Stereotypical Saturday in NYC
As overheard in the apartment on Thursday while watching Senator Tom Daschle on The Daily Show:
It should first be noted for all the concerned parties out there that whatever plagued Amber this week departed her system for another more broken-down vessel. Whomever the virus chooses, may he stockpile Puffs with aloe ahead of time, may he have ample sick days available, and may god have mercy on his nose. After two days home from work and a third day of forced labor while still under the weather, she was in full form on Friday. She received your bouquets, muffin baskets, and show tickets, and has asked me to convey her deepest thanks for your concerns and well wishes. But nothing held a candle to the praise slathered upon her on Friday for all of her recent hard work on projects that have now taken form, and won over both coworker and client. The blood (tears), sweat (tears), and tears (tears) were not for naught. Her excellence rewarded, as foretold by the Boyfriendian Prophecy, and as a new Monday arises...
I had my typical week. (Though in all fairness, it was broken up by Wednesday's night of corporate-sponsored drunken debauchery. Which, if what little memory I have of the evening serves me right, was fun.)
Friday evening was spent indoors with a movie and take-out, as Biblical floods formed from torrential downpours. I've recently discovered Indian food, much to the delight of the Recovered One. The best Christmas gift of 2007 - the discovery of curry and its minimal impact on my rusted pipe of a digestive system - has opened some food doors, Indian and additional Thai being at the top. Samosa, nan, chicken curry, and chicken tikka masala? I'll give up my first born for more. (No wait, second born. First born had been promised in an unrelated deal involving inflatable sneakers and a Hypercolor shirt in the early 90's.)
Saturday morning greeted us with more goddamn downpours and gray depression. Amber had plans to meet someone for brunch in Manhattan in the early afternoon, and I had plans to meet up with her after for some necessary items that we had to buy together. Plans change at the drop of a hat here in ol' New York City. What was Amber's original plan of "meet friend at 1pm, meet Eric at 3pm" quickly turned into "meet friend at 3pm, meet Eric at 5pm", and again to "brunch is now for couples, and Eric is invited / coming". Which was fine with me, because a) the Xbox rental that showed up in the mail was damaged and unplayable, b) I had already had my fill of the Sunday crossword for the day, c) I didn't feel like reading anything, and d) I was all of a sudden bored out of my gourd by the time Amber got the last text message. We suited up in the least appropriate rainy weather garb, grabbed two flimsy umbrellas, and took off to the subway.
Before we met our friends for food, we were met by Deathwind ®, an otherworldly force that had taken a liking to NYC for the day, attempting to blow us all 3 blocks backwards. When it is raining, Deathwind ® is far from welcome. By the time we got to brunch, we were not only drowned rats, but exhausted drowned rats. We were eating at Freemans, which is an obvious scenester kind of place, but a very cool one at that. At the end of Freeman Alley in the LES, it's behind Freemans Sporting Club, another scenester mecca where you can get your beard trimmed in the back before leaving with a new dinner jacket in the front. (I sound snooty, but deep down I want to be a regular.) Anyway, the restaurant was is an amazing farmhouse-like space with more antlers and animal skulls on the walls than your local Crapplebee's, the food was superb, and the place is half populated with supermodels.
From the restaurant, we broke open our shopping itinerary and re-faced Deathwind ®. The plan was to browse Restoration Hardware, shop heavily at H&M, and finish with the Mandated Store That Shan't Be Named (not a sex shop). We (I) were slowed by Uniqlo's distracting bright lights and slave labor prices. And, oddly enough, running into a mutual friend there, who we had just discussed over brunch (see "Eric's Theory of New York City"). By the time we wrapped up the shopping, it was 6 hours after we had left the apartment, which is a Herculean feat for this lazy sack of doorknobs. It was finished up with an overpriced (though fancy and tasty) dinner out and a forced viewing of 2001: A Space Odyssey at home. Amber's feet, once elegant and ladylike, now ravaged by your typical shoddy and inappropriately designed women's footwear, less resemble human appendages, and more whittled-down bloody stumps. And Friday's Indian and Saturday's lactose-heavy ravioli have left my chest burning like a Mid-East oil field. But our 24-hour efforts were not in vain, as I have decidedly composed Eric's 2008 Spring & Summer Collection. The pieces themselves are closely guarded and cannot be revealed prematurely, but I can share with you the color palette that will inevitably become Trend:
On a more serious note, Biscuit hasn't been doing very well lately. Typical of his situation, there's no specific physical ailment or event to describe, other than increased lethargy. We have a vet appointment this morning, which will inevitably kill half of the day and our savings, but we both feel we need a follow-up and a course of action.
Reviews
Movies
Michael Clayton:
Amber: "Is this movie going to make me angry?"
Eric: "George Clooney is such a dreamboat."
2001: A Space Odyssey:
Amber: "Ohmygod, aliens are going to pop out, aren't they? This is freaky, this is freaky, ohmygod, where is everyone, why is there only one person at a time, ohmygod..."
Eric: "Relax, there are no aliens and nothing jumps out. Look, even Baker seems really into it."
Baker, staring at the movie for over an hour: "Mew! Mew mew!"
