So last weekend was our 8th annual OJ, and like others before it, this one was filled with friends, food, wine, and junior high potty humor. Unlike past years, however, we were in a super-duper-kickass house in Vermont, thanks to the hard work of our man Sco. We all plan to chip in so that we can ultimately buy it.
Highlights included:
Off to the woods for our 8th (?) annual OJ — the October soJourn, this year to VT. I’m sure I’ll return with scads of pictures, several tasty recipes, and tons of nauseatingly-gushy-sweet things to say about how amazing my friends are. For a preview, read last year’s entry.
Because, as the co-editor of Gothamist Food, I got a special treat messengered to my office that won’t be available to the general public until Monday. You’ll have to wait until then to find out what it is . . .
Back from a completely relaxing weekend in Kismet. Not as many pictures, or as many people as last time, but once again, I am so happy that I got a chance to escape a bit this weekend. I even got in a beach day — yes, the weather cooperated enough for us to have a beach day in October. Fantastic. I met a new batch of people, who were all interesting, smart, fun, and had a shared passion for food. We had several amazing feasts, including a squash, chestnut, bacon and sage risotto that was perfect for fall, and a leg of lamb, infused with garlic, thyme, and rosemary, done on the rotisserie (damn, I need one of those), and talked everything from politics to our first music purchases (for the record, my first two 45’s were “I Will Survive” and “We Are Family“). Strangely enough, the five of us had a number of “NYC small world” coincidences, including sharing former employers, knowing various people in common, and being kick-ass Scrabble players. Oh wait, that wasn’t me. Argh. Note to self — must improve vocabulary before next Scrabble tournament.
Thanks to John for being an extraordinarily welcoming host — for giving me a ride and letting me stray in, even as an “outsider,” and he gets extra bonus points for introducing me to my new favorite cocktail, the sidecar, which I believe is long overdue for a comeback. It was wonderful to meet you as well, Jenn, Jay & Katie — hope to meet up with you soon, perhaps at my neighborhood joint.
You can see the photos here. I particularly like the fact that I was able to capture one of the alien deer that lurk about the island (yes, I know it’s the flash, but humor me, dammit):
* A tribute, of course, to my boy Elvis. Costello, that is.
. . . for finally articulating to the American public that the Supreme Court is at stake in this election and how different your views are from W’s about potential judicial nominees. It’s about time that this was brought to the forefront of peoples’ minds, because, for me, this is HUGE. Now granted, I have little faith in the average American voter to look beyond the quick fix of a tax cut to realize the potential impact that one Supreme Court justice might have on our lives over the long term, but at the very least, it’s out there for people to see now, at least to some extent. And another shout out to moderator Charles Gibson for selecting the question. Now, get out there and VOTE, people.
Why is it that people have not yet adopted the simple rules of walking etiquette? When you are walking down a crowded New York street and you want to get out of the way of an oncoming pedestrian, you are supposed to veer to the right. TO THE RIGHT, people. Like when you’re driving. Get it? Good. Now pass that information to everyone you see today. Thanks.
As usual, I’m a little too tired to do much else, but I wanted to post the pictures from the Mates’ 20th anniversary gala weekend. The Mates, or Amalgamates, is the Tufts coed a cappella singing group, in which I was not only a member, but president and business manager as well, not to mention president of the AAA — the Amalgamates Alumni Association. Or — as a friend of mine said earlier tonight — I was queen of the dorks. The Mates meant and continue to mean so much to me, as the speech I wrote for the occasion details in full. I can’t imagine you’d really want to read it if you’re not a Mate, but I just wanted to post it for posterity’s sake.
Had a fantastic weekend and will post and upload pictures tomorrow (I’m having some technical difficulties uploading the photo file). In the meantime, here’s a subtle reminder for those of you who haven’t already done so:
Given the surreal and scary New York moment I had yesterday, it was somewhat fitting to have another completely contrasting New York moment last night. I met up with the new Mr. & Mrs. C to have some dinner and look at some wedding pictures. In the midst of the first album, Augie’s cell phone rings and he asks us to hold up for a moment. He then proceeds to tell us how he had convinced a street musician to come up and play some music for us while we were looking at the wedding pictures; he was about to arrive at the apartment. We were somewhat befuddled, but when, a few moments later, we had shut off the iPod and were listening to the sweet, lush strains of a cello as it filled our friend Nic’s apartment, it really did seem like a fitting accompaniment to the pictures. Augie had paid him $20 to play two pieces for us, and then a few of us bought CD’s; he presented one to the newlyweds as a gift.
Only in New York, I tell you. Only in New York.
I’ll admit it — I’m a New Yorker. I’ve lived here for over a decade post-college, and grew up outside the city. But until now, I have managed to avoid some of the more dramatic and/or dangerous moments — things that, to outsiders, may seem somewhat stereotypical to life here in the Big Apple. Knock on wood, I’ve never been mugged, never had my apartment broken into, never been hit by a cab (I’ve come waaay too close to it for my personal taste, however), never seen a huge roach crawl across my kitchen counter. Wait — that one I’ve experienced.
Today, like many days, I took a stroll to Whole Foods to get some lunch with my co-worker, Colin. We made our purchases, and had just stepped back onto Seventh Avenue, when we heard an incredibly loud pop. We spun around to see, about 70 yards away from us, in the middle of the intersection, a man in a red t-shirt on the ground, surrounded by three men in blue blazers, presumably police officers, pointing their guns at him, yelling at him to stop moving. They shot him at least once when he was already down. One of the officers yelled to the crowd to call 911, and several people did; a man standing near me had already gotten through. Within moments, several uniformed police officers arrived, followed closely by EMS, and oddly, several cameramen and photographers. We stood, transfixed, shocked, stunned, until we had composed ourselves enough to slowly walk back to the office. Colin and I wondered the whole time what this guy could have done to justify the shooting. Was he armed? We couldn’t tell. Was he really struggling after he was on the ground? He’d just been shot; of course he was moving around. I keep checking NY1 to see if there’s any news about it yet, but so far, nothing, except the closeby, yet unrelated fire at Penn Station, which has made my work neighborhood look like a disaster zone. I had never seen someone get shot; someone bleeding through his shirt as he lay on the ground, at least not outside of the movies or TV; I certainly never thought I would see it during the course of a seemingly normal, average day. That is one “stereotypical” New York moment, among others, that I never wanted to witness firsthand.
UPDATE: a link to some news coverage — he did, in fact, appear to be armed.
FURTHER UPDATE: later news coverage reports that he was fatally shot by the police and that the gun he was carrying was an antique-style gun which wasn’t able to fire.
