Although I had an enjoyable All Hallow's Eve, I did notice that there were approximately 12 other droogs wandering the streets of the district looking for a little of the old in-and-out. I can't recall a single time I've ever seen any droogs on that particular date. And here I thought I was being original...

After stealing a trio of women away from the early spot (so sorry, Magnum PI and apologies to Lucky the Leprechaun & Friends) I was forced to make a strategic withdrawal after my erstwhile companion abandoned his wingman duties without a word. I didn't even manage to recover a card, reminding me of a certain belt-buckle incident I was privy to a while back. Oddly, Sean sent me an e-mail with pix of last Halloween's fun and frivolity including a short of me looking positively sketchy while chatting up a certain fallen angel.

Saturday I managed to somehow get myself into the indelicate situation of helping two different friends move. Yeah, that's right: two different people. I was under the mistaken impression that Kevin invited me to move a vehicle from one location to another. Yet that morning, somewhat fuzzy-headed, he delayed events by an hour and asked me to walk over to his (old) place. I make it there only to discover that the moving vehicle in question is already there. I'm a little confused...and then I discover that Kevin wishes me to help him move his stuff. Not exactly what I anticipated (since I was already planning to help someone move that afternoon...which I had informed him about) but what could I say? I had already blown an hour walking to the spot, so I pitched in to get it over with as quickly as possible. Kevin's new spot has a kick-ass view, all hardwood floors and is quite cheap. Plus, he has a market in the basement, along with a full gym. I'd be jealous, if the 'werkz weren't so cool. It is a sweet pad though, tailor-made for parties.

After a couple hours, I inform Kevin that my other friend is waiting for me to help her our, and I depart. Nicely, this means that I receive no free lunch from said effort. Grr. I suppose I'll claim that chit back later.

So I roll back to my house, change clothes and then hop on the metro to head over across the river to Deborah's new abode. No lunch. No breakfast. No problem. Her place is certainly cool, not as much as Kevin's, but with a notable exception: the apartment has a "roof garden" with a view of the entire city and tons of places to chill out, swings, chairs, etc. That alone makes it even more party-friendly. The move involved less heavy-lifting, but more breakable stuff, so it was somewhat easier.

All told, a tiring day.

Sunday I canvassed a street or two for Dean, took a two hour break to read the paper and catch some rays, then made a trip with Deborah over to the College Park IKEA which was worthwhile. A great weekend, all things considered, although a little hard on the old pocketbook. Still, if I minimize the damage until Thanksgiving, I should be fine. As if that's going to happen.

83 degrees.

That's what weather.com has pegged as today's high, in Washington D.C.

It's November 3rd.

Damn.

I saw a woman walking down the street this morning (when it was still a balmy 60 degrees) with a heavy overcoat and a scarf.

Much like the upcoming alien vs. predator movie, ostensibly it is cool that such a record high temperature would come in November. Realistically, it probably is going to suck. We'll see how hot it really gets shortly.

in "bad day at black rock", spencer tracy says that you can measure a man by what it takes to get him mad.

i'm somewhat annoyed. why?

well, to be blunt, i've never lost in "winning time". i guess that streak is over. more tomorrow when my head is clearer.

From time to time, random people have asked me if they could add some articles to the website. I've always thought about it and said "in theory, yes" but in the back of my mind I know it won't happen. Fincher, in a joking manner, brought up the issue today when we had lunch. (This blue-sky big sun late October weather is putting me in a great mood, for the record, although the lunch was enjoyable in and of itself.)

I remember back to my collegiate days when each week, over slices of pizza, interested students would come down to the basement-level poorly ventilated hardened bomb-shelter which contained the newspaper to discuss writing for us. Tons always wanted their own columns. We tried to limit the number, but even then, to those chosen few who "earned" a column, there were only two constants.

1. People never write as well as they think they do. Original opinions are often formless and illogical, plus they're always boring.
2. Even people who get really fired up to write a column end up procrastinating on the first one, asking for an extension on the second one and quitting by the third time. Those who do stick it out are always so off-the-wall stupid that you fire them anyway for "space reasons".

