Consider Yesterday

Some times you just don’t know what to say or do or be.

Times are changing way too fast for me, and for my friends, I think. I was bitching to Manuel about how none of the Italians have replied my incessant pleas for updates. (Personally I think this site is beginning to grow some kinda power, and they’re afraid of it. I know I am.) I mean, we already have a sorta American update yesterday (well, they were all from when they were on the continent, so that counts) so it’s frustrating not to hear from the boot-shaped state.

Dona’s busy with her new life, he says, and Marco’s prolly busy with his work. Apparently, he’s been made the chief of the Internet department in his lab or something. See? This is the kind of info I want. Claudia should be off somewhere doing something sketchy that we’re never gonna hear about unless I improve my German or learn Italian. I bet Giulia is protesting one of her Government’s new policies. And Giorgio? I think we all have a pretty good idea what that jackass is up to, nudge, nudge.

Manuel asked me if I emailed Michele or Fabio? Why, aren’t they still in Munich? Wrong. They left, like a month ago. Everyone’s leaving, leaving. Pretty soon, these blogs are gonna come from another country, another continent.

Well, maybe. The future’s not set in stone, you know, as some quotemaker once said.

Which, in a roundabout way, was why I stopped the clocks today and spent several hours in the sun writing about the past. Never fear nostalgia, not if you don’t get trapped by it.

That means I’ve finally finished the Amsterdam chronicles, or Free Adam, as I like to think of it. It’s up in the travels section, as usual. I’ve written more than I thought I would, so the last day’s missing. That’ll have to wait for another day, I’m afraid. Word of warning: Not for the faint at heart, or anyone with a modicum of taste.

In a nice thematic coincidence, Shannon emailed me the much requested photos from her stay here in Munich. Now, you guys know I’ve been skirting the issue of putting up a gallery here, so it says something when I show you a couple of pics. Here’s one of us all crammed in a phone booth (check Useless McG’s moustasche!) that finally convinced Manuel he was completely wasted that night.