Had pasta at a nice italian place yesterday and we were left slightly disappointed. What I liked about the place though: the warm-and-wet (hot)air blowing from the window panes that sit at the back of my ears, my neck to be exact. And conversations in fake plastic glasses. The windows were all painted white and a row of friends were celebrating and singing a birthday song when our bruschetta came with soggy tomatoes but we ate them anyway. It felt happy somehow because the tomatoes (which were unusually sweet) came from a strange place that I knew nothing of and it made me strange and special. Then I watched reruns with my hands behind my back.
Spent the day climbing hills with the tourist, drinking green tea chai and taking down phone numbers scribbled on the wall. Then club-street-ann-siang shops and stores reminded me of my weekends of painted fun and poloroids and pseudo art things. The last successful art trip I made (in my head) was to Andy Warhol’s exhibition. I couldn’t go – so I made up for it by being sick and drinking vile black powder while contorting my face.
Oh but I did go to see The Pillowman with the always-brilliant Adrain Pang and Shawn playing detectives both of whom I’ve met. The last time I saw Shawn he was dressed in an ugly Rock costume – Fantastic Four – but he’s the nicest man and I have already forgiven him for attending the party as a Stone. The play was good and wonderful, with British accents and live shootings and sad and dark pictures of a boy from Hamlin and razor blades that were hidden in apples until a man in the audience wrecked everything.
sososo if you are the home/play wrecker, run before I hurl profanities and throw my ticket at you.
I don’t know how many people are ever concerned about our disappearing spaces but I went to the Orchard library yesterday to pick up books for my favourite person and still feel grieved that it’ll be closing next week. Apparently they are going to throw a big party to mark the event. I have gathered that my state likes throwing parties and holding ceremonies for buildings that are going to go down with the bulldozer anyway. As if giving out balloons and goodie bags will make everything less distinctly inhuman. I think I need to read more books.
Read more books to save our libraries.
