After work last night, I walked down through Soho to Broome Street, where I picked up Rodzilla from work for dinner. We walked over to Bistro Margot on Prince Street, the site of our last dinner a few weeks ago. The joint was empty when we got there, and at first we thought it was closed. So we had the small, enclosed garden to ourselves for a while. Our waitress, a mildly waifish young woman, had the most peculiar accent. At first she sounded European, then Australian, then for a while she appeared to have no accent at all. She was sort of cute though, and the ambiguous accent made her more attractive. Rodzilla had the duck. I had the rabbit. I'd never eaten rabbit before, at least not that I remember. The waitress said "It's sort of like chicken." I think she thought I was afraid to try it or something. But she said that it really did taste like chicken, despite the cliche the expression is. And truth be told, it did taste a heck of a lot like chicken. The only thing that gave away that it wasn't chicken, at least to my untrained taste buds, was the unique bone structure of the rabbit's thighs and legs. Very meaty thighs, as you might expect from an animal know for speed and jumping. But not tough either. Rodzilla and I also split a bottle of wine, and by the end of dinner I was feeling a bit hazy.
So we took a cab and met up with James and Jed. They were walking in the East Village and happened by a place on 12th st., the Old Devil's Moon, I think, where a bluegrass band was playing. Being the sort of Virginia boys we are, and what with the nice weather and all, we decided this was exactly the spot to be. So we sat outside and listened to the band. I think they were called the Wahoo String Band. They're there on Thursdays, apparently. So we sat outside, right by the band, and ordered bottle of wine after bottle of wine. It was a balmy evening, and the music, wine, and company were perfect. Topics discussed included the difference between "cute," "hot," and "sexy," music, women, men, and Rodzilla's "mind-bending" dreams. Apparently on two separate occasions, while having powerful dreams where all she did was mathematical equations, Rodzilla woke up, grabbed her glasses from under her bed, and found them all twisted up. No other explanation was available, so she reasoned that the sheer force of her dreams bended her glasses.
I shot a short video during the tail end of Rodzilla's mind-bending story. I'm quite fond of it. There was a woman standing outside the bar, listening to the band, and from time to time would dance enthusiastically to the music. The song the band played was "Cotton Eyed Joe." Anyway, I really like this little clip.
After three bottles of wine, it was still fairly early, so we walked down to the corner of 12th and Ave. A to the Raven. It was pretty empty, with just scattered women on the couches. There was loud motown playing on the jukebox, and James, Jed, and Rodzilla spent the next half our or so dancing the night away. I was content to just sit there and observe, and it was a pretty hilarious site. Every once in a while, this sort of buxom blonde girl would come and and dance with James, but with little success. As far as I can tell, the Raven isn't a get up and dance kind of place, but no one seemed to mind the three of them taking up the floor, except when they were trying to get by. Some were also pretty amused when Rodzilla performed a little chair routine. Then she felt sick and tired. So I stuck her in a cab and headed for the subway. Jed had left about 10 minutes before me, and I was hoping to catch him at the subway stop. I got there just in time to see the subway leave. I was furious, and by this point, pretty drunk. It didn't hit me until I left the Raven, but by the time I got to Houston St., I could barely see straight. I managed to go to the ATM though, and hopped in a cab home. At home, I don't know how, but I cooked something to eat, and even more unbelievably uploaded all the pictures from the night. I don't know if that's impressive or just really dorky.
I woke up feeling like crap this morning, and my stomach's been pretty upset all day. The wine was pretty bad. My mouth feeling burned from it, and I'm very dehydrated. Jen from DC is coming up this weekend, and in fact should be in Brooklyn by now. We planned to spend out weekend getting really drunk. The thought makes me very sick right now.
Rodzilla, at Bistro Margot
Me, outside at the Old Devil's Moon. By the way, I hadn't shaved in over a week, and that's all I had to show for it. Sad.
Rodzilla, fully absorbing the song James had her listen to "I Was High," by Little Wings.
James, Rodzilla, Jed. I'm not sure why Jed's pointing like that, but I think it's funny.
On our way to dinner earlier in the evening, I mentioned to Rodzilla that we might meet up with Jed and James later for a drink. Her reply was "OK. I don't have to work tomorrow. But I can't stay out late and party."