it was a night just like any other night. i was chatting with my friend based in new york, who was then looking at a mag devoted to single people.
carrie (note to "carrie": good alias, huh?): ooo! a quiet party!
me: whassat?
carrie: oh. quiet party. you meet new people in a bar. no music. no one talks. it's dark. and you just pass each other notes.
me: (after a short pause) ... how do you read notes in the dark?
i guess i should be disturbed that i was more concerned about reading difficulties than other more crucial issues in that rather unconventional scenario. i could've asked about the percentage of meeting decent people or the risk of encountering sociopaths or sexual predators or ANYTHING. but no.
does this mean i work too much?
maybe. because just this afternoon, i was more disturbed by a glaring grammatical error on a restaurant poster than the fact that i semi-tripped in the middle of the road, causing one of my flip-flops to fly ... which consequently stopped traffic because i had to, of course, reclaim my precious footwear.
fyi? walking barefoot on asphalt is not a pleasant experience.
