Unexpected snoggage and Julien getting hurt: just like old times.

K_x (good music / i dance / no good music / i not dance) zegt:
you're a bit of a sadist, aren't you?
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:
no, I just need stuff like that to make it longer
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:
uh
Bob *I'm a Horny Little Teapot* zegt:

wait, in connection to sadist, that wasn't the right way to say it

As you may or may not have read over at www.chouxdanvers.be (links will be updated as soon as I am no longer too lazy to do so, have faith), I had quite the fun weekend with friends. What was conceived as me and Tim (aforementioned Choux) going for caffeinated drinks (btw, being a coffee addict, it was shocking to me that I could order a beverage of the sort, specifically an iced coffee, and find it so distasteful that I left half of it on the table), somehow, by no fault of mine whatsoever, and anyone who dares insinuate differently is a vicious babykilling liar, turned into a night of slumming.

Whilst Tim has a link to the Wikipedia article considering slumming, which is very insightful I'm sure, allow me to try and explain briefly what I mean by slumming. Obviously, considering my last two sentences, this will be anything but 'briefly'. I simply must stop reading Charlotte Brontë, but more on that later, unless I should forget, or become weary of the subject.

Anyhow, slumming: to hop from gay bar to gay bar, particulary those that would by most people be considered as trashy. This requires extensive amounts of alcohol, and at least one friend to accompany you (otherwise it's a little sad and a lot less fun, unless you're looking for anonymous and easy sex, in which case: you go boy!), although it is best to have a whole flock of them.

So, for the ample amounts of alcohol, we directed ourselves to the Happy Hour at Hessenhuis, and applied ourselves to the necessary ingestion of beverages. Our party by now consisted out of Tim, Kevin, Kenneth, Julien, Karolien and yours truly. Having taxed Karolien beyond what she could bear, seeing as she detests Hessenhuis, we took our leave of this fine establishment, where we spent so many nights of youthful folly (though seeing it now, one wonders why), and betook ourselves to the Van Schoonhoven Straat, colloquially known as the Rue Vaseline, and entered the Twilight, being the bar least offensive to said lesbian. After administering more drinks to our party, we headed further down the seedy underbelly of gay Antwerp by heading towards the Rubbz, but underway our companion, Julien, was unfortunately besieged by gravity, resulting in injuries whose seriousness he could not quite appreciate until the next day, when his beer-fueled bliss of ignorance had withdrawn its soft wings. At Rubbz(z?) we enjoyed many an intellectual discussion, and bonded, perhaps in some cases more than we are accustomed to, but life is after all about change (or so I muttered to myself as events unfolded). For further details on this bonding, I must again refer my dear reader to the webpages of my esteemed friend.

After having been left by Kevin, the remainder of our party retreated our steps to Twilight, where we were soon left by Tim, Kenneth and Julien, leaving me and my ladyfriend to drink, gossip and bond(though in an appropriate manner, naturally), before I delivered her safely at the nightbus stop.

The next morning, after having enjoyed not nearly enough of the sweet oblivion of sleep, I presented myself at Kevin's promptly at eleven, this valued gentleman being ready as well, but some other members of our debaucherous group were lacking until a later time. Eventually we managed to get underway to Karolien's, where we were treated to a delicious brunch (of which I partook in no small measure), before being joined by our old acquaintances Bert & Bart, and our other companion, Frank, for a cosy afternoon of fun and games. Naturally, Tim and I were victorious, but any astute reader could have anticipated this without taxing the utmost depths of his or her cerebral masses.

After having been left by Bert, Bart and Frank, the rest of us headed to the center of that glorious city of Antwerp to consume vast amounts of pizza, and then Karolien, Kenneth and I wandered around the Schelde and took silly, sleepy pictures until the sun had almost set, and it was time for us to return and seek our respective abodes.

The rest of the week was passed with working, Easter holiday giving me plenty to do, and I also found time to lay around in the park and catch some rays of Apollo, who seems to have immediatly done me the kindness of burning my visage, once again proving that I can be pale or crimson, but never tan.

On monday I starred in the grand play I wrote, Lieve & Leed, a soap opera, about a boy and two girls and the quirky misunderstandings between them. Naturally this was enjoyed by all, especially our littlest ones, who shouted with glee, and now stubbornly insist in calling me 'Joeri', which was my character's name.

