After a half-week of training, I was back upstairs in or near my old office, working on menial tasks with the permanent employees, leaving a lot of time to talk and get to know one another–something I didn’t have the chance to do a few months ago. In some cases, this means venturing into the coworker zone of conversation, which can go from commonalites (“Hey, you like this thing I like!”) to the banal (“Yeah, I’m getting a haircut tomorrow.”) to the awkward disagreements (which I’m about to talk about).

Being a temp means being able to take a step back, away from any workplace drama, personal fallout, policy decisions or systemic issues. The phrase “I’m just a temp,” no matter how jokingly said, reverberate with a kind of freedom. One is still responsible for one’s actions, of course, and should take pride in any work done, but that lack of investment means often escaping office politics unscathed.

That sort of freedom can be nice, except when faced with working closely with someone at length–someone who, very occasionally, openly expresses an opinion I fundamentally disgaree with regarding an issue I care about. Then what? That veil of disconnection shackles my ability to express my opinion, my ability to get involved. Then it’s about sacrificing integrity, biting my tongue to preserve that nonchalance I enjoy.

And I leave work wondering if it’s a fair trade. «»

The first train through the Dupont Circle station on the notoriously crowded (on a regular day’s rush hour) red line was packed like sardines. People had obviously driven to places like Shady Grove and Rockville and boarded the metro to get into the city, which ws to be expected. This fact, however, did not deter drunk people who, as they started their attempt to squeeze into the train in defiance of physics, began to chant “Yes We Can.”

It was by far the best use of the phrase I have ever heard.

Here’s to an awesome January 20. «»

But, sometimes, I guess a water landing isn’t so bad. «»

1. The National, “Apartment Story”

This album made a lot of best-of lists last year, so I had a listen and really liked it. It’s fuzzy and distorted like shoegazer rock and the mood of the lyrics align with me emotionally for some reason. “Apartment Story” is a standout and sort of represents where I am as far as relating to music–very much post-angst unlike the music I loved as a teenager.

so worry not / all things are well / we’ll be alright / we have our looks
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2. Au Revoir Simone, “Fallen Snow”

I really like the movie Pee-Wee’s Big Adventure (Tim Burton’s first feature-length outing) even though the clown that Pee-Wee ties his bike to scared me as a kid. (The clown was Tim Burton.) In the Wikipedia article on the movie, a band called Au Revoir Simone was mentioned, the group getting their band name from a line in the movie. I got their albums and really liked them–they’re a chick keyboard band from Brooklyn. This song sets a bouncy tone in cold weather, and I fell in love with it early in the year when it was cold in Germany.

nothing seems / to thaw the icy sentiment / of love that’s gone once winter’s spent
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3. Bow Wow Wow, “Do You Wanna Hold Me?”

Someone posted three unedited hours of MTV from 1983 online; it was found and made its rounds on the internet in March. This song was a standout, especially with its bizarre video courtesy of Malcolm McLaren (formerly manager of the Sex Pistols) and the beautifully-named Annabella Lwin (of Burmese and English descent). Note that she was not quite eighteen when the video was filmed, and the band was nearing the end of its lifespan.

life is wasted on illusions / tom and jerry’s no solution
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4. Vampire Weekend, “A-Punk”

I was late to the Vampire Weekend party, but their performance of this song on SNL won me over. I haven’t been able to get the song out of my head since. This is also the second and last song directly and knowingly inspired by African rhythms and performed by very very white people, the first being Bow Wow Wow.

