7/22/99 - I don't get sick very often, which is why I am more apt to use my sick days to play hooky and do nothing than to come to work when I don't feel like it and do nothing.  Well, "do nothing" at works to me means handling stupid requests from attorneys, finding work for our intern, and using my powers of self-control to avoid strangling Duc.  I was up Tuesday night talking to Paula.  She mentioned how she was hanging out on Tuesday afternoon doing nothing except watching people on a beautiful day outside of City Hall.  And when I woke up at 6 or 7 or whenever it was, that was the first thought in my head.  So I slept in, shaved off my goatee, bought tickets for the midnight showing of The Blair Witch Project (since it was the only show that wasn't sold out when the box office opened that both Jenny and I could make), and spent the rest of the day doing nothing.

Well, I watched people at 3rd Street Promenade, did several loads of laundry, and got my haircut.  The latter might have been the highlight.  I was wandering around Santa Monica needing a haircut, and I found a directory that listed "St. Peter's Barbershop", or something like that.  I walk to the shop, and it's this tiny little room with two barberchairs.  The barber was this old guy wearing a wifebeater that you could see his sagging chest through.  Since he was giving one guy a haircut, I sat down to flip through the magazines while I waited.  Usually you'll come across magazines like GQ, or Esquire, or Vanity Fair, magazines that are full of people with nice haircuts.  This guy had a Penthouse, a Playboy, and the newest issue of Spin which I have at home anyway.

So I read the Spin article on San Francisco's Survival Research Laboratories, which is a bunch of guys with overdeveloped IQs and too much time on their hands building incredibly destructive machines that probably have them under surveillance by the FBI. 

Ray came up later on, eager to buy some bud.  I called Drug Dealer John, but he wasn't answering his cel or his home number.  Probably getting some from his tall yuhjah girlfriend.  Ray and I drove to a bar in Culver City to see if Ray's favorite hook-up, Mike the Stoner Bartender, had any.  Nada.  Then we drove to Manhattan Beach to see if some stoner bartender there had any.  Three strikes, we're out of weed.  Ray is fiending b/c he's going to Vegas this weekend with a bunch of the boys, and since he's not gonna play golf he's gonna wanna do something after he loses all his money.  Or even before he loses it.  I went to Vegas once with Phil and we smoked out the entire way back.  I swear, it was the most fun I've ever had going to or from Vegas, even if I can't remember any of it.

Oh, and I caught the Blair Witch showing that I had bought tickets for.  It was pretty good, definitely not like anything I'd seen in a while.  I don't wanna blow it for anyone, so I won't talk about it any further, only I'll say that seeing it with a theater packed full of UCLA students and their friends isn't the best setting for it. 

And that's what I did when I played hooky.


 
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