Music Is My Hot Hot Sex

While a few ambitious bloggers apparently spent yesterday inflating my visitor stats, I was lying in full sun doing absolutely nothing useful—iPod loud, CSS on repeat, "Music Is My Hot Hot Sex" cycling until it became ambient. There’s something about that song in open air with heat pressing down that makes it feel like the entire season is being scored in real time. I love that band unreasonably.

The water at the lake was freezing. Genuinely, viciously cold—the kind that rearranges your priorities the instant you’re in it. Worth it anyway.

We ended up at a Mexican place in the evening. Overpriced, which I expected and accepted. Too many fried noodles with vegetables because I always overestimate my own limits. The place had this holiday energy I can’t fully explain, and the server was pretty, and sometimes that’s enough to make a meal feel like more than it was.

Tonight is May Night. I hope whoever’s out in the streets is leaving the garden gnomes alone. Berlin people: just survive it.