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5. Santogold, “L.E.S. Artistes”

A friend linked this video for me in April or May and the visuals with the song stuck with me, especially when the video turns violent with the paint. Bang bang.

walking by myself / down avenues that reek of time to kill
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6. Nada Surf, “Whose Authority”

Usually upbeat indie songs bore me, but Nada Surf has given me a couple exceptions, this one being notable for its video with Michael Maronna (better known as big Pete from Pete & Pete). Showing it to a friend, we were both impressed by his cycling skills–it’s almost hypnotic how he weaves in and out of traffic in New York. (I realize people do this daily, but it’s big Pete–and he’s surprisingly good. It’s doubtful they staged the entire video, though parts are clearly scripted.)

welcome back to real life / the picture is gone
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7. Yo La Tengo, “My Little Corner of the World”

Understated and beautiful, I discovered this 11-year-old song last year.

you’ll soon forget that there’s any other place
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8. Talking Heads, “Psycho Killer” (from Stop Making Sense)

A friend convinced me to download Stop Making Sense and we watched most of it together. This version of “Psycho Killer” is still my favorite song from the show, even though it’s the first song and it’s really just David Byrne and his frenetic presence that carries the performance. The entire show is easily among my favorite music films.

“It’s like 60 Minutes on acid.”
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9. She & Him, “This Is Not a Test”

One of my favorite albums of 2008 comes from a collaboration between actress Zooey Deschanel and folk artist M. Ward. The record is like combining Motown, the Beach Boys and a recent indie-folk record. The only bad part about the album is how short it is.

the summit doesn’t differ from the deep, dark valley / and the valley doesn’t differ from the kitchen sink
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10. Mates of State, “My Only Offer”

I found this song on one of those mix CDs you get with music magazines. I had heard of the band and they seemed like they would be to my taste–somehow, married couples from the middle of nowhere make good indie bands. This song is infectious, and it was a shame they rushed through it when they played it at Black Cat in November.

in secret we believe / we’re nothing, nothing, nothing that we need
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11. Bon Iver, “Re: Stacks”

Bon Iver’s lo-fi album has made a lot of year-end best-of lists. I haven’t explored it much further than this long closing track. It was used on one of the most intense episodes of House I’ve watched, and I’ll always associate it with the emotional images in last season’s finale.

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12. Amanda Palmer, “Have to Drive”

I can’t help but sing the praises of Amanda Palmer. This song is particularly beautiful, a slow piano number with strings that kick in towards the end. The performance artists who have been with her on tour gave the song an extra dimension when I saw Amanda live.

we will drive them far away / from streets and lights / from all signs of bad mankind
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13. Black Kids, “Look at Me (When I Rock Wichoo)”

The DJ played this at DC9 and I loved the video. It was so upbeat and catchy, the track immediately went on my commuting playlist. The 80s animation takes me back to all the awful television I loved as a kid and still occasionally love as an adult.

i don’t believe in happenstance / you’re gonna give me your last dance
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14. Vermillion Lies, “December”

This quirky band opened for Amanda Palmer, and I downloaded everything I could find by them. “December” is an introspective number chronicling a relationship from December of one year to the next. Their songs are simple, catchy, and most have a humorous slant; their stage presence, on the other hand, defies classification.

in december we were young / not a year ago and now we’re old
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15. Cat Power, “Willie”

Every few months I discover a Cat Power song I never paid attention to before and it becomes my new favorite song of hers. “Willie” was that track this December, and it somehow captures the emotional resonance of the past year, though the lyrics have nothing to do with the past twelve months in my life.

he’s on the same side as you / he’s just a little behind
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16. The National, “Green Gloves”

I fell for this song about a year after I first heard the National. Another subdued winter song, it makes me feel cold just listening to it.

get inside their heads / love their loves

That timing didn’t really pan out anyway, and the situation’s going to be here for a while (as if it really ever went away).

It occurred to me that framing the events in Gaza as benefiting the president-to-be was incredibly callous and self-centered. It might be the case, but shouldn’t it be more important to cover the events there and what they mean in greater terms? I understand the rock star quality Obama has, but to look at every event through those glasses is absurd. When the president-elect ate at Ben’s Chili Bowl, a D.C. landmark, in the past few days, someone asked him about the significance of eating there. He responded, “It means I’m going to get a hot dog.” To skew world events to how they might impact the president-to-be is to frame everything in terms of its Obama-significance, and I can’t stomach four years of that. (How long will the honeymoon last? Until he does something moderately unpopular with someone, which should easily be within the first hundred days.)

