Regardless. Last night I did not end up going to Rocky. Ellen and I were going to get together, she was going to cook me dinner, and we were going to go to the show.
Two of those things happened.
Dinner, incidentally, was beef stroganoff (because Ellen had sour cream she wanted to use up), and it was very good. We also figured out when we'll be using the fantastic night in the Dells that I won at the employee appreciation party, which will be nice. Unfortunately, Ellen is coming down with a cold (or something), and we made a very last-minute decision that she wasn't up to Rocky Horror. I will probably have her cold in a couple of days, but given my familiarity with my current state of general yuckiness (that's a medical term), I can safely say that the not-very-good that I'm feeling right now is a Sunday sort of not-very-good, not a sick sort of not-very-good.
Anyway, I got home pretty late last night, but not as late as I would have had we gone to Rocky. Parking is never ideal around this area of town, and in winter it's worse than usual, so I wasn't able to find a space on our block. I parked a couple of minutes walk from our house. This morning I went outside and saw a $20.00 ticket on every car on the street. Apparently you can get a ticket for parking on either side of Johnson street during a snow emergency? Still, I suppose it beats finding a new dent in my car every time I park on the street, which used to happen when we lived at The Pit.
Other than the ticket though, the rest of my day was (as stated above) pretty unproductive. I did bathe my hermit crabs and start a piece of music that I'm not sure what to do with. Oh, and I was listening to the song I Be An Retarded by Big Poo Generator when I decided to try an experiment. I threw together a quick, simple, piano arrangement of Like a Monkey in a Zoo by Daniel Johnston, slowed it down, recorded the vocals, and sped it back up. You can download it here. It'll probably be embarrassing when I listen to it tomorrow, but I really like the way it came out. Come to think about it, this might be the first time I've actually liked my own vocals -- probably because they don't sound like me.
Anyway, I should go to bed (if I'm going to fix my sleep schedule). I'll leave you with the subject from a piece of junk e-mail I received tonight: When you're this big... they call you MISTER.
Yeah, that's exactly what I need -- to be reminded of my father mid-coitus.