duck-shaped pain

Z.'s current record buying habits mirror those that I have had several times in my life. He is deferring to The Canon � buying music from bands that he's heard a lot about and thinks he should probably like or at least try to like or have an opinion about. You could also call this "filling in the gaps" in the ol' collection.

So when we got to the store, he asked me to point out some things he should buy. A dream assignment in better circumstances -- but at such a sorry-ass record store, my influence could only be minimal. After scrounging around for awhile, I did manage to turn up a copy of Stereolab's Transient Random-Noise Bursts With Announcements. Maybe not everyone's choice, but I like it a lot. I told Z. he should buy it, and he did.

H. wanted to watch hockey, so we went over to one of the sports bars in town for awhile. I almost never go to this place � it's actually part of a big chain and the food isn't too great and they decorate in the too-popular random-implements-and-signs-on-every-surface style and every jerk in town hangs out there, it seems. We got sat in the farthest, coldest possible reaches of the restaurant � I guess we didn't pass muster in some mysterious way � but stayed to order drinks anyway. Overall aesthetics and politeness aside, they usually score points for having 90 Shilling on tap, one of my favorite beers.

The women who regularly go to the bar are the type that always go to the bathroom in pairs or groups. They hang out in the bathroom long after the business is done and talk and talk and talk. I've never understood this phenomenon � I'm of the pee-alone-and-get-out school � and the sheer number of people in the restroom made it claustrophobic. The air was permeated with the essences of spitefulness and too-pink lipstick � I kept feeling like I was going to get jumped and have my sweater stolen.

Finally, H. got enough of hockey. We left and went to our usual drinking place for relief. It was pretty low-key there, without the sort of crowds that wandered in the previous night. Not much happened � we looked around, commented on the other bargoers (neither of the attractive guys that were there the night before were in attendance) and mostly just sort of laid back and relaxed.

When I got home, I had the strongest craving I've ever had for macaroni and cheese. It was so strong that I dared not deny myself some. And, it was good.

[1] He liked it, and he also liked the book. I also liked the movie, but I really, really, really couldn't stand the book. I hate to admit this, but I think I didn't relate to the book as much as I would have liked because I'm a chick. I don't run into that problem very much � I tend to completely discount any sort of gender differences when relating to movies or music or things like that � so when it happens, it's sort of shocking and bewildering and mysterious. I liked the movie better because it was essentially like watching a movie about my friends. Plus -- John Cusack.

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