entelein | Discombobulated at a Rate of 50%, and Falling

I had what turned out to be a very fun, happy, strange sort of weekend.

I worked only a little bit for Tom on Saturday, before he and his friend Enrique went out to dinner. Enrique is cool - he's a sharp dresser, an amazing musician, is sweet and kind, and is a bigger A-Ha fan than I am. So my time spent in the heat of Tom's back porch, clipping and re-sizing the photos I took of old American posters was at a minimum, because as soon as Enrique arrived, Tom was antsy to go out to eat. I did note with annoyance that the temperature crept up steadily over those few hours at my desk, starting out at a balmy 72F, and topping out at 87F by the time I shut down the machine, mopped the sweat off my brow, and drove on home. I was grateful for the shorter day.

The party Saturday was mellow and friendly. I didn't know anyone there except

wildsoda, and it sort of amused that I didn't even know her all the well, either. We got to talking about music, however, and found we had approximately a gabillion things in common, give or take a million here and there - but for the late hour and the Skyy Vodka cooler drinky things and the heat and my overall shyness - for error.

The party was at her friend's, a nice little apartment right in my neighborhood, dark and cool inside with candles all over, snacky things, a window unit cooling us as we stood in little party groups and talked.

I got home shortly after 2AM, and still felt rather awake, but I tried to go to bed anyhow, lying on the futon in the living room. I remember floating off into dreamland, my body feeling weighted and warm, and the clock reading 2:32. I slept, slept so heavily my head spun and the night seemed to hold me in its heat. I woke eons later; it was 2:36. I gave up for a while with the whole closing-the-eyes thing, and stared out the window, up into the sky that is the signature bastard purple orange of the city. Sleep came eventually, but I sort of regretted not catching a cab over to a party where my lovely friend

craque was spinning into the night. Apparently, he didn't even get on turntables until 2 or so, anyhow, and spun until 5. Ah, I should have gone.

Sunday I was supposed to work for Tom again, but that was canceled, and I totally wasted the day reading, checking e-mail, chatting with friends, fretting over the fact that I knocked my sound card loose, and now it refuses to work or be recognized. My trusty can of air did dislodge a chunk of dust fluff the size of a small rodent from the inside of the casing, which made the fan very happy, but the card remained silent on the matter, no matter the jiggling and wire-checking and muttered curses.

Later in the evening, I headed over to

wildsoda's place, where she had movie night with a few other people. I'd met all but one of them the night before at the party. She's got this projector, see, and so we played some video games, watched an episode of Mr. Show, and then watched most of Charlie's Angels, all of it thrown in bright splendor on her living room wall. I say most of, because right when the chicky chicks were about to kick some Crispin Glover ass, rescue poor old Bill Murray, and flip their hair some more, the projector shut down - the picture and sound blipping out in what we're hoping is just a fuse being blown.

We spent the rest of the evening talking, and then I became the grateful and pleased recipient of many discs of new music. I'm really glad that wildsoda and I have clicked so well, even though I've been grousing over the fact that she is leaving Chicago so soon, and leaving the country shortly thereafter. She roolz, man. Fate is a fickle bitch, yes.

This morning I am way sleepy. I am answering the phones as gently as possible, which has the unintended effect of probably making me sound a little too sultry, or perhaps inconsolably sad. I just can't work up the perky today. Just can't do it.

It's still hot out.