Friday, September 05, 2008

Salad Face, Discreet Disgrace

This week has been another very fine one. There were extra things to do around work, including compiling a master list of Yeshivas (I believe the plural is possibly Yeshivot) in the area--and there are really a lot--and sorting through a bizarre inventory of film stills from old Tarzan movies, movies like Safety Last!, and other fantastic oddballs. I just had a list of them, though, not the actual stills. Which was disappointing. And, anticipation has been mounting all week for a SURPRISE MYSTERY ADVENTURE, which is happening tomorrow! All I have been told is that it involves taking the Long Island Railroad to a boat, and that I'd best wear non-marking soled shoes. Oh, I really cannot wait. What fun.

This week we took Sprout out and about on the town a lot. Last night we went to the Gowanus Yacht Club for pickles and hot dogs, which was an outstandingly good time. Tonight, however, we chanced venturing to dinner with her in the West Village, and despite being armed with a list of supposedly dog-friendly establishments in the area, we were met with numerous snooty looks and full houses. We'd show up and the servers would just shake their heads and say "sorry, no room." Not to sound like a sass, but after lugging a severely skittish, overstimulated dog around the west village for an hour, I felt like I could better sympathize with Joseph and a very pregnant Mary, who couldn't find a place to sit down either. They finally took us at French Roast, and we had a nice outdoor dinner there. As the usual 6th Ave commotion went on around us, someone remarked that it felt like fall was in the air. And it's true.

This is not the first (nor the last) time that I'll wax poetic about the majesty of changing seasons, particularly since I've got to back to California, where the seasons are merely simulated with movie magic. There's just something different in the air when the switchover happens. I no longer have the desire to go out in my pajamas and skateboard shoes at one in the morning to get ice cream sandwiches from the bodega. Instead, I think about battening down the hatches and making squash soup. I think about making the soup, but of course I'd never make it. The change is all around us. All the party supply stores already have shelves brimming with mylar packages of sexy nurse outfits, and whole walls of plastic cauldrons precariously stacked on top of one another, threatening to tumble at a moment's notice.

3 comments:

Em said...

Most real seasons are pretty cool and distinct here in East Coast land, but nothing can redeem February.

HollyHopes said...

...just how DOES one 'batten down the hatches' ? i've been trying to figure this out for years??

and BTW - the seasons DO change here in Cali...ones must simply tune into to the subtleties a bit more...

Jill said...

I love how your writing conjures up such unique images! I too think about making squash soup but never do. And what kind of a resturant doesn't let dogs in? None that I would want to patronize!