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port-induced nap
Saturday, February 16 2002
Today was my birthday, and Gretchen did her best to make it special for me. This morning she went down to 7th Avenue and got me a bagel with lox and cream cheese (not just lox spread) and presented it to me in bed, along with a cup of tea and a Marge Simpson lollypop. I gave tiny pieces of smoked salmon to Edna and Noah, but only Noah ate his. While raccoons are famous for cleaning their food, cats seem to prefer to make theirs dirty before eating it, usually by batting it around among the dust bunnies and dog hairs underneath furniture.
God Almighty Himself, the white man on high with a flowing beard and heavenly self-confidence issues, saw fit to bless me with a beautiful warm day on my birthday. Gretchen insisted that I separate myself from my computer and go with her and Sally to Prospect Park. So I said sure, cool, let's go. Though it was hours before we could legally do so, we let Sally run around off leash, chasing squirrels. Meanwhile Gretchen and I drank some port we'd bought duty-free at Charles de Gaulle airport in France. Since, instead of being in a fine sherry glass, it was in a plastic water bottle, it had none of its normal mystique. Indeed, it reminded me a little of Night Train.
My mother and father had called me earlier today to sing a "Happy Birthday" message into our answering machine, so I called them back using Gretchen's cell phone.
Somewhere in the call, I talked to my brother Don and he asked me if I was ever going to make him an uncle. "You say that as if it's important to you," I observed. "Well, it is!" he replied.
After an hour or so, Gretchen and I relocated to a sun-drenched hillside where we sat and watched the world go by. Dogs were chasing balls. Couples were wrestling and making out. Little kids were walking up to dogs to pet them and then screaming in terror as they made contact.
Back at the brownstone, Gretchen and I tried to watch The Pompatus of Love, but were so sleepy from the port we'd drunk that we were forced to take an emergency nap.
For my birthday meal, I opted for the ever-unpretentious calamari experts of Park Slope, Two Boots (named after the two boot-shaped peninsulas having respected cuisines: Louisiana and Italy). The restaurant was busy and full of spectacle tonight. At one table, Gretchen pointed out a group of thin teenage girls talking over heaping plates of food they were too anorexic to eat. At another sat a woman I couldn't keep from staring at until I realized the reason: she had a surgically-reconstructed face. I was pleased to note that Two Boots no longer served their beer in patriotic United We Stand glasses.
Throughout the day, Gretchen had been working on making a birthday cake that she thought I might like. She knew that I'm not a big fan of sweet food but that I do like ice cream and pumpkin pie. So she made me a mildly-sweet pumpkin cake interspersed with layers of butter pecan ice cream. I found it delicious.
In the late evening, Gretchen and I met Ray and Nancy down at O'Connors on 5th Avenue in Park Slope and we drank a few beers, none of which I paid for. There was also a conversation, though the place was so crowded and noisy, I couldn't really hear anything. I did, however, smoke a couple of Camel Filter cigarettes from a pack I'd groundscored at Union Square on Valentine's Day. So many people had requested music on the jukebox that its internal queue was at least an hour long. I don't think I'd ever noticed the moose head mounted above the bar before; its presence is merely suggested by a few washes of light cast from the illuminated clock beneath it.
A picture I took of Edna a few days ago.
Swinging Sally around in Prospect Park today.
Sally being cute.
Me with the tall buildings of Park Slope in the background.
A couple random kids admire Sally.
Gretchen and Sally in Prospect Park today.
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