Well, let's see now...
The weekend went about as expected. Friday night was fun enough. Had some drinks, played some pool (badly), ate some cookies, and did a little karoaking singing. Actually, I mostly just observed. There was a weird vibe, I think, and I didn't really feel like participating. A lot of different mini-groups of people were along, and there wasn't a very cohesive meshing going on. If there had been fewer or more people things would have been more festive I think. But as it was, it was just the right number of people to make it all just a little awkward. That's how I felt, anyway.
On Saturday I celebrated my second Valentine's Day with the (literally) little lady. I've always hated this so-called holiday, but over the past few years I've become actively disdainful of it all, of the cheesy gifts and candies, of being beholden to and gouged by florists and card companies, of the whole phony sentiment of it all. So I was a little discouraged when the LLL said she suddenly cared about V-day. She's easily the lowest-maintanence girl I've ever dated, and indeed this is a large part of why everything works so well. So naturally I thought I'd get a pass on the whole thing. But she argued that since she didn't really care about this kind of thing most of the time, I should be even more thankful and put in an effort this one day of the year. I was hoping she was kidding and that we'd just forget about the whole thing. But as the day approached, it was clear that I've had to come up with something better than last year's "why don't we just stay in since everywhere will be crowded with digusting couples" coup. So fine. Not that I minded at all. I just didn't want to go out on that particular day. I didn't want to celebrate my relationship because the calendar said I was supposed to. I didn't want to sit in a restaurant with a bunch of assholes who really buy into the whole thing. But I also didn't want to upset my very giving and patient LLL, so what the fuck: reservations at an Italian restaurant for 8:00.Luckily, the restaurant, Scopello, was right across the street. We've lamented the fact that we haven't really explored our neighborhood very much in the seven months we've lived here, so this seemed like a good time to start. Especially since it was so cold out. A very easy commute. Still, we managed to be late for our reservation. Anyway, we'd been mildly curious about this place, a Sicilian restaurant we'd heard good things about. It looked expensive, but often that translates into good food. And the atmosphere was cozy yet modern, without being all ultra-hip. In the end, it was just a so-so experience. The food looked good on the menu, but they didn't seem to take a lot care with the food they brought out. I felt like they just figured they could do any old thing and no one (or at least I) wasn't going to notice. It was just little things, but for some reason they irked me. The bottle of wine, a 1999 on the menu, was a 2000. I think 2000 was a better year, at least for French wines (we ordered an Italian), but still, little inconsistencies bother me. I felt like they were thinking "we can bring this chump anything and he won't care." The carpaccio tasted as if it had just been frozen and was otherwise pretty tasteless, which is hard to do with raw meet I think. And the meat in the main dish was overcooked. I'm normally not that uppity about my food, but if I'm paying a lot for a meal, it should at least taste like it worth it. I either want a plate full of slop for cheap, or a small plate of expensive yet carefully prepared food. If I can get a plate full of expensive food for cheap, great, but I felt like I got a small plate of hastily prepared goods. 6 days out of 7, I'd probably rather sit down to a double-meat pizza than a leg of lamb (ok, maybe 4 out of 7), but when I'm eating a real meal at an exorbitant price, I get annoyed when it's prepared poorly. The presentation was nice though. And the dessert offered was two mounds of hazlenut mousse, topped with a single raspberry on each. It was made to resember two breasts. They said so on the menu. And the water told us as well. I found this humorous, but I bit disturbing as well. The LLL kind of wanted to order it, but for once I was the one who didn't want to stare at a big pair of breasts, as delicious as they might have been. I was almost tempted to order it though, since we obviously won't be going back.