Eric: "I wish I had a permanent title, like 'Senator' or 'Sir'."
Amber: "Or 'sex offender'."
It should first be noted for all the concerned parties out there that whatever plagued Amber this week departed her system for another more broken-down vessel. Whomever the virus chooses, may he stockpile Puffs with aloe ahead of time, may he have ample sick days available, and may god have mercy on his nose. After two days home from work and a third day of forced labor while still under the weather, she was in full form on Friday. She received your bouquets, muffin baskets, and show tickets, and has asked me to convey her deepest thanks for your concerns and well wishes. But nothing held a candle to the praise slathered upon her on Friday for all of her recent hard work on projects that have now taken form, and won over both coworker and client. The blood (tears), sweat (tears), and tears (tears) were not for naught. Her excellence rewarded, as foretold by the Boyfriendian Prophecy, and as a new Monday arises...
I had my typical week. (Though in all fairness, it was broken up by Wednesday's night of corporate-sponsored drunken debauchery. Which, if what little memory I have of the evening serves me right, was fun.)
Friday evening was spent indoors with a movie and take-out, as Biblical floods formed from torrential downpours. I've recently discovered Indian food, much to the delight of the Recovered One. The best Christmas gift of 2007 - the discovery of curry and its minimal impact on my rusted pipe of a digestive system - has opened some food doors, Indian and additional Thai being at the top. Samosa, nan, chicken curry, and chicken tikka masala? I'll give up my first born for more. (No wait, second born. First born had been promised in an unrelated deal involving inflatable sneakers and a Hypercolor shirt in the early 90's.)
Saturday morning greeted us with more goddamn downpours and gray depression. Amber had plans to meet someone for brunch in Manhattan in the early afternoon, and I had plans to meet up with her after for some necessary items that we had to buy together. Plans change at the drop of a hat here in ol' New York City. What was Amber's original plan of "meet friend at 1pm, meet Eric at 3pm" quickly turned into "meet friend at 3pm, meet Eric at 5pm", and again to "brunch is now for couples, and Eric is invited / coming". Which was fine with me, because a) the Xbox rental that showed up in the mail was damaged and unplayable, b) I had already had my fill of the Sunday crossword for the day, c) I didn't feel like reading anything, and d) I was all of a sudden bored out of my gourd by the time Amber got the last text message. We suited up in the least appropriate rainy weather garb, grabbed two flimsy umbrellas, and took off to the subway.
Before we met our friends for food, we were met by Deathwind ®, an otherworldly force that had taken a liking to NYC for the day, attempting to blow us all 3 blocks backwards. When it is raining, Deathwind ® is far from welcome. By the time we got to brunch, we were not only drowned rats, but exhausted drowned rats. We were eating at Freemans, which is an obvious scenester kind of place, but a very cool one at that. At the end of Freeman Alley in the LES, it's behind Freemans Sporting Club, another scenester mecca where you can get your beard trimmed in the back before leaving with a new dinner jacket in the front. (I sound snooty, but deep down I want to be a regular.) Anyway, the restaurant was is an amazing farmhouse-like space with more antlers and animal skulls on the walls than your local Crapplebee's, the food was superb, and the place is half populated with supermodels.
From the restaurant, we broke open our shopping itinerary and re-faced Deathwind ®. The plan was to browse Restoration Hardware, shop heavily at H&M, and finish with the Mandated Store That Shan't Be Named (not a sex shop). We (I) were slowed by Uniqlo's distracting bright lights and slave labor prices. And, oddly enough, running into a mutual friend there, who we had just discussed over brunch (see "Eric's Theory of New York City"). By the time we wrapped up the shopping, it was 6 hours after we had left the apartment, which is a Herculean feat for this lazy sack of doorknobs. It was finished up with an overpriced (though fancy and tasty) dinner out and a forced viewing of 2001: A Space Odyssey at home. Amber's feet, once elegant and ladylike, now ravaged by your typical shoddy and inappropriately designed women's footwear, less resemble human appendages, and more whittled-down bloody stumps. And Friday's Indian and Saturday's lactose-heavy ravioli have left my chest burning like a Mid-East oil field. But our 24-hour efforts were not in vain, as I have decidedly composed Eric's 2008 Spring & Summer Collection. The pieces themselves are closely guarded and cannot be revealed prematurely, but I can share with you the color palette that will inevitably become Trend:
On a more serious note, Biscuit hasn't been doing very well lately. Typical of his situation, there's no specific physical ailment or event to describe, other than increased lethargy. We have a vet appointment this morning, which will inevitably kill half of the day and our savings, but we both feel we need a follow-up and a course of action.Reviews
Movies
Michael Clayton:
Amber: "Is this movie going to make me angry?"
Eric: "George Clooney is such a dreamboat."
2001: A Space Odyssey:
Amber: "Ohmygod, aliens are going to pop out, aren't they? This is freaky, this is freaky, ohmygod, where is everyone, why is there only one person at a time, ohmygod..."
Eric: "Relax, there are no aliens and nothing jumps out. Look, even Baker seems really into it."
Baker, staring at the movie for over an hour: "Mew! Mew mew!"
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