anton

Had a good Saturday night with lots of mediocre sparklings, now requisite Jgermeister, and unfortunate beers. It's good to be back on Oxford St. late into the night -- the people there are so genuinely weird. Groups of Lebanese fellas starting fights with each other over who kissed which guy, a team of Very Short Men waddling and screaming obscenities, girls in pink hankerchiefs tripping into dirty puddles, a team of fake female police officers hand-cuffing electrified tongues-out bogans from the south. It was good.

I'm seeing Bob Dylan and Lily Allen in August. The Dylan tickets were really expensive, so I decided to try to subsidise the cost by scalping a few tickets. In hindsight, this was a silly plan. Unless it works, in which case I'm both unethical and very smart. Allen'll be great, except that I won't be able to marry her.

My mum bought a convertible Saab the other day. I don't know about that. Seems like a bit of an Ostentatious Doctor move. Actually, maybe I support it on those grounds alone. And when I borrow it and blaze down the highway with my hair in the wind... oh lord, the glorious feeling of the wind down your neck and small insects in your eyes.

I'm going to get a tattoo that says 'Sit Tight. Take Hold. Thunder Road.' Probably. I think. It's time for another one. Simple, black, hand-written, somewhere not obvious. That's the way.

I forgot about you winter, but I do like you. You make my breath half-fire, the jacket on my back necessary, and the pricey doona the best purchase in the world.