On Sunday, Triple L and I met up with Geoff and his ladyfriend in Carroll Gardens for brunch Banania. Then we did a little home goods shopping. The kitchen is finally done, I think. A lot of great stores around Atlantic Avenue. One good thing about going out in Manhattan on Friday night was that it really made me appreciate Brooklyn. For the most part, Manhattan on a weekend night sucks. Seriously. Just full of meathead guys and stupid girls, all dressed the same, in tigh black pants, mid-riff exposing shirts, and too much makeup. I wouldn't mind any of it if at least half the girls were actually attractive. But looking at these girls is like looking at veneer-covered drywall- It looks like shit, and underneath it's even worse. Really, the one thing everyone in our party could agree on was that just walking places was a chorse, do mostly to the encounters with people. Anyway, yeah, Brooklyn baby. We also saw our friend Marc on Friday. He lives up in Queens, and feels somewhat stranded. The only other people he knew in Queens both moved away on the same day last year, one of whom was his now-fiance. He'll be moving to DC eventually I think, and then we will have no other friends who live in that borough. Not that I ever went up to visit him up there, but I guess Queens will now be wiped from our psyche. It just seems to me that most people I've talked who live or lived there get all gung ho about it, then realize it sucks, but won't admit it for a while. Crap. I just remembered that Jen K and her boyfriend still live up there, in one of the less convenient spots, right on the water. Not only do you have to walk a ways to get there, but in the winter, the wind coming off the East River cuts like a goddam knife. More like a broad sword. And speaking of swords, isn't the term "double-edged sword" redundant. I'm assuming "edge" referes to the bladed and cutting surface, not the hilt. That would just be a hilt- or handle-less sword, not double edged. But I think, at least for the most part, swords are double-edged to begin with. It'd be like saying "That's like a six-sided die." For the most part, that's the norm. Nothing notable about it. Maybe the saracen style sword had only one sharp side. But when I think of one sharp side, that's just a knife. This has bothered me for some time.
Later on Sunday, I met Geoff, his lady, and another female friend for the Shins show at Irving Plaza. Standing if front of us were perhaps the two lamest guys I've ever seen in my whole life. And I've seen a lot of lame. I have no problem with dorkiness. Lord knows I don't. But these guys were obnoxiously lame. The short stubby guy in the mesh trucker hat (guess he didn't get the memo) kept making the evil-hand rock and roll sign. This is the Shins we're talking about. Plus, he had these gross, pudgy sausage fingers. I've never seen two guys so enamored with each other. They kept saying shit like "This sucks. The shins suck!" sarcastically, then laughing outrageously and yucking it up. Or "Going to a frat party next. Two kegs!" as if it were the funniest goddam thing in the world. I'm not a violent man, but when he broke out his evil-hand and mixed it with some sort of weird Anthony Keidis "Give It Away"-era dance, I truly wanted to murder him. Or just take his stupid fucking hat and toss it into the crowd. Instead, Geoff's friend Kate politely asked them to shut up, afterwhich they just kept talking to her every chance they got. It would have been so easy to just bang their heads together.
Speaking of trucker hats though, I'm pleased to report that either the fad has almost completely passed, or that it was just too cold to wear the fucking things. Either way, hooray. And this way, at least there's some good to come from the cold.
Oh yeah, the Shins were pretty good. I'm coming to the realization that, as much as I love the band, they're just so-so live. As noted by others, they could really use a fifth member on stage. They're not very tight. At least, the left side of the stage isn't. The singer and drummer seem to have their act together, but the other two, who I think look uncannily like SNL's Jimmy Fallon and Chris Parnell, need to step it up a bit. They're good, but for some reason it doesn't all come together especially well. Then again, the sound at Irving kind of sucks too.After the show, I came home and watched the DVRed episode of Arrested Development that the LLL recorded. I think this is actually the best show on TV. Maybe not the best, but possibly my favorite. I think that if we didn't have the DVR or any way to record the show, I might have skipped the Shins show. And after seeing this episode, I wouldn't have regretted it in the least.
Right now, here's the roster of regularly recorded television programming:Arrested Development
The O.C.
Scrubs
Gilmore Girls
Justice League
Curb Your Enthusiasm.
Last night, I bade farwell to the apartment at 515 8th Ave, in Park Slope. My first apartment in New York, where I moved in in September 1999. Dylan is moving to LA for the foreseeable future, and with him go the last of our little band of brothers from that dwelling. His room, by the way, was disgusting. The stuff of nightmares. But not totally unexpected. Anyway, I finally got all my stuff out of there. Some I had forgotten, other stuff Dylan had without my knowledge, and other stuff I just never thought to take. I'm amazed that the christmas lights I put up in 1999 still work, and that they're still there. Many a good time was had there, as well as an awfully large amount of bad times. But more good, and I will miss it, now that it's out of the rotation for good. Or maybe not. The LLL's friend is actually moving into Dylans room, which by the way was frighfully dirty. Anyway, Jed, Matt, and I stopped by to pick up some things and bid Dylan adieu. Naturally, we got into a few arguments. I'm gonna miss that little bastard. Half the time I hang out with him I want to punch him in the face, but that's a large part of his charm.
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