Negotiated with my dad so as to be able to borrow the car during the day. I still do not renounce my general hatred of driving, but I would have been faced with no choice but sitting in an empty house all day, which for whatever reason, I was not in the mood for today. Maybe it's the peculiar nature of this house, Idunno. Other times or places I would enjoy it. Instead:
Went to burger king for breakfast. They brought back sausage egg 'n' cheese biscuits, (as opposed to crossainwich or the erstwhile sourdough-thing, which, though reasonably edible, wasn't so great) hooray! Tasty.
Went to barnes & noble's again. I am weak! So weak! I bought a book. But! It was (a) used (b) on sale (all used books were 50% off) yet (c) in a language I don't know and (cx) a book I already own. That is, I walked out of the store with "A hundred years of solitude" in german, $1.58 less in my pocket, and newly renewed motivation to get some reading comprehension in german, to at least wander out of the romance subfamily a bit. Judge the utter and total futility of the act however you will.
Called combinator. No answer. Went to Olive Garden for lunch. Got the usual C.P. Tasty as ever. Got a call back from martin. Determined that the suggested plan of going to heckle Nemesis at the second-run theater was untenable since it only had late showings and I have to get up reasonably early the next day for the plane. Drove over to his apartment. Consulted intarweb for movie times some more. Discovered "Adaptation" playing at 4:15 at Point. Spent intervening time by reading more of martin's bountiful indie comics treasure-trove ("I never liked you", "Acme novelty library") Such great stuff. "I wanna be Chris Ware, only with people skills." Also went over to Woodman's to help martin with his grocery shopping. He bought two of these "packers' frozen pizzas" which were ordinary-sized frozen pizzas for a dollar apiece. Downside was they looked really nasty because the cheese was dyed bright yellow and green, and presumably they were discounted since the packers just lost to the falcons or something.
Anyway, the movie was pretty awesome. Nick Cage acted a fine piece of acting. It had all the contorted self-referentiality I could ever hope for. It had futile fantasies about cute waitresses that hit the mark exactly. It had actual, vaguely interesting comments on life and its frustrations. It had lots of stuff. You should go see it.
Called my dad. Chatted about about dinner plans. Decided to just go to Chili's instead of going home. Martin remembered he wanted a complexity theory book, so we headed over to the BN again, since it was in the same mall. He found a couple books which were interesting, if not exactly what he was looking for.
Dropped him off back at the apartment. Headed home. Wrote livejournal entry. Wrote about writing livejournal entry. Wrote about metaness. Ran away from angry mob fed up with cheap self-reference. Bedded high-on-powdered-orchid Meryl Streep. OR DID I?