Obama-centric or America-centric, the U.S. coverage of what’s been happening in Gaza hasn’t been particularly great. It takes reading analysis to gather an understanding of what Israel’s trying to do (surgically remove Hamas as a viable force in the region and turn public opinion in the Arab world firmly against the group, isolating Iran’s influence from the greater Middle East) and how it’s turned out (badly–it’s near impossible to eliminate a group like Hamas without harming civilians, and civilian casualties make Israel look like the bag guy). I didn’t benefit from hearing about how the actions in Gaza affect the future president. If mainstream news outlets are going to cover irrelevant dimensions to a story, the least they could do is offer better coverage of the story itself and what it means. «»

I downloaded and watched this movie at home, and it’s a film I can’t see introducing to or watching with others, similar to how I felt about Requiem for a Dream after watching it for the first time. It’s a dark, muted piece with excellent acting and the film held my attention with concern for the characters, questioning what was happening at every turn. The story follows two college-age girls in Ceausescu-era Romania, one of whom decides to get an abortion, illegal at the time. The exposition is almost non-existent, leaving the viewer disconcerted or puzzled at times. It’s a somber ride fraught with emotion, and an excellent film. It did its job so well, I’m not sure I’ll ever watch it again.

WALL-E

I’ve looked forward to every Pixar movie (save Cars) since Finding Nemo, and WALL-E did not disappoint. The prospect of having to defend Pixar’s films to increasingly older people isn’t something I look forward to, but as long as they keep making films like this (and Up makes it seem like they will), I’ll manage. I wrote about the movie at length after I saw it in July, so I’ll defer to that post for my thoughts on the film.

Doubt

Doubt is the film adapation of the play of the same name, and the movie is faithful to its predecessor, reading like a play through each scene. It’s terrifically acted (Viola Davis should win best supporting actress) and the story is captivating. I wish I had seen (or even heard of) the play first, but the material deserves the treatment it gets in this movie. It has all the aspects that make a good story, but is a bit minimal in its ability to fill the screen.

Slumdog Millionaire

The story of an orphan in Mumbai has numerous similarities to City of God, only this Indian take on the story is far less gritty, a bit more lighthearted and a lot more romantic. The storytelling device of using Who Wants to Be a Millionaire? is brilliant, encasing the entire movie in drama without needing much more. The plot draws the viewer into the protagonist’s life, making for an interesting romp through the streets of Mumbai as we retrace the footsteps of his past. Some have suggested that Slumdog Millionaire was too quickly coronated, hastily pegged as a possible best picture winner. I’d agree with that assessment, but it doesn’t at all detract from the enjoyment of the movie. I didn’t have the same emotional reaction as two people I saw it with, but that may have something to do with the next movie, my favorite film of 2008, which I saw at a matinee before Slumdog.

Milk

I learned about Harvey Milk freshman year of college, attending a screening of the 1984 Academy Award-winning documentary The Times of Harvey Milk. Throughout that year, I had a work-in-progress black-and-white photo collage in my dorm room of people who inspired me (preserved here). When I returned to my room after watching the documentary, I immediately found a picture of Milk online, printed it out, and added it to the collage. His story is powerful and tragic, and he was an amazing figure from his life, his story and what (and who) he represented. Sean Penn, more than I could have imagined, captures that impression of Milk as a joyful individual who fights for what he believes in, ignites passion in others as a charismatic speaker, and shares the noble message of inclusion with whomever will listen.

As the film began to reach its inevitable climax, a sinking filling arose in my chest and I cried more than I have ever cried at a movie. That moment, as fictitious as it may be on film, is now etched into my mind. The movie ignited those same feelings of inspiration as The Times of Harvey Milk did, punctuating them with a sense of sadness at what a tragedy it was to lose such a figur and tempering that sadness with anger at how the world still hasn’t listened to the message Milk preached at rally after rally. One of the most incredible stories of the past generation, I believe the film does justice to the man.

