oh the places i've been

The first Saturday night in a new place can be kinda daunting. There can be a great deal of ambiguous social pressure, as everyone else is going out (and in New York, you can hear them going at it). And if you are lucky enough to find plans, you run the risk of being "that new guy who doesn't know a soul and ends up pounding gin and tonics in the corner."
I lucked out, and was able to have a fun evening with a few people I already know. It started on the Lower East Side at Fat Baby, a great name for a bar, I think. I had heard that the LES had popped, and now I can safely say it has. It is not what it was, say, last year when I had a friend who lived on Ludlow. The scene I saw Saturday night was pretty fratty and involved a line around the block to get into a bar that used to be known for its laid back, hip charm. Any time you wander around a bar wondering if Miami Vice-style blazers are making a comeback, it's time to leave.
And so I did. The next stop was Sugarland in Williamsburg, Brooklyn, a recently-opened gay bar with a killer roof porch. The drinks were cheap and strong, the music was fun and a little unexpected (anytime Fleetwood Mac makes an appearance, I can't help but smile), and the guys were unpretentious, stylish and a fair bit grungy (which totally works for me). The night ended with pizza on a street corner with a group of friends. Hard to beat.

punctuation

So I just finished up the first week of my new job. I think it's going very well, and I can see myself being happy there for a long while. It's great to be surrounded by smart, articulate and friendly people at the office. Ugh, just listen to me. I'm so chipper, I almost used an exclamation mark. Last night, I celebrated with red wine and pizza, a sophisticated pairing. Good wine can make even the greasiest pizza feel like an elevated experience. Certainly above the standard pigging out.

I've also been packing like mad, readying myself for my big move today. The groan-inducing apartment search came to an end this week, and with winning results. I found a charming place in a killer location with a few cool-seeming roommates. The total New York experience will now begin, and yes, I am elated. Again, so much so that I almost used an exclamation mark.

A note on the exclamation mark anxiety. I had a creative writing professor in college (I say that as if it was so long ago, ha) who told us that every person gets five exclamation marks. Ever. "So make them count," he said. And I have. I find nothing more humorous than the glut of forceful enthusiasm that plagues a great deal of communication. Think of the self-congratulatory letters that flood mailboxes around the holidays. "Tom's team won the first game of the season! Then the second! And the third! Before we knew it, they won the state championship!"

According to the rule, that over-zealous sport fan only has one more exclamation mark to last a lifetime. Now I don't know how the karma works out, but when a person perpetually overuses the exclamation mark, aren't they lowering the bar for excitement in their lives? I don't know. I guess I'm more into smirking than gum-flaunting. But, again, I really am happy! That gives you a sense of scale. One down, four to go.

the next new thing

Tonight feels a bit like the night before the first day of school, as I start a new job tomorrow. It's exciting (I am actually excited), but of course I have those nerves that come with any new thing. There is a lot to process, but only one question lingers in my head: What if nobody wants to sit with me at lunch?

need apartment, will bake

the last movie i saw

I missed the Robert Rodriguez/Quentin Tarantino double bill Grindhouse when it was in theaters earlier this year. Life in LA seldom permitted me a three hour chunk of time to get lost in B-movie send-up splendor. The word of mouth was terrific, though the Weinsteins, true to their reincarnated form, bungled the release entirely. They seem to have done the same with the DVD release, giving us the Tarantino film Death Proof unencumbered by Rodriguez' zombie flick Planet Terror and in its extended, full feature form, which played at Cannes. The result is one of the strangest viewing experiences I've had in recent memory.

The flick, about a psycho killer stunt man who combines vehicular thrill-seeking and homicide, shouldn't be this long. There's the much talked about chase/fight scene, which pits fast-talking femmes against Kurt Russell's maniac, but outside of that exhilarating sequence, we get long chat scenes with mostly uninteresting characters spouting dialogue that sounds like an overzealous film student trying his hardest to sound like Tarantino. I dug the Austin, Texas locales, but I think I'd prefer the Reader's Digest version.

And that's the problem with the Weinsteins' DVD release plan. Planet Terror will be released on its own in mid-October. I don't know when the films will be released as they were in theaters (under the collective Grindhouse title). What's missing from the DVD is the full sticky-theater-floor, spilled popcorn feeling that the faux trailers, missing scenes and double bill created.