If you ever get the feeling that your life isn't quite surreal enough, might I recommend beginning your evening with a community meeting in a church basement? I met up with the McLeods to hear what a neighborhood group was planning to do about the block-long development that will be drastically reshaping Pine Street this fall. The twenty-some people are led by a well-meaning young woman with a big pad of paper, quite a lot of optimistic idealism, and a fondness for trees, ivy, and bamboo. There's a slowtalker who thinks he's a fast talker, reporters from Real Change and the Stranger (both typing on laptops), and a long list of complaints. When a developer who is by most accounts awesome interjects with a dose of reason, reality, and strategy, slowtalker lauches an attack that the leader girl has to break up. Amid discussions of signage, bland design, and leverage, a disheveled old guy starts yelling about squirrels. In the back of the room, two kids circle on little bicycles.
An hour and a half later, they're still in the figuring out their demands phase with action planning to follow. We sneak out and have dinner at/with Linda's. Even though my pretend mission at the meeting (aside from escaping the meeting) was to take notes, I didn't make many notes about sprinklers, lease extensions, architectural opinions, or spreadsheets. Instead, I mostly gawked at the awesomeness and ate my tijuana boca burger.
Continuing at Havana. Or rather on the way to Hotel Motel. There's a girl in tiny hotpants and a bum suggests that we run after her. Then we're at the bar and a guy who owns a whole bunch of places is talking about art. Hotpants arrives and immediately starts dancing in her underwear. When it feels like my ear is being accosted by moose whose tongue had just been seen sharing company with a local pornographer, I remembered that hey wasn't I supposed to be home by midnight?