Gabbro B-Sides

Tuborg lies like a dog. All the ads around town - and there are quite a lot of them - claim that the first snow will fall tomorrow evening at 8:59 PM. Actually, it snowed a little tonight, great big globby flakes that melted as soon as they hit the ground. They were the perfect kind to catch on your tongue, but because I was sitting in a comfortable warm bar in N&oslashl;rrebro with most of the rest of the CBCBCBCBCBCBCBC, I didn’t.

So yes, one of my least social hobbies turned into a very fun outing tonight. Tomorrow you can expect pictures from Rasmus, whose digital camera was the object of some lust throughout the evening. Or was it greed? One of the seven deadly sins, anyway. And I’m very much looking forward to cheerful morning greetings from a gigantic glass of wheat beer - I don’t really feel the effects now, but it was such a thick & sturdy vessel that I’m sure my arm will be sore from lifting it.

My fabulous plan for tomorrow: sleep in, stay in bed until I can’t stand it any more, eat some food, purchase tickets to Saturday’s Wolfstone concert, go drink Christmas beer. The whole notion of a special Christmas beer is still flying a little bit over my head, I’m afraid - I can handle red and green M&Ms, but not until after Thanksgiving and I don’t care that this continent has never seen either pilgrims or indians - but hey, I’ll take any excuse for a good drunken binge!

And one last abortive note, before I go to bed (I do wish Blogger had some kind of notepad associated with it, for all those half-developed ideas) - the conversation wandered to Star Wars, and to the fact that for many people those movies form a pivot of some kind, a reference to which all other movies, or some of them anyway, must be compared. They don’t for me - I actually never saw them all the way through until they were re-released - and I can’t think of what might.

Ergh. Yes. Good night.
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