My mother used to make this soup in Fiji. It's pretty much boiled potatoes and meat, some vegetables and soy sauce. But as in all Indian tradition, you have to eat it with rice.

Everytime I make this, I have different memories associated with this meal. The one that comes to mind today is years ago when my family was barely sticking together, our former elderly neighbour called us. The person he was visiting got sick and ended up in hospital and he asked us if he could stay with us. Obviously my family said yes.

My mother was puzzled waht to make for this man as he wasn't used to Indian food so she made this rather simple soup. I made his bed for him in my brothers room. I covered the Indian temple shrine and made him cups of tea. Later that night the neighbour broke down. He told how grateful he was. And that just broke my heart. Because it wasn't anything special we did, its just courtesy to extend your home to people who needed it. Thats partially the reason I have this open home refuge mentality going on. Though sometimes it bites me in the ass.

Still. The soup is damn good.

I LOVE you Buffy.

It's weird, we go months and months without talking and then there you are indulging my rambles about marines and vegetarianism and writing letters. And I can picture you, bemused and bored at the same time.

I fucking adore you.

I've been listening to old school Elton John. The songs make me so sad but I can't stop listening to them on repeat. I don't know why I do this to myself.

Maybe it's because I miss Jason. I saw someone from a distance and thought it was him and then realised no, not at all. It just hit me so suddenly.

I miss everyone this week.

It's Martina's birthday today. She's fucking awesome.

I just read that Sam Mendes is going to do the "Preacher" movie adaption. i'm not sure what to think of that. I love Preacher, but I'm not sure I want it fussed with in a movie. Hmm.

On the other side of things, my mother is planning to elope with her alcoholic boyfriend.

I found this out from another family member. Everytime she calls, I know she wants to confess. But I'm not making it easy for her.

Yep. Me is a bitch.

I adore my friend Lisa. She reckons that having a blog/facebook blah diblah is an excuse for masturbation. I sometimes have to agree. It definitely has a vibe of "look at moi!" to it.
I like to think my excuse is this is a place me and Michael share and no one actually has looked at it. I plain lied to my friends for years when I told them I have never had a blog. It makes me regret telling Jason actually. Not because I would bitch about him, though I might want to. Which is the thing. I just want a space where I don't censor what I say.

On Monday my friend Anton unexpectedly turned up looking for a place to stay for a week. I haven't seen him in 2 years and he just recently returned to NZ from Canada. He told me he feels that Wellington is conservative in so many ways. Which is the reason he needs to leave again soon. I'm so with him. Wellington is not a scenic tourist destination kind of place. It is surrounded by prettyness which is always a bonus. But after a while, it just gets too claustrophobic. The good times are what you make of it though. My new memory of the week is me and Anton and Lisa sitting in her smokey room, eating caramel slices, listening to country music and going through a pile of gay magazines. Fuck I love boy on boy action.

AC/DC, a hot scandinavian boy, and drinking liquor in Berlin or South America.

Bring on next year.