Itty Bitty City Stages

So I managed to sneak off to like 4 hours of City Stages on Saturday. It was a good time, even if there were only 20 or so people there. It was maybe half the size I remember from last year, or 25% of its peak attendance. I don't know what the city needs to do to save the festival, but there are certainly more pressing issues, even though I'd hate for us to lose it.

I discovered the Magic Fun Bus, which puts the crunk back in funk. I met the girlfriend of one of the guys in the band (I held out my hand to ask her to dance and she put a promo CD in it). Actually, I picked out three girlfriends/wives of band members from three separate groups totally on accident. It must be one of my dubious gifts.

A couple of Swing Kids showed up and decided I was the only man there that it was safe to dance with, or maybe they were just too shy to ask anybody else. So I had partners aplenty between them and an assortment of women who "don't dance." I've learned that "I don't dance," is a much weaker protest than, say, "I won't dance." Also, if the music is loud enough, you can pretend not to hear them declining the invitation. No means no, but that doesn't mean you have to take no for an answer.

They say 40 is the new 30, which means 20 is the new 10, which gives me an excuse for how I spend my time. What it doesn't excuse, however, is 60-year-old women with bare midriffs. Cleavage is one thing, but if your navel is above your neckline, it's time to pass the hoochie-mama torch on to your granddaughter. Naturally, the girls who look 22 are only 14, and the girls who look 19 are really 30. Women have a warped sense of time.


If, on seeing this picture, you think, "Hey, that clock reminds me of me," bikini season is over for you.

I was ticked off at having to pay $25 for four hours, but then when I got to the place, I just moseyed in through a hole in the fence. Appartently one of the budget cuts this year was in the fence enforcement department. I never actually came across a ticket booth, but I'm not complaining.

We survived Father's Eve and made close to 15 grand for the store. I'm still not making my minimum to earn commission, but the good news is they have a minimum draw salary that I get. The other bad news is that I'd be doing much better off if I'd stayed on Unemployment, but I digress.

I do have an interview tomorrow with an evil genius working on missile defense. I didn't ask what military his team contracts for, but at this point I'm relatively ambivalent. If hired, I'd have to get a secret clearance, which will be hard for me, since I haven't kept a secret in my life. I'm wondering if the whistleblower protection act keeps me out of jail if I uncover some secret plot that I'm not supposed to uncover on account of it being secret.



Oh, and I watched Vanilla Sky, and was disappointed at how much explanation they gave at the end. Also, I wonder if it was really tom cruise behind the mask, as it would've been much cheaper to make a cast of his face and get some $15/day extra to do his scenes for 2/3 of the film. It turns out that when you mangle his face, he's really not much of an actor. So when you think about it, all he really has going for him is his face, his wealth, and Katie Holmes.

That consolation made more sense in my head.

Shameless Exploitation of Critters Cuter Than I

Child prodigy Jack, spreading wings like Icarus.


Heidi. The size of the bricks has not been exaggerated.


Heidi again.


Heidi yet again.

Morning Hickness

Sorry for the delay between postings, but the tangled wwweb they've wwwoven seems incapable of supporting my poor little neglected machine.

Anyway, City Stages is this weekend, but I'm gonna miss most of it, since i'm working. It's tempting to quit now with two minutes' notice instead of two weeks', but that's not good business ethics, or something. These days, companies can be bought and sold in less than two weeks; governments can topple in that time, and people can go from being married to divorced about four times in two weeks. But me not showing up every day to talk people out of buying gadgets would upset everything too much.

Now, if someone gave me an all-access pass, you know I'd be outa here. I'm certainly not going to miss any job that forbids me from surfing the net on the clock (even when it's just to answer a customer's question about a product). For their part, my cow-orkers have gotten used to the idea of getting all the commission I would be getting if I were selling what they were selling, as long as I don't hurt the store's numbers. The other day was one of the best Wednesdays we had on record, with one customer buying $3000 worth of toys on a whim. Naturally my colleague saw him first, and acted like he had accomplished something when the guy left. Separating a fool from his money is no great feat, but it can be profitable.

Speaking of fools with money, there's at least one who's done something right. I try not to take notice on the intrigues of celebrities, but when somebody steals my girl I can't just stand idly by. I haven't decided on a course of action yet, but I'm planning to watch Vanilla Sky, which should infuriate me with Tommy Boy all the more.

Oh, and I have an interview in Turkey next week with a Colorado-born man from Hunstville, or maybe it's some other way around. Naturally the district manager decided to put all hands on deck that day to rearrange all the merchandise for our post-Father's Day blowout. This will be the first sale of this kind in the Sharper Image's history, which goes to show you that even the early adopters are a discriminating bunch. So that means I'm working six days straight (as a part timer, mind you), and have to be in two places at once. You know your job isn't right for you when you hope to get an ultimatum that will push you over the edge. It's just that, if I'm gonna be fired, I want it to be spectacular. It's at least reassuring to know that nobody's failure is as memorable as yours.


