Where do I begin?
After a week that relentlessly dragged on, Catch and I took it upon ourselves to see the Bill Hicks "tribute" show, Slight Return at the Comedy Festival. Done with consuming the only food in town that should have been condemned by the Department of Human Services but wasn't, we strapped ourselves in for a night of intricately crafted mannerisms, vituperative angst and freewheeling social commentary, delivered in what was only thought to be the inimitable Hicks style. His arrogance wasn't misplaced, he was damn good at what he did. Catch and I decided to kick on to the Arthouse. However, we elected that $12 to see Fuck...I'm Dead wasn't worth the price of admission. So a short trip up to the Queensberry Hotel was in order.
After settling into a few beers, we ventured upstairs where a few patrons were sitting, seemingly minding their own business. We drank on, reminiscing and talking shit as we do. Then a few more people showed up. None took any notice of us. Then even more. Music started blaring. A couple had started to hand over presents to a certain individual...We had crashed someone's party by stealth. After quickly rectifying some irrational thoughts, I decided to make a night of it. Luckily, we introduced ourselves to some of the crowd, posturing ourselves as if we belonged to the fringes of some social group and eventually the Birthday Boy himself. (I even bought him a drink! His name was Tim.) I had to feign some memory of my high school days, as people I apparently shared four years of classes with recognized myself and Catch, surprised to see us at Tim's 21st.
Yeah, and so were we!
I'm discontinuing the "numbers game" after a rather in-depth and insightful conversation with Erin. BUT! Here's my final score:
23/0 (With 13 days remaining.)
Also: Get your hands on this week's copy of Buzz Magazine! Whoever wrote the article on the front page is a genius! (I hope I don't get sick...but I'm on my way, unfortunately.)