So rarely am I touched by a film in the way I describe above, and in that sense Milk succeeds on every level that matters. «»

I wrote in September:

…it might be the best record I’ve heard all year. [The] mix of polish with Palmer’s grit and brutal honesty [...] in some of her lyrics makes for an amazing record.

I saw her at the 9:30 Club in early November, and the show did not disappoint. It was unfortunately brief due to it being an early show with another act scheduled later. The brevity combined with having to attend the show alone dampened my mood, but the two opening acts (Vermillion Lies in particular) and Amanda’s playing kept me focused on what I loved about the music.

In that month, she also provided me with the irrevocable memory of listening to a song about abortion while walking to my temporary job with the Catholic church.

She & Him, She & Him

Zooey Deschanel recently broke my heart by becoming engaged to Ben Gibbard. Imaginary crushes aside, She & Him provided the soundtrack to the first half of this past year for me. Back in June, when I still wrote on a regular basis, I had this to say about the record:

Combine stripped-down folk-pop with a Beach Boys-esque affinity for false harmony, and you can roughly determine the space She & Him’s record occupies. The songs are diverse and brief, much like the mid-1960s pop-rock songs Zooey is channelling. “Sentimental Heart,” the album’s lead track, does much to showcase Zooey’s voice, and the piano/violin instrumentation with the vintage-sounding vocal effect seems like an indie-Motown hybrid that I didn’t think possible.

Mates of State, Re-Arrange Us

I got my first iPod early this year, and a song by this band is the second-most-listened-to song on it. “My Only Offer” is simultaneously bouncy and wistful, a mood which is hard to capture in any medium, especially song. The album is filled with songs that are subtle but epic (“Blue and Gold Print”), poetic but declarative (“The Re-Arranger”). “My Only Offer” was the first song I heard, and I didn’t expect to go any deeper into the album than that track, but when I did, it rewarded the visit with a catchy and accessible collection of songs. «»

I haven’t had any particularly noteworthy Thanksgivings, but I’ve never had a bad one (one came close, though it was less “bad” and more “awkward”). This Thanksgiving fell within that tradition, involving lots of food, some football, some Rock Band, good company and an unexpected moment (of the good variety) to close out the evening. Rather than build the perfect Thanksgiving, I’m content to cook a sweet potato casserole and have a good day. It all worked out according to plan. «»

1. I’ve been getting scattered temp work, most recently a couple weeklong stints doing nothing of importance at a place I shouldn’t name publicly. It’s boring, mindless work, but it’s income (for now).

2. A corollary to that, I’ve been researching grad schools so I won’t have to do the boring, mindless work since the job market really stinks right now for people in search of work.

3. Working on another Christmas mix. This would be a mix of songs for me to give people around Christmastime, not a mix of Christmas songs (which I will undoubtedly also make). The premise is always the same, yet how I execute it come November is always somewhat different.

4. I’ve thought about writing haiku for each day I haven’t written in this blog, but I probably wouldn’t be able to think of enough things to write about for those days. Not even three lines per day, really.

5. For all my not writing, I have been more social and going into town for various events. Not exactly interesting on their own, and since blogging is a self-absorbed activity on its own anyway, it takes effort to not turn this into a vanity pit–something it would become were I to list shindigs I go to then talk about after. Just thinking about that makes me feel kind of sick.

Thanksgiving tomorrow. «»

Since we moved in to the new townhouse in August, we’ve been using a wireless router, hoping to get the ethernet ports that are in each room worked out by someone professional who knew what they were doing. After three attempts (the Comcast cable guy, a local IT support company, and Geek Squad) and much bitterness directed toward those three groups at their ineptitude, unwillingness or sheer laziness, the two of us in the house with the most experience in networking and electrician-type things pulled the magic internet box out of the wall and decided to do it ourselves.

