Each place I've lived has been different from the others - a place like Philadelphia has a temperature ambience and a differnt vibe that's different than hometown PA, which is different from Washington DC, all of which are different from GZ.

But sometimes a strange night like tonite at 7:10 PM as the sun set, the humidity dropped, the temp stayed the same warm breeze tiptoed through the city, which for all the world as my witness reminded me of the Saturday nights in May and early June in my apartment in Rosslyn, Virginia as I prepped for Goth night with vodka and soda water mixers, armed myself with a small flask for inside the club and hoped that life would be at least as good as the adjunct life in Philadelphia.

Two years later, we all know the life isn't as good, but the paycheck is an adequate balm. The idea that I'll get to live in Kabul tingles my testicles a little too.

But Goth night was only good because it was muddled reflection of Wednesday night Goth nights in Philadelphia, which were also warm and soothing and fun in the way that was like Goth nights in 1992 weekly road trips to Philadelphia to Scranton or the other way around.

It's 7:16 PM in Guangzhou I'm reliving the nostalgia of nostalgia.

At this time, Erasure's "My Heart, So Blue," is playing. That miserable shrew of an ex- ("B") gave me this song on a mix tape in summer 1991.

Speaking of ex's, my recent married ex is back in town. I had coffee with her Wednesday night. It's nostalgia for nostalgia for a time that existed that was also horrible, but the horrors today are different ones than 1991 or 2004 or 2002 or Clarion 2001 or midnight on the Vegas Strip 1999.

There will be memories about China too.

"Remember the night in China that smelled like DC that smelled like Philadelphia that smelled like Albuquerque that smelled like final exams in May 1991 - me and Jim Bugda studying for our World History final - a badass in a black trenchcoat and a goofy haircut - me that is.

Tom Wolfe said you can never go home again, and I say why would you want to with all those loaded memories? Imagine looking every day at the same bed you lost your virginity or the seeing the first place you got drunk. I'd throw myself off the 8th Street Bridge if I had to see that frikkin' bowling alley in Exeter everyday on my drive to work.

Better bitter nostalgia than watch yourself go grey and die in the same neighborhood where you used to drive past your ex-girlfriend's house at 3 AM.

Or that's what I keep telling myself.

I'm not going dancing tonight, just reading, and journalling.