-- I went home and crashed on Friday nite, and got about twelve hours
of sleep. During those hours, I had four dreams about lawyers at
my firm. I was an actor in a TV show directed by one of them, a speech
therapist for another (?!?), a helpful librarian turned helpless valet
for another, and finally, a boxing opponent for the fourth.
What does this say about how I subconscisously feel I'm treated at
I took these dreams as a sign that maybe I was worrying too much about work, so I decided to do something about it -- I volunteered my services on Saturday for about four hours or so. Stuff has been piling up that needed to be taken care of, so I came in and tried to take care of some of it. I didn't get as much done as I wanted, and rather than stick around to get more work done, Jenny came by with Sam the Limey, and after spending twenty minutes trying to escape Downtown, we managed to head out to Westside.
While in the backrest, I realized something about Jenny -- she is an obsessive music fan. Now, I lived with her for about four weeks or so last year, and knew that she was into Blur and Oasis, and would get bootleg videos and such from other fans across the planet. But when I asked to see her Blur tapes that she had, I was given a box of them. And the box didn't even have their actual albums -- those were still up front with her. The tapes were all of concerts they'd performed.
I quit being obsessive about my interests a little while ago, when I realized that they were never going to amount to anything worthwhile -- sort of like me. Who cares if I knew the entire roster of the 1989 Houston Oilers, or all the appearances of the Constrictor, or -- well, a lot of geeky, useless stuff? While I was pouring through magazines to learn all this stuff, other people were learning more important things -- like how to get some!
Anyhow, we ended up hitting the 3rd Street Promenade in Santa Monica, where we took Sam to a British pub. I realized something about British food that perked my interest: For all the razzing British food gets for being bland and whatnot, the key component is hard to beat -- french fries. It's all french fries. French fries and curry sauce -- this is a meal! And it's great. Fully emboldened by this realization, we went and saw Lock, Stock, and Two Smoking Barrels. Jenny and Sam had already seen it, but they said they wouldn't mind seeing it again. Now I understand why -- it was great. A lot more enjoyable than Reservoir Dogs, which it's drawn comparisons to. After Saturday, what with the movie and the food and Sam (he's pretty down with things) my opinion of British culture shot up 1000%, so now it ranks somewhere between Malaysian and Chilean cultures in my book.
I managed to nap right through the Oscars on Sunday, so my weekend actually turned out pretty well. I wasn't subjected to seeing Roberto Begnini giving me yet another reason to hate white people. I heard that Who Fed Roger Ebert was teamed with Duff, the MTV Veejay, on one of the network pre-Oscar shows. Good God, he must have been thinking, "This? I outlived Siskel to get teamed with her?! Why God, why didn't you take me instead?!? Oh well, anything for a free buffet." Duff probably thought she was going to be his regular co-host, and have Spring Break At The Movies, and Movies At the Beach.
I woke up after they were over, and spent the next few hours playing Silent Hill, which I just bought for my Playstation. Nothing like bashing mutant four-year-olds with a crowbar at 1:00 in the morning, I tell you.
I'm supposed to go to a sexual harassment conference/seminar in fifteen minutes. I get to learn how to get some without getting sued for it.