The first step was quick: I hooked up the modem to the incoming cable and got the wireless and wired internet to work with my laptop. Step two was figuring out how to pipe that working wired internet through to the rest of the jacks in the house. This involved ripping the facade of an organized board out of the wall to realize there were simply ethernet cables running down the walls to this box from each room. More than that, each one was labeled. After staring at it, the two of us resolved that a trip to Lowe’s could make all of this happen.

We picked up a specialized wirecutter with a tool on the end that let you put heads on any ethernet cable. After stripping the outside of an ethernet cable, all one had to do was organize the colors so that they were correctly assigned and clamp the head onto the cable. Voila, one end of the cable was set up so that we could plug that into the router. Internet was sent to each room one by one as I meticulously and infuriatingly shoved tiny wires into each jack in their specific color orders. Six of those later (four internet lines, one phone line, and one that shifted when it was being clamped, thus trashing that head entirely) and internet was go. Everyone’s computer was plugged into their respective walls and the internet worked for everyone. It took around four hours, starting some time before eight o’clock and ending somewhere after midnight, but it was done.

The kind of satisfaction ensued that only a ridiculous DIY project that ends with the intended result can bring. I went to work tired, but I had an excuse–I was up late stripping wires and physically networking the house. It was kind of awesome.

I hope I don’t have to do it again. «»

That’s been the case with blogging. I stopped while I was working. Writing had become a chore at the end of the day, and a chore I didn’t want to entertain at that. Before a couple weeks ago, when I stopped writing, I managed to make up for that lost time or just call it a week off. This time, it piled up and became too daunting to make up for. It become easier to scrap the task entirely when it’s much too big.

As I wrote in my first post, the struggle is really to keep going, even if it takes one of these posts once in a while to do it. «»

Instead, those moments of downtime are mine again, spent waiting, thinking, or distracted with something not so external: my iPod or DS. One could argue that those distractions are just as guilty of disconnecting oneself from one’s immediate surroundings, but I would argue they’re fundamentally different from the grasping at familiar territory that the cell phone represents. This is probably an artificial distinction made only to argue my own electronic device guilt away, but it’s there nonetheless.

I revel in the fact that I find the cell phone an unnecessary affectation. I make use of others’ phones should the circumstances require it; after all, everyone else is operating on the premise that they have the possibility of direct communication with everyone they know and plan (or don’t plan) accordingly. But my personal life has been unaffected by my lack of a cell phone, and I don’t really have any desire to get one.

This sort of attitude has led me to be mildly irate with others when they enter their cell phone worlds, removing themselves from current surroundings to text or talk when other people are immediately there. Casual conversations in the car are the worst, since those not on the phone are now captive audience to one half of what is most likely a banal conversation better had at home in the company of no one else. That sort of space isn’t sacred, but there’s something intruding on the nature of that physical space in a way that’s unsettling. Better discussions of cell phone manners have been had elsewhere, and this notion of private and public space blending is a common thread in the recent writing on cell phones.

My thought is that the notions of connected and disconnected are very relative. «»

Knowing only a handful of people when I moved here, this sort of interaction has happened a lot. It leads to broken and hollow conversations at times. That’s probably the case any time two people are meeting for the first time, but that banal conversation is immediately set against the backdrop of the more substantive conversations between people who are already friends. If it weren’t for this stark contrast, the interaction might be a lot more tolerable, but one wouldn’t even be meeting this friend of a friend anyway if that were the case. «»

My second day, I had to walk behind the cafeteria to get to a room on the bottom floor, basically making my way through what my boss called the “catacombs.” In the tile hallway, there was a sign saying “wet floor” and below it a floor that was clearly freshly mopped. Having worked in a restaurant before, and having slipped multiple times (without ever falling down, knock on wood), I knew better than to just ignore this wet floor sign like most people do every time they see one. As I make my way slowly and steadily across, one of the kitchen staff says “be really careful, man.” On my way back through the same hallway, I said to him, “I used to work as a busboy, so I know how it goes.” He responded with something like, “Alright then, so you know.” It was the usual midday banter that takes place in the middle of the workday, everyone just wanting to interact with someone else in some meaningless way that can hopefully bring a smile to your face.

