Have a lovely New Year. ♥

[Am I the only one confused by the lack of snow?]

January 1, 2007. Two-thousand-seven. I'm not going to get used to this. Didn't it just seem like yesterday when it was the year 2000, and the world was preparing for Y2K to come along and eradicate all technology on the planet? But in fact, it was almost a decade ago when we filled up our bathtubs to supply and closed all the windows and doors and did everything we could to keep radioactive fallout from entering our Tokyo apartment.

Before I begin, I need to apologize in earnest for anything dumb I might have said here. I may have been a bit drunk writing this post. Champagne doesn't mix well with exercise.

And here you go. First post of 2007.

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This year, dinner at my place was quiet. But the conversation over dessert was not only animated, but rough. Here we have guitar players and here we have coffee-shop philosophers, and here we have calligraphy artists and potters, all doing their thing at the same time. I personally engaged myself with the philosophers, bringing up an age-old theory that the Greeks tackled and could never solve:

Everything we do is in our own selfish interest. Pure altruism is nonexistent.

I felt awkward talking philosophy with other people four times my age. I felt a little dwindled, even (dare I say) intimidated, but I realized I'm no different, I simply have less experience. So it came as an ego boost when the conversation turned into a debate. I noticed a large divide between mothers and fathers. Mothers believe in pure philanthropy, while fathers seem to agree with me.

I don't know how it got started, but it was an interesting subject we dwelled on for at least an hour. Don't ask.

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So after filling up on cappuccinos and coffee beans, Kai and I were out biking and we pulled into Sunset Park in time for the fireworks and the changing of the lights this year. We rolled in as we heard the voices cheering in the lights. We chilled with Shelby for a minute, and soon the park filed out and we were the last two sitting on the stone railing.

It was time for us really just to reflect on the year past. It's been a pretty rough 10th grade, I have to admit, but now that I look back on it and see how much good has come out of this school year, I think...maybe it's just relative. Maybe it's just because 9th grade was simply the best fucking year I've ever had and that every other year to follow will never be the same. But in any case, I can only hope that next year goes smoothly.

Resolutions? Oh, yes I didn't have any until I rolled out of the park. I resolved to continue the tradition of going out to Sunset Park next year to chill in the cold and welcome the lights. I resolved to keep complications out of my life; make it simpler. I resolved to stop caring so much about society and to live the way I want.

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Kai and I made our way up to Simon's house, where he was watching the Real World: Denver with Zach and trying to get wasted. I don't normally like beer, but I applaud his taste in a Greek brew whose name I can't pronounce.

When they came out to greet us, Zach got us all locked out of the house. He wasn't even drunk. By the time Simon and I worked out an arrangement about whose shoes to wear, he went to get the backup key, but couldn't find the door it would open. I felt a little bad for Zach, who was the target of every joke for the next hour, but at the same time...that was a pretty dumbass thing to be doing.

We entered his house and chilled for a bit. By that time, the focus of the joke had shifted over to Kai. Poor guy didn't know how to react, but he got through without breaking down, so I respect that.

Simon (half-drunk): "So...Kai...what's your resolution? How's [Sonia and Beal], eh? You still gonna tap that? Huh? Gonna get 'em wasted?"

Personally, I was horrified by the thought. But maybe everyone else wasn't. I had to save Kai by assuring Simon that Kai's through that phase. Later on, he revealed to me that he wasn't over it.

But I can't say I blame him for holding on to his uhm, "old flames." We all have friends who we, even when we claim that they're nothing but good friends, can't help but, euh, keep the door open for exploration. (I'll be blunt. Every teenager on the planet has close friends who they'd be willing to fuck in an instant.) I'd have to admit to one myself. Come on. We all do.

And whether we like it or not, it's not going to change anytime soon. As long as they're your friend, you're always going to have to hold on to your hormones.

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On our way out, we got stopped.

I didn't feel angry. I wasn't pissed off. No, I felt guilty. Guilty that I was having a nominally good day and frankly, he wasn't. I felt bad for the cops who had nothing better to do than stalk the streets of suburban Cayuga Heights looking for people to pull over and take blood alcohol tests or whine about being out so late. I felt bad for those who did nothing but ride around in their cop cars when New Years came around. Who did they toast to? Who did they celebrate with? Who were they gonna get wasted with?

So if you're having a shitty day, just think of those poor souls. They're probably having a blast...

So have a lovely New Year, everyone. ♥

- Mirko

Shoes

New pair of shoes from Transit. It was a tight choice between black/gray/green Converses, and black leather dress boots, but in the end I went for the dress boots. They seem to work remarkably well with boot-cut dark washes. Oh, and on a not-so-good note, my favorite D&G sunglasses cracked at the hinge. No worries, I can get them repaired free.

Dinner was at Segafredo again. Tonight we were in time to watch some live jazz: a salon jazz piano trio headed up by a beautiful Egyptian singer, singing in French of course. We watched for a few hours over cheesecake and drinks, while a couple of thet the Montreal jazz scene, and oh yes, the female's scene.

I know. It's not fair I make this stereotype. But it was there, at the table, that I noticed that all Canadian drummers, regardless of genre, look more or less alike. There's a commonality not only in their nervous, edgy-but-composed sticking style, but also in their aesthetic quality: a handsome, slightly rough, stubbly, thin face partly hidden by messy and medium black hair. They all wear a black suit over a white button-down, dark-wash jeans, and oh yes, don't forget the sweat.

But then again, it's a French Canada thing. I mean. Look at Etienne.

Montreal has a charme incendiere.

Good evening from Montreal.

living life detached
she knew of three elements
steel, concrete, and glass

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Bonne soiree from Montreal.

It's snowing outside; first day of snow this year for Montreal, and we were euh, lucky enough to catch it in full swing. It's dying down now, but there's reportedly 20 centimeters of snow on the ground, and visibility is limited to a couple hundred meters.

But in a way, it's beautiful too.

It seems like this is the way Montreal should look: concrete skyscrapers and traffic jams and surrounding hills, blanketed in a gray haze and caked in white. There's a special appeal to the aura to the city which is..ah, difficult to explain.

It's also about the people. They seems like snowy people. Not to mention quite friendly, and pretty.

[21:32] inqualcanto: like. it's french girls in general, where they're often not hot, but they're really pretty
[21:32] yuvali611acs: yea
[21:32] yuvali611acs: not ugly
[21:32] yuvali611acs: but just like
[21:33] inqualcanto: it's an "adorable" thing more than it is a "wanna bang her uhhh like a drum" thing
[21:33] yuvali611acs: if they have one "off" feature
[21:33] yuvali611acs: like their nose

I was just out for dinner, and we were fortunate enough to snag a hotel in a very chic district. Zegna's in our basement. Their Champs Elysses is just two blocks away. I'm in Elysium. Then again, I didn't spend anything today. Instead, I'd like to think of it as...preliminary surveillance. A recon. An...information gathering operation.

Oh shit. I forgot to bring my sketchbook.

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