Tuesday, January 26, 2010


Last night Audrey and I went to Jack of the Wood for Quizzo. I did this last week too, with my friend Jodi who unfortunately was sick this week. Last week Jodi and I came in tied for seventh place, which we felt was quite respectable for a two person team among many, many teams composed of lots of extremely intelligent people who all knew more about Haiti and Switzerland than we did. Last night, our team of, um, nine or eleven I think - Heather and Aric and Zen, briefly, and Kyle and three people who I had never met before but who were all really cool and extremely smart - tied for third place yet somehow I do not feel brilliant. As Audrey and Kyle and I were driving away in the snow I said, "You know, coming in to this we thought we were pretty smart. But now we know that we is dumb as fuck."

And alas, so it is. We know nothing, it turns out, about popular music or sci fi TV shows from the 1950s or the Golden Globes or, well, much of anything. Basically, we were the comic relief, able to contribute answers only to questions about beer festivals in Asheville (and that's just because I was there, okay, proving that alcoholism has its points) and otherwise stumped. Except we is not all that damn dumb: Kyle totally got the shoutout question about who killed Darth Maul and Audrey got the abolitionist senator from Georgia, even though nobody believed her. Me, I got negative space.

The beer was excellent though and we, or at least me, will be doing it every single week for the next six because, goddamnit, I want to win that vacation to Fort Lauderdale, where I have never been. Granted, a team of eleven or thirty six or whatever people winning is going to make the hotel room a bit cramped - although the collective IQ will be breathtaking - but whatever; I want to go where it is warm. Wonderful as the photography has been around Asheville lately, what with the floods giving way to blizzards giving way to ice floes giving way to more floods, I could really see strolling on a beach in bare feet as a creatively interesting opportunity.

In other news, Django has proven yet again that he can get as wet and muddy as any three other dogs, a talent which you would think could be monetized somehow; Audrey is back from Charleston and I am tired. The fish are all still alive although I have not yet replaced the ones who died a while back. I can't remember if I mentioned this, but the fishtank, we thought for a while, was cursed. It seems to be kind of less cursed at the minute but that does not mean that it is not, actually. It could still be The FishTank of Doom, the Haunted FishTank of Lore, in which fish mysteriously die from no apparent causes, secretly murdered by a vengeful and finny ghost, but without a few more gory deaths, the probability seems to be lessening. I didn't, after all, buy the damn thing from one of those funny small fish shops that appear and disappear in the alleys of fog shrouded major cities.

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