And the Girls Who Love Them.
| It all started latish Saturday night. I was home, Mike called, we discussed things to do, however, me with my mildly apathetic state really didn't contribute much to the telephone conversation, thus Mike got frustrated and bored. An idea Walrus named Roma came in as Mike suggested that we actually do one of those tusks we got a long time ago but never did. |
| ``Listen, you will be home on Sunday at Five o'clock, and you will have your PowerBook, and you will have your car, and we will go to a cafe with my QuickCam." |  |
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So it was 4:30, and I had just come from shopping in one of those gentrified
yuppie zones where rich white people and assimilated Asians and Blacks
can walk in their inter-racial couple state and buy Rap Music and
``Alternative" rock at listening stations where the CDs cost $17.99
because you can listen to them first, without worry that they look out of
place in their $120 Channel button up shirts while buying such
music. In other words, I was desperate enough for real culture to not
ditch Mike and go through with the idea he mentioned the night before in
order to experience
something of the normal world. I popped on over to his house, just to let
him know I was back ahead of schedule.
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``Dar Dar Dar" ``Shut Up Beavis!"
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``This is so I can expose you to all of my music you haven't heard
before." Mike said, as we got into the car, him waving his music,
loaded with Laptop computer, QuickCam, but no CD player. ``Go get the CD Player"  I told him.``Why do I have to get the CD Player?" ``Because this is your idea." ``You just want to get me out of the car so you can leave without me." ``Right, so don't hold up the process." |
Anyway, he got the CD player, and after I got back, Mike got in the car.
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We started out listening to Whale, one of Mike's Low-Fi Indie Rock albums of
semi-limited appeal. In other words, I liked it well enough. The last track he played
before we got to the cafe was spinning when this girl, stepping out of her car, bent
over for the viewing pleasure of the public, looking for something under her car seat.
Mike echoed out loud the automatic male mental thought: ``Ass." to which I
reacted semi``duh"ly, and he said: ``you were thinking it too." I'd suppose
it was one of those instances where you're not supposed to say what you think in order
not to offend, but there wasn't anyone to offend so it really didn't matter.
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We parked in front of a local pet store, looked for cute bunnies, didn't find any, and
proceeded across the ``don't walk" sign flashing red into the cafe while deftly
dodging honking traffic with computer and QuickCam in hand.
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 | We then attempted to subvert peeping tom laws by secretly taking QuickCam photographs of the cafe, where we were sitting, the pictures hanging on the walls around us, the people eating, talking, crying, reading, etc. Okay, maybe not, but I was being paranoid about it without saying anything. Since we didn't have the microphone on we couldn't be prosecuted on unlawful surveillance laws, and no one would catch us anyway so I don't know why I was being so silently mindful about it. |
 Surprisingly, for me
anyway, I didn't mention this either, I didn't get that semi-devious kick necessary
for me to feel like I'm really having fun. I suppose that if we came at a more busy
hour, we could have taken pictures of people, made a few conversations, perhaps gotten
really obnoxious and gotten kicked out, which would have been more exciting, but as it
was, I simply left it as time out with a friend doing the same weird shit that fills
most days. |  |