Last Wednesday I headed to The Pickering Pub (170 S. Main St., Canandaigua) to join my girl Ali for a few drinks as she wasn't going to make it up to the city like on Thursday when she came by to make some Mexican food. She headed back to get some rest and I went out to Lux Lounge (666 South Ave.) for a couple drinks that turned into a couple more and before you know it I'm there until 2:30. Everything from an old co-worker who dropped by for the first time in 4 years to a self-described alcohol-induced-asshole to a U.S. Marine headed to Afghanistan.

Among the conversational highlights were a gem that came from a quip from a friend waiting for Dave Snyder (former lead-singer of The QUiTTERS) who said it's like "waiting for fucking Godot" in reference to the play [wherein everyone, well, keeps waiting for him]. From that I skimmed "fucking Godot" as a metaphor for sleeping alone after going home from the bar — "so you getting lucky tonight?" "sure — I'm fucking Godot."

I also found that there is justice in the world after all. When my former employer closed the site in Rochester and offered good severance packages all around, some of the stalwarts were supremely rewarded for their 30-something years of service. But then the Rochester site was bought by another company — and the severance packages remained in effect anyway. I also learned that if one has lived enough of life, the phrase, "she's seeing someone else already" needs no further explanation. Kind of like "farmer's wit" ... for instance, I recall a polite weather-related conversation a few years ago that could easily have ended, "it'll get colder."

On Friday, Ali and I headed to the Dryden Theater at George Eastman House (900 East Ave.) to see the 3-D film Phantom of the Rue Morgue. Indeed it was as unintentionally hilarious as I had hoped. Those French police sure have a tough time identifying a cartoonish, gorilla-sized hole right through the glass, muntins, and mullions of a skylight, instead blaming a skinny circus performer for a rash of murders. Even the print was (well, prints were) in very good shape and the 3-D effect worked well.

After that it was time to hit The Bug Jar (219 Monroe Ave.) to check out the bands. St. Phillip's Escalator did fine and started the show nicely with their 1960's glam style. Almost as if taking the torch from their headliners, The UV Rays put on a remarkable show of hard punk-rock, then closing things out was a solid rock-and-roll set from The Grinders. We left and decided we, well you know, needed Taco Bell (950 Jefferson Rd.) and as if some kind of gastrointestinal challenge, the Nachos Bell Grande was all mine.

Saturday brought more of the same. This time I headed out early to check out Alfred Hitchcock's take on 3-D with a rare 3-D projection of Dial M for Murder at the Dryden. The film doesn't disappoint, neither in its gentle-handed use of 3-D nor in its remarkable plot and (as far as I'm concerned) unidentifiable surprise ending. After that I met up with Ali and her friend Stacie for a drink at Solera Wine Bar (647 South Ave) then a night of more drinks at Lux Lounge (666 South Ave.) where I talked once again with a bunch of varied folks: a fellow Burner, a couple old friends, and a horoscope aficionado who was upset that Saddam Hussein was destined to be killed in December — that is, the fact that it was astrologically premonitorily so. Ali and Stacie headed to Vertex (169 N. Chestnut St.) for a bit, then later still, Ali and I met at Mark's Texas Hots (487 Monroe Ave.) to split a late-night plate — I highly recommend the hots-with-cheese; and the combination hots/burger is an excellent way to go.

So by Sunday night, New Year's Eve, we were pretty much done with going out, talking with old friends and new acquaintances for hours on end, and bloating ourselves on late-night snacks. We ended up staying in and having wine, take-out, and one another's company. Along with movies and games. Oh yeah, and we did get out downtown to check out the fireworks from Main Street. And to hear Mayor Robert J. Duffy repetitively declare it wasn't raining — a cute joke once or twice, but a harbinger of the city purchasing Midtown Plaza (S. Clinton and Broad St.) in abject denial of their inability to function as a business entity. [Should I alert anyone of the insertion of my own opinion?]

• Fuck (at The Little) - A documentary about the word "fuck."
• Perfume: The Story of a Murderer (at The Little) - Something about a guy who makes perfume.