Hot Tea Makes Me Happy (Techno Does Not)

     Yes, that's right, hot tea makes me happy in this beautiful, yet brisk, establishment.  You see, my house here in Sandy Bay, 202 Churchill Ave, is a newer house.  It's filled with a spacious kitchen and living room, big counter spaces and large floor to ceiling windows, small bedrooms (good for holding in heat), and a soon-to-be-working dishwasher.  However, for all its nouveau charm, its a cold, cold place.  I'm rather disconcerted about it: it is often warmer outside than in here!  Just the other night, Becca and I had to pull our space heaters out into the living room at night in combination with blankets just to eat dinner.  And, this morning, they're sitting right in front of us, as well.  But, thank god for packets of tea and a ridiculously swift electric kettle.  Without that, all would be lost.
     So, last night was my introduction to Hobart's night life (wowzers).  We started out at a place called Metz, where $7 jugs & $10 pizzas abound.  Deliciously warm atmosphere, deliciously cheap beer that itself was delicious, and a rather scrumptious meat lovers pizza.  It was there that I met two loud, boisterious Canadians and a German lady named Julia, who sat next to here Austrian friend Michael.  We had great laughs about the weather here (for, you see, all three of us had come from pleasant, warm weather homeside to the chill of Hobart) around the plastic jugs of sparkling amber ale and smears of grease from the slices of pizza.  From there, we meandered down to a place called the Lowerhouse, but it was packed solid from the hundreds of medical students in the area for a local convention, so we buggered around in line for twenty minutes and jumped the street into a joint known simply as Mobius.  Oh, what a place.  Itchingly loud techno blaring, ring bedecked punks and barkeeps, $5 Cascade Lagers (a Yuengling equivalent, Tim), and some other international students.  After a time, Ian, Becca, and Kat decided to split (and I was lothe to lose their company for the lengthy return walk) but George (Jeff) was not budging, wedged between two attractive girls as he was, so I decided to camp it out for a while, too.  You see, the night before last I somewhat stiffed a girl, Hannah, who invited me to her pad to meet some folks and hang out, because it was raining and Unit Five was an unhealthy walk up a hill in 33 degree weather (rain aside).  However, at Mobius was this Hannah, with whom it would have been horribly rude not to kick it with.  So, we wandered into the back area of the bar, where nineteen-year-olds were snogging into the couches and the techno blare was brighter, bigger, and more belligerent. Unfortunately, she wanted to dance to that flat, unthoughtful excuse of music.  So, I did.  And yes, I can cut some mean rug in a variety of circumstances, techno included, but I just felt like a bloody ass out there, corrupting some of my favorite funk groove moves by grinding them into a techno beat.  After about ten minutes of this, George (Jeff) and I decide it was well past time to split.  I tell Hannah that we've got to meet up with our friends who checked out earlier, and she can't actually hear me but nods all the same, so off we go, practically sprinting out of that techno miasma.  Ah, sweet escape was the brisk night air and the enormous bouncer with hoop earrings, smiling with his teeth at our Stateside driver licenses.  From there we had two options: cross the street to the now opened up Lowerhouse, from which sorrowful, sap heavy songs were slinking out, or return homeside, where greasy youths and med students weren't melting into you.  So, we spit homeward.  It was sad to leave Nick and Montana and John behind, but I know I'll be seeing those bastards far too often all too soon this semester: it would be ok.  George (Jeff) agreed.
     Later, when Becca and I got back to our Churchill headquarters, I melted into the squishy blue chair with a cup of tea in my hand.  She woke me up twenty minutes later to go to bed.