Adventures of The Yellow Peril

I HEART GAY COWBOYS

I did it.  I saw "Brokeback Mountain" last night with friends and members of OUTLaw.

Since it was an advanced screening, we had to wait in line for about an hour to get in (hey, when it comes to getting something for free, I have all the time in the world).  J, my beard for the night, was slightly agitated that he didn't get to go to the first advanced screening that was held last week, and that we had to wait.  "It's like they let all the first-tier and premiere gays go to the movie first, and now all us scrubs get to see it.  What am I, chopped liver?"

"Yeah, but just think.  You could totally meet someone to date here -- all the guys here are gay!"  I responded.

J was only slightly comforted by this notion as we scanned the room together and discovered that gay and lesbian groups from all the different grad schools on campus seemed to be congregated into one massive line.  He shot me a Look (been getting a lot of those lately, with a lot of different meanings).  "Great," he muttered.  "All of my dating prospects in Austin are here.  How would you feel if you knew that everyone in your entire universe of dating possibilities was sitting here, right this second?"

Point taken. 

As for the movie, I fully expected to inappropriately giggle several times during the movie, especially during the highly-publicized sex scene.  Let me tell you a thing or two -- that scene shocked the pants off of me.  I mean, I have many, many gay friends.  I know that gay people have hot man sex.  What I didn't know -- and have never thought about -- was what man sex actually looks like in a tent 5,000 feet above sea level. 

Now I do.

To be honest though, the movie was phenomenal.  I'd said earlier that Phillip Seymour Hoffman was totally going to take the Oscar for "Capote," but now I'm not so sure.  Heath Ledger, beyond my wildest expectations, was unbelievable in this film.  Also, despite the graphic man sex, by the end of the movie, I'd totally forgotten that it was a story about gay cowboys and much more about love.  For real. 

Also, I learned that every time two gay men have sex, a sheep dies.

CHUFF HAS LANDED

For the second time, Chuff has been in town visiting me.  He came in around 3:00 on Friday, and that's when we started drinking.

Since he's been here, we've been to such Austin classics as Logan's and The Aquarium (yes, it was one of those nights), Trudy's, and the Salt Lick.  We've been to -- count it -- three keg parties, all in one day.  I  inflated a slip n' slide.  We saw a bartender who may or may not have been a midget.  I lied about smoking so I could get a free lighter. 

At the last kegger we went to, I traded my "Prez" nametag (which someone else made for me to wear, because apparently I cannot escape being a tool) with Jerry from Bulgaria.  Chuff and I questioned the potency of a mysterious hunch punch, so we added a splash of vodka to each of our cups.  I stared into the liquid swirling inside my cup and thought I was staring into my future.

It didn't look good.  By the end of the night, I was eating Taco Cabana -- again -- and making such proclaimations as, "My first mission as SBA President will be to declare hot cheese the official food of UT Law!!!"

This morning, things don't feel so bad, but it could be because I'm still a bit woozy from last night.  Plus, today, I get to go here. 

As for Chuff, he's probably upstairs in the guest room, pissed about investing 3 hours of last night into pulling a girl, only to discover that she had a boyfriend.  In Iraq.  And, in the words of Chuff, "You don't effing mess with the effing war."

I love it.

I'M BUSY DANCING

On Friday, the law school held its annual Casino Night, and yours truly was the organizer.   I really like to toot my own horn when it comes to two things: 1) organizing social events and 2) cooking,  so here goes: it was awesome.  We had a live band, a fruit tree sitting next to a gi-normous vat of chocolate fondue, open bar, and of course, casino games.   The best part was the pre-prom dinner at Uchi, this sushi restaurant in south Austin.  At one point, after eating the so-called "shag" roll, which was basically a tempura-fried delectable wonder of eel, avocado, and golden fish roe,  Jeff proclaimed, "My children will be weaned entirely on a diet of shag rolls." 

I knew we were friends for a reason, Jeff and me.

