Saturday, June 05, 2004

Gold Bond Medicated Powder

The 80s have finally died. I won’t forget when Ronald Reagan died. I won’t forget the morning I rolled out of bed in the afternoon following my twenty-second birthday and the only story the Drudge Report had up was "Ronald Reagan Dies in California." If it wasn’t finals, I’d propose throwing an 80s party in honor of Ronnie’s death. But no — I’m too busy not doing work on my own, much less with people dancing in my living room.

A year ago, my one word entry for my birthday was "Blackjack." So following that logic, I should have busted last night. But I didn’t. I had a good time. And it was especially nice to see Charlie and Agnes again. The last time I saw Charlie was in the train depot in London after we got off the Chunnel and the last time I saw Agnes with is the train station in Paris when Charlie and I left but she stayed, nine months ago. We could have made a whole baby by now. And even if only five of us hit the bars afterward, I still had a good time. It’s not every day I can watch Lee shoot pool with the guitarist from Depeche Mode.

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