Fault line

I feel like today was important, but I also feel like I need to make this brief, because my body is not entirely complying with the recording impulse.

Today is the last day in my previous flat. I had to pack all my stuff into cardboard boxes and sign the new lease agreement. Then I got to spend the first hour in my new apartment and see just how much of the office building I see through the windows (all of it), how many trees (none), and how many cars I hear driving down the busy street right outside (all of them).

It was not a good day. There's other shit on top of that, but it shall go unaddressed.

Then in the evening A came. We bought some munchies, some rose wine, and went to the new flat. A talked. A lot. Then we had a conversation. Not about the flat per se, just about life. I drank most of the wine because she's ill. A thunderstorm came. She left. I felt... so much better. Things would be ok.

Then stuff happened, but it's inconsequential. The story really picks up when I was with B, looking for a cab to take them home, and talking about... stuff. Stuff that I decided I would talk about, on this particular day. Stuff that made us forego the cab and go for another drink somewhere else.

And we talked. About various things, some of them perhaps more vital than the trump subject, but... it was an important moment as well. There was a pretty rudimentary connection. Here I was with a good person who, as it turned out, had my best interest at heart. Which should have been obvious, but it wasn't. And it will be from now on.

Were, I to write this tomorrow, I'd probably do a better job, but I felt the need to mark this moment now. Today was important.

Glaciers

Two days ago I saw this cute - in a slightly gangly, academic sort of way - guy dining alone at my regular lunch place, reading a book on church-state relations from the Middle Ages to the Enlightenment. I ogled him for a while (had to, really, to make out the title of the book), but I think it's fair to say that we peaked, contact-wise, when he glanced at me just in time to see a piece of cucumber fall out of my mouth.

Today I bumped into him again - this time with something Antiquity-related, though the font was too small for me to make out the specifics.

The overall set-up is pretty dismal, since we're both in our own separate bubbles, gobbling down food and reading our history books, but if I see him 50 more times, I'm totally casually dropping "So how about them crazy Prince-Bishops of Mainz, eh?" or some equally sizzling chat-up line.

In other news - I have a new passport, a new credit card, a new phone, and Esthero has a new album coming out. So let's drink to that.

Urbane

Went out last night to meet with Natalia. I was really looking forward to it, but there was some outside turbulence which tinted the overall feel a different shade. Natalia texted me that she was going to be quite a bit late, and I was already on my way, so I decided to make a pit stop at Filip's. I was clear from the start that I was only popping in for half an hour or so, and tried to be vague about my plans for the evening, but when asked point-blank, I told him who I was meeting. As soon as I did, I knew it wasn't a good idea. The room soured, though Szymon did his best to diffuse the situation. Either way, I bolted.

And then once I got to the club, I bumped into a guy who had been hitting on her and whom I thought she was avoiding. I decided I should probably let her know before ordering any drinks, in case we needed to relocate, but she said it wasn't an issue anymore. And after I got back to the bar, I found out that my reflexes were as sharp as ever in that I had actually already ordered a drink, and then promptly skipped out on the bewildered bartender to make clandestine phone calls, because I am smoothness incarnate.

The guy was amusing, but completely hammered, and kept popping by to share stories about his CRAFT (he's an actor), And then about an hour into our meeting, Filip called Natalia asking if they could come by. She replied in the diplomatic (and stilted) negative, and thus the whole thing became "an issue". All in all, too much drama for a late night catching up. And none of it mine.

And today - an hour-long breakfast at my local cafe, with Harold Nicolson's diaries.

August 13, 1941

[Dorothy Thompson, the American journalist] says that we must always remember that America is composed of many millions of people who left Europe because they hated it, and that there are many millions of Italians and Germans whose hearts go out to their mother countries. Although these emotions pull America apart, they feel at the same time a strong longing to remain together. What we don't filly understand in this country is the actual dread of the American soul at being split. There is always the fear that they will cease to be a nation.

I teared up a bunch of times. I still find it hilarious that nothing makes me bawl harder than grand geopolitical narratives.

And once again, I regret I've stopped writing things down. Maybe the solution is a private diary?

Overflow

I had a bunch of stuff to write about, but it's more and more difficult for me to actually post here. Or rather: it's more and more out of the way. I dump all the trivia into my Facebook feed, and the other stuff just dissolves after a day or two anyway, so why bother.

I'd like to have some kind of record* though, especially about the good stuff.