Since then, I’ve really enjoyed their food. It’s cheap, it’s warm and it’s delicious. If it weren’t for the cafeteria, I wouldn’t be eating like I should. The woman who works downstairs picks the desserts, from what I gather, and I’ve gotten the dessert every day this week, much to my chagrin and her delight. Today I complimented the same individual with whom I had the earlier conversation, saying I’d never had a bad meal there since starting work and that today’s was especially good. He seemed to appreciate it, which brought a smile to my face.

This is such a stark contrast to the kitchen at where I worked just over a year ago, filled with bitter cooks who kept to themselves and never really talked to anyone unless they had to. At the time I thought to myself, why would anyone be so joyless in their job when it’s just as easy to be the least bit friendly and possibly improve everyone’s situation around them? I don’t have the answer to that, but I know that my thought wasn’t misguided.

My job is made just a little bit better by the hour I spend at lunch and the few moments during the day when I interact with the people who make it. «»

I don’t know how people are able to go to night school, and I have a new respect for full-time workers in their ambitious pursuit of life beyond that full-time work. This temporary assignment has consumed my life, and when I’m not working, I’m heading to bed, commuting or sleeping.

So the writing has suffered, and I’m debating taking next week off as far as blogging is concerned. I’ll be lucky to get a post out tomorrow. «»

Since most of the news in the past few months has been about the economy, I am now an amateur economist in the worst sense, dispensing what little common-sense knowledge I have combined with details I’ve cribbed from the This American Life episode “The Giant Pool of Money” and articles in the New York Times.

What’s most amazing about the situation is how everyone is utterly powerless in the face of it. Regulation has been lax over the past few years and the market is now reaping the consequences of living without a leash. The sort of circumstances that brought about the massive (and mostly artificial) increase in profits since 2000 are now causing a rapid correction, where all that money that came from nowhere is suddenly being lost. What Wall St. thought was worth so much–in this case, mortgage-backed securities–isn’t worth anything anymore, and the investments banks are choking themselves now that they’re at the end of that leash.

I’ve written about the Dresden Dolls before on this blog, and sure enough the album I mentioned then grew on me over time. In the lead-up to the release of the solo debut of Amanda Palmer (the singing and piano-playing half of the Dolls) I listened to a lot of No, Virginia… and proceeded to get excited for the solo record.

The album has not disappointed, and it might be the best record I’ve heard all year. Ben Folds has his touch as producer, with some polished strings here and there and the intro to “Ampersand” reminding me of how one of his songs might start, but that mix of polish with Palmer’s grit and brutal honesty at time in some of her lyrics makes for an amazing record.

The standout track and most addictive song on the record for me is “Runs in the Family” which could easily fit on a Dolls album in slightly different form, but is made particularly interesting with strings among the frenetic nature of the song. The video linked above is low-quality as far as the audio is concerned, and I’d seriously recommend finding another way to listen to the song in a more unadulterated form.

Once again, I know of nearly no one among my current circle of friends who I think would enjoy this album. Regardless, it’s brilliant and beautiful. «»

I’ve said this before, but there are moments that seem incredibly significant in retrospect that didn’t seem terribly important at the time. My entrance into online gaming culture is one such moment, as it led to IRC and eventually my internet literacy. At the time, I just wanted to play the game with someone online. Almost every day for probably five or six years, I spent time online in the culture of gaming, part of some non-cohesive community loosely strung together with the desire to play games, but really held together by the notion that the online world had something more to offer than the real world at that time. It was easier to interact in IRC and in a computer game than it was in high school. Dungeons & Dragons was the pre-internet version of that online gaming community, where one can submerge oneself in an alternate world that responds more immediately than the “real world,” where the ramifications are a lot less grave.

