ah! weekend in toronto. jam-packed a friday with a visit to little italy for their food fest yummy yummy yummy grilled stuff oh yeah baby and ice cream oh yeah baby (oh yeah, and live music) with rolo and bash, and when we decided we hadn't eaten enough, we walked over to chinatown for mouth-watering, saliva-inducing (even now, as i write) crispy beef at rol san, ran to the LCBO before it closed to get a dessert wine, and drank it all at rolo's place while watching cold squad or some sort of police-y kind of a series...and then moved on to tonic (eschewing rajan and his moonlight patio celebration at guvernment) with dental piggies to voluntarily jam-pack myself in a smoky, stinky room with 500 other VERY sweaty (thug-like) people (i was dripping, and wiping it on various people hahaha) breathing the same, O2-deprived, tar-supplemented air, becoming gradually deafer and deafer as the night went on, so as to have ringing tinitus upon removal of myself from the club...that was fun...i have to say, that every time i go clubbing, i really really want to go again, just for that dance-y, sweaty, loud - can't-hear-my-own-thoughts-carnal-desire atmosphere. but secretly, inwardly, the most fun i had during that part of the night...was the drive home, and the post-event visit to a 24-hour tim horton's. maybe you understand.

i suppose it's like...well, in undergrad, we would always always go to rol san for 3-in-the-morning post-clubbing chinese food, and somehow, the conversation (what, with the ringing in the ears and having to speak a little louder and exclaiming "what? what? say that again") was always slightly more funny, chatty, witty, interesting, but also low-brow too - maybe more close-knit. i can't explain it better than that, although a real writer could (as i am learning from robertson davies, that probably i will never become a "Real" writer). nights and moments like that you can't even remember what was said, except to know that you sometimes wish, wistfully, that you could recapture the moment. poof!