PM | Comments (23)
Maybe you don't like your job, maybe you didn't get enough sleep.
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.
Posted by didofoot at 11:15 AM | Comments (19)
September 26, 2002
"O tedium, tedium, tedium..."
John Taylor Gatto says: "Even when they are offered real work to do, most drift back to the secure meaningless of busywork."
Well, that's us, isn't it? Uniquely qualified by income, class, education, talent and natural intelligence to accomplish significant things, I and nearly everyone I know spend our requisite 40 hours performing senseless acts of drudgery in the service of a mediocrity so huge we don't even notice it anymore.
It's enough to make you WWOOF with KTV. It's enough to make you buy a slogan bumpersticker, and use it, too.
Posted by didofoot at 09:32 PM | Comments (15)
September 25, 2002
Some interesting facts:
1. If you type "My husband encourages me to date and fuck other men" through an earthlink search engine, you will find my page. Here are some of the other search engine phrases which are leading people to me:
fleshlight
hot grannies
nude in the forest and photos and fucking
what is shazbot
christian fanfic
saggy grannies
armless boy
hot vulgar grannies
pinky & the brain christmas special
dirty minded grannies
graffiti bunny devil
2. This is the fucking coolest thing I've found on the web so far (except mapquest).
3. Carthage has gotten 539 visits in September so far.
4. 449 of those lasted less than 30 seconds.
Thanks to Gene for making this humbling information available to me. And now, allow me to say:
Naked Kate Winslet photos
Hardcore animal sex pics HOT HOT HOT
Grannies doing nasty things to each other underwater
Filial fuckfests
Thanks for stopping by. Now get a real hobby, freakshow.
Posted by didofoot at 03:25 PM | Comments (16)
September 24, 2002
Veggie scramble across the street and Illy in a hipflask
Been enjoying the graffiti in the streetcar tunnels like no tomorrow. You barely see it as you whizz by, and even when you're stopped on a not infrequent MUNI delay you can't understand what the letters say. Except someone understands them. It's a whole network of communication that I've grown slightly obsessed with, much the way that the bike messenger subculture obsesses me. I like this subterranean world under my feet. And how, how, how do they get so far into the tunnel to paint these elaborate cave scratchings?
It's not the haphazard stuff you see on bridges and such either. These are incredibly detailed, colorful paintings, complete with pictures of hook-nosed faces and hooded figures next to the letters. And when you slide by in your brightly lit bubble it looks like these figures in the pictures are the artists.
I scowled through a confusing math class, I went out to breakfast, I bought some Illy coffee for my freezer, I bought a garbage can. Life, you have stayed me in a happy hour.
Posted by didofoot at 10:56 AM | Comments (1)
September 23, 2002
Saturday Night Social
If you read my blog, you probably read Ian's also (though sadly the reverse is not true), but just in case:
Saturday, Hills Have Eyes (comma The), Stork Club (which is good and gives free coffee if you look all starry-eyed at the lady bartender), we there, it's on. May I point out, there is a neglige-draped dummy? Practically a puppet, people.
Posted by didofoot at 09:14 AM | Comments (0)
September 22, 2002
P.S.
Last night I dreamt I was milking my pet goat, sometimes using my hands.
I don't know why I feel the need to humiliate myself for the entertainment of you all folks. Yet I do.
Please feel free to once again start in on how hot my mother is, and then my discomfort will be complete.
Posted by didofoot at 04:38 PM | Comments (3)
It was write this or write my essay.
After canoeing yesterday I managed to leave my shoes in The Lad's car, so when Jacob's car dropped me off at my intersection I got to walk across Market and Castro followed by a trail of amazed comments re: my barefootedness. The best was from two apparent tourists, one of whom, breathlessly solemn, told her friend "This is San Francisco, they have all kinds of hippie people here."
Canoeing was a cracking good time. I would be paddling and I'd work up some momentum and pretty soon we'd be flying along, and then inexplicably the momentum would vanish, and I would realize it was because Pants had stopped paddling in order to steer us away from some ominous tree branch I had been blithely shooting straight towards. Then he'd start paddling again and I'd once again be able to lie to myself about my own abilities. My biceps are barking today, but not nearly as much as they would have been if I hadn't been partnered with what felt like the entire Olympic crew team of the Czech Republic.
Friday night at the Odeon with KTV, Pants, Kim J and The Lad was also good clean fun (except for the margarita fizz I kept sloshing drunkenly on the floor). I recommend a repeat with interesting variations. Saturday night, anyone want to? I want to check out the Philosopher's Club on West Portal, which I am inexplicably fascinated by despite never having seen the inside.
