Scooter Libby says he revealed classified materials to reporters on “orders” from superiors, naming Dick Cheney. Lest you be fooled, however, this is not as serious as getting a b.j., so there will be no impeachment.
Speaking of B.J.s, the bartender at Isis by that name was kind last night whilst I chatted with Clint Stone’s sweetie, Shannon. I admitted to a bias against Irish culture but she talked to me anyway. B.J., I’ll catch up with you tonight.
The lovely Juliet of Elastic Cafe fame came by Flip’s last night while I was having dinner and gave me a big drive-by hug on her way to Tulsa. Baby, you’re the best.
The absolute hottest place in town Thursday night was Rococo. It was Shy’s birthday and a bunch of his friends came to jazz jam with him. Bat-Ur sang. A sabra named Art played classical guitar and I swear he was better than Edgar Cruz and he knocked down the whole house and then raised the roof with an encore. Unbelievable! The guy sitting at the bar next to me, a guy named Joshua, said he would no longer call himself a guitarist until he practiced more. This guy, Art, was just that good. He says he’s taking music composition at OCU, but as a performer, he was amazing.
Over on MySpace, Kat with a K says I’m using my pussy to flirt. Like she doesn’t.
Went to Adobe Grill for dinner with the Paseo crowd Wednesday night and it was just great. I think Adobe is the best Latino food in town and that the management is the most in touch with its diners. Personalized service and great food. Hard to beat.
Later, we went to my house for the movie, this week provided by Oz: “Against All Odds” starring a very buff Jeff Bridges, Rachel Ward, Alex Karras, and a special appearance by an ancient Richard Widmark as the villain. The thought occurred to me that Jeff Bridges in “Tron” was the prequel to “Matrix”.
I haven’t been in to work all week. My excuse is that I can’t stand the paint and carpet adhesive fumes, but that’s partly bullsh*t, it’s mostly because I’m a lazy and crazy bastard.
Missed my Mom’s birthday. I always get it mixed up. I’m already dragging around a ton of Mommy guilt, so another few pounds of “missing birthday” guilt is just what I needed. Ah, well. I hate it that I’m human and prone to error, but that’s just the size of it.
Tonight, I’ll be at Son del Barrio at Galileo’s even if it hairlips every whore in Houston. I LIKE this band and I like the audience reactions to it. Every time I see them, it’s a mellow crowd that still buzzes with excitement. I like them in the GSpot venue — big enough for a crowd but not one of those warehouse venues. Easier parking than Bricktown. They have a drink named after me. I know the waitstaff and love them. Put on your woolen leggings and get out in the moderate cold and DO SOMETHING this Friday night other than sit in front of your stereo smoking pot and listening to Led Zep for the zillionth time, will ya?
Freakin’ stoners chap my ass.
I actually blogged yesterday, but it didn’t show up. Musta deleted it somehow. Sorry. One thing that was in the blog entry from yesterday that I’d like to replicate but can’t is my reactions to something I found over on MCarp’s blog, 3:40 a.m. He links to some guy who has a site called something like A Staggering Work of Illumination I’ll Never Read. In some large part, it’s a soap opera prose piece about his love life and I got to reading it and couldn’t stop. It’s good to know that I’m not the only one with a seriously fucked up lovelife. I especially like the part where he cheats on his terrific girlfriend with a fat poet named Dannie who has an affectation in her speaking voice that makes her pronounce “croissant” in a way that drives him mad. Why Why Why? he asks himself. BECAUSE YOU ARE A DAWG, SONNY. WE ALL ARE. It made me laugh.