At the time I discovered that one of my friends and a former roommate loved drinking milk, I thought he posessed some mild, isolated psychosis. When I say he loves drinking milk, I refer to a few distinct characteristics: he drinks at least 2 gallons of milk per week; when he accepts a glass of milk you offer him he shows much enthusiasm when accepting and may even tell you his latest milk consumption statistics or some other funny milk story; he shows a stark preference for one type of milk (2%, I think) and would consider drinking any other type of milk repugnant; he would prefer drinking milk to any other beverage at any time, even when it would seem not to go well with the meal. Well, recent observations have shown that other such milk-lovers exist. A fellow astronomy graduate student (whom I will also soon call "roommate") recently tried to initiate the bond of milk brotherhood when he saw me drinking milk with my lunch. I had to disappoint him by telling him it was simply the only beverage I had access to at the time, and he looked almost insulted. I look forward to more encounters with this underground culture, and perhaps I can devise some experiments to perform the next time I meet a brother of the milkhood. Perhaps there are various sects associated with goat's milk or coconut milk.
Well, that was over a week ago now, and I'm finally sitting down and writing something after what, two weeks? Well, the experience of the "Black Garter Cafe" (which neither had a consistent constituent manner of dress, nor served coffee) was certainly worth the time on a Friday night (and missing the movie Garden State). I was not the only male at the club (not even counting the drag queens), but I was one of few. The patrons ranged from normal looking women to women who actually looked like men, and a full spectrum in between. In the company of a fellow grad student and also a fellow Newman Center parishoner, the night was considered a success as both had fun, and one even got the e-mail address of the girl she'd been scoping out for some time. A week later however, with a cessation of responses from the aforementioned interest, the night appears to have been a bust like most other nights. Notably, one of the other first years (the only girl among us) has expressed interested in attending the Cafe on Friday; though she claims straightness, some have apparently detected a bi-type "vibe" emanating from her direction.
All in all, I have to support Jonathan Richman's portrayal of lesbian bars in his classic song from this one experience of mine. I don't recall if he mentions anything about the quality of music that played in the lesbian bar in his song, but I have to admit I was kind of disappointed. I was expecting Lilith Fair quality tunes, but instead there were such songs as "Stayin' Alive," and numerous other horrible songs that were at least 20 years old that I had never heard before. Some of these songs even had their own dances during which you would get clobbered if you accidentally stayed on the floor without getting in the "Electric Slide" formation 2 seconds after the song began. The Black Garter was a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to frequent there.
In other news, the Cheapo Discs here is pretty bad on selection and price. However, the swap meet at Aloha Stadium proved to be a gold mine for cheap CDs. I acquired two highly sought after albums (Kathleen Edwards' Failer and a Dar Williams album), both of which I'd been looking for for about a year) as well as my first Davěd Garza disc and a Realworld album all for $1 apiece. I could have gotten two excellent Police albums for $5, but I got sunglasses instead.