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sharplittleteethAfternoon, we went over to David and Robi's house, and acquired a swag of Tankt merchandise.
Then back home to prepare for the party. Which, like certain monastic initiations, involved a lot of shaving of heads.
And then, the party. We passed through candlelight and velvet to greet the birthday lady. After greetings and presents were exchanged, she led me upstairs so that I could leave my bag in her room.
And it was very much her room: old books, Final Fantasy action figures, beaded jewellery, a hand-made Dark Crystal kite, and statuettes of Kali. Against one wall was what I mistook to be a glass case containing artistically arranged curios, but was actually a cage for a Stimson's python. She opened the lid, and the snake glided up, thin and delicate as a stiletto, to sniff gently at its mistress's hand.
After that, could a party possibly be bad?
Although a later discussion about Everyday Objects That Are Secretly Covered In Shit did somewhat lower the tone. (For the record: door handles, peanuts in bars, and the mouthpieces of public telephones.)
My fears about being disclosed as an intellectual weakling were confirmed when I got caught in the periphery of a debate about progress as the salvation of Third World populations versus the inherently imperialistic dissemination of science. But I covered with the cunning ruse of skiving off to get a drink. Subsequently, I kept my mouth mostly closed and my ears mostly open, and sat underneath the night clouds, listening to clever people say clever things.
The only disappointment was that a certain person I was hoping to catch up with got drunk and fell asleep on the stairs before we could chat. But I shall not name names.
(Actually, that's true: I'm not going to name names. There were a number of LJ users there, and I got to play the socially inept geek by introducing people, and then introducing them again by their lj names.
But I'm not going to bore my gentle readers with a roll call. This isn't Rumper Room, and you don't need your ego stroked by a list.)
Then back home to prepare for the party. Which, like certain monastic initiations, involved a lot of shaving of heads.
And then, the party. We passed through candlelight and velvet to greet the birthday lady. After greetings and presents were exchanged, she led me upstairs so that I could leave my bag in her room.
And it was very much her room: old books, Final Fantasy action figures, beaded jewellery, a hand-made Dark Crystal kite, and statuettes of Kali. Against one wall was what I mistook to be a glass case containing artistically arranged curios, but was actually a cage for a Stimson's python. She opened the lid, and the snake glided up, thin and delicate as a stiletto, to sniff gently at its mistress's hand.
After that, could a party possibly be bad?
Although a later discussion about Everyday Objects That Are Secretly Covered In Shit did somewhat lower the tone. (For the record: door handles, peanuts in bars, and the mouthpieces of public telephones.)
My fears about being disclosed as an intellectual weakling were confirmed when I got caught in the periphery of a debate about progress as the salvation of Third World populations versus the inherently imperialistic dissemination of science. But I covered with the cunning ruse of skiving off to get a drink. Subsequently, I kept my mouth mostly closed and my ears mostly open, and sat underneath the night clouds, listening to clever people say clever things.
The only disappointment was that a certain person I was hoping to catch up with got drunk and fell asleep on the stairs before we could chat. But I shall not name names.
(Actually, that's true: I'm not going to name names. There were a number of LJ users there, and I got to play the socially inept geek by introducing people, and then introducing them again by their lj names.
But I'm not going to bore my gentle readers with a roll call. This isn't Rumper Room, and you don't need your ego stroked by a list.)
