Chocolate is like porn to me these days: seldom encountered and never as good as I remembered. Nevertheless, I looked into a bag of Lindt strawberry and white chocolate balls whilst sitting in bed on friday night because what could be more pagan, and lo, it was acceptable to us. If we have to give up something in the approach to an ancient feast, why not set aside the eschewal of empty calories? Tis but vanity, after all. So I gave up self-denial, it went pretty well and I highly recommend it. It's depressing that something as delicious as chocolate could be fucking up a part of the world that's already drawn so many short sticks; illegal cocoa plantations are burgeoning in fragile and supposedly protected ecologies in western Africa, taking advantage of political and social turmoil to displace indigenous forest and drive struggling species into extinction. I read that whilst writing this up on Sunday, so in future we will try not to be such mindless arseholes and will be sticking to (more) ethical chocolate.
Did you read the last TBO excerpt (scroll down to check it out) ? I always enjoy that historic scene in Paršvãb, an ancient iteration of modern-day Samarkand. It was like Helaine's possession scene in that it came to me pretty full-formed from who the fuck knows where- love it when that happens but it's immensely frustrating to have so little control over its occurrence. I'd smoke more dope but we're in the middle of an epic supply crisis (thanks, drought) and I suspect it fucks with my mood a little more than it used to. We've sort of grown out of drinking because, you know, dignity; either my wine goggles finally failed me or middle aged people just really do not get any more attractive after a bottle and a half of syrah. It's occurred to me that the road to concerted cougardom begins precisely on that dusty X where the appeal of low-ball psychoactives peters out. But I could be wrong. Needs more throughput.
Did you read the last TBO excerpt (scroll down to check it out) ? I always enjoy that historic scene in Paršvãb, an ancient iteration of modern-day Samarkand. It was like Helaine's possession scene in that it came to me pretty full-formed from who the fuck knows where- love it when that happens but it's immensely frustrating to have so little control over its occurrence. I'd smoke more dope but we're in the middle of an epic supply crisis (thanks, drought) and I suspect it fucks with my mood a little more than it used to. We've sort of grown out of drinking because, you know, dignity; either my wine goggles finally failed me or middle aged people just really do not get any more attractive after a bottle and a half of syrah. It's occurred to me that the road to concerted cougardom begins precisely on that dusty X where the appeal of low-ball psychoactives peters out. But I could be wrong. Needs more throughput.
We watched Seven Years in Tibet again over the weekend as part of an orgy of randomised viewing. They should have called it Feels Like Seven Years of Interminable Peroxide in honour of Brad's rent-boy do and excruciating delivery. I don't recommend it, especially if you've read the (utterly dissimilar) book which I do recommend. It struck me as I was spectating Pitt in SYiT that he looks like something that should be dangling from a key fob, like a plastic souvenir amongst all that vintage montane scenery. There's something really cheap and flat about him, which is why he was the perfect Tyler Durden, if nothing else.
It's Easter, so let's have some George Michael, in honour of sticking our candy where the sun don't shine.
Ever gotten freeqy in a glass lift? Back in the day (pre-earthquake) we had the one in the Park Royal Casino in Christchurch, which trundled slowly skyward/earthbound and you could look out over Victoria Square. Best time for that shit is between 2 and 5 am, and er, don't hit the button more than three times unless you're specifically looking for a security guy to join the party. Just sayin.
I prefer rooftops and botanic gardens.
It's Easter, so let's have some George Michael, in honour of sticking our candy where the sun don't shine.
Ever gotten freeqy in a glass lift? Back in the day (pre-earthquake) we had the one in the Park Royal Casino in Christchurch, which trundled slowly skyward/earthbound and you could look out over Victoria Square. Best time for that shit is between 2 and 5 am, and er, don't hit the button more than three times unless you're specifically looking for a security guy to join the party. Just sayin.
I prefer rooftops and botanic gardens.
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