This is a fine thing; I like the Vogue. I've been there now often enough to be fairly comfortable. The staff is uniformly pleasant, even to someone as at sea as I must invariably seem. (Even when they're up to their elbows in cloggy sinks.) I was thinking about traceyb last night - one of the gentlemen regulars she introduced me to was there (oh, of course I've forgotten his name, I think it started with "J," but he is sartorially significant in his choice of blue jeans, t-shirt and baseball cap. Jason? Justin? Drat.) and for a while he came and danced near/with us, but I was entirely unable to tell if he remembered me or if we were simply another stop on his peregrinations. I admire (and was missing) how poised Ms. Traceyb is with people, and how comfortable and welcome she made me feel there.
We had a good time last night - the music wasn't as to my taste as it has been some nights, but we still put in about three solid hours of dancing. Sharkins collected an admirer (who asked for her phone number, even) - and I was continually entertained by catching my reflection in the mirror out of the corner of my eye and not recognizing myself. It felt good to get out and move even if the songs weren't such that I could really lose myself in the music. I really must find some way to shoehorn more physical activity into my routine, even if it does feel like it consumes an enormous chunk of time... I wish Sharkins didn't live in bloody Everett - I'd make her go out dancing more regularly, maybe even during the week. I don't really need to be awake at work, right?
Okay, so there's nothing to do with the tango actually - I'd meant to include some words about the Borges reading but that will have to wait or I'll be late for breakfast. Or later, more likely.