(one.) The doll with whom I have been intermittently in discussion since February's last weekend, but whom I have yet to meet -- I won't go into the gory detail, but let's just say my junior year of university self understands -- went out to an Irish pub last nite with a friend up with the Lou. (She had moved there in Dec., after living in the MKE prior, though for how long I know not. Why, I don't even know when Melissa -- is the name of the anthro/library-science grad. student with whom I am in talks -- moved to 'Sconsin.) As it was, I learnt of the impending outing for the two fillies when I phoned in the mid-evening, while en route to Comet, to see if she (i.e. Melissa) would be able to knock back a few and flip half-and-half that eve. She said she would be turning in early, but if I could get to the Irish pub before ten-thirty (it was eight-fifteen when I called), I could join them for a round. Unfortunately, this was not to pass. Or, mayhaps, most fortunately.
(two.) After supping at Comet with a cup of vegan chili, a guacamole sandwich, tortilla crisps, and two coffee-based drinks, and reading thru about two-fifths of D. Foster Wallace's Atlantic piece (March '05 cover), I left -- but not without first checking out the lanky glass of water in denim skirt barely too short for her slip and blonde hair done into an indie-rock pony-tail -- the cafe and intended to drive over to Paddy's. And, I did do that. But, after getting out of my car on Murray and Greenwich and walking south, I kept straight-away walking as I neared then passed Paddy's. Instead, I went to Von Trier and ended up having two glasses of house red (Shiraz, I think) and discussion with two older women (hard to believe, but thirty-six and -three respectively; they couldn't have looked anymore than my brother's age (twenty-seven), though) of Polish extraction. The conversation was stilted at times -- usually, I favor women slightly my junior (years of birth between '82 and '86), so it goes to reason I felt a little out of my depth, to start -- but free-flowing and cordial. I also felt more at ease as I noted their semi-visible cleavage and had the mental image in my mind of tit-fucking one, the other, or both.
(three.) About eleven-forty-five PM, I checked the time on my mobile and noted I had a missed call from Melissa. And, upon listening to the message at twelve-fifteen AM, after the two Polish-American would-be-MILF (if that they only were mothers, not just matured, but still vivacious, party-girls) had departed and I walked to my car, I learnt she phoned at ten-thirty precisely, to say she was turning in, and that I should get back to her on the weekend proceeding, Friday eve, and have a run at making more concrete plan for the event. So, good sign, or just more amiability, which is probably her default setting for all but the lamest of lay-abouts and cads? I don't know, but I am learning -- even if she plays not that interested, but still shows some interest, don't move too fast; keep her guessing, maintain the intrigue... Heed the lesson of the Beloit College coed, and moreso, Shawna Wester----, that slow and steady wins a lap.
(four.) After Comet and Von Trier -- total expenditure: 35$US (yes, I am an high-roller) -- I made my last out-and-about stop of the night at Onopa. There was to be a Barcelonense spinning, so I figured I'd check it out, to see to what the Spaniards were on. And, the time opened well, the number during which time I entered the venue being a bit Nortec-sounding, but quickly I realized the venture would be a bore, as NO ONE was dancing. (Note to promoters: never schedule DJ shows at white-boy and -girl indie-rock clubs.) So, I high-tailed it quick, but not before having a Blatz. (Not for the reason, though, that it is cheap suds, but because it is popular with the twenties-aged drinking-class for its cheapness and even though it is a pissy ale (and people my age, our age, pretend discernment -- but, they can take their Burroughs and Keats, and Kushner and mid-period Scorsese, if they don't know the difference between a lot of a poor-grade food-stuff or drink and an healthy serving of a mid- to high-grade of same), and one that went out of style about the time my grandfather retired from his sales position with Heilmann. As it is, I walked out with the empty, to show to my grandfather; he'll get a kick out of it, like when he was in hospital Feb. '04 and regaling the nurses, uniquely of my age, with sales stories, their ears rapt, but especially the one whose boyfriend was a bar-tender on the east-side and favorer of Blatz.)
(five.) I had my last meal of the nite -- corned beef on rye, with chips on the side -- at Johnny V's, and as I was to leave, I took ten or twelve minutes to converse with two co-workers from my moonlighting gig, and two friends of the one. I also chided them for making a paltry 4$US tip on a twenty-dollars order, noting I had left 5$US on an 8.38$US order, and describing mine (and my erstwhile friends' (late-nineties vintage)) tipping habits, inclusive the occasion at Ember's (now called Genesis), an all-nite cafeteria at Hwy. 100 and Beloit, in late '99 (just after the Christmas holiday) when Jerry left a 20$US tip on a 30$US order. Oh, those were the days...
(six.) And, speaking of those erstwhile acquaintances, at Comet I saw a well-designed advertisement for DIY minded musicians to submit their demos to a "Mike", with interest in Minor Threat AND jazz, and who likes seeing the country from a van with his punk-rawk goddess wife, and I was thinking... Shit, that is [editorial note: deleted]. Most disturbingly, though, it mentioned he had a newborn baby-girl to his name and honour. Which means, my ne'er-do-well, grifter and kitsch-monger friends turned enemies are reproducing... Got damn it. Such does not bode well for turn-about of Wisconsin's provincialism in cosmopolitanism. I really must get out of this state then -- thank Got I'll have my car paid off by mid-'06 (two years early) and my credit-card down... The grad. school planning is proceeding well, then.
