Cheese Sandwich Summer Friday
This rainy day is my last summer Friday of the year. *sniff* When the summer Friday part of the season appears, I day dream about a summer Friday in which I do all the daytime things that I always intend to do here - shopping sprees, ride the staten island ferry, visit ellis island, see the northern end of Central Park, do a serious museum tour, see matinee movies or theater productions, read and nap at home, go for sumptuous spa packages, write a scathing political ska opera. It's the summer Friday after time machines are invented.
Last year I did a whole lot of nothing. I think I spent two of them working from home. And this year, one was spent at All Points West, one was spent recovering from my solo show, one was spent cleaning in preparation for a friend's visit. And this one is intended to be spent cleaning and unpacking into my newly renovated apartment. As a girl known for starting her cleaning efforts by balancing her check book and checking her email, you can sort of imagine what kind of a day this might end up being.
But first I took myself for brunch at the Clinton Street Bakery. At the raving of friends, I have tried on two other occasions to get food there. Went at 10am when they opened, was informed that there was a 2 hour wait, and went elsewhere for fud. This time on a Friday morning at 10am-ish the wait for one person was 20 mins. My day off, why the heck not.
The blueberry pancakes are very very good. That maple syrup butter stuff was delish as well. But I was knocked out by the eggs. I got a side of scrambled eggs and they were sublime. Fluffy, tender, and slightly salty. I always get eggs and never notice them. I take them for granted as the morning protein source of choice. These were exceptional eggs. I wanted to walk back into the kitchen and shake the hand of the egg guy. Wow.
I talked to my parents. They have been bugging me about this electronic device they have recently heard of called a "Blueberry." Something that high powered and ambitious corporate types apparently use to stay in the loop at all times. They worry that the lack of a "Blueberry" sequesters me to some kind of corporate ghetto, some little cubicle sized box in which to rot in obscurity. I told them I had no idea what they were talking about and that the blueberry is a nutritious and delicious fruit but certainly not a corporate miracle. They have since called me two more times accusing me of being too stingy, too short-sighted, and arguing that it's the kind of investment that would pay off in the long run. I expect that they will be calling a few more times during the course of the day to further discuss this "Blueberry" question. And I am now dreaming of pie.
On arriving home I find that my newly painted windows are all painted shut. So I went at them with a butter knife. Hacking at the paint in the cracks and wiggling the knife to pry the window away from the sills. In my minds eye, I see Jimmy Stewart laid up with a broken leg watching a short sleepy asian girl with big black glasses making violent stabbing motions through the air right by the window with a red faced, cranky, determined look on her face. He turns to Grace Kelly and hands her the binoculars and the string tremolo swells as they discuss whether what they are seeing is real or imagined and whether to call the cops. In my zeal, I hacked some of the paint off the sills and will try to glue them back - for the sake of appearances - once I find the wood glue.
It's a cheese sandwich blog post kind of day. More updates to come for better or worse. I had thought of doing this on the appropriate forum - Twitter. But I seldom write in 140 character increments. I leave that exercise until my next free Friday.