I juggled my work schedule so I could see the multimedia presentation of Steven Fisher, and just about missed being on time. After eight losses in a row the Mariners opened a little can of whoop-ass tonite and I had to milk every delicious moment of it, then scooted down to the Wet Spot just in time.
Steven is a sweet man with a utterly scary imagination and a wonderful skill as an artist. His presentation included slides of his work, readings from his two unpublished books, and lusty shadow puppets. He evoked sighs, laughter, and nervous twitches from the audience at the Wet Spot tonite at various parts of the show. He's still in the figuring the www out stage, but if he's able to put together a website offering his work I think he will quickly gain the sort of widespread notice that he is due.
After closing up, Georgette and I stepped out for dinner. It's amazing how many otherwise good and respected restaurants in Ballard timed themselves to close ten minutes before whenever it was that we arrived. Luckily, Ballard is an old haunt for Georgette and we found ourselves soaking up great food and Authentic Atmosphere [tm] at our sixth or eighth stop, Hattie's Hat . It was a nice catch up for Georgette and I - we see each other often, but for friends going back as far as we do, it's generally quickie Hi-Bye stuff. I think we pretty well caught up on the gossip on most all the major players we both know and love.
Slipping through Blockbuster just before it closed I picked up Shall We Dance - Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers, 1937 - and Blues Brothers 2000 just for contrast. I only got through the first before the evening frittered itself away on self abuse, websites, self abuse, and munchies and a bit more self abuse. Now dawn, I gotta hit the rack and sleep the day away, to work this evening.
Life is good.
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