Lots of cold white wine last night with the Anthropologist at Stonehome in Ft. Green. Not so much food, which was fine since I felt like I ate heapings over the long weekend.* She and I shared a cheese and meat platter between glasses of vernaccia and then split a molten chocolate cake for dessert. There’s a nice little garden back there. She wore lipstick, sexy shoes. Come to think of it, she’s had hot shoes on every time I’ve seen her, and I’m not normally much of a shoe-noter. A good date, I think. Stay tuned.
*Friday, on Staten Island, I raided the Disorganizer’s kitchen and put together a lamb and chickpea stew which we had over rice. There was much else on the table. (I was a little too unsure of the host’s belief in just throwing stuff together to make a meal; my faithlessness proved prescient in the morning with the pancake situation). Sunday, brunch and dinner were in the same garden of earthly delights in Boreum Hill: fritatta, scones, toast, then mini quiches, turkey burgers, salad, green beans. There was much else on the table. Cooked dinner for myself tonight for the first time since Thursday; it's rare for me to go so long like that. For a city boy, I don't do take out much.
Tried to read Shopgirl tonight. Wow, so not very good. But at least that old writing class saw about "showing not telling" has finally been buried. The movie was disappointing, too, much hampered by having Martin in it. Ever notice how the lower half of his face looks like Robin Williams'? But, I did watch the whole thing. Hello! Claire Danes.
Won't be heading up to the Island this weekend with A because his wife wants him to cat sit. Say what?