The next morning, I went for breakfast at what is apparently another Austin institution, a breakfast taco/Mexican restaurant called Juan in a Million.  This place is, in short, a page ripped straight out of the book of wonderful.  First of all, the breakfast tacos are huge (including one called the Don Juan, a mushy concoction of potato, bacon, egg, and cheese, and apparently is the heart of many an eating contest).  Secondly, the waitstaff wear mechanic's shirts with an embroidered "Juan in a Million" patch on one side of their chest and their names on the other.  The absolute coolest part is that the owner, Juan Meza, actually wanders around the restaurant shaking your hand (and, in the case of the dudes, slapping your hand really, really hard). 

The day just kept getting better from there -- well, except for dinner, which sucked.  I had to eat at the Tavern, which is known for being a cool sports bar and should be known only for that.  I had the veggie plate, and I'm pretty ashamed of myself for ordering that.  It's just that I've been feeling kinda chubby lately.  After dinner, we (MP, Jeff, sweet Patrick and me) went back to Jeff and Patrick's thinking we'd go see a movie.  By some maneuvering of either Jeff's or fate, we ended up renting Footloose.  Here's a word of advice: if you haven't rented it lately, man, you need to.  I hadn't seen that movie since I was a kid, and dang, it is just chock full of randomness.  I mean, it's Kevin Bacon...

Who came from the big city of Chicago to Beaumont, Texas.

And got an after-school job at a flour mill (where he later goes to dance off his anger).

And then joined the gymnastics team.

Only to be kicked off.

Shortly after he engages in a rousing match of chicken with tractors against his future girlfriend's then-boyfriend.

And the future girlfriend then gets bitch-slapped by her dad in the same day that she gets the crap beaten out of her by her ex-boyfriend.

I mean, it was almost like everything that could happen in a 2-hour movie, did, and without a single trace of sarcasm.  It was so unreal.

And lastly, today I discovered fleas or some sort of small gnat -- like 30 of 'em -- in our bathtub, which sent me on a six-hour cleaning spree and ended in me missing most of the Oscars.  I know.  The Oscars. It's my equivalent of the Super Bowl, and I missed it because of some kind of flea. 

Life's a bitch sometimes.

Oh yeah, one more thing.  Question for you Oglethorpe people -- if you go to Jason's Deli in your pajamas or running clothes, does it totally not feel like the old OU cafeteria to you, or what?  I totally walked out of there tonight with my soft-serve ice cream, if you know what I mean.

ALL I WANT FOR CHRISTMAS

Is one of these.

Yeah yeah, world peace, too.

LUKE EFFING WILSON!

I went out last night with Tara and Ryan and some of their friends, and we found out that Luke Wilson, brother of Owen Wilson (who is dreamy to the extreme), was hanging out at L'il Woodrows, this popular college bar on 6th Street. Of course, we just trotted right over to L'il Woodrows to see if the rumors were true.

The bar was packed, and no one seemed to be clustered around anyone like they were when I saw Andy Roddick at Cuba Libre a few months ago. I turned to Tara after ordering a Shiner Bock and said, "Well, I see a few guys who look a lot like Luke Wilson, but I don't see him."

Tara turned to me. "Really? Where?"

"Well, for example, that guy sitting in the corner of the bar."

"Um, Peril, that's...EXACTLY WHO THAT IS! OH MY GOD! IT'S LUKE WILSON!"

Immediately, I called my sister's boyfriend, who has had a man crush on Luke Wilson for several years now. ("I can't help it if he's a good-looking man.") I then proceeded to call everyone I knew. Reactions varied ("Peril, it's like 1 AM! What the?" to "OH MY GOD MY FRIEND PERIL IS AT A BAR WITH LUKE EFFING WILSON!!!", which was announced to everyone at a bar in Atlanta and resulted in subsequent cheering).

My reaction to Luke Wilson was a lot more subdued than when I saw Andy Roddick (really, the only thing that wouldn't have been tamer than my reaction towards Andy would've been a ballistic missile explosion above Luke's head), but that was mainly because I was 1) with people I didn't know very well and 2) sober.

Of course, neither of those conditions lasted for very long, but by the time the beer fairy had tapped me with his magic, magic wand, Luke had already piled into a Saturn station wagon with two friends and departed.

