By the Throat

Here it is, 12:30 p.m. on Saturday, and I still can't decide whether or not to go to this party. I'm leaning towards no-- my throat's killing me. I'm afraid I might have strep or something. I'll need to get that checked out next week. There are some logistical reasons not to go, too-- the party's an hour and a half away, so I'd either a) not stay very late or b) sleep over. Crashing is certainly permissible... but that leads to other problems.

Interestingly enough, the party is not terribly far from the writing group I'm going to meet. I'm supposed to go see the group mid-afternoon on Sunday. So, assuming I go to the party, here's the whole set of options: either I a) don't stay very late, come home to Santa Cruz, and then drive back that way again the next day, or b) sleep over at the party, try to entertain myself for several hours on Sunday (hours that might be productive at home, but which certainly won't be in this scenario), and then drive the short distance to meet the group.

So I'd have to either spend way more time driving than I'd like, or more-or-less waste a lot of time. And in the entertain-myself-Sunday scenario, I'd be grungy and unshowered and unshaven when I meet the group, which is certainly not putting my best face forward.

Ah, well. I'll do what I do when I feel like doing it, I s'pose. I usually do.

I finished Bill Gibson's All Tomorrow's Parties last night. I wound up liking it more in the end than I thought it would, but it's still not among my favorites. Seems less dense than his earlier work, more fluffy and lightweight. One of Gibson's great strengths is his ideas, and all these ideas were old-- the sub-culture living on the Bay Bridge, the drug that makes people stalk famous folks, the Idoru. The thrill I got reading about those things in earlier novels didn't exist here, because I'd seen it all before.

That said, some of the individual scenes were quite satisfying. And the Nanofax was cool.

Ah. Tea soothes sore throat. This is good.

I hung out with Lynne and Scott last night. We went to Saturn and stood around for a while, dancing in the aisle, waiting for a table. Then we sat at the Garbage Pail Kids table (the surface is neatly tiled with G.P.K. cards under glass), ate cheese fries, had milkshakes, and played cards. Lynne stomped us right good in the game, which is a somewhat anomalous phenomenon. Then we came home, stood in the bay window, and watched the cops bust some people across the street. They searched some old bearded guy's car, then handcuffed him and stuffed him in the car. They patted down some younger guy, who I assume was the passenger. This all took a remarkably long time, and seemed to entail a whole lot of the cops standing around, and wandering around, and standing around again.

Yes, this is the street where I live.

Today I need to hit the Post Office, go to the grocery store... and either go to this party or get some writing done. Either way, I'm not sure I'll have a chance to update the journal tonight, so here you go. If I'm around tonight, and have something to say (don't I always?) I may write more.

Hotmail appears to be totally dead today. I'm hesitant to post my other e-mail address here, because that's a remarkably spam-free account right now, but... well, if you have something important to say, and you know my other addy, send it there for a more prompt response. Otherwise, I'll keep trying Hotmail. It'll probably open up at some point.