My birthday was last week. I threw a huge party for way too many people (It got freaky, I figured at least half of them wouldn't be able to make it, so I overshot with the invites, but then most of them actually showed up.) I don't remember any single conversation I had, which is weird, since I'm told I wouldn't shut up for the entire evening, and my throat was sore the next day, but that always seems to be the case for the host. Anyway, people claim to have had fun, and I got some awesome gifts, including the first volume of Absolute Sandman (incidentally, it took my mother about 6 minutes today before she spilled wine all over it, so that was fun) and a very cool boardgame, and a new toilet seat (that's right, you heard me), and a Polish, personalized rendition of this song. Because my friends are awesome.

As I was cleaning up on the next day, I kept remembering funny stuff from the evening before. I had it listed in my head for that entry that never materialized, but now I just remember Waste doing a short presentation of nerdcore, completely out of the blue.

It felt really nice to know that people came. As base as that sounds.

Then I went to lunch with a friend who came over from Krakow. It was a very long ride, and the tram broke down two stops before my destination, so I had to leg it. The sun was shining, I had this playing...


Life felt very good.

On the next day I got a full-blown sinus infection.

Took me a week to get better, but I finally did (sort of), so today my parents came over, and took me out to lunch at a bar mleczny in Praga, and a coffee (also in Praga, at a surprisingly hip cafe that they claim is their favorite - apparently they really get around). Life was really, really good again. I hope it keeps doing that, as often as possible.

* and now Famous Blue Raincoat is playing in my head. Brains are silly.

Perspective

Either I am developing some sort of mild social anxiety disorder, or I am only now becoming aware of having had one all along.

A week ago I was invited to a birthday party. Every single thing screamed: go there. I liked the host, but felt I didn't have enough opportunities or platforms to socialize with them. I didn't know any of the other guests, so it constituted "putting yourself out there". And the guest list consisted almost exclusively of gay menfolk.

My reaction? A bout of anxiety. At some point (at around 3 days to D-Day) I had to tell myself I'm not going *wink wink*, so that I would stop stressing about it. And I didn't make up my mind literally until I had to go out this very second to buy a birthday cake, because they were closing the bakery in 25 minutes. And I only did that after calling a friend on a complete whim (safety blanket response) and learning that I couldn't come over to them instead and whine about being fucked up, because... they had a legitimate reason for me not to do that.

Eventually I did go, even though when I put on my "I am a viable sex object" shirt, one of the buttons fell off, which I took for a bad omen. And of course everything was OK, if a bit awkward at first. And of course the coolest people there (or rather: the people I clicked with most) were a straight couple, since I was built to die alone. No prospects materialized, but, you know, the sky didn't exactly come crashing down either, and I actually had fun and a few good laughs - particularly when I sat down to eat some cake and saw this to my left:


And yet I haven't had this much anxiety about anything in at least the last year or so. Shit really freaked me out. I hope it's a phase.

Gamut

This weekend, I had the full social experience. Boardgames and tightrope walking on Friday, a documentary on the Czech BDSM scene with Natalia and Filip followed by a night of drinking and dancing in the moonlight with Paulina et al on Saturday, and a dinner at Kaska and Piotr's followed by raiding on Sunday. Hitting all the notes.

It was nice, and let's leave it at that. Even I'm tired of my bullshit atm.

Concrete Jungle Wet Dream Tomato

For the past week I've been trying to write a cover letter. Today my physiological defenses went into overdrive, and just as I completely ran out of distractions and things to watch, my whole body simply shut down. I fell asleep at 5p.m. for no apparrent reason. And woke up at 8.

Finally, I started writing that goddamned cover letter.

Which naturally led to trolling Facebook. At around 9:30 I paused to reflect on how much I adore a certain person.

10 minutes later said person spontaneously wrote me saying they finish work at 10p.m.

At 11 I was at their place. Obviously.

And man, was it a great evening. The highlight was probably a very enthusiastic 20-minute, 2-person tirade on the benefits of cocaine, concluded with one of the most unusual compliments (I hope) I've ever heard: "So yeah, we'd love to do coke with you."

So would I, my friends. So would I.

Collision

Had a wonderful evening. Monika came home from Luxembourg for Christmas and held and an impromptu audience at Ormus' apartment - though I think I was the only person to go there specifically to see her, as most of the other people in attendance didn't even know who she was.

