I began last night at Flinders Bar, where they're all about the free booze and very crowded bar area. After a fair few sangrias - red wine and spirits drained through a dirty Mexican sock - Geoff and Patrick and I went to Alex's girlfriend's going away party in St. Peters. She's off to South America for a year, which is pretty great for her but possibly not as great for Alex.
Caught up with mates at this party, which was Mexican / Australian themed. (I got confused and thought the theme involved dressing in both a Mexican and Australian fashion at the same time, which confused me. But it was actually an either / or thing). Drank a little bit too much wine, which was fine at the time, but has left me with the kind of throat-burning, head-exploding hangover that only those cursed tannins can give you. Only Norah Jones and three glasses of apple juice can save me now.
Another party is planned for tonight, but I probably can't make it, as I'll be driving down to Wollongong for dinner with the folks. Yes, it's time to celebrate my mum being a world-renowned Doctor of Medicine. Want a catheter put in place? My mum is your girl.
A moonlight swim at the stunning beach one minute behind her house might be a good thing.
Time to get out there under the stars. Surround myself with cliffs and see if I can tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. That sounds like a fine thing to do.
I feel like playing basketball. A lot. Unfortunately, none of my friends share this dire urge. I want to wear Julius Erving style knee-highs. I want to rock Chucks on the black top. I want to shoot threes at a very poor percentage. And, most of all, I want to hustle a lot and fall over and throw dodgy passes that somehow work. There should be a Normal Height Basketball League.
I've been reading Fear & Loathing: On The Campaign Trail '72. It's absolutely flawless political writing, full of hasty predictions that turn out right, Machiavellian power plays and - most importantly - characters that are alive. (I mean that in the literary sense... I don't want people worrying Nixon is still walking among us).
I literally can't read enough Hunter Thompson. Since my mum lent me Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas and my dad gave me The Curse Of Lono, I've loved no author - or man - more than him. His search for the underlying truth in every situation represents everything good and right about journalism and literature.
Caught up with mates at this party, which was Mexican / Australian themed. (I got confused and thought the theme involved dressing in both a Mexican and Australian fashion at the same time, which confused me. But it was actually an either / or thing). Drank a little bit too much wine, which was fine at the time, but has left me with the kind of throat-burning, head-exploding hangover that only those cursed tannins can give you. Only Norah Jones and three glasses of apple juice can save me now.
Another party is planned for tonight, but I probably can't make it, as I'll be driving down to Wollongong for dinner with the folks. Yes, it's time to celebrate my mum being a world-renowned Doctor of Medicine. Want a catheter put in place? My mum is your girl.
A moonlight swim at the stunning beach one minute behind her house might be a good thing.
Time to get out there under the stars. Surround myself with cliffs and see if I can tell where the sea ends and the sky begins. That sounds like a fine thing to do.
I feel like playing basketball. A lot. Unfortunately, none of my friends share this dire urge. I want to wear Julius Erving style knee-highs. I want to rock Chucks on the black top. I want to shoot threes at a very poor percentage. And, most of all, I want to hustle a lot and fall over and throw dodgy passes that somehow work. There should be a Normal Height Basketball League.
I've been reading Fear & Loathing: On The Campaign Trail '72. It's absolutely flawless political writing, full of hasty predictions that turn out right, Machiavellian power plays and - most importantly - characters that are alive. (I mean that in the literary sense... I don't want people worrying Nixon is still walking among us).
I literally can't read enough Hunter Thompson. Since my mum lent me Fear & Loathing In Las Vegas and my dad gave me The Curse Of Lono, I've loved no author - or man - more than him. His search for the underlying truth in every situation represents everything good and right about journalism and literature.
VIEW 11 of 11 COMMENTS
those are just a few things that came to my mind instantly. ive spent most of my time in mexico city. its huge and daunting and fabulous. lots of people are poor but they LIVE. there is dignity and joy everywhere. im sort of idealizing at the moment because i miss it (and my lover). its worthwhile, though. i also love veracruz and oaxaca. they are more picturesque, but in a real way- not disneyfied. ask me questions- i love talking about it.
F&L in '72 was the only thing that kept me sane while backpacking alone in Europe.
Songs of the Doomed is one of my favorites.