And in other news...

So, JC has discovered the joys of instant messenger. We wound up chatting for far too long on Thursday night. It was good to catch up, and I think we actually managed to work in more topics of conversation than we do on the phone. That girl can be downright wise, sometimes.

Well, I got gum comeuppance, as I wound up biting the inside of my mouth while chewing the stolen goods. It bled something fierce. Embarrasingly enough, this happened in close proximity to one of my attractive co-workers. Explaining why I yelled "Dammit!" was not exactly my smoothest moment. That was probably the highlight of my workday on Friday.

Later that evening, I had dinner with ES, in what has become our monthly play date of sorts. She came over and we played the shit out of God of War and Ratchet & Clank: Up Your Arsenal. (She played the former, I the latter.) A good time, as always.

Saturday was spent in the company of JG and his buddy RS. On the agenda was checking out the music festival that was taking place on King Street and hitting Hard Times for chili. Mission accomplished, at least on the latter. The music festival was bogus, and somehow, was even more offensive than I was expecting. It was one of those crowds where you know the only album they have by a black artist in their music collection is Bob Marley's Legend. Setting aside the sub-moronic crowd, which was filled with way too many dudes in sandals and fruity little seashell necklaces, the bands--at least the ones we had the misfortune of hearing--were playing uber-bland, semi-jammy music. It was just awful. Worst of all, though, was the fact that there as a band there called "The Funk Band" that looked about as funky as Dabney Coleman. And one of the bands broke the cardinal rule of having a white bongo player. (Maybe it was The Funk Band; my previous statement on their appearance was based upon the flyers that were hung up around King Street.) Buncha savages in that town.

Fortunately, the sea of idiocy was restricted to only a few blocks, which gave us plenty of King Street to explore, which we did. We even took a tour of Gadsby's Tavern, which was brief but interesting. We also made it down to the water, where we witnessed a horde of catfish frenzy over the bread that was being dropped into the water, much to the chagrin of the ducks circling nearby. It wasn't just regular bread, either. It was pita bread. As I said to JG later, of course Alexandria catfish eat pita bread. We finished up the festivities back at JG's spot, watching a movie (Anchorman again) before I decided to call it an evening shortly after 10 or so. I metroed back in, getting off a couple of stops early so I could hit Tower Records. I picked up Pelican's March Into The Sea EP and Boris' Akuma No Uta. Both rock most hard and are highly recommended, especially the Boris, which was different than what I'm used to hearing from them. This album is more of a hard psych platter, as opposed to their post-Melvins sludgefest with which I am mostly familiar. Definitely fierce.

Sunday has been, as usual, the day for laziness. Woke up late, watched Spider-Man 2 for the first time (I liked it a lot) and have done very little since. More tv and more food make Vega$ something something. Or, rather, makes Dr. Damian Pearle something something. Yes, for a brief moment on the Metro from Pentagon City to King Street, the Dr. Pearle myth started to take on a life of its own. Hilarious.