Still, we had a blast, mostly due to a lengthy session of... charades. Yes, apparently we're now all old and bourgeois. It should be noted that our team (me, paivi, Monika and Pawel) won, but the main attraction was watching people try to mime absurd and/or obscure movie or book titles. Special mentions (all successful) go to: Darq for the Charter of United Nations, Monika for Things to Do in Denver When You're Dead (none of us knew the book), Ormus for The British Museum is Falling Down (same as above), and my teammates for guessing my mime of The Salmon of Doubt even though none of us had read it. Surprisingly, the most problematic - and most fun to guess - title of the entire evening was Kapuscinski's Empire, but that's mostly because first we ended up in China and refused to leave, and then Pawel, in the process of trying to steer us back towards the right area, mixed up his books and got fixated on the Shah of Iran.

I've also been catching up on music. I've yet to plow through Florence and the Machine (was less than impressed by Kiss With a Fist, but Janek sent me Howl and my endings were more than tickled) and the new Regina Spektor album, but have already digested Little Boots. I can't say I care for the record as a whole, but towards the end I've found a definite keeper. It's basically Kylie at her best: thoroughly synthetic, clean and clear. A tiny little plastic bauble, all pink and translucent. The soulful kitsch of Scissor Sisters' It Can't Come Quickly Enough, but without the melancholy. The girl's voice is perfectly smooth and featureless, woven seamlessly into the rudimentary synth background, and then there's that tiny flourish in the chorus, when the afterglow of the last consonant in "over" unexpectedly soars higher than the preceding vowel... Yum.



And to top it off - totally random and unsollicited Tom Lenk. My crush lingers on.

Woof woof moo

God it's good to touch base with the hermetic order from time to time. We've all entered new stages of our lives - some more profound than others - and I feel like we're still in the process of finding a way to re-establish our connection in this new reality. But once in a blue moon you meet up, get drunk, and suddenly there's a glimmer of this old, feelgood intensity - set against a new backdrop, but complimenting it rather than flashing in stark contrast.

And it's a heartbreaking sort of pleasure. Like something you're way too young to be nostalgic about.

Australia

Mom sent me this tonight. I love it. Been trying to find an mp3 version, but no luck so far. If anyone's able to overcome the whole transcription issue and actually locate it - I'll be very grateful.

I've been to another themed party recently - this time it was the 60s. I had so much fun at the noir event that I decided I wasn't above spending a little dough to piece together the right look. It kind of paid off, in that almost everyone turned up in costume, so I fit right in. The party itself was pretty stellar - we convened at the birthday boy's apartment, had a bit of various spirits to grease the gears, and then spilled out into the streets of Warsaw, glass in hand, to shock and awe - or as was mostly the case: bewilder and preplex - the uncouth masses. Then we were picked up by a private tram, which drove us across the city to a river-adjacent hotel... I'd write "riverside", but even though the street name has the word "embankment" in it, Vistula was nowhere to be seen. Which might have actually been a good thing.

I hardly knew anyone there, except for the hosts, a couple of very fresh or very distant acquaintances, and a guy I had seen once before - over a year ago, and even that in passing - whom I nonetheless remembered quite well. The guy turned out to be spoken for, and I lost my favorite, and at this point irreplacable, hoodie. That collectively put a bit of a damper on things, so I went home early. It took me a day to live down the dissolution of the shade of a sketch of a prospect, but I'm still bummed out about the hoodie.

On Sunday I'm going to another birthday party. This one's completely prospect-free, so there's a chance my wardrobe will escape intact.

Lest we acknowledge it

It's my second night in Birmingham. I'm writing this from an inflatable mattress in my hosts' workroom, accompanied by two laptops, a sewing machine and a small mirror, which I unsuccessfully attempted to break (I was cursed by a disposable Urban Outfitters bag, you see...)

As you can probably tell, I should be sleeping instead.

Last night was really cool. My hosts threw a birthday/anniversary bash, inviting their various friends from all over the map (I was pretty disalieved with the turnout). Everyone got dressed up in full noir regalia and converged in Mmffbb Mmmm Mffmfff (that's the name of the pub I can't recall) which looks like a full-fledged freemason joint, just without the secrecy. Opulent like you wouldn't believe. After a few drinks we moved to a retro cinema for a private screening of Chinatown (God this movie's weird at times), and finally ended up at Bohdan and Karolina's apartment, concluding the festivities at around 6 a.m. Laughs were had and photos taken, though once again I ended up without a single glamour shot. Mind it, there's some cool and funny ones, just not anything i could look at and say Ok, that's a good one. Which is all the more frustrating since it's not like I'm the Ass-Faced Boy and I'm pretty sure there has to be an angle that doesn't bring out my inner potato.

