MHP, baby

i'm sorry that my blogging has descended to such levels.
i'm sorry that this specimen was the culprit of italy's elimination (well, that's arguable).
i'm sorry that i will be eschewing all previous commitments in order to watch (read: drool over) said specimen on saturday.
but most of all, i'm sorry i will be torn in my loyalties*

*don't kill me, laura, i'm sure germany will win anyway. ahem.

yay first day

and the closest i will get for the next 5 weeks.

Music NY

saturday afternoon, after waking up as overhung as i haven't been in a while, my teacher and i manage to struggle through our lesson before cutting it short and strolling the streets of williamsburg for music ny. streets roped off, free drinks (ungh) random bands dotting the corners and the skyline.
i, of course, finagled spots in the shade and with a clear view of the drummers. natch, and whatnot.

another late one. sigh.

so a propos

my new job.
is kicking my ass
i love it still

no social life
to speak of. and yet
onward and upwards


*a couple of haiku for you. may have more in the delirium of my 18-hr workdays

una merda

fukkety fuk. despite the collective agreement of voting Casillas as MHP of the night (most hottest player, natch), the quarterfinals were a washout.
lame
sad
unenlivened by much booze
especially unenlivened by a rowdy group of sicilian parents (and their attendant annoying children) screaming alongside about nothing to do with soccer whatsoever.

the sitch was also not aided by our french transplant Pierre rooting for the WRONG team.
blah.

here's to the world cup in 2 years.

just what i needed

to the person(s) who burgled my house last night,

i suppose i should thank you for making sure i wasn't home when you pried open the burglar bars, climbed into my window and ransacked my sanctuary. thank you for taking the courtesy of leaving no fingerprints when you broke everything in sight and ripped everything else to shreds.
thanks for giving me a wake-up call to no longer feel safe in my own home or neighborhood and thank you kindly for leaving my tv, bike, playstation, jewelry, passport and various and sundry other valuables.

but did you really have to take my most-prized possessions? what will you do with my computer and the years of photos and music and memories accumulated therein? what will you do with my houseguests's computer and the hours upon hours of work contained? what about his TOILETRY case? could you not find any proactiv in the pharmacy down the street? but really, whatever will you do with my entire drumset, minus one leg you left on the floor like a fuked-up calling card?

at least you left me my health, right? apart from the palpitations and hyperventilations and sudden-onset paranoia, i'll be just fine.
signed,
an incredibly bereft (and pissed-off) sxg