evany's extended cake mix
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Saturday, Feb. 26, 2005 | link
The McSweeney's Issue 15 reading on Thursday night was a delight, short and sweet with two cute, young readers (Judy Budnitz and, reading TRIUMPHANTLY for his first time ever, Jimmy Chen), plus Iceland-expert Mac, wearing a very classy blazer that was truly blazing. Jug wine was on hand, as well as a cupcake-licking cat, and cupcakes (hand-baked and blue-frosted by the multitalented Heidi).
Afterward we all went over to Casanova, where I ran into Will, who lives in New York now but evidently also revisits San Francisco. (He looks fit, NYC suits him!) After forcing Will to eat one of my broken, failed chocolate chip cookies (which I had made to bring to the reading, a disastrous effort that involved two bumbling trips to the market combined with the accidental purchase of white chocolate chips -- discovered only seconds after pouring the entire bag into the bowl -- producing irresolute, unpresentable, anemic brown-on-brown cookies with an undignified lack of structural integrity), I grabbed a quick drink with the work friends then Marco picked me up and brought me back to Hotel Utah for MORE drinks and some band-gazing.
Firecracker and The Morning Line both continued the night's established themes of "delightful" and "sweet" and also "cute" (though less "get in my pocket" cute, more "100% boy" cute). Both bands seemed loose and comfortable, like they were really enjoying themselves, which is my very favorite kind of show to audience. The music was pretty and full of vim, and it was the very perfect volume: loud enough to warm but manageable enough to understand, and enjoy, the lyrics. And even though I was really tired and drink-ed enough to be regaling ten-minute-new friends with my "why I can't chew Juicy Fruit ever" story (the first time I ever got drunk, I threw up repeatedly with a piece of Juicy Fruit gum in my mouth, which (intent on preserving the sweetness of my breath?) I fished out and chewed again, and again -- a story that shows off I think at least two of my finer points), I never once craved my bed. I just sat there, smiling and happy, and didn't even notice how very late the night had grown. And, at this advanced date and age, that is big. (This may be possibly the saddest rock review ever?)
Tonight: Marco meets my mother and stepfather for the first time ever! ("I only have one question," Frank, who is British and married to my mother and responsible for the development of a significant bulk of my sense of humor, said to me on the phone last night, "does he like The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly? That tells me everything I need to know. No wait, 'Beavis and Butthead,' does he like them? Don't tell me! I'll ask him myself tomorrow night. And don't tell him what answer to give! I want to surprise him." Poor Marco.) Keep your fingers crossed! And your legs, cross your legs.