It's a bit weird visiting the UK without Ana. Instead I share the roof with the Three Graces, a gaggle of delightful - and contrary to this abbreviated description quite different - girls whom I nevertheless hardly know, and who on occassion seem a bit... overwhelmed by flashes of unfiltered me. Much as I would like to just let my freak flag fly, I can't help feeling somewhat self-conscious. Especially when confronted with queries like Seriously though, why are you staying all the way until Thursday? Gosh... Um... Good question, I guess?

That being said, I'm having a wonderful time, basking in Karolina's golden glow and taking full advantage of Bohdan's plug-and-play personality. Already had a couple Smell the Roses moments (you know, when you actually take a step back and go Oh, wow... Happiness) and I'm counting on grabbing a few more for the scrapbook before my time is up.

Ok, finally sleepy. Over and out.

Not there

I went to visit Kaska and Piotr yesterday. Piotr made pizza (or rather: two pizzas), we had a few good laughs and more than a few moments of extremely non-PC behavior. Kuba - their son - was adorable, as always. I'm still tickled by how matter-of-fact Kaska is about him. No doting whatsoever. It's such a welcome change from borderline hysterical mothers. Piotr, on the other hand, is very affectionate, which I find equally entrancing. Just not used to seeing that side of him, I guess. A moment in time:

Wiska is playing with Kuba, dangling a plastic bag in front of him, and then hiding it behind her back
Kuba: Not there!
Wiska, extremely excited: He just said "Not there!"
Kaska, barely looking up: Yeah, he does that.
Wiska: But he actually said it a propos, I took away the bag and he went: "Not there"!
Kaska: Well, he says it about a 100 times a day, so chances are he'll sometimes get it right.
Kuba, smiling proudly: Not there!

Why is everybody whispering?

Went to Ana's today. Marta made quite possibly the best soup I've ever eaten, and some Indian-style chicken. We stuffed ourselves full of it watching several episodes of the unintentionally hilarious La Femme Nikita (boy, it did not age well) punctuated by clips from 07 zglos sie and The Colbert Report. Good times.

The event was concluded with the following conversation:

me: ...I'm still waiting for a full list - I just know they're gonna show Savage Grace, which is a pretty bad movie.
marta: Is it the one about the family that invented bakelite?
me: What?! No! Why?
marta: Well I remember you telling me about a movie about the people who invented bakelite...
me: That wasn't me.
marta: I'm sure it was you.
me: That's impossible. I don't even know what bakelite is.
marta: It's this synthetic stuff... What's the movie about then?
me: Nothing, really. Incest and dysfunction for the most part. Mother-son stuff.
marta: And you're sure they didn't invent bakelite?
me: No! There's no mention of bakelite throughout the entire movie!
marta: Maybe they're the descendants of the people who invented bakelite?

At that point Marta's relentless pursuit of the bakelite angle overwhelmed me and I dissolved into hysterical laughter. The mystery of the bakelite movie remains unsolved.

Edit: Mystery solved. It was the bakelite movie. I'm stunned.

Words escape me

Went to dinner with a couple of friends I hadn't seen in a long time. Heard the following sentence:

We met my mother's new girlfriend. She has a beard. But she's kind of boring, so it was a bit awkward.

Felt like the English language could as well be retired at that point.

Or not

Last night I had a totally spur of the moment (20 minutes from ao's phonecall to my arrival) outing, attending some awards ceremony. Or rather: a revue of virtually all the people I'm on nod/smile* terms with disguised as an awards ceremony. There were some friends around as well though, and free booze, so it all worked out fine.

Having learned that one of the awards went to a friend, and one to a smile/nod acquaintance, I relocated (ok, was relocated by yssy) to Chlodna, which was a very good idea, as pauli was there, as well as more booze, music, and - surprisingly enough - an urge to do the dancefloor thing in a damp and sweaty basement. Four hours later I stumbled back home barely stopping myself from triumphantly roaring along to The Loneliness of a Tower Crane Driver (the second part that is) and feeling very thankful that I'm finally getting that haircut on Wednesday.

First snapshot: making an off-handed remark about leeching on Ao's friend's (not even a nod/smile acquaintance) booze, which he had offered at one point, but not to me personally. Ao deciding that the best course of action is to go and ask said friend on my behalf. Standing there with weird, mounting sensation and hearing pauli - who was barely even listening, just scanning the room with her eyes - capture it perfectly by absently offering "Well, this is gonna suck..."

