November 2005

I killed November. And conversely, it tried to kill me. At the beginning of this eventful month, I had no idea where I would be come February and I couldn't sleep for the knots of uncertainty in my stomach. A nostalgic trip to Madrid, a visit from dear old dad, and a busy thanksgiving with an old friend later, I'm still not sure what will happen when 2006 rolls around but at least an incipient cold keeps knocking me out for 11 hours a night. A few questions have been answered though I still keep my cards close - superstition and secrets go hand in hand. All shall be revealed in good time (cue Wayne and Garth's dream segue).

The Andean and myself celebrated Thanksgiving as iconoclasts, opting for the exotic culinary delights of London. Contemporary Indian near Piccadilly Circus to be precise. A more traditional thanksgiving was postponed to Saturday when Michelle, Andre's American flatmate, would be cooking a 19-pound brid with all of the trimmings. This weekend was the epitome of London life - the belated celebration of an American holiday with Ozzies, follwed by a thoroughly Brasilian party, replete with feijoada and caipirinhas, topped off by Sunday yum chow with the Chinese connection.

Exhausted and peeky after dropping off Andean at the station, I still managed to meet up with R at his office in Soho, where he showed me all of his work tools and his latest project. I was tempted to push all the buttons, scratch the stylus pad, hit the lights, and run away but I behaved myself. Sort of. I become a schizo on crack whenever I see a console of buttons, lights, track balls, and silver sliders. But really, who doesn't?