Drove my bike to the shop Tuesday, was told they'd call with a repair estimate the next morning. No word. I called this evening. "Your name? ... uhh, my boss says you should come in person." Worrisome.
Tom and I attempted to cash in on my parents' free belated birthday dinner offer by trying out to the new Asian-fusion-ish-looking place on the Veemarkt, but first I speed-crutched to the bike shop only to find it had closed early. To our irritation, the 'Asian' joint was fully booked, so we walked to Casa Tano, another item on our hit list. The whole damn establishment was reserved for a party into which we were incomprehensibly not invited. By that time, my arms were ready to give out.
We settled on a Greek restaurant, Zorba, in a charming alley of bars and restaurants in the shadow of Sint-Romboutstoren, and thoroughly reviewed the latest Lego catalog (sorry for drooling on the construction site page, Tom) over escargot, sole, and kebab. But then came dessert. And mine was a generous pyramid of ice cream over which the waiter poured flaming Grand Marnier.
[ceci n'est pas un dessert; it's derek's photo of flaming drops of rubbing alcohol that he pushes about the floor with his fingertips. my flambé looked pretty much the same.]
Best birthday candle pyrotechnics ever. And the Grand Marnier kept me practicing with tension-free arms straight into ante meridiem for the first time since the accident.
But now for an even more bizarre shot...
Somehow my profile on YaleScape.com ended up as the examplar on James' site. I was a 1337 YaleScape P0w3rUz0r! (If you don't know 1337sp34k, Microsoft is happy to explain for the benefit and protection of your children.) Better yet, my offhand comment "yippee 4 am procrastination while sick and coughing and with an arm in a splint" was apparently also intelligent enough to be immortalized.
I don't remember squat from school, but I do remember typing that comment.
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