The summer is finally picking up--like it should have weeks ago. You should read this as to mean that there is much partying, bar hopping and foreign mens. Okay, maybe not that many foreign mens--nowhere near as many as there were last summer, but really.
Okay, so maybe that's not hte case either. I think everyone is finally feeling the summer time--the heat and the boredom that leads us to the drink. That heat is back--the one that just feels like pressure on your skin. Maybe that's the humidity, which hasn't been forgiving in the least, but rather increasingly malicious.
I've been spending the last few days talking to a Turkish boy that I met. There are few things like learning about a place you've never seen and know little about. The more different something is, the better. It just makes my mind spin in all these different areas and it's pretty wonderful. He had a few pictures of his home in his cell phone and showed those to me.
Talk about strengthening my resolve to live near the water.
Luisito turned the big 2-1 the other night, so we threw a party on Saturday night to celebrate. That, plus the exquisite triumph of the Pistons (hopefully this will be recreated tonight and Shaq and Wade will embrace and weep onto one another's jersey), was enough reason to trek through the house in hopes of something that be the perfect flippy cup table.
In the back of the basement, in that really scary room that looks more like a torture chamber than somewhere to store objects, we found a door that supposedly was attached to some room in this house before. It worked well as a master's level flippy cup table. Obviously, the carved dips in the door didn't work as well as a flat table would have, but that's fine. We're just that good around here.
The importance of mentioning this whole thing is that it became a fantabulously international game of flippy. We brought cultures together in a way that brings a tear to my eye. Mexico, Germany, Turkey and the States lined themselves along a disgustingly dirty and gross door balanced precariosly on two trash cans so that the race of the century could commence. I must say, we schooled their asses pretty well.
Okay, so maybe that's not hte case either. I think everyone is finally feeling the summer time--the heat and the boredom that leads us to the drink. That heat is back--the one that just feels like pressure on your skin. Maybe that's the humidity, which hasn't been forgiving in the least, but rather increasingly malicious.
I've been spending the last few days talking to a Turkish boy that I met. There are few things like learning about a place you've never seen and know little about. The more different something is, the better. It just makes my mind spin in all these different areas and it's pretty wonderful. He had a few pictures of his home in his cell phone and showed those to me.
Talk about strengthening my resolve to live near the water.
Luisito turned the big 2-1 the other night, so we threw a party on Saturday night to celebrate. That, plus the exquisite triumph of the Pistons (hopefully this will be recreated tonight and Shaq and Wade will embrace and weep onto one another's jersey), was enough reason to trek through the house in hopes of something that be the perfect flippy cup table.
In the back of the basement, in that really scary room that looks more like a torture chamber than somewhere to store objects, we found a door that supposedly was attached to some room in this house before. It worked well as a master's level flippy cup table. Obviously, the carved dips in the door didn't work as well as a flat table would have, but that's fine. We're just that good around here.
The importance of mentioning this whole thing is that it became a fantabulously international game of flippy. We brought cultures together in a way that brings a tear to my eye. Mexico, Germany, Turkey and the States lined themselves along a disgustingly dirty and gross door balanced precariosly on two trash cans so that the race of the century could commence. I must say, we schooled their asses pretty well.
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