I always like to think I first invented the weekend update entry, along with electricity, contemporary jazz and Paraguay.
That was back when I went out all the time, got severely intoxicated, and did all sorts of questionable things to various woodland creatures. But after a while, all my weekends started to sound the same (Friday: Drunk, Saturday: Drunk, Sunday: Coffee) and I stopped writing them.
Lately, though, as I become older, wiser, and less interested in meaningless fornication, my weekends have become more mellow and tame like an overweight housecat. Take, for instance, this past weekend:
Dinner at some Japanese restaurant with Geney Boy, Rog, Ophelia and Chin. I was stunned to see Rog actually down three beers, albeit it was Japanese beer which has the same alcoholic content as Sprite. Back when I first met the guy, Rog used to drink more than all of us combined, which is how we became friends. He was known as the guy who'd constantly buy everyone drinks, and I thought, "I can like this person." Now he rarely touches alcohol, but still touches himself often.
Afterward we headed over to Ophelia's place and watched Geney Boy's just-completed trailer for his film which hasn't been made yet (I know, if you hadn't read my old entry, it does sound a bit confusing, so click on that link why don'tcha?). It wasn't a trailer, more like a short film with its 8-minute running time. He asked us what we thought, and the women commented first.
"Sung's face looks kinda big," they all remarked.
Sung Kang's an actor friend of Rog and Geney Boy's who normally appears quite studly on-screen, but tonight the females thought he appeared Jabba-esque. The camera really does add ten pounds, and I guess they felt it all went directly above his neck. As a fellow Korean male, I understand his large-headed predicament. Sung's gigantic face aside, we all thought the trailer was well done.
After Stanford lost, I didn't feel as awful as I thought I would, but I still wanted to go out and get wankered. On any given Saturday it'd be automatically assumed that excessive drunkery would be taking place regardless of the occasion. But that was the Saturdays of old. Tonight, I had strong doubts that my liver would see any self-destructive action.
Squiggy, our Braveheart of alcohol, who often rounded up the troops and willed us to drink profusely, was no longer the jolly fun man we all loved and cherished. He was now in a relationship, and the unsingle bastard was training for the LA Marathon. That night he was in bed by 9 PM.
In the end, it was just me, Doc and Geney Boy. With my girlfriend working nights lately, Doc and Geney Boy have been my surrogate girlfriends. Granted, I haven't had sex with them yet, but it's only been a week and I'm a gentleman. We resigned ourselves to hit the neighborhood bar and sat there drinking Guinness for a couple of hours. There was a discussion about sharks.
Doc had to go to the hospital at 7 AM, so we departed at around midnight. Reunited with the girlfriend, we watched "Phonebooth" on HBO until she got bored with the whole concept of an entire movie taking place in a phonebooth. I kept watching to see if Katie Holmes would take off her clothes. She didn't.
Finally got around to seeing "City of God." Intense fucking film. Watching sweaty little kids run around and slaughter each other in the slums of Rio made me truly appreciate my dull, suburban childhood and air conditioning.
Had dinner with about a dozen people at a Thai restaurant, where I shot the shit with Squiggy and another friend who ran the marathon that morning. Squiggy didn't look so perky - a byproduct of running 26.2 miles in 90-degree weather - and was one swift pat on the back away from vomiting all over the table.
Between his running a marathon and Geney Boy's trailer, I was feeling highly unproductive about myself. I need to finish my screenplays soon or start a corporation or something.
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