We calculated that it had been sixteen years since we last saw one another. It was when I was in London with Sandra, who was performing at the Prince's Trust, and Bruce came over from Amsterdam to spend the weekend. Our sporadic conversation since has been a meager substitute for having each other face to face.
He came over on Saturday afternoon and it was if no time had passed. We hugged and after settling in, Bruce started to talk. And talk. In fact, I don't think he came up for air the entire weekend. Whether he was detailing his Chris Burton collection or giving me the ABCs of the IT security test he just took, he didn't shut up, and that was just fine by me.
We went to see Kill Bill, Vol. 1 on Saturday night, giggling our way through Tarentino's insanity. We ate popcorn and drank Slurpees and we were in high school again. After the movie and an hour in-depth analysis of it, we talked all the way through Kubrick's first film Killer’s Kiss and finally settled into Karl Freund’s Mad Love before Bruce went to bed, and Bob and I fell asleep on the couch.
Yesterday was spent sightseeing. We walked until our feet could walk no more and Bruce took a ton of pictures, which I will post at some point. We came home, got ready for dinner, and found a great sushi restaurant in Georgetown. When we got back home, we argued about our favorite movies, discussed which Bertolucci was the best and talked endlessly about the contours of Brian Eno's career. We went to bed around 1am.
I woke up sore and sleepy from the couch and the constant negotiation with Bob during the night. I put Bruce in a cab for the airport and I'm at work now, still sore and tired but content for having the rush of familiarity in the midst of my endless vertigo episode.