Fresh, Hot Wastes of Time

We went to see Zodiac at the Alamo Drafthouse last night. It was long, but I thought it was a great flick. The first half deals with the murders themselves, while the second is about the subsequent investigation. Great acting by all involved, and nice period settings.

After I came home, I spent about 4 hours obsessing on the unsolved code. Robert Graysmith, portrayed in the movie by Jake Gyllenhaal, claims to have solved it, but IMO that’s a joke. Some interesting theories, discussion, and argument floating around out there, though. Enough to waste houuuuuuuuuuurs on. Which I did.

Also, I just wrote a suggestion to the Drafthouse that if they’re going to show a three hour movie, at least let people know ahead of time that last call will be 30 minutes in. Pretty parched by the end, there.

ETA: Wow, that was quick! I just got an email back from Tim League, who founded the Drafthouse. He said that the early last call is one of his pet peeves, and it’s something they’re working on. He wants to have last call be 45 minutes before the movie ends. Awesome!

ETA2: And shortly after that, I heard from the manager of the Alamo Village, offering to send me passes. Have I mentioned how much I love the Drafthouse, even if their last call is early?

Whoever my regular blog visitor from Plano (on SBC) is, you were the 100,000 visitor to the site. Let me know who you are and I’ll send ya something.

Only in LV can they implode buildings with such panache. Farewell, Stardust. I’ve stayed there and played there, and it had character.

1) I had a nightmare the other day that I forgot to wear shoes to class and I was horribly embarrassed. Some sort of strange variation on the No Pants dream, I guess.

2) I got an email from a large upcoming event in Austin saying they needed to verify some of my information. There were two problems with that: first, I sent them the information last week; and second, they frigging put over 150 email addresses in the “To:” field rather than BCC! Let the replies to all, viruses, and spammy networking commence. Woo.

3) My foot met with the ass end of the dog last night and I think I either broke something small or bruised something large. Note to self: dog asses are bony.

If anyone reads the Living With Melanoma blog linked on the sidebar, I just read the sorry news that the blog’s author, Heather, died this morning. She left behind a husband, four young children, and a bunch of people online and off who cared about her. 🙁

After hearing for years about their fabulous enchiladas, the family and I went to Dart Bowl today for some bowling and dinner. We entered the restaurant area around 6:20, and ordered at 6:25.

At 6:45, still nothing. A customer from another table went to the kitchen and stood in the doorway until someone finally acknowledged him.

At 7:00, the people sitting behind us who sat down a good 20 minutes after we did got their food.

At 7:15, we’d had enough. No food, no eye contact (actually, the waitress was visibly ducking us), no refills, no “your order will be out before midnight,” no nothing. We left five bucks for the drinks and took off.

Their enchiladas may be good, but I won’t know about it.

We headed over to Phil’s Icehouse instead. I adore their Violet Crown burger (patty with grilled onion and bleu cheese on a jalapeno bun). Their onion rings were cooked to a turn, too. It’s just a shame that the patties were so overcooked. The butter rum from Amy’s next door made up for it, though.

This morning I had an exceedingly odd dream about Angelina Jolie wanting to bum a cigarette from me. As I woke, I felt the dream receding and wished there were some way to capture it without having to pay attention to fine motor skills or actually having to speak, which is something I completely avoid until I’ve brushed my teeth. Doesn’t matter who’s around or if I’m alone, I just hate having to open my mouth. I also gag if I happen to drool on myself when I’m brushing, but that’s another story.

So for some reason, as I’m waking up, I wax poetic and say to myself, “Dreams are the cobwebs that hold my eyelashes shut; when my eyes open, the fragile strands of the dreams are inexorably torn and all that’s left is floating shreds in front of my pupils.”

Being artsy fartsy in the morning is, unfortunately, as nauseating as dribbling on myself. Sheesh.

Tonight, as the kids played upstairs, hubby went down to the office to check on something. I heard a muffled, “Ow, damn it!” but figured that since it wasn’t loud, it wasn’t serious. After a couple of minutes, he called me down. Turns out it was a muffled curse since he had been faceplanted in the carpet – fell down the stairs, injured his ankle. I think it’s probably broken – second time since I’ve known him that he’s slipped down the stairs and hurt an ankle. But he was lying on the floor, obviously in great pain, and couldn’t stop giggling. So hard that he couldn’t even think about trying to stand. And giggled for a good 15 minutes after.

Mr. Manly Man wouldn’t go to the doctor, either. I’ve got to try to roust him to urgent care tomorrow. How the hell am I gonna get him upstairs to bed?