Monday, January 24, 2005

MOB Stories

After extensive detoxification therapy utilizing an experimental blood replacement technique tried on only one other person ever (Keith Richards), I have managed to reconstruct what happened at the MOB blowout on Saturday night.

I had a wonderful, fawning post about all the super people that I met that night all ready to go.

Then Blogger ate it.

So I'll just hit the high points:

I met the lovely couple of the Spitbull blog. I learned that Warrior Monk works for the same company as I do, and in the same building. Eloise rolled her eyes at me a lot.

*****

I engaged in a long conversation about architecture with Atomizer of Fraters Libertas. Much of the discussion revolved around Atomizer's view that Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect. Just to reiterate, in case there are any famous architects out there who do vanity Googling:

Atomizer thinks Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect. Atomizer thinks Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect. Atomizer thinks Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect. Atomizer thinks Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect. Atomizer thinks Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect. Atomizer thinks Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect. Atomizer thinks Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect. Atomizer thinks Ralph Rapson is a crappy architect.

Atomizer
Atomizer
Atomizer

Ralph Rapson
Ralph Rapson
Ralph Rapson

crappy architect
crappy architect
crappy architect

*****

I had the opportunity to meet James Lileks. Unfortunately, I thought he was actor Bob Balaban, which led to the following embarrassing (and only partially made up) exchange:
LearnedFoot: Wow! It's great to meet you. I loved you in 2010: The Year We Make Contact!
Lileks: ...
LearnedFoot: Uh. Hey, why are you drinking your whiskey through that little bar straw?
Lileks: Because if you don't, you'll poke yourself in the eye with it (mimes poking self in eye with straw). Now please go away.

Now before you say that my mistake was beyond the pale, compare a picture of Bob Balaban with the likeness of James Lileks.
*****
Fishsticks gave me a preview of a column he is working on: a way to attack the Constitutional validity of restaurant smoking bans by using the reasoning from sodomy cases. I'm looking forward to reading it. The article, like sodomy, should make for a wild ride.
*****
I was fortunate to meet Saint Paul's lovely and fetching sister and her extremely tall husband. During the course of our conversation, they tried to bait me, telling me they were bed-wetting liberals. This caused me to lecture them on market economics and Constitutional interpretation. In the tradition of my Sicilian grandmother, I gesticulated wildly. Unfortunately, I was so animated that I dropped my beer. They then went on to tell me that they were just yanking my chain.
And now let's observe a moment of silence for that beer.
......................................
Thank you.
*****
Finally, my new bestest buddy, Nihilist in Golf Pants had joined Atomizer and I for the second hour of our discussion about Ralph Rapson's suckiness. All of a sudden, there on the scene entering the bar, was Mr. Gravitas himself: Scott "Big Trunk" Johnson. Nihilist was so excited he nearly wet his golf pants. "Now's your chance to end the feud; lay to rest this distructive conflict," he said. I thought about it for a moment as St. Paul guided Big Trunk through a receiving line-like gauntlet of lesser bloggers, shaking each one's hand. Perhaps I should bury the hatchet. After all, we're all on the same side, gravitas or not. We should rejoin forces to battle the inanities of the left, socialist welfare programs and Nick Coleman. Oh, this could truly be the finest hour for the blogosphere: putting aside our petty squables and united once again against the forces of evil in our country.
I think Nihilist had a different scenario in mind: out of nowhere he had produced a spit bucket and he started massaging my shoulders like a boxer's saying: "Remember: Jab and duck. Bob and weave. Keep your feet moving!"
I would have none of it. I clasped my hands together in front of my chest and cherished the thought of a new dawn. A new start: gravitas and petulance working hand in hand toward a common, noble goal. A tear formed in the corner of my eye as Big Trunk approached. I opened my arms wide so I would be prepared to plant a large bear-hug on the diminuative man. All is forgiven!
Big Trunk, guided by Saint Paul was close enough to touch. I stepped forward to greet him graciously and humbly.
And then HE WALKED RIGHT PAST ME WITHOUT SO MUCH AS A PASSING GLANCE!!!
Now I've got to get me a new hatchet.

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