Gray, wet and warm here in Gotham. The best thing about weather like this is that it rarely lasts long enough to drive you crazy.
Reeling in the Years: Dinner with my parents last night – Upper West Side, Chinese – turned out to be on the very eve of their 45th anniversary. Yes, other children might be aware of dates like this, but I am not that sort; I knew it was nearby (sometime in June, right?), but the precise location eluded me. I have a hard enough time remembering my own birthday, sometimes. Good thing there was one filial in town in time to snag the check in recognition, and I’m glad it was me.
What Are Words For?: I wade up from the subway at Whitehall Street, unfluffing the small cheap silvery umbrella I bought a few weeks back for $1.99 (Pierre: “Ah, a disposable”). The large gentleman behind me, spotting the insistent rain, is unhappy. “Oh,” he laments, “I am in hurt like a bootleg movie!”
Good Beer in Bad Places: I’m not going to get into why I’m reading The Paris Option by Robert Ludlum (May 25, 1927 – March 12, 2001) and Gayle Lynds, except to say that it cost about as much as the disposable umbrella and 209,999,999 other people have made the same indiscretion with one or another of his 21 engrossing and terrible spy books. But I certainly never expected to find the main character discriminating among his Belgian brews:
Smith closed the cover of the last file folder, ordered a second Chimay ale, and sat back. (p. 212)
Two pages later he’s joined by the hot blonde brilliant CIA woman; she knows her Belgians even better, which is sensible because she’s better than he is in all things. We presume Gayle Lynds has her eye on Keira Knightley, say, to play her in the eventual movie; fine by me.
… She shot him a look of warning. The waiter was coming to their table. They stopped their conversation as she ordered a Chimay, too, but the Grand Reserve. (p. 214)
Good for you, Gayle. Next step: try the Kwak.