Second snapshot: Feeling a surge of popecstacy** when someone put on on Be My Lover by La Bouche (the ultimate eurotrash song, absolutely craptastic). Setting my delighted gaze on yssy: packet refused. Turning to pauli: packet refused. Turning to g5: uplink established. Feeling pretty sure that if I turned to look at the dancefloor, I'd be able to see all the gay guys, glimmering in this musical blacklight.

* that's when you're allowed to say hi and stand in awkward silence if you happen to be stuck next to each other waiting on line

** a term I wish I had coined myself

Let's see...

I went to Cracow last weekend, to get my palate thoroughly cleansed. Mission accomplished. Almost miraculously so. I don't know if a change of scenery works every time - will have to try it out during the next system restore situation - but it feels like the trip snapped me right back into actually living my life, as opposed to making disgusted faces at it from a distance.

And I think Cracow itself might have had something to do with it. It really grew on me, and this time I felt quite comfortable there. Everything you need is within spitting distance - it feels like you can't throw a stone without it setting up a pub or a bar of some sort - and even if your hostess happens to live on the outskirts (next to a bog), the dreaded taxi fare is something, like, 30PLN. Which is pretty laughable if you've ever had to haul your ass out of Kabaty.

The company didn't hurt either. I got a tour of the Kropka HQ, and even took a picture of Piotr's highly organized cassette collection (four boxes labelled: Stuff, Various, Crap, and DM - no idea what that stands for). I got to see Drewniak's flatmates' apartment*, and the broom closet she occupies in it. I was a bit confused when she made a point out of showing me that she does, indeed, have a window, until I got back home and Ana asked me about precisely that detail, pointing out that servants' quarters usually didn't have one. So I guess it was Drewniak's way of subtly informing me that she isn't the live-in help, and merely lives in comparable conditions. She also shared her highly traumatic Facebook story about how nobody wanted to send her an egg, or something, so finally she just sent one to herself, but got embarassed when she saw the news feed broadcast this plea for attention, and - trying to erase it - completed her humiliation by accidentally highfiving herself. I also remember her telling what I initially thought was a freaky pedophiliac story about Zanussi, and only after a few minutes realizing it was actually the plot of a movie with Zamachowski.

There was also non Drewniak-related stuff, but I've completely exhausted myself wrangling with the grammar on those turds up there. I'm seriously considering moving the everyday stuff back to Polish turf and saving this place for howling and pop culture. It's just SO gruelling.

* a deliberate distinction - read on

Goat cheese +7

[PSA: Sometimes I get the nucleus of, say, a Nine Princes in Amber analogy stuck in my head that just won't go away until I at least try to pin it down "on paper". In the process, I tend to forego restraint and accuracy in favor of cohesion and impact. In other words: I'm not suicidal, merely pretentious. Thank you for your attention.]

The best way to get out of a rut is to do something you don't do every day. (That will be five bucks.) I found that the easiest way to do that is to meet up with someone you rarely get to see. Exotica on a budget. I immediately tapped Natalia, whom I'd been dying to see anyway. It turned out they were having some friends over, and so, an hour later, there I was sipping wine and stuffing my face with cheese. And having my hairdo compared to Zac Efron's, which I took in stride as something you don't hear every day, ergo: desirable in my current mindframe. However revolting the thought.

The friends turned out to be Hadi, whom I'd already met on several occasions and know to be a hoot and a fellow TV series whore, Jennifer Garner, whom I'd seen in a couple of movies, and her quiet boyfriend (surprisingly enough: not Ben Affleck). Seriously though, the girl 's resemblance to the actress, at least from the profile, verged on freakish. The conversation started out with the behind-the-scenes drama in Polish media (ohhh the intrigue!), and got progressively more interesting and... well, abstract. Buying palaces near Opole, attending a Canadian gay wedding during the Gay Olympics in Toronto, getting hit on by gap-toothed editors... Somehow it kept returning to the topic of living abroad - with no effort on my behalf, if I might add. Hadi said that as of last year you don't need a visa to go to Canada for a period under 3 months. And according to Natalia, Berlin is dirt-cheap compared to Warsaw - you can rent a 70m2 apartment in fucking Kreuzberg for around 300 Euros a month. That's what you pay for a single-bedroom shithole in... Wlochy, or something. Also, the British pound is supposedly worth three doornails and a half-hearted fart right now. I'll let it all simmer some more and then see what pops out at me.

