Another Weekend

Saturday afternoon I went down to Park Slope with the intention of getting a book or two at 7th Ave. Books, my favorite used bookstore.

On the way there I discovered that there were people having stoop sales on nearly every block. And, since Park Slope residents tend to be well-read, every stoop sale was selling old books. I hit about five different stoop sales, and picked up about 12 books before I even got to the used bookstore. And none of them were more than a dollar apiece!

Misha and I went out for drinks Saturday. At the bar, I overheard a girl behind me say she was going to a Cinco De Mayo party and remembered that a guy I work with was having a party, so we hopped a train up to Hamilton Heights and drank with a bunch of young twenty-somethings whom we found completely uninteresting.

There were bowls of NYC Condoms around and I inexplicably grabbed a handful and stuffed them in my pocket, as if I will have a need for them ever. Last time I actually bought some they sat around for a couple years until the time came to use one and it exploded into a cloud of dust as I tried to put it on.
If anybody does have a use for them, let me know, I'll send 'em to ya.

Afterwards we went to a bar in the East Village that Misha had stumbled into Friday night and was excited about because they let you smoke inside and girls danced on the bar. They were showing the De La Hoya/Mayweather fight there and it was packed and we had to wait until the fight was over and the place cleared out before folks started lighting up. Then a not-so-attractive girl got up and danced on the bar. It was not the diamond in the rough dive bar Misha had raved about and I left shortly afterwards.

Saw Spiderman 3 this afternoon and was completely bowled over by how incredibly lame it was. I usually accept the inevitable cheesiness factor when I see a Sam Raimi flick, but watching this made me feel like the fat, Gluttony victim in Seven, being force-fed Kraft Mac And Cheese dinners. The last half-hour, I think, was actually directed by Oprah Winfrey, and each character got to have a five minute crying scene where they got in touch with their feelings and sought forgiveness. I was waiting for Dr. Phil to step up to Spidey and The Sandman and help guide them through their emotions. Aunt May had so many "old wise man" speeches, I fully expect her to be sporting a Fu Manchu 'stache and living at the top of a mountain in Spiderman 4. When it intends to be funny, the movie is pretty good. The Bruce Campbell scene is classic! But Sam Raimi's never been very good at subtlety and when he tries to tackle intimate human emotions, the movie blows up in his face. Please Sam, do a non-Spiderman movie soon! You've clearly OD'ed on the guy.