New Years and Junkie Diva
So, it is Tuesday evening, and I am sick. It hit me (as they say) like a truck. Or perhaps a train. Or something. Blech.
As it was coming on, I initially attributed my sore throat and congestion to an excess of cigarettes on New Year's Eve. It is perhaps not unrelated. I may have told some of you that I was going to Paris, but this seemed like too much work, and I couldn't get a response from Ali, so I took my housemate up on his invitation to go to a friend's house in Kilburn. It was billed as a quiet, intimate evening, but turned out to be surprisingly lively, considering there were never more than eleven people there. My housemate and I were the only homosexuals, but as it happened almost everyone was from a different country: US, Wales, New Zealand, South Africa, Israel, Czech Republic, France, Peru. Although there were few of us, everyone was dancing in the living room, and we followed the Peruvian custom of eating twelve grapes very very fast at midnight. This was the first year in history that the Tube was running all night long, and more than that, it was free from 11pm to 4am. So, unlike a notorious New Year's in London with my sister several years ago, getting home was no problem at all.
For those of you who care, I sent off a new version of the article today. Including the notes, it is now pushing 15,000 words.
Before New Years, I had a lovely day with M from Berkeley, and K from Colombia, although I'm kicking myself for not getting tickets to Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake.
Finally, musicologists (and others), are we all up to date on the shocking revelations of Andrea Gruber? (Thanks for the tip, G!) If it were in a British tabloid, the headline would be "JUNKIE DIVA SHOCK!" As everyone (well, G) is saying: "Not since Anthony Dean Griffey told us that his schizophrenic mom beat him up dot dot dot"
As it was coming on, I initially attributed my sore throat and congestion to an excess of cigarettes on New Year's Eve. It is perhaps not unrelated. I may have told some of you that I was going to Paris, but this seemed like too much work, and I couldn't get a response from Ali, so I took my housemate up on his invitation to go to a friend's house in Kilburn. It was billed as a quiet, intimate evening, but turned out to be surprisingly lively, considering there were never more than eleven people there. My housemate and I were the only homosexuals, but as it happened almost everyone was from a different country: US, Wales, New Zealand, South Africa, Israel, Czech Republic, France, Peru. Although there were few of us, everyone was dancing in the living room, and we followed the Peruvian custom of eating twelve grapes very very fast at midnight. This was the first year in history that the Tube was running all night long, and more than that, it was free from 11pm to 4am. So, unlike a notorious New Year's in London with my sister several years ago, getting home was no problem at all.
For those of you who care, I sent off a new version of the article today. Including the notes, it is now pushing 15,000 words.
Before New Years, I had a lovely day with M from Berkeley, and K from Colombia, although I'm kicking myself for not getting tickets to Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake.
Finally, musicologists (and others), are we all up to date on the shocking revelations of Andrea Gruber? (Thanks for the tip, G!) If it were in a British tabloid, the headline would be "JUNKIE DIVA SHOCK!" As everyone (well, G) is saying: "Not since Anthony Dean Griffey told us that his schizophrenic mom beat him up dot dot dot"
posted by Grrg at 9:16 PM
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