Space and Time to Breathe.

If life were always at this pace, I’d probably die before I hit 40.

Then again, it’s going toward that end, anyway.

The glacial drowsiness of grad school composed of long days in the archives and longer stints in front of the computer have temporarily abated while PooP is in town visiting, and as if to make up for the almost total absence of social proclivity in the past half-year (has it really been that long?), quite simply, every night is a Friday night. How much do we miss and overlook while navigating a breakneck pace of normal life through one of the world’s Centers of style, of intellect, and of activity? Boredom just doesn’t happen here, and I love that.

But what does happen is alcohol. And chance meetings with wonderful people from around the world, and stumbling upon the remnants of old lives underground, and tracing the last steps of Montrose to the place of his execution at two in the morning, on a particular stretch of the Cannongate that might as well be still in 1670.

This is the tip of the vacational iceberg, in a place that’s no longer a vacation spot for me, but continues to pretend that it is. It could probably continue to be this way for another few hundred years or so. And it’s enough to convince at least one American girl that I wasn’t lying when I would waffle on and on about how comfortable, accommodating, and magical old Edina is. I haven’t seen Florence, or Delhi, or Tokyo, or Brazil. Right now I don’t need to.

Vacation will always again turn into vocation, and the old books still beckon, if only for one more term. The days are longer, and perhaps I’ll even gain a few inches in stature with all the sunlight and activity ahead, but more likely only in girth and pleasure. A few inches of pleasure is always a welcome thing.

But don’t quote me on that.

We have pictures of things old and new…and more. You’ll see some very soon, if you would enjoy such a vicarious venture. In the meantime:

I don't want a toaster.
Furnulum pani nolo.
“I don’t want a toaster.”
Generally, things (like this quiz) tend to tick you
off. You have contemplated doing grievous
bodily harm to door-to-door salesmen.

Which Weird Latin Phrase Are You?

6 Responses to “Space and Time to Breathe.”

  1. pisica Says:
    March 20th, 2004 at 6:17 am

    Wait, you mean you aren´t sitting around the flat, pining because I´m in Spain???
    It is 20 degrees C here!!! I am not coming back! Rent my room out! 🙂

  2. FunkyPlaid Says:
    March 20th, 2004 at 10:54 pm

    Done and Done.
    🙂
    Glad you're having a good time.

  3. kittynitro Says:
    March 20th, 2004 at 7:51 am

    "total absence of social proclivity in the past half-year"?!
    I beg to differ, sir.
    <img src="http://www.timeoutmassage.net/newyear3.jpg&quot; alt= />

  4. pisica Says:
    March 20th, 2004 at 6:08 pm

    Re: "total absence of social proclivity in the past half-year"?!
    *snort!*

  5. FunkyPlaid Says:
    March 20th, 2004 at 10:55 pm

    Re: "total absence of social proclivity in the past half-year"?!
    That's not me.
    That's my evil brother. He's a tart.
    Damn you for your efficiency, Kitty.

  6. Anonymous Says:
    April 4th, 2005 at 10:20 am

    As I mentioned to AJ, "I wouldn't dare deign to force any interpretation of a song down someone's throat, so I hesitate to respond too strongly to this. I love that different people can create different stories in the same song, and that's what keeps music personal and fresh."
    Loyalty to the place itself is what I've already identified, Nicky. Home doesn't have to be idealized, it just has to be home. You're reiterating what I've said earlier here, but you're looking at it from the other side, and that's what makes this song so thick, and so poignant. It has two sides, from the leaver, and from the left.
    And neither of us wrote this song, so perhaps neither of us have any idea of what we're fucking on about. But it's still a great song, no matter.

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