Haaaa-watatatata. Another night of complete drunkenness on Saturday. Why do I do this to myself? Ah, yes – fun. The problem this time is that we weren’t eating until about 9.30 and met at a bar at 8pm, so by the time the food arrives, you’re on your 5th drink and then it’s over. 5 or 6 more and you can’t even remember the salient differences between the first and second bars in Wan Chai. I mean, shee-it. Thass fugged up. Met at Loft 9, had a few, then had dinner at a Chinese place in Lan Kwai Fong. Good food, good company – a guys’ night out. Then off to Bar George, which was surprisingly whore-free this time (perhaps they were driven away with samboks and pushbrooms) but still full of expats dressed normally and dancing hilariously. Fuck, I’m so glad I’m a decent dancer. Even doing my Super-Schaub Deadhead dance or my Farndoodle hustleshuffle or my Funky Chicken, I’m still packing major flavor.

Anyway, then we went to Wan Chai and that was pretty good. Hit one bar that was packed, and Umesh met up with us there. Good guy, as I’ve said. The Stella was flowing as usual, the dancefloor was packed, and honeydips abounded – well, they didn’t abound, but they were around. After that we hit another bar and man, I can’t remember that one at all. At all. Well, not how it differed from the other bar, anyway. It was time for a cab. Hailed one, used my little Central 88 ‘Take me Home’ card for the first time (it basically says, “Take this drunk person to Central 88 at 88 Des Voeux Rd, Central” in both English and – here’s the important part – Chinese) and looked up and we were back at the spizznot in no time, which gives me the impression that I passed out for part of the ride. Damn, I can’t wait to dry out when I return. Or maybe this week.

So, I go upstairs and make some food and start pounding water. I swear to God, that makes you so much more lit. I popped in some Spider-Man 2 just to occupy space and keep me focused on something, anything…ate the food and next thing you know, it’s 4.30 and I’m waking up in a sitting position on the couch. The movie has ended, and the big ‘RASONIC’ default DVD bluescreen is staring at me. I somehow find those moments more funny than pathetic, though they score high marks in both categories; I sometimes envision the DVD as a living entity like myself, and it’s amused and frustrated by my inability to come through on my part of the bargain. Spider-man and Ock and Mary Jane are all doing their best to grab my attention – “HA! I’m on the roof now! Watch me catch these pizzas! HO!” “Ha-WAZA! I’m attacking Aunt May now! Check out my freaky arms!” “WAZA! Look at me, I’m hot and in love! I love Spider-man! Now we’re in trouble! Hey! LOOK AT ME!!” – and I’m all, “Bleeergbbgbgglleerrrzzzzz…. snrtzzzz…” It makes me think about that girl who comes out of the TV in The Ring. Yeah, good luck bringing me to a level of consciousness that might allow for fear. I need to set up a webcam or something to see how all that actually goes down when I’m back in New York.

Yesterday, needless to say, was a bit of a wash, but I pulled off some gym and shopping, and started another book called Holidays in Hell by PJ O’Rourke. It’s pretty funny. It’s about his travels to various hot spots in the world – Lebanon, Seoul, El Salvador, etc – and it’s black, dry humor at its best. Well, maybe not its best, but it’s good to be reading this while I am in a foreign land. Makes me want to put on a helmet and go cover some liveness in Iraq or something. Problem with Iraq is that they kidnap the crap out of people over there, which is distinctly different – and much, much less fun – than getting stuck in a student demonstration-cum-riot in South Korea. I mean, tear gas is one thing, but a full-on beheading is not cool. It’s harder to write and live.

I’m having a couple suits made at a freakin’ sweet tailor. They are going to look so, so dope. Oh my God. There will ain’t be nobody dope as me. In these duds I will be so fresh and also so clean. Starky Love gonna be killin’ ‘em when he gets home.

Chucky