Thursday, June 3, 2010

The One Reason I'm Sad We Never Lived In Brooklyn

Last night something unusual happened: I was double-booked. Now I am not an event-attender. Most evenings find me cooking something, knitting something, and staring aimlessly at the magic picture producing box in the living room. I'm trying to be better about that. Yet, the when it rains adage has been proving quite true recently as I will also be double-booked on Saturday. But we're talking about last night.

The evening started (and ended too soon) at an event for Aidan on the Upper East Side. Held in a model apartment in a new condo, it was a terrific event, very well attended, and filled with the kinds of people I may have enjoyed talking to more had time permitted. Also, like an idiot, I left my copy of Aidan's book at home, preventing me from getting it signed (I hope when next I see her she might be kind enough to overlook my hasty exit from her event and sign my book anyway). As penance for skipping out, I just purchased the book of the other speaker, Jes Gordon. Nog and Noggin' will never look the same.

And while I was predictably out of place as nearly the only woman without kids/a JD/a horking huge fingerrock, I found myself perfectly ably to nod politely at discussions about school admissions and apartment hunting. It was the only room I've been in for a long time where, when I told people I lived in Greenwich, I got supportive looks as opposed to giggles (for the record, I'm still a giggler about it).

After a quick cab ride to Grand Central where I met devoted partner, we were off to Brooklyn for Clay's photo show. At Habana Outpost in Fort Greene. AKA my new favorite place that I will be making lots of excuses to visit again. It was a great turnout with a couple of college friends not glimpsed in person in many years, and a high school and college friend. Wives were met. The vibe was decidedly less intimidating even though the room was no less filled with successful professionals and handsome people. Maybe it was the Cuban sandwich. Billed as the best Cuban sandwich in NY, it does not disappoint. And I didn't even order one. Devoted partner, in fairness, asked me if I wanted anything and I demurred only to devour, with little shame, half of the sandwich he ordered. (If I'm being honest, I could eat one right now.)

And Clay's photos looked great. Yeah, I stalk him on flickr and see the photos that accompany his blog posts, but there is, indeed, something different about seeing the photos printed and on a wall. They seem somehow more real and therefore more impressive - and I though his photos were pretty damn good as mere pixels on my screen.

But when we ended up on the 12:25am train headed home, having missed the preceding train by about 30 seconds (you know what is not interesting at night? Grand Central), I realized I was zonked. We had the Amy over to the house for part of the weekend, an event at which a stunning amount of alcohol was consumed, and until we leave next Friday, we are wall-to-wall booked. I know a lot of people live entire lives like this, but boy are we ever out of practice.

At least I made time to floss.

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