Going to a place (Korea) where I feel so conspicuously out of place somehow feels like going home. Buried in that fact is probably the explanation not only behind my years of wandering, but also a host of other Boscovian behavioural idiosyncracies. I’m too f–king tired to pursue the thought, though, so I’ll just drop it and let it lay where it falls.
In other news that isn’t, Metafilter is back from hiatus after Matt’s trip to Oz. Offered to buy him a drink when he was here, but no scheduling joy, sadly. Either that, or the fact that he only had an idea of who I was by my usually three-quarters-pissed comments at MeFi led him to believe that I might kill him and eat his liver (with fava beans and a dinner-table bottle of Hahn Premium)…