2003-06-24 - 4:41 a.m.

If you ever find yourself in a position where you could either 1) watch Adaptation or 2) not watch Adaptation, I recommend choice 1), if only for the chance to see Nick Cage act in a good movie. People like Burt Reynolds and John Travolta appear in the crappiest films evar �till their credit line runs out... but then they catch lucky breaks where a movie comes along that they�re perfect for. Nick Cage can actually act, but he chooses films and roles like a sadist, and then his credit runs out and he pulls his shit together. Let�s hope it stays together--it was good shit he pulled this time around.

Yeah, I know the movie was released in 2002. Whatever.

So I took the day off on Friday and went to Lowell with the Roommate and the Art Gurl. That was awesome. We caught the trolley-looking bus from the Gallagher Intermodal Space Port (I think that�s what they called it), and there was a big ass dude with a flashing american flag pin telling an amusing story about thinking his place was haunted after he forgot about putting his (new fangled) universal remote in his back pocket, and then sat down.

I recommend watching Lowell--an Industrial Revelation (get it?) if you ever visit--it�s tacky in a fun way and actually gives pretty good backstory to make the museums make more sense. I�ve already gushed about the city before--there�s no need to do it again without demand.

We had a really nice pre-twilight dinner at an Italian steakhouse and sat outdoors, right by some dude dressed up like the Captain from Captain and Tenille (maybe that�s not fair of me to say--I was sitting behind him and only looked behind me maybe twice), who played Elton John covers on a keyboard, and used these extremely disturbing Air Supply vocal harmony effect pedals.

The Art Gurl is going away really soon, to Korea, and I basked in the proximity of our friendship on the rail ride home. We had a beer at the Penalty Box (bad dive, by the way), and I coerced her into spending Wednesday night with the Roommate and me, and that�s it. (Unless I wanna be the St. Christopher of Boston and make providing last-second comfort to international-flight-bound friends departing from Logan a part-time job).

On Saturday, I got up, went to work, and things were bad when I left. No. They weren�t bad, but I always get pissed when I leave work with a day off approaching, and there are things to worry about. My stomach hurt, too. That�s never fun--the Roommate never gets to see me anymore �cause I work so late, and I owe her some fun on my days off. I can�t prevent it from raining, but I feel responsible if I have a block of free time to spend with her and I can�t be fun. I was a half-hour late for meeting her and her friend J. in Davis. We ate some dinna at the Burren (the bartender sized me up, took me for a good guy I guess, and reluctantly informed me that he wouldn�t recommend the pot roast. I had bangers n� mash.

The three of us (the Roommate, her friend, and me--not the bartender) played some songs together at the Cosby Brownstone, and then watched About Schmidt. I was the only one who made it through the whole movie, and that�s �cause I don�t like to call it quits, not because it was an especially good movie (I�ve bitterly complained about movies in the past, to the point where I�ve gotten so annoying in my contempt that it�s like okay, I�ll turn the movie off. That shuts me up--I�ve already invested the time, and I wanna see how it ends, damnit, even if it�s as obvious as how to paint easter eggs).

The Roommate�s friend pulled one of those by the time you read these lines, I�ll be gone dealies. That�s always kinda sad. Staying over is fun. Getting up in the morning is fun. Nobody shares my viewpoint on this issue except for, oddly enough, the Roommate, who is my roommate.

Sunday read its thick smudgy newspaper. It skimmed a full-color Home Depot ad and saw the Roommate and me in West Roxbury, where my parents live. The parents threw a party for my sister�s graduation from college--I think she was fourth in her class. I did several loads of laundry, played a little guitar, ate some awesome food, had some good chats, and got sent home with probably 50 pounds of clean laundry, and maybe 20 pounds of food (which is already halfway gone--I had the calzones tonight, oh man).

There�s a special place in Somerville that you�ll have to come with me to see (just ask). There�s also a special place in West Roxbury (no, it�s not the Museum of Bad Art) that I asked my dad about--best kept secret in Boston, he muttered, every time I see an article about it, I just wish they�d shut the hell up. The Roommate and I just might do a West Roxbury Day (and maybe supplement it with a little Rozzie and perhaps a little Dedham--ever see a dead mall?). Interested?

Anyway, so I went to work today, busy busy busy, hostage of busy, but when aren�t I, and so on, and had that oh christ, I just did the last thing I have to do and now I can get the hell outta here moment, and then the walk to Government Center, and the run down the escalator �cause I have the worst luck evar with those Lechmere trains, but I caught one, and then the 87, and here I am. I can�t believe it, but I summed up a �three-day-weekend,� plus a (SBemailess) Monday in a little over 1,000 words. This was my goal. It was difficult to not go on tangents. And not very fun. But I can go to bed now.