My two vices

I indulged one of my great vices last Saturday night--Bear Night--and now I'm indulging my other one when it comes to reporting on it. The notes I made early Sunday morning sat on Monshu's coffee table the whole day--as far as I know, they're there still. That day was a glorious return to my old tradition of Pantless Sundays (though I did eventually have to put pants on to receive the pizza and to take the bus back home). Even Monshu got in touch with his inner sloth; he was taking the next two days off so, for once, there was nothing that needed to be completed before bedtime.

So it was all sleeping, having sex, lying around, eating, watching television, sleeping some more, eating some more, reading. The kind of existence I could get used to.

Yesterday, I was too tired; today, I feel I should be getting some work done. Meanwhile, tales of my exploits--of habshi halwa, Mardi Gras beads, the arrival of the cops--just get staler and staler. Maybe I'll find some time tomorrow to write them up...

Una observación menor/Una observació menor

Often, Catalan and Castilian are so similar that one could be mistaken for a misspelled variant of the other (viz. the title of this entry). That's why I love Mercè Rodoreda's Mirall trencat. The title of the Castilian translation, Espejo roto, is completely literal, yet there's no resemblance whatsoever. Espill exists in Catalan, but it's not the normal word; rot, however, means "belch", not "broken".

Jeepers, the cops!

I didn't meant to linger so long at work, but y'all did have to go and update your journals right before I was about to leave, didn't you? B-tards. Oh, well, as long as I'm still here, I might as well fill in a little more of Saturday night. ( Hope I haven't oversold it! )