26 May 2009

Memorial Day: Connecticut

grilled peppers.
(also try tomatoes)
15 minutes. No spices needed.

little constantine checks out the pool. check out his ride.

lounge: taking advantage of thick, healthy grass.


Gathering: before the thunderstorm collapsed outside.

We bonded with shirtless neighbor and wife while watching volunteer firefighters contain a wire struck by lightening. One admitted, "Babe. Get me another drink (waved red keg cup). I'm gonna be drunk soon."

(w- Russian wine in festive bottle!)

I was cajoled out of the city for Memorial Day. A slight break from the streets littered with sailors in town for Fleet Week, a longish ride on the Metro North: redeemed by the man who stepped on at Harlem to become our friend for an hour. He spoke of his Bronx rearing, law enforcement career in Southern California, partaking in tremendous amounts of marijuana...at one point his bagel slipped from his bag. He picked it up. Took a bite. Slipped it back into the 2003 New York art stamped logo tote.

The afternoon was spent nibbling on traditional Russian dishes (my largest dose of meat in months), sipping Spanish wine and sneaking into the loft to watch Donnie Darko.

We woke early to the feeling of crisp air conditioning. After slipping on some clothes and sitting down to a breakfast of left-overs (they're always better the day after the party) we got a little masochistic and went to the Clinton Outlets. At one point, I decided to lay in the grass while waiting for others in the group to finish shopping. A guard came over to make sure I was alive. I guess reading in the grass is a bit off-kilter? I'm just going to leave it at: there was no spot to get a good cup of iced coffee, no alcohol.

Sliding back into Manhattan hasn't felt this good in a long time. There's a reason I rarely venture out.

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