James Cameron is Ruining My Life

So, at this point the score is:

James Cameron: 2

Liz and Rachel: 0

We tried, yet again, to go see Avatar. I went by the theater on the way home from work and bought tickets well in advance, then met Liz and we ran back to the theater and went in with our hope and our stupid 3-D glasses to find the only empty seats were in the absolute front row right up against the wall in the corner. It was total shit. I tried to be positive and Liz sat there squirming and muttering, no, no, and finally we cracked and ran out and got our money back.

So we were faced with a decision. I was throwing out things like miniature golf and OMSI and Liz suggested drinking a beverage or playing pool or boardgames and we agreed we couldn't watch the ice skaters again and she called our movie-expert friend Gabe who directed us to an 8:00 showing out on 82nd and Powell which just wasn't cutting it and in the end I suggested walking around which evolved to walking around Irving Park which evolved to playing basketball on the lit-up court at Irving Park.

But first. We went to my house and put on warmer clothes and then I showed Liz my accordion and played it for her and apparently I have now filled my quota for playing the accordion in front of Liz until I'm an expert. And then we put on Hot Chip and began to sing improv songs over the beats, with an emphasis on harmonizing dueling verses and chanting. Our subject matter varied from James Cameron to Jesse's beard to outer space to Sigourney Weaver to the impossibility of saying no to magic. It was practically spiritual. The mix tape will be dropping in 2011.

And then we went and played basketball (I found this basketball last summer when I was walking home from a party at Liz and Alexa's, it is white and not full size and I found it in the gutter and dribbled it like a soccer ball all the way home). And we played a modified version of Horse in which you get five chances to make a shot from a certain vantage point and if you miss you either have to remove a piece of clothing (not racy, considering it was cold and windy and we had gloves and hats and scarves and down jackets on) or else a body part (close an eye, one-armed shooting etc). And I'm not sure who lost. It might have been me. But it was for sure not James Cameron.