“It is not almost done. I don’t like steak very raw do you? The blood is seeping out of it.”
“Oh, the meat is almost done. Do you see it?”
“It is grey and its bloody…”
“Get in touch with the true essence! Oh, this is lovely…”
After having had a blast at my first Pride block party and overall nicely vibrating weekend, the restaurant will of course still open for lunch on Monday and thats where I will be. Looking back (this is going to be a little like Bob Dylan’s Chronicles when he jumps from that year in the 60s to being a washed up folk troubador relic on tour with Tom Petty in 1987…)… with fond memories:
“You Put the Load Right On ME”: Tennesee Hollow played a gritty souled out cover of The Weight by the Band… everytime the drummer went out to smoke a cigarette on the street I had to touch him… waking up sick Saturday but going to work… hot, hot, David Letterman says 120, 130 degrees in NYC… drinking tall boys on the way to the block party… Robert lending me his sunglasses so that I felt hip like I had Gene Wilder eyes… meeting Alex and ensuing chaos of trying to get his number into my phone, which did not even work out in the end… chicken tacos & Bruce giving me a tour of the South End… meeting Kiki and talking about the deaths of our moms… partying at a beautiful Victorian apartment in the backyard the Chinese food buffet, the labrador… at home congested and demanding dope… 2 large coffees Sunday morning and a book East Coast Crisis with UFO over WTC on cover… trying 4 types of salads, okay I had only 3 but Eliot had Synthetic Seafood Salad… $100 Nixonian dollars & Watergate… & Meat Sickness… and I threw a pickle as far as I could, a bloated pickle that would have burst like a waterballoon on anybodys forehead… it exploded harmlessly in the middle of the street. Eliot and I are the new Bob Woodward & Carl Bernstein and the supermarket is our Washington Post.