[[groovy musics: ]]
12:46 p.m. // 14 November 2005
FIRST DILATED-PUPIL POST EVER! WOOOO.
I just went to the eye doctor and my pupils are as big as can be. I'm wearing those nerdy wraparound disposable eyeshades and about all I'm good for now is sleeping and touchtyping.
A couple weeks ago I served on my first jury ever. It was pretty interesting, and it didn't take too much time for me to do my civic duty. It was a DWI case in which the guy did not take a breath/blood test, so all we had to work off was the officer's testimony, the videotape of the field tests and the attorneys' spin. Also, there was an open beer can found in the vehicle. We came back with guilty, though it did take some talking over.
Saturday night, the Beatdown went to go play 1919 Hemphill, opening for the Gadabout Film Festival There were many interesting films (particularly those involving the eating of fruit) and their van runs on vegetable oil (I forgot to bring mine). The show was a little bit weird because there were lots of chairs set up, and people were in the mood for movies, not rock'n'roll. But Cri and Maria danced in front of us (Rick was busy taking donations or some crap).
Apparently we missed the Gadabout guy's music performance. That was lame on our part; I thought we were only missing a few films, not music. Instead, we were across the street waiting for our meat- and fish-based taco treats. I got elotes and a grapefruit-type drink called rusas that was really good until I got to the bottom, where it was unexpectedly salty.
AN ASIDE ABOUT VEGETABLE OIL: I told my sister about the van that runs on vegetable oil, and she had never heard of such a thing. That is probably because she is a Republican.
The police are more attentive to our block now that they're more aware of the ruckus that surrounds the niteclub around the corner from us. I called 911 again a couple weeks ago because I saw a guy getting beat up on my sidewalk; but the fight was short-lived and was completely gone by the time a patrol car came around. I still haven't figured out when to call the authorities, and when to just let someone get beat up. It's a dilemma that leaves me shaky and nervous every time.
There was a late-night car accident a couple weeks ago, and the neighborhood cop was walking around surveying the scene. Dwayne and I ran down the stairs to see what the commotion was, and I said "hi" to the officer. I feel like he needs to know someone appreciates his work. I think he mistook me for a drunk person because all the clubgoers were out roaming the parking lots for their cars, and the cop said: "There's entirely too much exuberance going on out here."
Also, I overheard this from a bargoer to a group of girls: "Where y'all goin'?! ... All right, bitches. ... Y'all have fun tonight not getting fucked."