Anne: Sunday.
Me: So tomorrow's Saturday, right?
Anne: Um. . . no.
***
Joanna: You americans do cookies and brownies well, but biscuits terribly.
Me: What defines a biscuit, exactly?
Joanna: Well, it's made of biscuit!
***
Misha: Our cat is the father of 8!
***
Anne, in the Vienna airport, after examining the perplexing rock vending machine (one euro per rock!): I bet you wish you were blogging right now.
I blame her for talking me out of bringing my laptop.
But we are in Russia! I can see onion domes out the window. I have already had my chilled vodka shot with a pickle chaser -- and there's another one being poured now. We are listening to a Russian girl folk rock band.
Jennifer will be playing her last Ska Jazz Review show on Friday -- she is moving to Syracuse for grad school -- and it should be a blowout. And we will be there.
Life is amazing and rich. Dosvedanya, Bitches.
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