Watch your six, Maverick.

Revoking the Charter

My internet connection has been hit-or-miss today. I'm about ready to switch to an ISDN or smoke signals, since the cable service is so unreliable and slow. That and Charter unceremoniously declined to interview me for the position of cable guy. I can take my business someplace else, as long as g-diddy still gets his fix.

It was a very productive day by my standards. I did like four loads of laundry, vacuumed another third of my floors, folded the last three weeks' worth of clean laundry, called all my recruiters and informed them of my incentive program, got my head shrunk, and hit Outback to celebrate my sister's cotton transplanniversary.

Anyway, since I don't have anything exciting to report aside from beating all the songs on Monkey level with a gold DK award (I know you're all proud), I'm gonna paste something else that I wrote for the Tech back in the good ole days before they graduated me.

No, I don’t understand the words that are coming out of your mouth.

Depressed at having missed out on celebrating the coming of 2003 with the Western world, I decided I could redeem myself by ringing in the year of the goat. I attended this year’s Spring Festival thinking at worst I’d lose $3 and a couple of hours, but was pleasantly surprised more than once at the vivacity, creativity, and pride that went in to making the evening a memorable one for all in attendance.

I’ve attended my share of Caltech parties, including events put together by just about every student organization on campus, so I speak with some degree of authority when I say that the Caltech C outdid themselves with this one. Never in my career of twenty Decompressions has the Winnett lounge been so packed, nor so well decorated. Everywhere I looked were shiny orb-looking-deals, huge non-ASCII characters, goats and sheep and a plethora of all things Asiatic. The food was abundant and delicious, although I lack the words (literally) to describe exactly what I was eating. Having arrived early, I had the pleasure of watching a hundred people stand in line as I ate, which made savoring the cuisine even more enjoyable.

The festivities were hosted by emcees Xin’ an (Joane) Xiu and Gang Duan. First year grad student Xiu was dressed in an exquisite red and gold satin dress, decorated with Chinese lettering in what I assume to be a traditional fashion. If it isn’t traditional, it needs to be, starting now. Duan was probably wearing clothes too, but because he was standing next to her your humble reporter failed to notice.

The Southern Chinese Youth Association performed classical tunes in a most professional and euphonic fashion, including a spectacular feature with demonstrations of various traditional (or maybe they were cutting edge—Chinese, in any event) wind instruments. I’ve known scores of wind players, but I can’t say that I’ve ever witnessed anyone who could play half a dozen instruments in a row without compromising musicianship. Actually, it’s not correct to say he played them all in a row, because this soloist (whose name I unfortunately neglected to find out) managed to play two of them at once. In tune. And in harmony. The instruments resembled a much finer version of the plastic recorders children play in school, which are not know for their intonation. This man was wailing.

Opening and closing addresses were given by the head of the Chinese Consulate in Los Angeles. I had meant to learn Mandarin on Saturday morning, but I overslept, so I missed out on understanding the finer points of what I’m sure was a delightful speech. Most non-Mandarin speakers would’ve been confused at hearing it full speed without subtitles, but once you’ve survived an ACM 95c lecture, you can make sense out of anything.

Party games were a lively diversion, including several rounds of Charades. The clues and answers were transliterated for the rest of us, but for all practical purposes the game was rigged in favor of those who actually knew how to read all the little pictures. The most popular category seemed to be “idiom,” which generally meant I was hosed.

Later, however, I managed to redeem myself. I used my mad linguistics skills, knowledge of song lyrics, and utter imperviousness to embarrassment to win two door prizes in a later contest involving songs with the word “goat.” You had to be there.

An unexpected highlight came from Eli Jorne, a grad student in applied physics who at first glance doesn’t appear Chinese at all, who gave a passionate rendition of a Chinese (I think) song entitled “Girl, Please Look this Way.” His performance was complimented by at least one listener, who noted his astute proficiency in the finer points of Mandarin. I’m jealous, not because he could make the crowd laugh uproariously, but because he knew what they were laughing at. That and he’s a mighty fine singer to boot.

In addition, I got to hear the finest zither performance I’ve ever encontered, saw other students in musical acts, skits with goats and sheep, and interpretive Tai Chi dancing.

All in all, I’d say the Chinese C has raised the bar for heritage. I know culture isn’t a competitive sport, but I may just be persuaded away from KSA, OASIS, or CLASES in favor of these goat-loving people with the Karaoke machine and all the other traditional Chinese cultural gadgets.

What Women's Lib Movement?

In addition to teaching the art of shorthand, the book I got for a quarter has some interesting advice for would-be shorthanders. Women readers should be careful reading this; your bra might spontaneously combust.