Jeśli Kafka był Kawka

Gdy Gregor Samsa obudził się pewnego rana z niespokojnych snów, stwierdził, że zamienił się w łóżku w potwornego robaka.

What the hell, go for the whole suite, right? Can't claim credit for this, however, since now we're getting to languages for which there are long-standing translations. Here Ungeziefer is glossed with robak, which at least doesn't mean "insect" (that would be owad) but may be misleading in its own way, since the most common gloss for it seems to be "worm". (Cf. Robak komputerowy "computer worm".)

Panic on the streets of Andersonville

When we rang Tuppers' bell, the voice that told us, "Come on up!" was neither his nor that of the only other expected guest, Tall T. It was the voice of an articulate young man. "Shit," I told monshu. "He invited Sketchy Boy after all." With the enigmatic wisdom of years, he replied, "It'll be what it'll be."

So imagine my relief at finally reaching the top of the stairs and finding a handsome unfamiliar man in the kitchen--Tall T's partner, as it turns out. My partner presented our gifts--a bottle of amaro to complement "a thousand years of melancholy and bitterness" and a long-stemmed American Beauty from a long-stemmed American beauty. Then we sat down for wine, canapés, and childhood photographs.

Tuppers had wanted to dine at Leonardo's, but I had used my crack research skills to determine it was closed Mondays and suggested Antica Pizzeria as an alternative. Stupidly, I had forgotten it was BYOB, so despite having just left a house stocked with leftover party wine, monshu had to run to Jewel for a couple of bottles, arriving back just after the food (which too my relief met with general approval) did.

The guest of honour insisted he wanted only coffee for dessert, but the Old Man and I shouted him down and ordered an ice-cream bombe to share. (Of course he thanked us for that later.) It arrived with a lighted candle and a chorus of "Penblwydd hapus i ti!" led by me and followed by no one. "Thank you for all joining in there," said Tuppers drily. "Perhaps we could have it again, this time in English." That suggested went over like soiled knickers.

I was quite taken aback afterwards to hear monshu readily assent to Tuppers' suggestion of a nightcap at The Call. It was as empty as an eggshell, which had several advantages: Plenty of room for Crutch Boy, seats at the bar for everyone, and ample opportunity for the single single man among us to make googly eyes at the young bartender. (Speaking of googly eyes, I made some myself at the bullnecked bear sitting across the bar. Alas, I lost all interest in him once he opened his mouth.)

On my instigation, we discovered that there was a live VJ in the booth and began bombarding him with requests, which he was completely amenable to fulfilling if not always astute in his execution. (I find it hard to credit that when Tuppers asked for Elton John, the Muppet Show rendition of "Crocodile Rock" was what he hand in mind.) But he had his moments, as when I caught him coming off a Pat Benatar-Pretenders kick and said, "We have a nostalgic Englishman at the bar. He wants to hear some music from this era, but from English bands." And he came back with "Just Can't Get Enough" and "Panic".

At this point, the old men had long since departed and it was just the two of us. I thought maybe the moment was right for a little heart-to-heart. Enter Sketchy Boy, stage left. Earlier in the evening, I'd been teasing Tuppers about him being "the new Da", who had entred his nightlife right at the moment that taken myself out with an injury. He'd dismissed this with, "The old Da has never gone way!" But now his tune was, "The new Da is here, the old one can leave now." More than happy to, old friend!