Another evening another birthday party – this time not too far from the house in a tiny restaurant blighted only by the dead rat on the sidewalk directly outside.
Good crowd of people. Bosnian film makers, jewelry artists, a great guy who’d tried and failed to dye his own hair and Ali – our ‘friend in New York’ who has been great at coming out to Williamsburg throughout this whole cancer malarkey (she’s also possessed of great wit with great tits to match)
Eclectic menu as well as eclectic company – our table had everything from Spiced African Chicken through to an Elvis Sandwich (fried bread, peanut butter, fried banana – not alas battered bits of The King)
It feels weird not only to be out and about again but to be amongst interesting people. More than anything I’ve missed character and cultural currency. The chance to talk issues of the day (Dutch soldiers and their failure to do their job in Bosnia; Angelina Jolie, caesarian and herpes) with people who have something to say. Sure YouTube is fun, but there’s only so much adolescent nihilism that a man should have to stomach.
Radiation treatment? So far so good. Fast, painless, efficient. Switzerland then. And like Switzerland the nasty underbelly will reveal itself at a later date.
Enough of this inane rambling. Have to put together a proper proposal for ‘Last Shot’ ahead of pitching the idea to some ‘TV execs’ and have some ideas for how Progressive Insurance could actually BE progressive in more of their products (not that anyone has asked me for the latter, but hey you call yourself Progressive and you open yourself up to suggestions)
BTW if the people responsible for the tacked on ending of ‘The Break-up’ do the all too thinkable and follow it with ‘The Make-Up’ I will do a Ronnie Biggs and up sticks to Brazil.
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