It’s a generally accepted rule that sex is a good thing and chocolate is a good thing so by logical implication, sex and chocolate must be a very good thing.
I tied the red ribbon from the box of chocolates around her neck, the pendant a plastic heart.
Over some cabbage roll and peach juice, I asked a sage, “Taoism teaches me to accept everyone and cast aside my purist ways. Yet how can I do this if it’s in my nature to refuse to accept people’s flaws? I must accept myself as I accept others”.
He told me, “If you are happy with yourself and the decisions you make, then there is nothing to worry about”.
Then he took my bowl, washed it, and we played Warcraft III for eleven straight hours.
It’s 28°C outside. It’s hot, but there isn’t a touch of humidity in the air. I can’t help but take my time. I’m supposed to be thinking of where I’m going, what I’m doing, but it’s too nice out. Another beautiful summer day.
And no one to share it with.
I gasped when I found out that Interpol was coming out with a new album. Then I threw up a little in my mouth when I heard the first single.
Why, Interpol, why? What happened to the minimalist, sparse guitar riffs? Why did you have to sell out with lighter, more accessible music?
Turn On The Bright Lights remains one of the most mysteriously affecting albums of my life. Antics was crap. Our Love To Admire is worse. Interpol needs a return to form.
Oh yes, and I’m in love with Cat Power. Not from her new stuff, which I find pretty boring (her material was a lot more interesting when she was a drunk), but from the way she dances in the Cross Bones Style video.
[youtube:http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wXWvjkX446A 480 380]
And while it doesn’t exactly make me go out and buy Kleenex at Costco, it does make me rub against the corners of walls and door frames in a felonious manner.
Don’t worry, Mel der Maur, no one will ever replace you.
Sometimes I feel like I don’t offer anything to Pat. I call him for advice all the time, ask him to give me rides (groceries, furniture, large items on which he bargains), vent to him. He grew up relying on nobody but himself, so he never asks me for any favours, and I suppose he has Jen with whom to express his feelings.
Maybe this is the root of my insecurity. Pat’s friendship with me appears diluted. We’d both take a bullet for our friends, but mine is a far more exclusive club than his.
Pat doesn’t need me.
But I need him.