Sport is waking up at 7 in the morning to play tennis.

… going back to bed at around 12 from sheer exhaustion.

… waking up later and feeling blue enough not to change out of jammies.

… running out the house late because sartorial choices were overwhelming.

… repeated right arm lifting a champagne glass to the lips.

… finger fatigue from rapid SMSing. 

… cheek and mouth pain from multiple kissings.

Besides book-making work and boning up for some major discussions on contemporary art, and the usual humdrum dumb job I schmuck around in three days a week, the band has been busy. We’re breaking in a new drummer and there’s three concerts coming up. Two small ones in Paris, one at the Feline (June 1st, 6 rue Victor Letalle 75020), and the other at le cave de Zorba (June 13th, 137 rue faubourg du Temple 75011), plus one in Amsterdam (June 8th, OCCII). Here’s the flyer for the first one. I did the design… if I can pat myself yet again on the back!

They used to call me chicken legs in grade nine, my official year of being underappreciated, and the year I first started competing regularly in track. The name stung but nothing beat the dark green calm in the ravine, the sound of my heartbeat and air flowing deep into my lungs. But this all reminds me too much of a line from Conan the Barbarian.

Mongol General: What is best in life?
Mongol: The open steppe, fleet horse, falcons at your wrist, and the wind in your hair.
Mongol General: Wrong! Conan! What is best in life?
Conan: To crush your enemies, see them driven before you, and to hear the lamentation of the women.

I’m no Conan and competition brings out in me the same dubious survival instinct armadillos display when a truck comes heading their way. So I was both bemused and kerfuffled by my recent nomination for best underappreciated blog for the Satin Pajamas Awards, celebrating the European blogging community. I had already drunk my champagne the night before so it was like just the weirdest hangover ever. Torn between pride and shame, the underappreciated award is like the wallflower crown, Carrie before the reign in blood, and of course the analogy carries because I’m all about showing my dirty pillows.