In the house where I live now, we started playing old games through the LAN, starting with Quake 2 and Tribes, probably moving to Unreal Tournament in the near future. It brings back memories of joining a game and feeling the adrenaline rush of running around and killing each other, where every moment hangs in the balance, every death is a setback and every kill is a personal victory. All those emotions are still there, that visceral connection that lies at the core of what “gaming” means.

But it’s different as an adult, and with people I know and live with. That community that I was a part of, without realizing it, was significant to me as a person, and that will never be replicated. «»

The subplot, however, dealt with being a flunky, a lemming, a drudgeon, something I’ve somewhat grappled with in the period since taking my first temp assignment. My talents are wasted on work that could be done by other people. On the other side of that, since I have those talents, I’m more flexible in the position than they could have ever wanted, and for at least one supervisor in particular, I’m indispensable (not his words, but he’s expressed similar sentiments multiple times). The assignment is fleshing out my resume, putting money in my pocket and doing little else. Those two things are very important right now, and I’m grateful for the job–especially after applying to different places in varying degrees for about two months.

So how did the House episode address this? By covering all sides, vacillating on it, and offering no real answer. And that was more comforting than any rational train of thought I’d gone through about how and why I’m in the position I’m in now.

I also want to go to grad school now more than I ever have before. «»

Five of us went out to a bar here in Alexandria on Saturday to play pool, hang out and mostly get out of the house. It was kind of a dive, but I’m used to it and the place was pretty active. We played about four games while the bar waxed and waned with different characters shuffling in and out, mostly huddling around the bar, some messing with the crappy jukebox-computer-machine, a couple passive-aggressively hassling us for hogging the pool table. I played three games and did fairly well with the other half of my team each time. They were drinking, I was not, but it was a decent evening.

The time came for everyone else to settle their tabs, which was done when the bar was at its most crowded. It took ages to pay, during which I just sat against the wall near one end of the pool table in the center of the room. Around when everyone was finally done and we were about to head out, a large drunk woman who had been loud the entire evening staggered over to us. One person was in the bathroom and the other two saw her coming from a mile away and kind of backed off, knowing what was about to go down.

She comes up behind the other one of us left, puts her arm around him and leans her weight into him, slurring the words “You know you like girls with a little hip action.” My friend, slightly buzzed, a little bit bemused, and somewhat in shock, is silent as she repeats it. “You know you like girls with a little hip action.” She then proceeds to turn her back toward him, and start “dancing” against his leg, her drunkenness keeping any sort of inhibition out of this moment. I see this and decide to bail him out, saying, “Unfortunately he’s taken.” My friend picks up that line and runs with it. “Yeah. But he isn’t,” he says, gesturing towards me.

I’m seated with my right leg resting on my left knee, kind of slouched in a really crappy chair with a tale next to me that I’m resting against. She repeats her catchphrase, “You know you like girls with a little hip action,” attempts to sort of dance against me, failing since my legs aren’t in a position conducive to that. I see her beer sloshing and see a party foul in her future, when she realizes the same and decides to put the beer down on the table I’m leaning against.

My friends are together at the door, watching this all occur along with the rest of the bar. This particular woman had been yelling in this bizarre inebriated she-howl the entire night, irking the bartender and most of the customers while attracting attention to the fact that she was astoundingly drunk and capable of just about anything in her red-eyed, stumbling condition.

She reaches across me to put her beer down on the table and I’m trying to help her with it at this point while also not making the situation any worse than it is. As she maneuvers the glass down on the table and lets go, she seemingly lets go of the rest of the world and plants her head between my legs. As my friends tell it, my jaw dropped. She was either that drunkenly amorous or so exhausted that she decided on a nap at that point. I’m trying to pull her up without knocking her over, and just as quickly as this happens she gets back up and puts her attention elsewhere. Our friend is out of the bathroom, so we scamper off while a bouncer kind of follows behind the drunk woman, perhaps to keep her from harassing more customers. As soon as we’re through the door and bounding down the stairs, all of us burst out in laughter.

The night had been fairly mild up until that point, so I guess it was nice to end it with a bar story. «»