I’ve been trying to solve the style sheet problem, and I finally got through to the host. Turns out I’m not crazy, they had set my preferences to NOT be able to see all the files.

Other than that, I frolicked in the snow with M. and we ended up at the All Asia. Jesus Christ, besides being a plagiarizing hack, that Marlon Baker’s friends have got to be the coldest critics around. After weeks of them staring down all non-Marlon comics, I ask one of them what would she laugh at, anyway. Her answer, “Funny jokes.” Well, fuck you too lady. At least a couple of the guys broke the ice a little and loosened up and actually fucking laughed. I don’t know, I figure that if you’re coming by a place to support your friend, talking through everyone who ain’t your friend and just generally being rude to everyone probably isn’t the nicest way to be. Ahhhhh… The ASIA. It is a taste of the old “chops lounge” open mike, right in my own back yard.

It’s a little sad, because, as M. points out, it is a cliche, but I did enjoy walking around in the snow with my fella. God, I am a middle-class suburban New Englander. I should try heroin just to purge the truth of that statement.

Here’s my quick restaurant review of Fire and Ice: Perhaps my friend Liz is on to something. She’s never been a huge fan of the Fire and Ice concept, to whit that you must gather your raw ingredients in a bowl and carry it to the grill. Her needs are more simple, if you go out to a restaurant, it’s about service and not having to gather your ingredients and wait for the food to cook. For me, though, the real danger of the concept is not the process it’s the people around you. I saw one kid (too young to be unsupervised, since he had to stand on tiptoes to get the ingredients) dropping the tongs, touching them on the tong part, putting them back with the handle touching the food. I saw a grown woman, sampling one of the sauces in a little cup, which she then proceeded to lick clean, while standing at the food station. Nice manners, lady, isn’t it time for you to pick the cloth out of your asscrack, too?

That reminds me, the other night M. and I were at Pho Pasteur, and I was sitting facing a man and a woman who looked like they may have been on a date. At one point, the woman rubs her upper lip and then slides her index finger right up into her nose. I thought it was going to be a casual scratch/check kind of super-quick gesture, but there the finger stayed for a few beats. Wonder if there was a second date?

One last thing, we saw The Last Samurai the other night. Despite the ripping by the critics, especially of the Cruise-centric world where Samurai’s are given context by white men, I liked it. I wept at the historic direction of Japan. I judge a movie by it’s ability to manipulate my emotions, since that means to me that my mind wasn’t wondering too far away.

Since meeting M. I have seen more movies, especially first run ones, than I hate in the previous two years, I think. It’s good to remember how much fun I used to have going to the movies. Come to think of it, I’m not sure that dickwad Solomon and I ever went to the movies. He was probably afraid someone would see him (with me). Did I really have to add the “(with me)” since, of course, all interactions with him implied some sort of embarrassment by me.

I think Solomon was a necessary step for me to more fully appreciate the little things about M. He is a nice man, and I think he’s right that the little things matter.