June 3rd, 2002. Monday

 
 

    The major highlights of the weekend were a few social gatherings, and the most impressive thunderstorm I've ever witnessed Trying to be healthy and whatnot, I went for a run after work on Friday. Like any responsible outdoorsy-type, I logged onto weather.com to get the forecast, in order to plan my outing appropriately. When I first got home, it was sunny and clear, but the forecast called for early pm thunderstorms. When I left my house around 6, it was alread overcast and grey. The rapidity of the clouds should have tipped me off. I figured I'd run until I felt a drizzle, then hightail it home. So after I completed my run about 20 minutes later, I was leisurely walking through the park, when I heard some hushed screams. about 50 feet away, some picnickers were dashing all over the place and screaming. The screaming was hushed because the force of the rain was so loud. So I got to watch this wall of water work its way over to where I was. No drizzle, no warning drops. From zero to deluge in seconds. So i ran, trying my best to keep the walkman dry, to no avail. The walkmen did not belong to me, but to James. The tape inside was also not mine, but a mix tape Geoff had made from his college radio show. I think both will be fine. The rain didn't last that long, lasting almost the exact time it took me to get home. I was drenched, of course. I could have been at home watching tv, eating chips, and drinking whiskey and ginger ale.

    So this little storm was just an appetizer for the spectacular storm later that evening. Just as the sun was setting, the got all ominous and dark. There was an impressive display of pre-rain lightning for about half an hour. I took pictures. I always wanted a picture of lightning. I actually took 30 second movies. Trying to actually take still photos of lighting would've been near impossible. Anyway, the rain was most impressive. I went out to the front porch to watch, and soon three of the girls upstairs had also come down to watch. We were silent for most of the time, except to comment on the poor sons of bitches caught walking in the downpour, and to marvel at the random bolts of lightning in the sky. The thundering and lightning didn't stop for about half an hour. Barely even a second of silence. Just constant thunder. This is often my favorite kind of weather, but only in the summer. Then again, I guess you don't really get storms like this in the winter. Anyway, after that, Jed and I went down to Matt's apartment to watch the basketball games with Matt and Jen.

    Saturday, we were having a party. The party was just an excuse to clean up the place. However, little actual cleaning was done. Jed took a temp job for the weekend, Josh had to spend time with visiting family members, and Dylan slept late. Jed did make a detailed list of things we should buy, so I went down to the C-Town grocery store to pick up the crap. C-Town is a bit of a walk, being down on 9th st. between 5th and 6th ave, but it's usually worth it, as their prices are unbelievably cheaper than the closer grocery stores. On saturday, it was in the low 80's, and I was really dreading the walk back because I knew I'd be carrying a lot. Anyway, I managed to carry back 3 2-litres of Coke, 2 cartons of OJ, 2 tonic waters, and a gallon jug of cranberry juice, as well as assorted snack, with a maximum of fuss. I could barely feel my fingers by the time I made it home, and sweat was literarally pouring off my face. Of course, I was already feeling quite indignant toward the roommates who had abandoned me, and this did little to help.

   Later int he afternoon, Geoff came over, and he, Matt, Dylan, and I went up to Prospect Park to play frisbee golf. There were too many people, and we were forced into the back woods. There, there were even more cruising gay men than usual. I guess it's the warm weather. It started to actually creep us out. I felt like we were intruding on their turf or something. It certainly looked that way, as they have a unique way of marking said turf, in the form of piles of used condoms. At one point we started seeing a few every dozen feet or so. And we kept getting suspicious looks. So we decided to get out of there and into the sunlight. So we threw the frisbees down a hill toward the road that runs through Prospect Park, and most of our shots landed in the underbrush, a few feet from a big tree. And there, dios mio! Dozens of used condoms and wrappers and single packs of lube, around the trunk of this tree. I have decided to name this spot "The Giving Tree." Telling the story later, I said there were all all sorts of marks on the trunk, in the bark, where fingernails had obviously dug in. But I was fibbing. At least, i didn't check. Though it seemed believable. Anyway, we had to all walk around that. And it was most unpleasant. If there was any doubt before, let this put it to rest: Condoms make everything less fun.

   So the party itself was a mild success. Originally, we'd wanted to a "frat party," featuring a keg, jello shots, dirty white baseball caps, and lots of classic rock. That fell through. Though jello shots were had, courtesy of Matt, who had leftover jello and gelatin from his little jello-shot infatuation a few months ago. In the "small-world" department, Jen had run into this girl An, whom we had gone to college with and hadn't seen in 4 years. She lived with Jen for a year, but we weren't particulary tight with her. She just moved to the city, so we thought we'd invite her to the party. She said she was meeting up with some people, and she'd come over later in the evening. So she shows up, with Josh, and it turned out that the person she was meeting as Josh's sister who was in town for the weekend. That was really, really weird. I did talk with her for a few hours, which was about as much as I talked to her throughout the entire 4 years of college. She was teaching herself the guitar, and so we sat in my room for a while playing the guitar. It was pleasant, but not exactly my plan for the evening, so I didn't get to spend much time with the other guests, which was unfortunate.

    Two of the girls from upstairs came down, with a huge posse in tow. A few were strangers, a few were people I'd met before and liked, and a couple were total jackasses. In the "total jackass" section I will put the man who took off his clothes and sat his bare ass on my couch. I guess we could've had the frat party after all. Pictures will be forthcoming.

   Sunday, I had plenty of work to do. Caryn had thrown some transcribing work my way, and it was going to take a long time. But it was too beautiful out to simply sit in my room and type, so I went for several little walks in the neighborhood. Then wrote for an hour, then headed over to Jen K's house, where she was having a bbq. She and her boyfriend had spent the last weekend cleaning and landscaping the backyard, and I guess this bbq was to chowcase the new, habitable backyard. It felt weird and grown-up. In the early goings-on, much of the talk centered around grilled meat, alcohol, real estate, and how good the yard look. "Hey, there, Bill. Man, the yard's sure looking good." I wasn't going to mention this weird feeling, but didn't feel comfortable doing so. It was a very pleasant domesticated scene, and it didn't bother me or anything. I just thought it was funny. There was also more talk of this girl's online journal, which made me nervous, because they all like talking about it cos they're in it sometimes. They don't know about this, as far as I know, and if I have my way they never will. So I've had to go through and take out last names and whatnot. A pain in the ass.

    Then i went home, watched the Kings lose to the Lakers, and then stayed up until 5:30 am transcribing an interview with the Queens of the Stone Age and one with Dave Grohl, the former Nirvana drummer and current Foo Figher. Around 4:30 am I got to the part where they were talking about heavy metal's fondness for using midgets and dwarves, and I was quite delerious. I almost called in sick, I was so exhausted in the morning. But I finished the transcribing at work, and profit to the tune of a coupla hundred bucks, minus taxes and kick-back to Caryn in the form of raw salmon. Which is standard in the magazine business, so I'm told.

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