my brother has returned from the nether regions of the globe, bronzer and buffer, bigger, both hair-wise and in general. suddenly there’re suitcases in the hallway upstairs besides the one i brought back from co|motion a month ago and used as a knee-high shelf on my floor before in a cleaning-panic i moved it out there. suddenly there are two male voices booming in the kitchen again. “you have no answers — you have diatribes.” “a milton freedman acolyte is going to say kaddish for me?” “a solution: free trade solves things.” “adam doesn’t want ranting. that’s like saying a pig doesn’t want dirt.” my brother has been home one hour and my father is already shipping him back to australia and placing an ad for a new firstborn.
after a less-than-successful attempt to have a party last nite, lana liz xandra and i regrouped this evening for more sex and the city and a homebaked cookie cake. nothing, i’m afraid, compares to the sheer joy that was turning 19. but i never expected anything to. it was gratifying enough to realize i still had the same excellent friends (hit up the egypt exhibit with becca and fam. this morning, which amounted to 20 minutes spent speed-walking through tombs and 3 hours chatting with her little boy cousins) with whom i share the same excellent taste in food and fun (tamar brought over a bottle of manischewitz with which to play I Never, a long-held dream of mine. maybe someday.)