Posted by didofoot at 03:41 PM | Comments (4)
September 12, 2002
Gotta create a demand curve and read the Constitution
Today at school I learned how to do "yoga sleep." That is just like regular sleep, but you do it in yoga class. Luckily I don't snore during yoga sleep, at least (worried Satchel frown) I hope not. For twenty minutes today everyone practiced their yoga sleep; any class with a naptime included is okay in my book. (My book has large print and lots of colorful pictures.)
I still like my gov't class, although I've now identified the Annoying Girl who will raise her hand several times in a discussion and make the same point that was just made, as if it was brand new. I'm still looking for her car so I can key it.
Tonight, some of my fun friends are going out to the Beta Lounge or somewhere circusy to fuck shit up. Me, I'm staying in to write an essay and do math homework. I am happier than I have been in three years.
Posted by didofoot at 07:01 PM | Comments (18)
September 10, 2002
Knock knock I'm a doorknob
I got another place, six blocks away from my last place. Any of you who were too lazy/occupied/abroad to help me move LAST sunday will doubtless be lining up THIS sunday to help me do it again.
Those of you who did help (Gene and parents) are off the guilt hook.
Those of you who volunteered but were proven unnecessary (Max and KT) are totally welcome to throw in another oar.
The rest of you - I can't offer much, but if you move me in then you'll have someplace to crash after you party all night at the Castro Halloween bash. Please please help me, please help, please!
Posted by didofoot at 09:06 AM | Comments (9)
September 05, 2002
Oh they're taking him to prison for the color of his hair
The good news is, I'll be updating this a lot more frequently than I have been lately.
The bad news is, I got evicted and am moving back to PHill for the nonce.
Here is how the story goes, and feel free to interrupt with piteous noises at any time: Four days ago, I moved in. This morning, I left a cheerful card thanking my landlady for the bottle of wine she left me, and casually mentioning that I would be setting off a bug bomb on the following morning to kill the spiders all over the place. I said this would not affect her, but wanted to let her know. I went off to school with a merry heart.
Later, arriving home after classes and a brief traipse about my shiny new neighborhood, there was a knocking without. When I opened the door, there stood my landlady in a choler. Immediately she demanded to see these fictious spiders I had been inventing to fill my lonely hours. Well, I began to show her of course, but her dander was clearly up and she grew more and more angry, yelling (yelling, seriously) "Show me the spiders, then! Show me!"
"I AM showing you, look here."
"Twenty-five years I've had tenants and not one has ever mentioned spiders to me," she hollered, forcing me to what in retrospect was probably an unwise remark, regarding What The Neighbors Have Been Saying about the short duration of stay for these tenants. Well, that pushed her over the edge. She turned an attractive purple shade not unlike her eye makeup, called me a busybody several times, sputtered and stormed out.
Fifteen minutes later there was another knocking without. I opened the door and she handed me my original check for first, last and deposit and asked me to be gone within a week. Then harranged me for another ten minutes re: my busybodying nature and slammed out in high dugeon, if that's how I spell that.
Well, the place was a shithole really, so I guess it's no loss. I just feel like such a maroon. I really wanted to embark on a new career of non-flakiness, but moving twice in a week is surpassing even my previous acts of irresponsibility.
Speaking of which, if you have a strong back and no plans on Sunday, y'all feel free to e-mail/call me before then and let me know if you're interested in a little bit o'box hefting. I'll absolutely understand if you don't want to, and if you do want to then I'll be eternally grateful and stand you a beer afterwards, or a fizzy beverage of your choice.
Posted by didofoot at 09:00 PM | Comments (13)
September 01, 2002
Home for a pig
I got the place! That one in the picture I posted, with the garden? I got it!
Not that it was tough mind you. I showed up in a skirt to my knees with charming father in tow, looking like an All-American Ms. Auto Fair Festival 1956 Queen type, and the opera-singin', cake-makeup wearin' landlady just about fell over in glee.
So it's little. The ceilings are not all that they could be. And I'll be sharing it with a couple of somnolent daddy longlegs. But it's in Upper Market, within walking distance to the Castro and all the good food that entails; plus, no one will hassle me when I'm walking around at night, because ew girls.
I can't have a housewarming party - like pretty much all of my studios before this one, it's big enough for me and a petite friend and that's all about it. But we should go eat at the awesome Greek place again soon, as it is just blocks away, and I can show y'all my garden.
Posted by didofoot at 09:14 AM | Comments (5)
