2002-07-02 - 6:16 p.m.

A lost weekend, involving a hangover-busting fourteen bottles of wine (Where are those empties? I demand a recount) on Sunday (between�er�.five of us, natch) that also caused Monday to be, if not lost, then at the very least wandering the streets trying to remember what its name was and where it could purchase a new liver. Old friends and new friends collided with the drunken brilliance of a supernova on industrial amounts of medium-priced Shiraz, and full sentences have since been difficult, hence the radio silence. But thanks for the virtual arse-kicking about my whiney (as opposed to winey), um, whines, those of you who administered g�book reprimands. I should really shut the fuck up sometimes, but hey, shouldn�t we all? Or something. All further angst is to be directed into something constructive, like actually trying to make things tangibly better, or perhaps luridly vitriolic hate campaigns against deserving members of the war cabinet. Anyway, to whit: today I did �scanning equipment� and �pets� (apparently you can get them second hand) with nary a scowl or indignant tantrum, mostly as I was far too busy trying to ingest vitamins at a rate that would have perked up an anaemic rhino. But I�m a changed man. There�s a whiff of optimism in the air, even despite the fact that Oasis are due to play a 3 day concert outside my bedroom window this weekend. Discodave and Surly have provided simultaneously joyful soundtracks (for which, my moistest, most panting thanks) and to quote some guy in some film, it�s a new day, motherfucker. And none of that low-fat malarky.