Okay, enough ranting about idiot college kids. Time to go find a droog uniform.

I trust people about as far as I can throw them. And I'm a lower-body guy...more like a T-Rex than anything else. Back to work.

Now that the toy gun episode is over, take a look at the administration fudging the numbers again. Seem familiar? Well, that's because they did it last week, and the week before that...

Sure, the numbers are below 400K. But they aren't "falling" by any means...they're staying around the 386 mark consistently. Only in Bushian DoubleSpeak can anyone claim that they can keep falling each week and yet never go below 386K. More importantly, claims actually need to fall below 350K to start to make a difference. And we're a long way off, even with robust GDP growth. Just look at the markets today.

Between watching a tape of the first episode of 24 (looks like a good season...although I hope that there'll be less 'Kim and the Mountain Lion' episodes) and catching adult swim, I managed to see a few commercials in the middle of cleaning up the 'werkz.

And then, at one point, I saw an advertisement which featured a guy sitting on a car talking to another guy. One asks the other what he's eating, and the guy on the car responds that it's a healthy meal chock full of protein and nutrients and that it's helped him to lose weight. What, pray tell, is the guy eating?

KFC fried chicken.

No joke. I thought it might be a spoof of something, but it appeared to be 100% legit. Just read about it here. What crack are these ad agency guys smoking?

I know, I know, it's another fast food tale of terror, but this is really beyond the pale. What will they dream up next?

To be perfectly honest, I was all set to write a lengthy post about something-or-other and then I realized that my body was attempting to shut down. Normally, as long as my contacts are in I'm able to keep thinking that I should be awake. Take those thin slivers of plastic out and I immediately move into sleep mode. Only tonight, due to a variety of cleaning and working which I'd been putting off for several days since the party, I'm not able to keep going.

It was fun throwing away several bottles of champagne. There are few better feelings than when, in an act of desperation, one purchases a bottle of Veuve Clicquot, (thinking that one's friends will be cheapskates) only to discover later, that one's friends have purchased a bottle of Dom Pérignon and brought it to said party. Yet another reason why Helena rocks: she managed to make it several hundred miles to attend, yet still possessed a properly chilled bottle of Dom. I'm not sure how she pulled it off, but it was rewarding nonetheless.

Okay, time to crash.

Before I respond to Brad, let me just encourage everyone to watch the White House briefing coming on in 15 minutes on C-SPAN. It should be fun, especially after yesterday's lie from the Prez himself about the Mission Accomplished banner. Now:

1. A little reciprocity might be in order from Brad. If he's going to ask me to dish dirt, I expect a little mud to be slung in the other direction.
2. The first person...still good eyes, but no spark, and a bit of an age issue. Being a true Southern gentleman, I'd never ask, so I may just be speculating here.
3. The second person, well, I only met her last night, okay? I'm not going into those issues right away. Need to determine some key points first. Might be a deal breaker in there.

Oh, and for the record, given that I was attending a birthday party for a friend and the person in question drove us both to said event, I feel it would be somewhat inappropriate to hit on the person at the bash itself, when she would end up driving the birthday person and myself to our respective abodes at the end of the evening. Maybe I'm crazy here. But making your driver/drivee relationship awkward is something I'm sure Brad wouldn't want to do. Right? Maybe we should ask Helena...

So I'm at this birthday party for a friend of mine. A great time overall. Lots of interesting people, great conversations and tasty food. The only hangup? Well, the major obstacle to complete enjoyment was that I was seated next to someone who was:

1. more liberal than I am
2. more cosmopolitan than I am
3. had a cooler name than I have
4. was to die for

I'll talk to my friend tomorrow. But I'm in a mixed mood right now, simply because I know this person is single. So by the rules of the game I should try and ask her out shortly. But I already managed to discover two caveats that would lead to problems, the greater being a certain religious difference that might indicate larger issues. The smaller has something to do with past history. Both seem to be deal breakers, but I've overcome greater obstacles before.