(seven.) Where should I look to do grad. school? Any suggestions? I am thinking either MFA in lit. or composition, or MA/MS in international policy/sociology/linguistics... Know of anything?
(two.) After supping at Comet with a cup of vegan chili, a guacamole sandwich, tortilla crisps, and two coffee-based drinks, and reading thru about two-fifths of D. Foster Wallace's Atlantic piece (March '05 cover), I left -- but not without first checking out the lanky glass of water in denim skirt barely too short for her slip and blonde hair done into an indie-rock pony-tail -- the cafe and intended to drive over to Paddy's. And, I did do that. But, after getting out of my car on Murray and Greenwich and walking south, I kept straight-away walking as I neared then passed Paddy's. Instead, I went to Von Trier and ended up having two glasses of house red (Shiraz, I think) and discussion with two older women (hard to believe, but thirty-six and -three respectively; they couldn't have looked anymore than my brother's age (twenty-seven), though) of Polish extraction. The conversation was stilted at times -- usually, I favor women slightly my junior (years of birth between '82 and '86), so it goes to reason I felt a little out of my depth, to start -- but free-flowing and cordial. I also felt more at ease as I noted their semi-visible cleavage and had the mental image in my mind of tit-fucking one, the other, or both.
(three.) About eleven-forty-five PM, I checked the time on my mobile and noted I had a missed call from Melissa. And, upon listening to the message at twelve-fifteen AM, after the two Polish-American would-be-MILF (if that they only were mothers, not just matured, but still vivacious, party-girls) had departed and I walked to my car, I learnt she phoned at ten-thirty precisely, to say she was turning in, and that I should get back to her on the weekend proceeding, Friday eve, and have a run at making more concrete plan for the event. So, good sign, or just more amiability, which is probably her default setting for all but the lamest of lay-abouts and cads? I don't know, but I am learning -- even if she plays not that interested, but still shows some interest, don't move too fast; keep her guessing, maintain the intrigue... Heed the lesson of the Beloit College coed, and moreso, Shawna Wester----, that slow and steady wins a lap.
(four.) After Comet and Von Trier -- total expenditure: 35$US (yes, I am an high-roller) -- I made my last out-and-about stop of the night at Onopa. There was to be a Barcelonense spinning, so I figured I'd check it out, to see to what the Spaniards were on. And, the time opened well, the number during which time I entered the venue being a bit Nortec-sounding, but quickly I realized the venture would be a bore, as NO ONE was dancing. (Note to promoters: never schedule DJ shows at white-boy and -girl indie-rock clubs.) So, I high-tailed it quick, but not before having a Blatz. (Not for the reason, though, that it is cheap suds, but because it is popular with the twenties-aged drinking-class for its cheapness and even though it is a pissy ale (and people my age, our age, pretend discernment -- but, they can take their Burroughs and Keats, and Kushner and mid-period Scorsese, if they don't know the difference between a lot of a poor-grade food-stuff or drink and an healthy serving of a mid- to high-grade of same), and one that went out of style about the time my grandfather retired from his sales position with Heilmann. As it is, I walked out with the empty, to show to my grandfather; he'll get a kick out of it, like when he was in hospital Feb. '04 and regaling the nurses, uniquely of my age, with sales stories, their ears rapt, but especially the one whose boyfriend was a bar-tender on the east-side and favorer of Blatz.)
(five.) I had my last meal of the nite -- corned beef on rye, with chips on the side -- at Johnny V's, and as I was to leave, I took ten or twelve minutes to converse with two co-workers from my moonlighting gig, and two friends of the one. I also chided them for making a paltry 4$US tip on a twenty-dollars order, noting I had left 5$US on an 8.38$US order, and describing mine (and my erstwhile friends' (late-nineties vintage)) tipping habits, inclusive the occasion at Ember's (now called Genesis), an all-nite cafeteria at Hwy. 100 and Beloit, in late '99 (just after the Christmas holiday) when Jerry left a 20$US tip on a 30$US order. Oh, those were the days...
(six.) And, speaking of those erstwhile acquaintances, at Comet I saw a well-designed advertisement for DIY minded musicians to submit their demos to a "Mike", with interest in Minor Threat AND jazz, and who likes seeing the country from a van with his punk-rawk goddess wife, and I was thinking... Shit, that is [editorial note: deleted]. Most disturbingly, though, it mentioned he had a newborn baby-girl to his name and honour. Which means, my ne'er-do-well, grifter and kitsch-monger friends turned enemies are reproducing... Got damn it. Such does not bode well for turn-about of Wisconsin's provincialism in cosmopolitanism. I really must get out of this state then -- thank Got I'll have my car paid off by mid-'06 (two years early) and my credit-card down... The grad. school planning is proceeding well, then.
(seven.) Where should I look to do grad. school? Any suggestions? I am thinking either MFA in lit. or composition, or MA/MS in international policy/sociology/linguistics... Know of anything?
xip