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Atanarjuat

We saw this movie last weekend and I still haven't stopped thinking about it. I was really pulled into the story and lived it along with the characters. I know I will keep this one with me for a long time. Try the link for more about it: The Fast Runner. Even Miss D. stayed awake and didn't talk once.

Re-writing Geography

Long before she became Bob the Corgi, Susan was a brand new nurse at Lennox Hill Hospital in NYC and had a cool apartment on the Upper East Side. I visited one weekend during a hurricane. We took in an off off off way off Broadway play in the Village and did several other things that hip young sophisticates were want to do in those days. Oblivious to the weather we got soaked to the bone and looked like two drown rats before we decided to catch a cab back to Germantown.

We looked like shit.

We were also not ready to call it a day so we ducked into a neighborhood bar near Susan’s apartment. The place was deserted because of the hurricane. It was us, the bartender and a hustler who chose to practice his trade on us, the only two patrons in the place. Talk about chutzpah! He parked his sorry-ass next to us and started admiring my college ring. Fer Gawd’s sake it was a nothing ring with a rose zircon stone he mistook for a Ruby.

He told us he hadn’t seen a ruby that big since he was in England, France.

“England, France?” says I

“I meant France, England.” says he.

BtC and I almost pissed ourselves at this point. We were amused for a bit while he tried every excuse in the book to get one of us alone in the back room to look at the rare art on the walls. We literally told him to go in the back room first and start without us. And the schmuck DID! At that point we bolted.

What brought this to mind was a conversation I had with a young woman from Brooklyn who was on her way to visit her grandmother in Kileen Texas. She sat window. I sat aisle with the seat between us vacant on the way from Pittsburgh to Houston.

She began by asking me how far it was from Houston to New Mexico. As an "Easterner" I still give distances in time rather than miles. She understood this but still looked incredulous and asked about bus service to New Mexico. Finally I pulled out the map in the airline magazine and showed her that the distance from Houston to New Mexico was like the distance from Brooklyn to Chicago.

“Oh,” says she and begins to ask more questions about bus service.

Still trying to be helpful, I asked where in New Mexico did she want to go? Albuquerque? Santa Fe? Taos? Carlsbad?

“Oh, no,” said she, “I want to go to Cancun or Acapulco.”

For some reason that reminded me of BtC and our adventure during the Hurricane.

Fun in New Orleans

Even though I left the office early, the adventure began as soon as we hit
the freeway. There were two accidents between me and Hobby Airport turning
a normal 20 minute drive into an hour and a half of frustration. Glenn and
Chris were a half hour ahead of us and phoned us updates on the situation.

By the time we checked-in our flight was ready to board. All the flights
were over booked and Southwest Airlines needed volunteers to take a later
flight. We gladly volunteered. Our reward was a refund of our Houston to
New Orleans leg of the trip plus $200.00 each. The 4th of July weekend was suddenly half price!

The Adventure begins

This little maneuver put us into our Hotel around 11:00 pm. It was a
profitable day but a long day and we were tired. I must mention at this point that the Essence Convention/Concerts were happening this weekend and all hotels were booked solid if not overbooked just like the airlines. When we checked in we were
offered rooms 309 and 310. Glenn chose 310 because that is Chris's
birthday. Isn't that precious? We were then ushered to two of the smallest
matchbox sized rooms I had ever seen (Think inside cabin on the lowest deck
of a ship built before 1980). Eek! We literally could not pass each other or open a
drawer without blocking the other's way.

There was a window in each room but no view. The windows faced a brick wall only five feet away. The top of our window was spray painted a
sickly yellow. You can see photos of Hotel Le Cirque on their web site. It
looks nice in a sleek Danish Modern kind of way with clean lines and muted
colors. After visiting the real thing, I can see the artfulness of the
camera angles. It is actually an updated turn-of-the-century YMCA. Imagine. The only
intrusive things that stood out were the pastel pea soup colored chair and
mirror frame. I can only describe them as Exorcist Lite.

Both rooms were tiny but we were in better shape than Chris and Glenn. The
air conditioner vent in their room leaked onto the bed leaving a cold puddle that
soaked through the bedspread, blankets, sheets AND the mattress. Totally unacceptable. Glenn called the front desk that dispatched security to check out our complaint. Chris and
Glenn were moved to room 210, the room directly below 310. It was an exact
duplicate of the room above right down to the puddle in the middle of the
mattress. They were then moved to room 214.

Room 214 was bigger. In fact, there was an actual bathtub in the bathroom
instead of just a shower. Things were looking brighter until the front desk
called. Room 214 had been specifically reserved for another guest. Chris and Glenn would have to move one
more time before settling in for the night. This time they were moved to a
"handicapped" room.

None of us slept particularly well that night and we were ready to get out of that hotel and start our
day at the crack of dawn. Dick and I had no trouble pulling ourselves
together, but Chris was having some trouble with the handicapped shower. It
seems the water pressure was extremely high and there was a shower massage
in this bathroom. When Chris got all soaped up, the shower head slipped out
of his grip, flew outside the shower curtain and flailed all over the bathroom soaking everything: ceiling,
walls, floor, towels, including Glenn who was putting the finishing touches
on her make-up. It all seems like a bad dream.