All in all, a very nice, relaxing evening. And I managed to sneak in a song Bohdan sent me a while back. This is one of those you're kind of forced to like, or at least pretend to, because it's so undeniably cool, trying to refute it makes you decidedly less than:

Landlocked

Met with Kajka for sushi today. She's going to the US early next year (D.C. and Maine), and wanted to hear my impressions. I find I have very little control over what I talk about when people ask me about the trip. I usually hit the core notes (Washington kinda cozy, NYC kinda overwhelming), but the rest is a pretty random selection. And mostly I just don't feel like talking about it at all. Kajka in turn feels like she's failing at life a bit right now, with various disapointments piling on one after another. She's s pretty zen about it though, if you overlook the way she drifts off from time to time.

We went to get some coffee after, and for some reason it was only then that we really got to... well, talking. Mostly about mobility, which is something I'd been thinking about recently. A while ago she went to Brazil for half a year, to teach kids art, or do something equally noble - and actually she's flying to USA to visit two of the people she met during her stay in Porto Allegre (one of them already visited her in Poland). Now she really wants to go to Africa, but it turns out the more impoverished and needy the country, the more expensive it is to live there. I'm not sure how that's possible - maybe they factor in security costs, or something. Anyway, she'd preferrably go to one of the Lusophone nations, to keep working on her Portuguese, but it's tricky.

She's also watching Buffy for the first time - currently the 7th season. We compared favorite episodes and there was practically no overlap (though she said her overall fav was The Body, so I guess we just look for different things).

As we were gradually getting ready to leave the coffee place, they played Destiny, Distractions and In the Waiting Line, one by one, which I took as a sort of musical godspeed and decided to walk home instead of taking the subway. Halfway through Park Saski my mp3 player served me Natalie Merchant's Letter, which in turn I took as a punch in the gut and getting any work done stopped being an option.

I'll totally make up for it tomorrow though. I always do.

Gaze into the crystal

For some reason I had no problems deciding where to post this one. I'll analyze that fact once I'm a wee bit more sober.

So, tonight I went to this... actually, I'm still not sure what it was exactly, but let's call it a dinner, as Darek's stand-in whatever. It was at his university professor's apartment, and from what I gathered it was supposed to be some sort of... once again, I can't even say for sure, but my impression was something along the lines of Dorothy Parker's salon for deviants - the university dude presiding over a menagerie of his "promising" students of the homosexual persiasion (and their stand-in whatevers, obviously). I know, sounds bizarre, but at the same time it was intriguing enough for me to give it a try, and frankly, I'm in no position to refuse attending a meeting of gay linguists with pop culture inclinations.

As it turned out, it was the university dude, his partner, their university friend, his insanely Hot Spanish Lovah (TM), who also works at the university, and some guy from TV. Plus me and Darek. Let me reiterate: well-to-do, accomplished intellectuals in their prime, and a faux-jailbait topping. For the life of me, I still can't figure out the evening's formula, but for the first hour or so I pretty much felt like some sort of exotic critter brought in for entertainment. No, scratch that: the exotic critter's stand-in whatever. Then I finally ingested enough wine to shut down my WTF node, and enjoyed myself immensely listening to stories about scornful Galician mother-in-laws and university politics.

The surreal feel of the entire situation was compounded by the fact that it all took place in this amazing apartment with an enormous balcony, leather furniture, loads of books and DVDs, and a gigantic flatscreen TV playing - I shit you not - Madonna videos. I really wish there were an emoticon for running your fingertips over your lips to make crazy-person sounds, cause that's exactly what I need to punctuate that sentence. It was just madness, and not the Spartan kind.

But at the same time, I had a lot of fun, and all those people seemed genuinely happy and at ease, and some even had Hot Spanish Lovahs (TM) (seriously, I'm not partial to that particular type, but God DAMN), and I found myself thinking: if this is my future, where's the fast-forward button.

Still, the highlight of the evening came when I was being driven home by Darek, listening to his playlist of Balkan abortion anthems and other such, when suddenly he went "guess what I have here though!", skipped several tracks, and on came Who Will Save Your Soul from VH1 Storytellers. By Jewel. Now, the hilarity of Darek listening to Jewel is probably lost on... well, just about everyone who doesn't know him, but I damn near peed my pants right there. Mostly with delight.

Yup. An evening to remember.