It’s gorgeous out there. Gorgeous. How hard does a 72° day hit, after our long straggling niggling wetfoot streaks-on-the-threshold stretch of winter? Put it this way: Hulk smash. Our looser metrosexual trees are squirting blossoms down the flinty streets. We’re just a few days from sloshing through petals. Even the barkier deciduous stalwarts, old enough to know better, are already in prim puritan bud.
It’s been a cozy weekend, untrammelled by frenzy. On Friday night Jess of Blind Cavefish celebrates her not-so-scary-after-all 30th birthday with a party at the Grassroots Tavern on St. Marks Place, an institution of sorts (at least judging by the inmates). Last time I was in the Groots was probably in 1981, and it smells much better now. Somewhere between 1981 and Saturday, girls began to venture in, which does wonders for the feng shui of the place. Jess has notably yummy friends (birds of a feather and all), so our feng is mightily shui‘d, and much popcorn is flung about in obscure expressions of desire. Remember, if you get her a good one in the eye it must be love. Bloggers are present in force and numbers.
Saturday I join my parents up on the Upper West Side for buffet brunch at Tandoori North. I’m not much into the Indian buffet concept today, but lo: the food is fantastic and pitched to the devourer. Fancy? Maybe not. Delicious? Twice that. Their $5.99 brunch is a complete joy. We adjourn back to the Ancestral Gelber Apartment and Mom takes out her current project, the State Bird Quilt, which is currently filling her retirement time stitch by stitch. The folks took up bird-watching some years back, so the renderings are loving and accurate: the dozen photos so far in the Quilt Gallery are of the early stages, and I’ll hope to update them every few months until the beast is done.
And today? Hulk smash, dude. Also, Hulk check out cute girls in springy little jiggly tops, but you didn’t hear it from me.