![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
We feast while tomorrow they die
A Facebook FoaF posted the other day that it feels like "a more violent 1989" and as I sit here, regularly checking to see if Egypt still has a government, I know what he means. Today I read that King Abdullah II has called meeting of various government officials to work on political reforms--not a bad plan of action when you've been widely tapped as the next domino. Mubarak, on the other hand, still seems to think he can brazen this all out, even as Bedouins control the border with Israel-Palestine and looters run rampant in Cairo. I'm shocked at how quickly and completely public order broke down, leading me to credit rumours that the police have deliberately withdrawn in order to teach the people a lesson.
After hours of obsessively checking news feeds, I felt I had to do something to force myself away from the computer, so I threw on an overshirt and headed over to Touché. Apparently it was the welcome party for Mr Chicago Leather. Not an event I've ever heard of before; when I saw the size of the crowd I could see why. But I had a reasonably good time, first chatting with an extremely inebriated social worker (no prizes for guessing his area of expertise) from the Lower East Side and then a big ol' daddy bear from the suburbs. The latter just lost a hundred pounds due to a gastric bypass, so though I'm 90% certain I've matched him up correctly to a guy I've seen around town for years, it's hard to be sure.
Tonight it was easier as I had already scheduled the next Bear Game Night. We were whittled down a bit due to illness--Manguito was out with a cold, as was JB's better half, and![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu is still getting over his. ("This is the first day this week I've woken up without feeling like shit.") That still left us with more than enough people to play Gift Trap, Forbidden Island, and Guillotine. Mr Bear Cookbook smoked us all at the last one, which we put down to his French ancestry. The second was a cooperative game which we all won, and in appropriately cinematic fashion. (After Dr Max' helicopter pilot had spirited us away clutching our relics, I insisted on completing his turn to see which island tiles flooded and the result was everything but the landing site itself.)
The first was, in some ways, the oddest of the bunch. You actually compete to see which of you is the best at buying gifts for each other. Confusingly, you gain points both for choosing appropriate gifts and for receiving them, which necessitates two sets of tokens on two distinct tracks. Add in some intermittent colour blindness (who knew pink and orange were hard to distinguish for some people?) and you end up with a lot backtracking and uncertainty. I did surprisingly well given what a pain I find gift-giving in general (I deliberately forced myself to choose quickly in order to avoid endless dithering) and only narrowly lost. What we all took away from that game, however, is that none of us should ever be put in the position of having to buy something for Dr Max.
Catering was a snap because I didn't cook a thing, I just bought three boxes of buns from Chiu Quon. Such a pleasure to surround myself with men who love pork as much as I do! (Did that come out right?) In contrast to the last time, we hardly touched the bourbon--just one Manhattan for JB. I splurged and had a ginger sojutini, substituting Koval for half the crème de gingembre, and it worked beautifully. If you really wanted a ginger kick, however, you could always take a piece of candied ginger from the cuánhé and dissolve it.
Tomorrow I'll be crouched here once more poring over each new shred of reportage from Suez and Tahrir Square, but right now I'm considering throwing on a bar vest and seeing what Touché has to offer. I'm not at all into beauty contests, however, and it could mean a cover charge. But it's five minutes away and I know that with this much alcohol, sweets, and barbecued pork in my tummy, bedtime is still an way's off for me.
After hours of obsessively checking news feeds, I felt I had to do something to force myself away from the computer, so I threw on an overshirt and headed over to Touché. Apparently it was the welcome party for Mr Chicago Leather. Not an event I've ever heard of before; when I saw the size of the crowd I could see why. But I had a reasonably good time, first chatting with an extremely inebriated social worker (no prizes for guessing his area of expertise) from the Lower East Side and then a big ol' daddy bear from the suburbs. The latter just lost a hundred pounds due to a gastric bypass, so though I'm 90% certain I've matched him up correctly to a guy I've seen around town for years, it's hard to be sure.
Tonight it was easier as I had already scheduled the next Bear Game Night. We were whittled down a bit due to illness--Manguito was out with a cold, as was JB's better half, and
monshu is still getting over his. ("This is the first day this week I've woken up without feeling like shit.") That still left us with more than enough people to play Gift Trap, Forbidden Island, and Guillotine. Mr Bear Cookbook smoked us all at the last one, which we put down to his French ancestry. The second was a cooperative game which we all won, and in appropriately cinematic fashion. (After Dr Max' helicopter pilot had spirited us away clutching our relics, I insisted on completing his turn to see which island tiles flooded and the result was everything but the landing site itself.)The first was, in some ways, the oddest of the bunch. You actually compete to see which of you is the best at buying gifts for each other. Confusingly, you gain points both for choosing appropriate gifts and for receiving them, which necessitates two sets of tokens on two distinct tracks. Add in some intermittent colour blindness (who knew pink and orange were hard to distinguish for some people?) and you end up with a lot backtracking and uncertainty. I did surprisingly well given what a pain I find gift-giving in general (I deliberately forced myself to choose quickly in order to avoid endless dithering) and only narrowly lost. What we all took away from that game, however, is that none of us should ever be put in the position of having to buy something for Dr Max.
Catering was a snap because I didn't cook a thing, I just bought three boxes of buns from Chiu Quon. Such a pleasure to surround myself with men who love pork as much as I do! (Did that come out right?) In contrast to the last time, we hardly touched the bourbon--just one Manhattan for JB. I splurged and had a ginger sojutini, substituting Koval for half the crème de gingembre, and it worked beautifully. If you really wanted a ginger kick, however, you could always take a piece of candied ginger from the cuánhé and dissolve it.
Tomorrow I'll be crouched here once more poring over each new shred of reportage from Suez and Tahrir Square, but right now I'm considering throwing on a bar vest and seeing what Touché has to offer. I'm not at all into beauty contests, however, and it could mean a cover charge. But it's five minutes away and I know that with this much alcohol, sweets, and barbecued pork in my tummy, bedtime is still an way's off for me.