I spent the whole night at robot_mel's drinking and talking about BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS. I realized at some point that 1) it hadn't fazed me Bill was reading Sader Masoch in German 2) people don't normally ask me if I'm reading Proust in French (but my answer, "No, because I want to finish it in this lifetime" seemed to suffice) 3) maybe I'm in some freaking culturally elite group but I DIDN'T HAVE TO APOLOGIZE FOR IT but somehow the fact that "reading in the original language" came up just didn't seem like a surprise though I've never met anyone who reads in that many languages. Not that I apologize for my occasional dip into good books anyway but it was all just great! BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS BOOKS! Why Gatsby is or isn't any good, is Steinbeck annoying and if so why isn't Kerouac, is fandom about 19th century literature just too sad for words or do we have some hot tips to share ;-) , what does it mean to be an "American" novel, funny stories about singing on the tube, how to tease a cat that likes to eat peas, how to get your maximum caloric intake from a vending machine when you have 50 cents, college jobs we held that didn't cut the mustard, favorite divy restaurants in Seattle, what an average bar tab at the Mercury looked like for each of us, why Dai Yu was burying flower petals and is Dream of the Red Chamber essentially a Chinese Gothic novel; and so on.
I feel alive and happy. This is exactly why I moved here. Too funny we had dinner with people we could have met in Seattle - but never did!