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Sep. 5th, 2010 11:16 pm
This is what we live for
Days don't get much better than this one. You could say this one started in the wee hours with a heartfelt conversation between me and ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
monshu. But I'm a relativist in such matters; his day might've started that way, but mine began hours later with some truly indulgent sleeping in followed by basking in the sunlight on the porch. As the Old Man slept, I read Flannery O'Connor, and when he got up, I made us both club sandwiches before we set off for the antiques malls on Broadway.
My enthusiasm for that departed soon after the outrageously cute bear in the Red Sox cap did, so I leftmonshu to his tacky tchotchkes and struck out for the shore. It was clouding up, but I was happy for the shelter from the sun as I sat on a bench and read Dubus. The biting flies were a different matter, however, and I soon had enough of them. I continued on southward in the hopes of finding a shady niche out of their range.
Angling past the homo section of Hollywood Beach in the hopes of seeing a familiar face (or other body part), I was rewarded with the glimpse of old Blues Eyes on the crest of a little rise. He turned out to be in the company of his boyfriend and two other osos mexicanos, all of whom warmed to me once they heard my poquito español. I couldn't turn down a bite of the boyfriend's homemade ceviche, even after seeing Blue Eyes destroy his mouth on it. (Must've bit down on a pepper, since my portion was perfectly reasonable.) And then I had to accept a beer, since I'd been rude enough not to accept one when I ran into them at Big Chicks last week.
Two hours later, I was helping them fold the chairs and break down the table. One member of the party had gone off to "play the wolf" at a children's birthday party. (Literally: he has gig on the side and his own wolf costume.) Another had donned a b school t-shirt that had me spitting out names until I reached that of Mr Brick Shithouse. "¡Es un amgio mio!" Blue Eyes had photographed my feet and their little chihuahua had chewed on any extremity I offered, but seemed particularly pleased with my right thumbnail.
We loaded the car just as the first drops were falling. I turned down the offer of a ride, and just as I was setting out for the bus stop I heard my name called and spun around to see a fat man on a bicycle--my artist friend Joey. "You'll probably have this happen five more times before you get out of the park" he told me, and I was touched by his faith in my popularity. An hour later, I sauntered up to the back porch and into the smell of bacon-larded meatloaf fresh from the oven. I repeated for my better half's benefit my answer to the question, "¿Dónde está tu novio?": "At home, cooking. It's ideal!"
monshu. But I'm a relativist in such matters; his day might've started that way, but mine began hours later with some truly indulgent sleeping in followed by basking in the sunlight on the porch. As the Old Man slept, I read Flannery O'Connor, and when he got up, I made us both club sandwiches before we set off for the antiques malls on Broadway.My enthusiasm for that departed soon after the outrageously cute bear in the Red Sox cap did, so I left
monshu to his tacky tchotchkes and struck out for the shore. It was clouding up, but I was happy for the shelter from the sun as I sat on a bench and read Dubus. The biting flies were a different matter, however, and I soon had enough of them. I continued on southward in the hopes of finding a shady niche out of their range.Angling past the homo section of Hollywood Beach in the hopes of seeing a familiar face (or other body part), I was rewarded with the glimpse of old Blues Eyes on the crest of a little rise. He turned out to be in the company of his boyfriend and two other osos mexicanos, all of whom warmed to me once they heard my poquito español. I couldn't turn down a bite of the boyfriend's homemade ceviche, even after seeing Blue Eyes destroy his mouth on it. (Must've bit down on a pepper, since my portion was perfectly reasonable.) And then I had to accept a beer, since I'd been rude enough not to accept one when I ran into them at Big Chicks last week.
Two hours later, I was helping them fold the chairs and break down the table. One member of the party had gone off to "play the wolf" at a children's birthday party. (Literally: he has gig on the side and his own wolf costume.) Another had donned a b school t-shirt that had me spitting out names until I reached that of Mr Brick Shithouse. "¡Es un amgio mio!" Blue Eyes had photographed my feet and their little chihuahua had chewed on any extremity I offered, but seemed particularly pleased with my right thumbnail.
We loaded the car just as the first drops were falling. I turned down the offer of a ride, and just as I was setting out for the bus stop I heard my name called and spun around to see a fat man on a bicycle--my artist friend Joey. "You'll probably have this happen five more times before you get out of the park" he told me, and I was touched by his faith in my popularity. An hour later, I sauntered up to the back porch and into the smell of bacon-larded meatloaf fresh from the oven. I repeated for my better half's benefit my answer to the question, "¿Dónde está tu novio?": "At home, cooking. It's ideal!"