This weekend wasn’t too eventful—mostly on account of some rain. On Saturday I saw Sweet Home Alabama. The movie was decent, albeit your run-of-the-mill romance. You know who the girl will pick in the end, so I guess it’s a matter of how the story gets there. All I kept thinking during the movie though, was how the guy who played the fiancee looked just like a young Gabriel Byrne, and the old flame from back home looked like Matthew McConaughey. If you don’t believe me, just watch the movie!

The other highlight of my weekend was I decided to randomly call my grandma to see how she’s doing. She was very happy and surprised to hear from me. I haven’t seen her since my mom’s birthday party. She liked to reiterate how happy she was that I called, because she is all alone in her big house, and that I should call every now and then. I love my grandma, so I guess I should make the most of it, since she isn’t getting any younger. Whenever I come home, I always go to her place for my favorite breakfast—schmarn! If you’ve been around me long enough you know what I’m talking about—if you’re among the privileged few, you’ve tasted it! Mmmmm schmarn. :)

Last night I had dinner with Steve. We went to Palazzio, which was cool because I hadn’t been there in over a year. I got my usual—cappellini chicken and brie. In case you’ve never been there, they have awesome garlic rolls, and huge portions that no normal person can eat in one sitting.

We got off to a late start, leaving for dinner around 8, and our evening lasted until around midnight. After dinner we hung out with his roommates and drank a little (although I didn’t drink much. All they had was beer and some bad champagne). I played Steve Foosball a few times and lost miserably. :(

Overall it was a nice evening because we got to hang out and chat. It’s been too long since the days when such an occurrence was common. The other nice thing about the evening was that he paid for the dinner—since he owed me—a nice, free meal is always something to appreciate. :)

An interesting night this was. Normally I don’t have much out of the ordinary to write about during the week, but tonight earns the right to its own description. Upon coming home at my usual 9:30, I hear a voice calling to me from the kitchen. This person, whom I had never met, had heard me come through the door, and using all Star Wars references imaginable, told me how he had felt a great presence—a Force, if you will.

Normally I go straight to my room and find random things to occupy my time until I go to sleep, but I felt obligated to reenter the living room and converse with this strange person who was obviously trying to initiate some sort of conversation. He was dressed kinda odd, with a striped button down shirt and a green hat, and introduced himself as Patrick. It turns out that Patrick is some sort of poet that Ginny, my landlady, knows from poetry circles downtown. I am not sure why he was here tonight, but it must have something to do with a reading they had gone to tonight. Ginny had him put on his CD of poems, which were actually kind of cool, as they had musical accompaniment. The closest I can describe the style is to say it’s like that “Always wear sunscreen” song that came out a few years ago. It is a sort of talking rap with music to emphasize it. They were both drunk on brandy, adding to the weirdness of this evening. It was also very surreal to see my 60 year old landlady dancing with a banana to the musical poem.

After the CD, there was of course conversation. Mostly I just sat there listening, acutely aware of the fact that I never have much to add to a conversation and that I probably sit there quite awkwardly. However, poets are a weird, eccentric bunch, so perhaps Patrick and Ginny didn’t notice. It also doesn’t help that I’m awkward around new people. Around 11pm, Ginny decided to retire for the night, and I took that as a cue (or excuse if you will) to be able to return to the sanctuary that is my room. Patrick seemed to want to chat longer—probably delve into topics that I am uncomfortable discussing—but I declined, brandishing that oft-used excuse that I was tired. While he seemed like a nice person, he was too out there for me to be comfortable talking to one-on-one. Like so many artistic types, he was able to keep speaking—on almost any subject, and as though he possessed authoritative knowledge. It’s taken me a long time to figure out that most of these people are BSing—whether or not that is a conscious effort on their part is another story. So I declined. Having already been asked to “tell them about myself”, and giving a very vague timeline of “I grew up in the same house all my life with my still-married parents, came to UCSB for school, stayed to work, and here I am today”, I decided not to find out what other topics would be covered.

So that’s the weird evening in a nutshell. Ginny is pretty eccentric herself, so it’s not surprising the people she knows are the same. It’s just always a bit unusual when she has someone over—let alone someone attempting to engage me in their conversations. I guess it’s good for me to meet new, interesting people, and engage in these conversations. I just wish I was better at it. Although, at the very least, it gives me something to write about—although I am no poet.

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