That's okay. I only have room for two or three crushes at a time, and really, you have to draw the line somewhere, right?

And in case you're wondering -- yes, he is really hot in person.

INSOMNIA

I just saw "The Passion" tonight, and now I can't sleep because I'm freaked out. Is it inappropriate to sober dial someone because a religious story was too intense? I don't want to talk about it; I just want someone to make monkey noises and tell me stories of the old country. Anything but blood and guts and that scary lady with the worm up her nose.

Ack! There are not one, but two Michael Douglas movies ("Fatal Attraction" and "The Game") on right now. Are you trying to kill me with freakiness?

I think I'm going to wrap myself in my bathrobe and shudder myself to sleep.

OSCARS

I really, really had no idea that LOTR would sweep and win in literally EVERY category in which it was nominated. I came in first in our little mini-pick contest in Austin this year, but I lost to Robert -- again. And, in perhaps what was the stupidest pick of the night, I chose the song from "Triplets of Belleville" to win Best Original Song. I always let my emotions get in the way of who I think will win. Well, actually, if I'd really voted with my heart, I would've picked the song from "A Mighty Wind." I just had high hopes for the committee to choose something really innovative after giving Eminem the Oscar last year.

I think my favorite part of the ceremony had to be Jack Black and Will Farrell's lyrics to the Oscar "wrap up" music. "Stop talking...you're boring." Does life get any better?

Also, in a total change of subject, you surely don't think you know me if you think I'd let a winner like Britney's "Toxic" escape my notice. Eeeeeaaww eeeaawww.... (Come on! It's the sound of the violins in the song.)

MORE QUOTES FROM THE THREE AMIGOS

Steve Martin: Great. You just killed the invisible man.

Chevy Chase: How was I supposed to know where he was?

SM: UP. You were supposed to fire UP. We both fired UP. He sighs and rolls his eyes. Like living with a six-year-old.

*******

"We're just going to have to use our brains. Damn it."

******

Who needs to greet the day when you have such happiness at home?

OH SHIT.

I just found out you're married and have a kid already. That's alright. I forgive you.

"...AND TO ANN, WHO IS MY INSPIRATION"

You don't know me yet, but you're going to be in love with me by the time I introduce myself to you. You'll love me for my energy, my wit, but especially my undying ability to support your career while you're on the road for months at a time. Sure, the groupies may require your attention every once in a while, but that's alright by me. They'll grab at your clothing and show you their inappropriate parts, but it will feel so good to slip into bed with me at the end of a long set on the road and tell me that I'm the only one for you.

After the beer-soaked, pot-smoking crowd yells their requests for "Drinking as Religion" and scream that they love you, you will return home to me, and over bubble tea we will laugh about their empty proclamations, mocking their inability to experience true love like ours. I will have a warm plate of fried green tomatoes waiting for you on the kitchen table upon your return, which, of course, is your favorite thing that I make for you.

Then, after our relationship truly progresses, you ask me to come on the road with you, which, after voicing my concerns of "cramping your style," I will reluctantly accept. I will watch every show from backstage, and when there is no backstage, I will sit knowingly with the sound guy and make you subtly jealous at my casual flirting. Near the end of the show, you will embarrass me again by saying, "This next song is about someone who is very special to me. You know who you are, and you know why I and this song exist -- to make you happy." I will blush and smile even though I heard the same thing at the early show that same evening. You see, your words never get old to me.

When your first CD is released on Arista, young girls and angst-filled men in their mid-to-late twenties will rush to the stores to buy it, and you will fill arenas with your soulful folk-bluesy sound. It will be like nothing anyone has ever heard -- edgy yet traditional, new yet familiar. I will be content to stay at home and mind our little one, Mason Junior, knowing that in the liner notes you have included the one line:

"And, of course, to Ann, who is my inspiration, and my everything."

So you see, even though I did not stay after the show last night to speak to you in person, I know that we are meant to be. I know you saw me -- the ball's in your court to make the first move after I fling myself desperately at you the next time you are in town.