*ass slap* "good game!"

Yesterday I rocked out on the bball court. I scored more than usual, but my usual strengths of defense and setting picks really shone--so much that the best player on an opposing team complimented my defense after I forcefully blocked his shot. The same guy made a point to come over and slap hands after I'd set a third jarring pick against him. Gaining the straights' approval is fun.

Last night I caved to peer pressure and went to Soco. I played Satan and convinced Michael to come with me instead of writing a paper. I wore an appropriately tight gay-club shirt and got a lot of attention from my friends; even Michael got a little tipsy and started touching my chest. Silly Pocket!! TJ apologized for everyone "molesting" me, but the ego-booster was appreciated. The festivities concluded with Pocket and I taking the dog outside, where Pocket decided it would be a good idea to roll down the hill. Zipper thought that was as hilarious as I did and started barking. I'm sure we woke up the entire neighborhood. C'est la vie. It was a fun night of diversions, but I long for some cuddling and meaningful human interaction.

Finally, I found a recording AND the sheet music for a Glinka song that has been alluding me. I also wrote in transliterations for some Rachmaninoff art songs. The Germans may have invented the Lied, and I am certainly moved by the works of Schubert, Schumann, Brahms, and especially Wolf, but the Russians seemed to take the genre and add a touch MORE angst. To a slut for the wonderfully tragic like myself, their works are irresistible.