I hitched a ride to Albuquerque this weekend with a rabid pack of Magic The Gathering gamers. They were nice enough to let me take a seat even though I was not of their kind. And maybe they weren’t so much rabid as excited, but really, for most of the ride they spoke in tongues so I wasn’t one hundred percent sure.
“You know the Flame Squid has a four-three against anyone playing the black-red or blue-green.”
[Oh, somebody will just hate me for that mockery.]
But seriously, it was a fun time since as soon as we got there I was able to scamper off with E to a coffee shop. We had, um… I had a lot of things planned. First a stop in a neighborhood metaphysical store for some Samhein supplies, then next, imbuement in the trendy areas of Central. [Central, for those not keen to western lore, is also Route 66, and runs straight through Albuquerque and has been revamped to have a Soho feel. I thought I’d interject that for people whose sole knowledge resides in the watching of Cops and from that only know about how many transvestites litter the rough streets.]
For my first chai latte dose of the day, we went to the Flying Star. Bright colors, granola people. I kept standing near very Land’s End type of people who were going to take their lattes and meander over to lounge around talking about the paradigms of corporate cultures and their fallacies. There were multiple sightings of girls with dreads and hippy skirts. I can’t quite hang with that sort of trendy. I like shampoo.
Right next door was a “the best used CD store in town” according to E. Where I reply, “CDs? What concept is this you speak of?” After hanging around in there for a bit, we went on to the movie theater. The highlight of the day was supposed to be going to watch Marie Antoinette that wasn’t showing at home. The best laid plans of men…So yeah, the…um, theater was nice. Pretty costumes. Lots of eating of the cake. Too much Le Dunst for one long sitting.
Then continuing to be the adult that I don’t feel that I really am, we went to this fancy shamancy restaurant called Chama River. They had brass cranes, a cigar smoking room and their own brewery. E tried to appease my mumblings of, “Just want some sort of fish,” with this restaurant choice. Following female logic, he gets the fish and I order a vegetable plate. What can I say, it had cous cous.
I kept saying, “This wouldn’t be too bad to live here. Maybe.” But in reality, I could never. The reason is simple. I will never be able to spell Albqu…Albqerqu…Albuquerque correctly without some sort of mechanical aide. Maybe I could get away with just using Q. All you really need is the zip code right?