Yesterday I had my first Shiatsu massage. I had no idea what to expect – knew nothing about Shiatsu besides a vague idea you keep your clothes on and there are pressure points – so it was a big surprise. And it worked – there’s still a touch of iffiness in my back, but no stiffness. They really wrestle you around a good bit, don’t they? I felt manipulated in a way that was almost embarrassing – certainly no man has manipulated me that authoritatively since 2001. Oh Paolo . . . what I wouldn’t give for just five minutes . . . anyways, the oddest bit was when my slip of a masseuse grabbed some part of my arm and back and rotated my whole shoulder mechanism in what felt like a huge socket until it stopped making gross clicking noises, and then the same in the other direction. Wow.
Then I watched the tail end of the Argentina/Germany game, and felt nostalgic for sexual relations. Oh sexual relations . . . what I wouldn’t give for just five minutes . . . I’m sorry Argentina’s out because they're practically Italian, and in my opinion they were the hottest team, pound for pound. Also I think Italy would have wiped the floor with them, and now Italy has to go through Germany instead, and it probably won’t because Germany is kind of, uhm, better.
Then I got driven to North Bay where I got bombed at Magnum’s house. Magnum, thanks to his new young girlfriend, is now surrounded by a coterie of girls my age. It’s funny to see him in their midst, sort of like a silverback gorilla swarmed by a bunch of fun-loving female bonobos. He looks pretty happy though. He and his girlf made burgers wherein goat cheese was mixed into the patty – fucking genius. In our family we always mix cheese into the burger patty, in the spirit of meatballs, to give it some cohesion and flava. Usually we use a hard pecorino or parmesan though – using a soft unripened goat cheese was a coup. Bravo, Magnum. He’s the greatest.