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12.26.01 1:13 a.m.

...but with real love, you understand that the other person is like you and wants to be happy.

 -Dalai Lama  

This Entry Features: Dave, Lord of the Rings, Smirnoff Ice, Veronica, not Betty, the transubstantiation and transexualization of ancient Greek love deities,

"I'm still grateful... graceful... take it away."
On Saturday, Emily, Zack and I went to see Dave's band at a bar in Kingston. I had known since the first day I had a class with him that he had a band. I think I neglected to remember what sort of music they played or what role Dave held in the band. Thus making for a more interesting experience when we got there.
On the way to pick Emily up, Zack spoke of his difficulties with is on-again, off-again relationship with Miss Veronica. It was off-again, and Zack stated that he wanted to keep it that way. I was making (perhaps unjustified) comparisons between his situation with Veronica and my notarelationship with Kate many months ago. I feel for the boy, no matter if my sublimation is correct. He is a wonderful guy and shouldn't hurt like this. It is possible that many girls at this juncture of life are not interested in what a guy like Zack brings into a relationship. However, judging by the other girls he stated had shown interest in him, it is certain that a goodly number of quality lasses are sensible enough to want a relationship with Zack. One girl, whom I admit to being slightly smitten with when I was in A View from the Bridge, evidently has displayed attraction toward him (flailing neck plumage and whatnot). He, however, feels she gives off "virgin" vibes and doesn't wish to corrupt her virtue. Aw.
When we arrived at her apartment, Emily took great pleasure in showing us around her new room which was much larger and more pleasant than her prior one. Below ground, which is more appealing to me for reasons I think it is best we not get into. I promised her that I would spend nights there more than I did in her closet apartment and Zack stated he would build her shelves. To each according to his ability, I suppose.
I had Emily drive there, as I felt my skills were more inclined toward navigating and eating the cookies I had brought. My mother makes excellent cookies. Everyone's mother seems to. None of us had ever been to this bar, so it was a bit of an adventure just getting there. We passed numerous monasteries and nunneries, which was a little unnerving, as we were headed for a bar.
Finally, after passing something that looked eerily like an alien landing derrick, we found the bar. True to its name, it was also a bay. After checking our IDs, Zack's a fake, and paying $3 we all received the ever classy black X on our hands, to designate that we could legally get plastered. Dave shook our hands happily, as I think he assumed no one was going to show. We grabbed a table that was directly in front of the band and set our coats down.
Emily insisted that, as I was twenty-one and in a bar, I should purchase my first legal alcoholic beverage. This was not a nice bar, erring on the side of seedy. As such, the girly drinks (daiquiris, mimosas, hard lemonade, etc.) that I might actually want to drink were not available to me. I asked Emily what I should order. She suggested something vile that I associated with rubbing alcohol and date rape. I turned these drinks down. She thus advocated I order a Smirnoff Ice. I hadn't the foggiest idea what this drink entailed, but she allayed my fears and said it was sweet and didn't taste like alcohol. Well, if I had to undergo this rite of passage, I might as well not hate it.
It tasted sweet and fizzy. Not wholly pleasant, but enough like a normal beverage that I would drink some without making pained faces. I was very conscious of what I was doing, examining my coordination, speech, and bodily sensations to see what drinking felt like. Clearly I am not the sort that it would be fun to get drunk with, as I had zero interest in losing myself. The effects I noted were as follows: my stomach tingled pleasantly, my ears and fingertips became warmer, I felt more affectionate toward Emily, and I was more careful in my speech. How much of that was psychologically induced, I do not know. There was no loss in coordination and my thought pattern seems coherent. I only drank half the bottle before I stated, "See, I'm still grateful... graceful... take the bottle away." Zack finished it off and I brought the bottle home for posterity.
I was honestly surprised how good Dave and his band were. I think I assume that each person is only given to be astoundingly good at one thing. Dave is the best teacher I have ever had and thus shouldn't be bafflingly great at the drums. And yet he was marvelous. We stayed for two sets of rather good original and cover hard rock. I have to see the band again soon.
We left because the three of us were hungry and Emily had to work at five selling bagels to the less fortunate. Anyone up at five is less fortunate, in my opinion. We went to the College Diner in New Paltz. The food was not great, but it was diner food. The waitress was decidedly slutty looking and a booth next to us was occupied with the cast of a musical that lilted frequently. Emily verbally thwapped me for getting entranced by the female singers' song. I told her she could either make them stop singing or overpower them. Failing that, she would have to accept that I liked hearing women sing.

Soon in Xenology: I see the inside of Sarah's apartment and hope that she is the girl I grew to love. I love too much and get terrible hurt. I get presents. An orange wrapped in aluminum foil is dropped. I tell you of a failed alien expedition. I fill in holes.

last watched: the AI program I am teaching about me try to have cyber sex with me.
reading: Live in a Better Way Dalai Lama
listening: "Venus as a Boy" from Debut by Bjork
wanting: A well Emily.
interesting thought: I have a tendency of saying too much.
moment of zen: I had few since the last entry.
someday I must: have no debts to anyone.

Thomm Quackenbush is an author and teacher in the Hudson Valley. Double Dragon publishes four novels in his Night's Dream series (We Shadows, Danse Macabre, and Artificial Gods, and Flies to Wanton Boys). He has sold jewelry in Victorian England, confused children as a mad scientist, filed away more books than anyone has ever read, and tried to inspire the learning disabled and gifted. He is capable of crossing one eye, raising one eyebrow, and once accidentally groped a ghost. When not writing, he can be found biking, hiking the Adirondacks, grazing on snacks at art openings, and keeping a straight face when listening to people tell him they are in touch with 164 species of interstellar beings. He likes when you comment.

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