Went to the Spit at the Wicklow, which was absolutely bloody marvellous. Remember me grousing about feeling left out, weeeeelllll they saved me a seat ‘at the end with the sf fans’ and gosh if that didn’t snap me right outta the doldrums It was a lovely convo with Cheryl and Rob and DEE’S SON WAS THERE I haven’t seen him or heard of him since like 15 years ago – you know the part of my blog which I just transferred over here – and HE asked to be remembered to Keith, because they were both teenaged anime fans together, so that was all lovely. He remembered Keith as kind and welcoming, what kind of a horrible thing is that for a mother to hear. /end smirk
The burger and salad was fantastic. Seriously that was the best restaurant burger ever, Dean would have been ecstatic with it although almost for shore he would have said they could have toasted the bun longer. I had two ‘fat tugs’ and my liver’s ‘banding’ this morning. I shouldn’t drink but I was with friends on New Years Day and we laughed our asses off, it was so much fun.
Then hugs all ’round and off to Al’s place for his new years levee, and I talked to two delightful migrants to our shores by the name of Oscar and Roman and the first white woman born in Yellowknife hospital whose name I can pronounce but not spell so let’s just say it was an interesting, broad and convivial gathering. When I was t minus 90 minutes and collapsing I thanked our host and booked it, right into this.
Obviously I went for speed rather than composition and then half a block later ALL THAT COLOUR WAS SUBSUMED into a pinky gold stripe and another half block later it was gone. Normally these photos don’t give you any idea of the slash o’ glory that is purple, pink and gold, but it was a lot like that
GRAB IT while you can.
I was supposed to go to Mike’s but I didn’t have a key on me and so I went home. Jeff and I watched some TV, Mike called back and now I’m here, listening to the ‘normal day’ traffic sounds winding up into rush hour. He fed me chicken and shrimp and salad and oven baked tiny taters and so I had two fantastic meals.
Watched about half of the Martin Scorscese Rolling Thunder Revue. Bob Dylan is a weirdo. Scarlet Rivera isn’t Hispanic. Allen Ginsberg really knew how to dance and chased straight teenage boys. There’s a lot of 16 mm performance footage which is great. The entire thing is fictionalized so you can’t tell what’s real and what isn’t, which completely sucks, especially when so many of the people involved were fakes to begin with. Not recommended unless you do drugs first.
I just want to say my hips really hurt right now.
