“A scene consists of people who define themselves by being consumers of art.”

Had a nice evening with the female half of bikupan, in which we went over to her neighbor’s house that she’s watching and cooked a meal in their million-dollar kitchen. Mmm, All-Clad cookware. We ate pasta & vegetables which were too bland because I wasn’t paying attention, and drank the bottle of wine I bought, and blathered about stuff. The house itself was very nice on the inside (high ceilings, huge kitchen, etc.) but was inexplicably covered with big fake rocks on the outside, like a Disneyland ride. I got to meet her dad, who is a cool guy.

The strange mixed taste of the neighbors with the fancy house can be summed up thus: They had one of those expensive dishwasher-sized storage things for wine with the controlled temperature and humidity and all built into the kitchen counter. And they had a bottle of two-buck Chuck in it.

Altogether a very good evening talking with her about life the universe and everything. Then of course I looked at my messages and apparently I was supposed to do a build for work at 10:30 and I didn’t, and I hadn’t been explicitly told but I should have known, and I’m going to get fired and have to live in a box in the alley and die of yaws.

Sometimes with the work anxiety I seriously cannot tell whether they’re setting me up to get canned or just have really poor communication systems. Hey! Maybe it’s both! More likely the latter because people are pretty nice there, but I’m wondering what is going to happen still.

Sunday is the auto show. I have tickets for Zeb and myself, and two others if someone else wants to go.

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