After giving up and waiting for my laundry to get somewhere near dry (which it didn't get to), us straight folks headed out to a bar where kikibird's co-worker was working at. Dingo's Den, a cool joint. The decor consisted of skulls, gargoyles, and a rocking vibe. Needless to say, I was fine with that. Quite a few of the decorations I owned, knew someone who owned, or barely resisted buying. Off to one side there were three chairs. Each of us indicated that we liked one of the three, and there were no overlaps, so eventually we walked over and each sat on our favorite chair. Some biker-lookin' guy at the bar commented to kikibird that I needed a duster, as I was wearing my coat that night, and he thought it was still too hot for it. She laughed, and explained how I was waiting all summer for the opportunity to wear the thing. She was right. runstaverun selected some songs on the jukebox, and kikibird told me funny ``Jesus Built my Hotrod'' stories.
The next night was Game Night. runstaverun and I played some Soul Calibur 2 while kikibird showered and talked on the phone. I showed her Cervantes the pirate. Arrr! I realized that I didn't remember to bring clothing, so we either had to go to my new pad or go somewhere I could get clothing. They took me to some ghetto store where I went nuts. You scoff. You doubt I went nuts.
I bought a cheesy southwestern style rug, a blender, Punisher boxers, three pairs of socks, a shiny pimp gold dress shirt, two in black (one with tie), one in dark red (with tie and handkerchief), and black pants with shiny black stripes. How much did that all fucking cost? Eighty bucks. Afterwards, we went to Quizno's. They were out of large philly bread, so I had to try something else, though he recommended I try my usual. Damn him.
We went back to their place, I put on a mini modeling show, as did Leek. We played a long game of Sonic Shuffle, which was tons of fun. We should play that again. After so many weeks of board games, it was fun to play some mindless video game.
In the morning I decided on the aforementioned black pimp shirt for my day at Drew. I've been getting comments on it all day. caniswolfie, when asked how much he thought it cost, got it right on the first guess (five dollah). It fucking shines in sunlight, though. It's really sad that I'm going to be wearing a five dollar shirt with a $700 suit. But that's so me. I'll wear it with my skull tie, or one of my black and red ties with the handkerchief from the red shirt. Big pimpin'. The conversations about the shirt today were priceless. johnstevensaul was trying to convince me that I needed to go clubbing with him tonight, as the shirt was appropriate. He's right. Hell, that's why I bought it. I need more party shirts.
Speaking of wardrobes, or at least things worn:
If not, what type of bag should I purchase?
Remember dasubergeek? Well, I'm seeing him next weekend. Two posts from his journal about Jon. Lots of familiar faces have signed up to the Evite already. Over two dozen confirmed at this point. And that's just non-windexcowboy-esque people who respond to those things.
I'm reminded of my gramps's passing. The whole family, for the first time in ages, gathered. I remember gram commenting on how she wondered what it would take to get the family together, and how she finally found out. These BBSers have tried websites, telnet BBSes, all these forums to try and recapture the intimate and close community that we shared in the early nineties. Nothing has come close. Hell, not even The Imperial Fortress or Hot Spot or Eden East came close to recapturing Cheers.. and they were the same setup in the same region not too long after. Yet after years of separation, we've got dozens of BBSers flying in from across the country and driving all over the place. That speaks volumes of Jon, of community in general, and confirms my gram's sentiments on some level.
Yes, it really sucks that Jon passed away. I was really fucking shocked and upset when I found out. Sometimes I just wish, if I may be so inappropriate here, that it wouldn't take a death in order to get people to realize what things mean to them, in order to get people to talk to each other, in order to bring people together. I guess that's the good that comes of passings in our civilization.
I guess I quote the great sage kingfox from an earlier entry in his journal (how's that cessna182 for my own decent?). Back in November, I believe.
Not to pull a bob_dot_com, go fucking call someone you've been too chickenshit to call, before you're getting emails from someone else with lines like: My nurse coworkers predict Dad will live up to a week. Mother reports he's less alert now, but apparently comfortable.
Those who know me know I'm pretty fucking ghoulish in some regards. Those who know me know I'm obsessed with death. I'm also obsessed with life. It took martinzinkevich a while to figure that out.