I was born a unicorn.

The catch-up game seems to be my favorite lately, even more so than Trivial Pursuit, and you know how I like knowing the answers to pointless questions. It has been a great long while, during which things have happened which may prove interesting b log fodder. Or maybe I will forget them all, thus confounding this supposed record of my life (you know I write this for me, right? You being me, because why else are you reading this? Because you know me? Likely story).

My calendar has had but one hold thus far. I didn't make it to the Rjd2 show on Saturday, despite being approximately one mile from the venue at the time. No, earlier that afternoon I had coughed, which apparently caused my back such great distress that I had to lie down and take some naproxen sodium. That was the second time in a week such a seemingly innocent event caused such great pain. My "upper respiratory infection" still lingers, but it has relegated itself to leaving me just stuffed up enough to avoid straying too far from the tissue box for now.

I have found one thing that helps, though: Xylish Hyper Cool gum. It's sugar-free, caffienated, ridiculously minty gum from Japan. If Altoids are curiously strong, this is surprisingly fierce.

Noon's Dan was in town interviewing with a Silicon Valley giant and deigned to have dinner with Kevin and I at our favorite Thai restaurant, Amarin in Mountain View. It was cool to see him, since he runs the IRC server I hang out on all the time and I hadn't seen him since I visited Arizona four years ago. Plus, sharing corn cake salad with people brings me great joy.

Speaking of sharing joy, I have been slowly converting my coworkers into rabid Just Laziz fans.

There has also been a significant amount of Indian food action, including getting lost on El Camino trying to take the Editor to the fantastic Chaat Paradise and making some headway on the road to paratha-making satisfaction at home with Kevin. With whom I am sort of back together.

I don't think I have seen any good movies since I last wrote, though I have been to a few good shows. As previously noted, the Jeff Tweedy solo show was fucking awesome. Seriously, he played a few songs with his opener and Wilco bandmate Glenn Kottche in the encore, then did a final song solo, completely unplugged, before leaving us all to file out of the deathtrap that is the Fillmore. The Ike Reilly Assassination was one of the strangest concert experiences I've had--the venue was a restaurant/dive bar on Highway 9 in Felton, a mountain town north of Santa Cruz, such an obscure location that the band got lost on their way in and didn't go on until 11. Which, fine, it's a Friday night, but the opening act was a "jam band" in the tradition of California aging hippies who play Greatful Dead covers and songs that sound like Greatful Dead covers. For two hours. At least Ike Reilly rocked. The Sex Workers' Art Show had its moments, but nothing quite like the (I think first annual) show I saw in Olympia back when I was a freshman in college and saw the truly educational display of how to have sex in 20 positions without pulling out and reinserting, as demonstrated by two Vancouver-based sex workers and a big purple strap-on.

I would try to think of more to say, but I think I'll leave you with that image.