The triumph of the will

Last night I didn’t make it to the Orbit Room to see the A-Team, which means the most culturally significant time of the evening was Mr. N’s Romeo y Julieta. Like smoking a palm tree and a Mojito, bitch. He liked his late birthday presents. My burner is all fuck-y so I couldn’t record the playlists I’d made for him – gave him a loaded cigarette case with the print instead – he seemed happy. I try not to be selfish but I think I’d rather get a mix from Mr. N than make one for him. He does such a good job – surprising choices that work as a whole – when I’m Queen of the World, he can take care of the soundtrack. And it was good to see everyone at J*Fish’s. Nice to get quite fucked up for the first time since the thesis went nuts. Which is only two weeks, but somehow that feels like a lot. I think I’m ovulating, or else really relieved at handing in the thesis. Yeah. I don’t know the difference anymore.

Evidently, I need some vacation time. I also need to prepare the defence. But not today. Today I’ll work for a few hours and then chill. Chill like God wants me to.

It was warm and sunny yesterday – fucking lovely, and now we’re all happier, but a lot of us over-reacted too. I expect every country has a way in which the most of the population denies the fucking blatantly apparent – in England I found it was how one can’t anticipate winter after winter one's pipes will freeze and break, in Italy it was how one can’t stop speeding blind around hairpin turns, in France how one can’t resist having long vacations from elderly relatives during a heat wave and expecting the government to take care of them in the interim. Here, it’s ‘Oh! The moisture isn’t freezing in my sinuses when I inhale through my nose! I'm stripping down, man, because this shit is summer!’

I may have found someone to go to Gotterdammerung with me, but I doubt he'll go for it after he's had time to reflect on the 5.5 hours. However, I think he's got a line on some mushrooms. Shrooms and opera go together like reefer and cartoons, or crystal and jungle, or brownies and loving. I remember the first opera I saw after munching. Barber of Seville, Opera Lyra, Ottawa 1998. When Figaro launched into 'Largo al factotum' I started crying, it was so beautiful. Couldn't stop until the end. Opera gets the shitty end of the lollipop these days - as usual I blame television. Particularly Hanna-Barbera cartoons - 'Largo al factotum' being the 'Fiiiiiiiii-ga-ro, fiiiii-ga-ro, figaro figaro figaro' shit Bugs Bunny was always fucking around. Well, mushrooms fixed the damage that wascally wabbit wrought.

It's Tom Selleck's birthday. This will probably be a national holiday for our children's generation, so I suggest we all take tomorrow off to celebrate. Or, you know, because we're sick after over-exposing ourselves whilst drunk and spring-fevered.