weekend update

Compared to most of my weekends, this weekend has actually been pretty busy. Well, apart from today, which I've spent doing absolutely nothing. Friday I saw Capote at the Parkway, which I really liked. We were late and missed the beginning, so the movie seemed a little off to me at first, but I thought the second half was really compelling. I suck at writing movie reviews, so I won't really go into it, but it's one of the few movies that I've seen that manages to show aspects of the writing process in a way that's engaging and realistic (at least as far as I can tell, having never written anything of consequence) without being gimmicky.

Saturday I purified some protein (Your tax dollars at work!), then went climbing (indoors) for the second time ever. While there, I learned how to tie a figure-8 knot (apparently you're supposed to pretend that the rope is your boyfriend, then strangle him and punch him in the face), and I also learned that rock climbers speak a strange language that no one else understands. For example, one of the signs at the climbing gym warns that if you are caught de-camming your gri-gri, you will not be allowed to climb. My friend tried to explain what that means, but I still have no idea. I think maybe I should try to turn it into some kind of sexual euphemism. Like, "Dude, she was totally de-camming his gri-gri." But what should it mean?

After that I went to Levende Lounge to celebrate maisnon's birthday, which was a lot of fun. Thanks to oodles, who generously offered a couch to crash on, I even got to stay out past midnight, when my usual mode of transportation turns into a pumpkin. For some reason I was in an oddly punchy mood, which, coupled with the fact that I was fairly buzzed, meant that I was acting like an even bigger dork than usual. This involved half-assed attempts at a variety of dance moves, including The Running Man (this attempt crashed and burned before it really began), Stirring the Pot (is Stirring the Pot the same thing as the Cabbage Patch? Somehow I missed the whole Cabbage Patch craze), and That One Where You Pretend That You're Fishing. Later I started hassling the DJ about the glaring absence (pointed out to me by maisnon) of Marky Mark and the Funky Bunch from his set, which was mostly made up of music from a genre that I'm not cool enough to identify, but which my college roommate would classify as "uuntz uuntz music." The DJ seemed genuinely sad about the fact that he wasn't able to help us feel the vibration (Feel it! Feel it!), which suprised me a little, given his general demeanor of too-cool-for-schoolness, but maybe it just proves that no one can resist the siren song of MM&TFB.

The failed song request reminded me of an ill-advised conversation I once had with a DJ (sort of) at 1015 Folsom. The DJ was playing some trance music or something (I have no idea), but hardly anyone was dancing. My friend from Toronto was visiting, and she kept bitching about the music, so I told her she should make a request. She said that she didn't think he was the kind of DJ who took requests. I said that I would ask the guy standing next to the DJ (the DJ's assistant?) if the DJ took requests, and she said that if he said yes, then she would make a request. For some reason we decided that she should request the song "Sex Bomb"; probably because it was pretty much the polar opposite of the music that he was playing, and also because we were being dumb. Anyway, I went over to the guy standing next to the DJ:

me: Do you take requests?

DJ's assistant: (Can't hear anything due to boring but loud trance music.) What?

me: DO YOU TAKE REQUESTS?

DJA: I AM FRENCH, LIKE THE DEE-ZHAY.

me: Oh. (Not sure how to ask "DO YOU TAKE REQUESTS?" in French.) Um, okay, avez-vous "Sex Bombe?"

DJA: Quoi?

me: AVEZ-VOUS "SEX BOMBE?" De Tom Jones?

DJA: LE SAXOPHONE?

me: NON, LA CHANSON "SEX BOMBE."

DJA: stares blankly.

me: It's okay, never mind. Makes "it's okay, never mind," hand gestures and walks away.