Today I passed another rather enjoyable day, being the Search Hunt thing for our 6 to 8 year olds (termed by us as the Sloebers), which Anke, Leslie and myself presided over. Our dear chil'ren had to search the vast town of Zandhoven for clues and perform perilous assignments (they were not meant to be perilous, but leave it to a child to somehow slam into concrete, get scratched up by bushes or bash into another child with disastrous consequences) in order to win the reward (popcorn during the movie they would get to enjoy that afternoon). Usually there are always a few who don't feel like doing the activity, and they never fail to show their displeasure, leading to us adults becoming cross, the activity becoming an arduous duty, and no one enjoying themselves. Today, however, it chanced that the greatest troublemakers in this area were absented, or otherwise engaged, and we had a very motivated group that came along with us. As I happed to be rather popular with this specific age group (do not ask me why, I have not yet figured out what it is that endears me to them), they all wanted to hold my hand, carry my backpack, carry my papers, and basically, make my job as light and easy as it possibly could be. Add to that a sun pleasantly shining down on us, and you have quite a lovely work-morning.

Whilst the past weekend was a lot of fun and games, it's also made me reflect once more on friendship, and what time can do to it. I know this is a team I return to so often, it becomes tedious, but it always surprises me how many things can change, almost imperceptibly. When you look upon our little group of friends, compared to years ago, you see not so many changes: people have disappeared, some have made returns to the fold, no new people have really gotten among us. We all have 'new', other friends of course, from school, work, hobbies, but they are 'separate' to our little group. We don't hang out as a group as much any more (though lately we seem inclined to do so more), but we see each other a lot in a variety of combinations, and it's actually these combinations that are very interesting to me. Despite still having the same friends, the emphasis between us seems to have shifted somehow. To take me and Tim as an example: when we first met, to me he was really just Karo's friend. I think we already knew each other for almost a year by the time we had an actual conversation. He was one of those friends that I saw frequently, whose company I really did enjoy, but with whom for years, I did not do a anything with, sans the rest of the group. It wasn't until recently, and that even by a coincidence really, that we began spending more 'solitary' time together, and as it turns out, that's quite enjoyable time. Odd thing is, during all those years, I never literally thought 'oh no, I am not going for a drink with Tim alone', but somehow it still didn't happen (this may be mostly my fault, as I do tend to stick with the old familiars and will very rarely invite someone for a "private" drink or chat, unless that person has asked me first, or we've been somehow thrown together.)

Okay, I'm done rambling, mostly because tedium and sleepiness have settled over me, but I suppose I must return to Charlotte Brontë, since I said I would.

Charlotte Brontë is, of course, an author and one of the Brontë sisters, who published books under male pseudonyms. I've read two of her books (Jane Eyre and Shirley) and am currently nearing the end of a third, Villette.

Brontë actually studied and taught at a pensionnat in Brussels, and Villette, the city where the book takes place, is a pseudonym for our capital. A lot of the book is actually an attack on our boorishness, our unattractiveness, and our stupid Catholocism of back then (yes, there are times when even the least patriottic of Belgians will be just about ready to toss the book right in Brontë's face, but seeing she's been dead for a good long time now, it would be a hard feat to accomplish).

Other than that it tells the story of Lucy Snowe, a woman down on her luck, who is near stoic, and suddenly departs England for Brussels and becomes a teacher at a girls' boarding school. Here she meets, through unfathomable coincidences of course, personnages from her past, and she also meets new people. Together these shape her life in this strange and boorish new land, with its odd customs and repressive religion. Of course there are also romantic entanglements and mental anguish and so on and so on, but that's not really the point of my telling you this.

The point instead being, that Brontë is very prone to using astoundingly elaborate language, taxing the comprehension of the English language to the utmost (mine anyway), and she regularly throws in French phrases, and sentences that refer to other literary works or parsonnages (I can only say Bless Penguin Annoted editions, or many of these would have been lost on me). In Villette, the story is actually told by Lucy Snowe herself, and even more than in the other two books, she uses extremely florid language, and clearly, this has affected me, as I seem to no longer be able to utter a short, to the point sentence (something I was never very good at to begin with). Hence the explanation.

Anyhow, a good night to all, and to all a good night. May we meet again soon.

Cheers!