Secret Pop

May 2, 2005

There are no strings on me.

Fret? Frown? Me? Go on.

I lost one of my digital cameras this past week. It was at Birds. And I was really surprised that no one turned it in. I guess I place a lot of faith in the goodness of people. I've also made a number of ill-informed stock purchases in my life. Maybe someone will do the math on that. Losing the camera upset me. As did losing the photos on it. But I ordered a new one, and I suppose it will be here any day now, and I will have nothing to worry about. I also finally got another working Lomo, and I'm hoping to be thrilled by all the pictures I take with it to make up for the tragic number of months of not having one. Tonight, I snapped a few exposures at The Cat and Fiddle. I'm well out of practice and terribly wobbly-handed these days. But I have boxes and boxes of film to spare and a desire to re-enter the swing of things.

I also finally ate food at Al Gelato this weekend, but I have to say I probably will stick with the gelato and coffee from now on. Or maybe if I ever eat there again, I'll just have a sandwich or something. Ordering the pasta was just plain embarrassing. The food there has a Three Worlds of Gulliver quality to it. My favorite thing was the bread. But even that was huge. And the tomato sauce was too sweet. Borderline Chef Boyardee sweet. Me no like. I didn't eat the garlic bread, but when it came to the table, I winced. I wouldn't eat that much garlic if it contained the antidote to a poison I'd just ingested. I tiptoe around garlic as it is, but certain restaurants have this novelty approach to garlic presentation. Buca di Beppo, for instance. Somehow, they pretend that putting a huge amount of garlic on a food item is awesome instead of excessive and ghetto. Maybe it's from watching Emeril or something. Anyway, it's not a smart practice. I can think of so many things it's possible to have too much of. I won't bore you with the list. But trust me, it's expansive. Summing up, the cappucino is lovely, and I prefer the gelato to any I've had anywhere. But the meatballs -- while larger than my dog's head -- were a little mealy. And now that I've had them, I no longer need to anymore. Just like with so many other things.

Tammy and Jeff and I went to see The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy at The El Capitan Theatre on Friday night. Vera and Blaine were walking down the street as I approached the theater. They had just seen the movie and did not appear to be too down in the dumps about it. My friend Steve was getting out of work at the Jimmy Kimmel show while I was in the queue of ticketholders. And Gordo ran into me when I had just collected my tickets, which was a happy circumstance as I somehow managed to be sold six tickets instead of three and needed to unload my extries on him and his clique. Which I did. It's weird how that happens sometimes. And maybe I say it a lot. But as big as this city pretends to be, I am always surprised at how impossible it seems for me to go nearly anywhere without seeing someone I know. I don't dislike it in the least. But then, I'm never out committing felonies or anything.

After the movie, we went over to Powerhouse and had a few drinks and talked about what was right and wrong with the movie and what is great about dive bars and what television characters should live on our desert islands and why drunk girls get so friendly. I felt the ebb of my vivacity. I've been so tired recently. So drab and lifeless. So cognizant of the fact that lipstick alone won't light up my face. The other night, with eyes sore from previous tears and a head aching from effort, I nearly accepted penicillin from Jessie, who thought she was offering me an analgesic. That would have been an excellent way to distract me from sad thoughts by replacing them with the onset of hives, inflammatory immunologic response, and possible respiratory failure.

When I was leaving Powerhouse, a guy tried to start up a conversation with me. Ill-timed and inconsiderate as it was, I tried to be polite. He introduced himself while I was fumbling for cigarettes. He asked if we could have dinner sometime. I stammered something unsmooth. He asked for my number, and eventually I gave it to him, but it wasn't written on anything, and I don't expect him to remember it. I don't know why I think I'm doing anyone a favor by not just saying "no, thank you," but I often end up being nice to people for no reason other than to avoid being not nice. I would be thrilled if I was occasionally quick and catty and less available to this sort of advance. Episodes like that one are the reason I am afraid to answer my telephone much of the time.

I sent out the evite for my birthday party this weekend. It was fun to fantasize a little bit about how grand my party will be. Whether it ends up being grand or not. But I got stuck a little on trying to pick an evite theme. I realized that I'm uptight about things like this. That I have difficulty subscribing to things that are supposed to be fun and cool. I don't want to pick an image that looks like I think I'm really swell. I don't want to pick anything I think might seem dumb. I end up being tempted to pick something outrageously dumb in the hopes that the irony will seem clever. In the end, I picked a greenish theme with an illustration of two people at a bar. It's not at all representative of the bar I will be at or of me or any of my friends as far as I can tell, but I like green. And I was tired of paging through the theme options. And, no, I was not going to customize my own theme, either. It's very important that I don't appear to be putting a lot of effort into being me and living my fanciful-looking life. I didn't customize my MySpace page either. Nor do I employ desktop themes on my computers. These things are true about me.

Martín bought a Lotto ticket because he saw a dwarf couple at Boston Market and thought it must be a lucky omen. It didn't pan out.

But as for me, I still remember how it was before. And I am holding back the tears no more.

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