After breakfast and brief trip to the casino, we went back to the hotel
where Glenn had a little tete-a-tete with the Day Manager, Aquanetta, who provided us with normal sized rooms adjacent to each other in a newer part of the hotel that
had windows with an actual view of the statue of Robert E. Lee in the
Circular Park in front of the hotel. Things were looking up.

ToC and Owk go to a Bazaar

I was in Wonderful Wilkes-Barre for my dad’s 90th last weekend. He is doing great after being hit by a car last December. He is back home, back at work and back at his old haunts dispensing nonagenarian wisdom swiftly and fearlessly.

Anne (dad’s 90+ year old sister): Why won’t you go to your cousin’s funeral with me?
Dad: He’s dead. The ballgame’s over.

Dad insisted he wanted no fuss and chastised me for flying up to mark the occasion. However, his actions belied his words. He stayed home on Saturday to visit with me. The original plan for Saturday night was for The Other Cheek and Bob the Corgi to scoop me up and carry me off to dinner somewhere and then veg out on Tina’s deck with some Southern Comfort Old Fashioneds. BtC bowed out. Some lame excuse about a career and a life.

I tried to talk ToC into taking the party to New Jersey (Yes, Susan, I am not above barging in on old friends – remember knocking Ed out of bed last Thanksgiving?) but ToC was afraid of how you might retaliate. I guess I like to live more dangerously.

We decided to go for Victory Pig Pizza and hit the Holy Rosary Bazaar in Buttonwood. Pig Pizza is a must for me on any trip back east along with potato pancakes and clams. Nirvana. An added bonus this trip was Tina’s advanced driving skills and big mouth. She rivals Cathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes.

The streets were jammed with parked cars for 5 blocks around the Bazaar. We took a chance and pulled into the overcrowded lot next to the church. We were immediately in competition with a frizzy-haired woman for any available spot. Frizzy-haired woman tipped the Teenaged “Event Staff” to run interference for her. She was having trouble pulling into a spot that was too narrow. We grabbed a recently vacated spot in the next row.

Teenager: You can’t park there.
Tina: I just did.
Teenager: Back out of there.
Tina: I don’t wanna.
Teenager: Please back out of there.
Tina: No! I don’t wanna.

This went on until another car left and the Teenager said nevermind and threw himself in front of the opened space until the frizzy haired lady could pull in.

We had fun listening to the Polka Music, eating ice cream and potato pancakes and watching people spend their money on the Wheel of Fortune games.

BtC missed it. Too bad.

Adventures with Miss Dixie

I still feel like I am riding a kayak down the rapids while juggling chainsaws, but I had to stop and pay homage to Miss Dixie who has fallen out of her kayak and the chain saws are clunking her in the head as she gasps for air.

We did our bit Saturday evening by marching in the Gay Pride Parade with Bering Omega. It had poured all day Saturday, but by parade time the roadways were dry. We had fun. After the parade we were walking back to our car. Suddenly the Irascible One was not behind me anymore. I stopped to say, "Hello" to some friends and they told me Miss D. had already raced by.

When I caught up to her she was mud up to her hip on her left side. Apparently, as she was pushing her way upstream through the crowd, she didn't see the open sewer. She went down like a safe. The crowd drew her back to the surface and she blustered the rest of the way to the car where I caught up to her. Boy did she stink. Peee-U!

Today we are leaving for New Orleans at 5:30pm. Miss D was running around taking care of all the last minute little details like packing. I saw her at lunchtime. She was going to have a fried egg sandwich for lunch. Unfortunately, I forgot to tell her that I hard-boiled all the eggs the day before. She didn't figure it out until she tried breaking the egg into the frying pan with the sizzling butter. It was sad.

She decided to have an apple instead. This is the sad part folks. When she bit into the apple, she broke a front tooth off her partial and swallowed it before she realized something was wrong. This is sooooo sad. We planned on visiting many wonderful restaurants in New Orleans. This will definitely put a crimp in her dining experience. I wonder what kind of table we will get when she flashes the Maitre d' her brand new Trailer Trash smile?

Have a Happy Fourth of July.

...and now some good news

We marked this week’s Hump Day Happy Hour at “Club No Minors”. This is the separate dark bar area of El Patio Mexican Restaurant on Westheimer where the ritas have been blamed for people dancing on their chairs (see 04/25/2002 review in link). What a test for the Irascible One’s mettle. She passed. Fueled with only a giant bowl of chili con queso and coca cola, Miss D was quite happy clapping along with the Mariachi’s at this decadent little club.

The food was great and the Mariachi’s were most entertaining (we had several toasts with them). Ya gotta love it when the musicians drink along with you. Plus it was Creole’s birthday. This is the first time I ever saw a restaurant provide a frozen margarita with a candle in it for the celebrant. I think you are supposed to chug the rita and eat the candle, but ever the lady, Creole blew out the candle and removed it before slopping it down. (See BtC, you weren’t here, but we were celebrating on your birthday.)