Saturday night in San Francisco

Had tix for the symphony tonight, but Cris needed to study for finals, I couldn't get anyone else to go with me, and I didn't feel like going by myself. So I turned in the $54 tickets, that is, I donated them back. That means they can sell them again and I get a tax deduction whether they do or not.

I went to Writers with Drinks where I saw Liz and Violet read, as well as a comic who was pretty funny but went on a little too long. I got drunk on two gin-and-tonics, which was pleasant -- it felt bouncy and made me feel graceful. I encountered a woman I'd worked with a couple of jobs ago, and I talked with her without feeling horribly self-conscious and stuttering slightly as I usually do.

I left after the intermission because I couldn't remember who was reading next and I thought I'd maybe catch a screening of the Star Wars movie. I walked to the BART station, still drunk, and rode downtown and went to a large multiplex, but they were either not showing the Star Wars film (I hadn't bothered to check) or had sold out. So I bought a ticket for The Interpreter instead. I stood it for about half of the length before I got sick of it. Whether or not some fictional African bandit gets killed -- who gives a shit?! Not even the leading characters cared! So I decided I didn't either, and I left. I rode home on BART. I wasn't drunk anymore.