I FINALLY DOWNLOADED FIREFOX!
After years of browser-related rage, I finally figured out how to get Firefox to work on my comp. Damn I'm good!
Turns out all I actually had to do was click on the little icon and hit "install," but let's disregard how sadly comp-unsavvy I am and move on...it's a miracle I've even got a blog...
I had ambitions plans for today to write a post expounding upon the myriad ways in which Freud's "The Uncanny" is reflected in our daily lives. However, this plan was derailed because a couple of things have happened since then that I cannot resist talking about. Maybe I'll find a link, or maybe--more likely--I'll spare you the Comp Lit BS for another day.
It was a halfway nice weekend here. Friday we had a Ladiez Nite at the 'BO Room; Saturday, Maggs and I hit up TRAX for a couple hours to get completely traxxxed for less than 5 bucks. As per usual, we were the only females there besides June, and the rest of the customers appeared to be middle-aged Norweigan gay men. Typical Trax Saturday crowd: Norweigans, June, Soccerball, LL, Derrick, me. You know, the FAM.
Then Maggs and I got sucked into Hobsonian's by some high school chums. Maggs was intelligent enough to not hop on the party train at 1:30 to the Shannon Arms several miles away. I, howev, was not, and felt somewhat less than fabulous the next day, but had a good time shooting the shit with the various sketchballs and no-goodniks that our diocese has produced.
Sunday--unlike Saturday, when it rained like whoa all morning--was a perfect day to trek to the hipster kingdom of Dolores Park to people-watch and show off your new mullet/bangs/ill-fitting frock and leggings/hideous high-waisted jumper unisuit. One of the greater joys in life is to chill at D park with some doobies and pals and a Roxy(TM) portable ipod dock, gawking at the oddballs that rove around on nice days. Sunday, the chief odd-job was a tall fellow with filthy dreads (looked like a combo of Tom Greene and John the Baptist) who wielded a hand-painted sandwich board reading:
emotional disstres (sic)
heal through my hands
TALK TO ME
He was probably hoping that no one would notice that the back of the sign said "6 FOOT 7 JEW WILL FREESTYLE RAP FOR YOU"...seriously...would that lower his spirit healing cred?
Well, I def got a holy vibe so I flagged him. With all the psychic pain I've been feeling lately, I figured this could not hurt. So, after notifying me that he was about to fall into a trance, he had me lay down in a cross position and then he sort of moved his hands over me while making this sound: "whooooooOOOOOOshhhhhhh...." Like the sound of wind whistling through the Himalayas....or perhaps a whale call...not sure.
Anyways this went on for quite some time and I was kinda wondering when it would be over and trying not to laugh cause then Maggs would laugh and it would be all over. Thankfully I was saved by the music that was bumping from my 'pod. When a certain song came on, the 6'7 Jew snapped out of his trance, rasped "is this Freedom by George Michael?" to no one in particular, then launched into an elaborate lip-synch performance during which be removed most of his clothing. (Though, mercifully, not his patchwork pants.)
Then when that was over he placed a cell phone call to his dad and engaged in an entirely mundane conversation.
Needless to say, assuming that the George Michael breakdown was part of the spirit healing procedure, I felt MUCH better.