The struggle may be over, but I'm still star-crossed.

My financial situation has dipped considerably, mostly due to the excesses of the last party. Normally, I'd have split things three ways or two ways. This was the first party I funded all by myself.

At least it was a great party. The occasion of watching hundreds of dollars of food and spirits reduced to nothing is always enjoyable for me. It's the aftermath, the annoying cleaning coupled with the knowledge that your bank account will take some time to fully recover, that is a rude awakening. I just have to crimp and save a bit for the next two weeks. Ideally, if I could make it to Thanksgiving without any big holes in my wallet I'd be set in time for the holiday gift-buying season.

So I refrained from any extravagant spending this evening. One day down. Twenty-five to go. Tomorrow I'm hitting a friend's b-day celebration at Local 16, which I'm sure won't help matters. Maybe I should just start counting after tomorrow night.

On an unrelated note, the office drama in my life seems to have grown considerably over the past month. I thought things were as crazy as they could get a few weeks back...but now I'm not so sure. Another person's wacky existence seems to have thrown another monkey wrench into the smooth operating machine that is my workplace. Much like issues with the fam, I'm keeping this story to close people, but if you run into me face-to-face occasionally, ask about it. It's an interesting tale.

After watching an old Kubrick movie and the Dem debate last night, I went through several hours of having "Singing In the Rain" running through my head this morning while a little of the old-ultraviolence tugged at my neurons. I transitioned this afternoon to some songs a friend burned for me. Nothing like moving from Ludwig Van to Camper Van in the course of a day, punctuated by a little Scheherazade this evening as I write these words down. I just looked at the title of the movement a second ago. It's called "Festival at Baghdad".

Everything makes sense. I think I'll change the title of this post to reflect that.

While I was celebrating this weekend, the situation in Iraq detiorated further. The administration's response?

This signals progress. Um, yeah, sure.

Just once, I'd like to see someone in the White House admit they made a mistake. It could be a small one, like say, "Dick Cheney accidentally switched to decaf this morning" as long as someone was named, and culpability was the goal. Until then, we're forced to listen to month after month of black-is-white, up-is-downism about the economy, Iraq and health care.

Well, the party was a much bigger success than I had originally anticipated. Even as late as an hour beforehand, I had contemplated the age old question "what if I threw a party and nobody came?" but dismissed it out of hand, based on previous affairs. I was wrong to doubt: it was bigger and louder than some previous gatheringa (I'm not convinced it was the all time highest number of people, but it got very crowded), resulting in the most consumption of any party to date. Consequently, today I'm tired, broke and tired. Did I mention tired?

The special award has to go to Helena and Brad, who showed up without my knowledge about an hour into the event. They just popped their heads around the corner and said hi as if they'd never left. I was very surprised: I had never even contemplated them making the hike down here. To all those hosers who missed the fun, let me just remind you that there are always special cameos, so missing an event like this one means you'll have to wait to catch Helena and Brad at another time.

Luckily, nothing caught on fire, there were no car accidents, and only a minimal amount of glasses and people were broken. There was a healthy amount of drama, which was good, and plenty of great stories shared, along with a high attendance rate, including Fincher's first time and some people who just rolled into town (that I didn't even know were moving here!) and stopped by to pay their respects. Sadly, the extra hour of sleep due to daylight savings time was somewhat wasted due to my ceding of my bed to Loaf, who partied and crashed like a rock star as usual. However, given that this event occurred well later than 'winning time', I was content to just snag a couple hours before waking up to open some presents.

Now it's late and I'm only about 50% done cleaning wise, although things already look much better than they did this morning, when the house appeared to be a disaster zone. Since it started raining a bit ago I've lost my further motivation to throw everything out on the street. I'll worry about it tomorrow. Along with any amusing anecdotes I'm too tired to trot out right now.