A NIGHT IN THE LIFE OF IVAN SOMETHINGOVICH

Despite a very awkward phone conversation (not unlike yelling into an antique wall phone after Mabel connects the call) I met The Serb at Bittersweet, sobbing during the entire drive from the Fancy Healthy Club (it's been one of *those* days. Again). He looked better than his photo, which wasn't bad, and dressed like the hot hipster that he is and ate like a European (his knife and fork skills were like those of a surgeon) as we consumed herb tea and exquisite apple tarts topped with caramel drizzle shit. He listened intently to everything I said, was charming and funny and well-read and *really* bright and politically astute and laughed at my jokes and impersonations of the Finnish and showed great interest in my new scar and has a graduate degree and only one marriage behind him (no kids) and it seems there's no one in the world at the moment who actively hates him (including his mother, his ex-wife....and the Croats). I mentioned that my brother and I are "different" - that he likes guns and is a Republican. Serb: "So they are arming themselves now?" Yes, I'd like to see this one again.