Weekend recap / forecast
Friday: First Friday tour of downtown galleries. Record store. Sidebar, near the Fremont St. Experience. As we were leaving, shots fired? Between five & twenty? Accounts differ. Downtown Steve's new super-70s pad with a banner view of the Stratosphere. Audible: The screams of folks riding the freefall ride on the Stratosphere's top.
Saturday: Boat drinks in the pool of a local well-to-do dandy. Minor-league baseball with the 51s, named for the nearby and deadly Area 51. Come hell or high water, Artbar.
Sunday: Work, 'course. Poetry submissions. Letters to friends, handwritten at that. A paper perhaps, with a side of eggs. "Steaks the size of your head" cooked out by me, me baby, on a local well-to-do dandy's grill. Red wine counts as a boat drink.
Monday: Solemn reflection, twiddling of thumbs. Moderate labor despite things, knowing me.
Saturday: Boat drinks in the pool of a local well-to-do dandy. Minor-league baseball with the 51s, named for the nearby and deadly Area 51. Come hell or high water, Artbar.
Sunday: Work, 'course. Poetry submissions. Letters to friends, handwritten at that. A paper perhaps, with a side of eggs. "Steaks the size of your head" cooked out by me, me baby, on a local well-to-do dandy's grill. Red wine counts as a boat drink.
Monday: Solemn reflection, twiddling of thumbs. Moderate labor despite things, knowing me.
posted by Wil at
4:46 PM
5 Comments:
So, uh, who's the "well to do dandy"? A student?
By
junebee, at 5:05 PM
No no no. He's a pal of mine who likes to speak in 18th Century vernacular. Maybe you had to be there. But he will remain nameless... for now.
By
Wil, at 12:39 PM
Nameless, yes, but never silent. While the evenings of which our delightful author speaks were indeed filled with good-natured and often joyous frivolities, I balk at the implication, sir, that I am a "dandy." Please refrain from libeling me so in the future, or I shall have to demand satisfaction. At this juncture, I only allow the slight to stand because of your culinary skills over the barbeque pit. Those steaks were delightful, sir. Ever yours and in earnest,
The Lavender Brigadoon
By
Anonymous, at 9:57 AM
SatisFACTION, sir! Should you demand it, I should accept. The duel shall be this coming dawn on legendary Smuggler's Island. Our weapons shall be broadswords and the locale a dug pit. Think twice about the terms & degree of the umbrage you take, lest the consequences be too dire and that steak feast become your last.
By
Wil, at 10:03 AM
Handwritten letters to friends, hmm?
Hmmm, will I get one? Does the lad even know my new address?
(sigh) What I wouldn't do for one of our goofy yet intelligent conversations over graham crackers and Guinness.
By
Anonymous, at 5:11 PM
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