This I Have Observed

Last night, Angie and I went to St. Nick's for a drink and were accosted by two fellows who never ever took the hint that we weren't interested in going back to their hotel suite with them. They stuck by us, breathing their stale beer in our faces for well over an hour, despite my repeated intimations that I would have liked to spend some quality time with my friend, whom I had not seen in some time. One of them wooed us with the appealing story of how he has five children and an eighth grade education and spent ten years in the penitentiary. The other wooed us by being embarrassed by him. In an attempt to avoid being walked out to our cars -- and to what would have been certain death or at the very least a very inconvenient rape -- by them, we walked past a short British fellow who also had a hot tub to invite us to. And all of these guys, and another guy who was supposedly trying to protect us from them, found reasons to touch my bare midriff. One of the first pair of jerks actually just reached down for no reason and caressed my exposed hip when I was talking to the bartender. Like I was some sort of tactile exhibit at the natural history museum. I scolded him, and he apologized by saying, "I like it when a woman is very feminine." Lord, I pitied him.

Tonight, I went with Martín and Francisca to Versailles for dinner, and a guy at an adjacent table handed his business card to our waiter and asked him to give it to me. From the art on the card, I gather that he is a hip hop producer or something. No one you would know. But there was really nothing for me to do but shrug and put the card in my handbag. Is this even done anymore? People sending messages to other people's tables via waiter? He didn't write anything on the card. And when I looked at him, he didn't even do that lame "call me" pantomime gesture. He just sort of looked at me, and it made me uncomfortable.

Both nights, I was wearing stripes of some kind. I wonder if that has anything to do with it.

I was finishing up some work this evening, and 50 First Dates was on the television. I had no desire to see it when it was in the theater, but that's why I pay for movie channels. So I can lackadaisically listen to movies I know I won't like while I'm working. And boy am I glad I didn't pay to see this. All the actors look like they're about to break with every line. And none of the lines they're saying are funny so the breaking is wholly inexcusable. Then there was a Callahan Auto reference. Callahan Auto in Sandusky, Ohio. I suppose that's an homage to Chris Farley. And that's nice, but I don't like having Tommy Boy associated with this crap on wheels. Tommy Boy is a bit of genius. Genius needs to be kept separate from crap. At all costs.

And speaking of bad comedy, every time I see a trailer for Racing Stripes, I ask myself how it is that David Spade hasn't just killed himself by now. He must really be dying to.