Some Would Say 'Not Enough'

(from September 5th)

On a moderate whim we hit the big city to see one of Laura's newest obsessions: Too Many Zooz. Anything with a honky horn and she's already halfway there. And this may be one of the honkiest.

 What else but Indian food first. Jackson Diner. Eh. No Makhani but decent spices and beer prices.

We then did something neither of us had ever done; barhop. Spontaneity can be fun. Carroll Place, total hipster bar, with woodworked walls and Pitchfork-approved playlist. Straight liquor because we ain't got time for filler. Anywhere. Then stumbled over to the hiphop pool bar called Fat Black Pussycat. Terrific. Once again, straight Jameson. This was getting us thru the night, but our show didn't start til midnight so we needed some sustenance.  

Wine slushies and decadent cupcakes at twilight. Sweet Revenge is just that. But it hit the damn spot. 

This photo was taken at some point of the evening. 

As was this one.

And a wild concert indeed took place. There are stories, but Laura will have to tell you someday. I don't have the clearance level. We came out of the venue in the wee hours and of wee teetotalism. Luckily my friends Greg and Joseph were on their way home from a wrap party (fancy) and invited us in to sober up while they toured us thru their village apartment upgrades as of late. 

All I know from there is that by the time we were heading back to the kids, this was happening, so we decided 'what the hell' - - we are young, we are green, keep our teeth nice and clean. 

And someone had the presence of mind to prove it

Delicious Genderosity

(from August 16th)

That's my old friend Donald. He wrote and performed a show in NYC in August. We bought tickets because we will find every excuse to spend a night in the city.

That's Elvis. I didn't know him. 

We got in to the city a little late and had little time to eat dinner before curtain. About 30 minutes to order, eat and dash a few blocks to the theater. MasalaWala was the answer. Holy crap I don't know that I've ever had more exotic tasting food. Look at that cauliflower.

Being short on time did not keep us from downing an entire bottle of wine either.

Our Addle Brains Ensue

We had a breakthrough in home refurbishing this week that just couldn't wait another minute to make it down onto graph paper. It would've burned a hole in someones head. I can't believe we didn't think of this before. Maybe because we'd eradicate one of our favorite features on the entire house, but weighing the multitude of pros, it must be done. Now we have to decide which project to bite off this warm season. Could we fortunate to complete both? Would be able to finish one? Only the fall harvest will tell. And she ain't talking yet.

We celebrated how awesome we were at playing pretend and rewarded Yuula for hearing us say the words 'ice' and 'cream' too close in succession by heading out to the Gem & Keystone Brewpub at the foot of Shawnee slopes. We thought we deserved it. Laura & I did the sampler trio of beers, brière blanche, triple pale, and session porter, left to right, not the order we drank. Yuula had a decadent 'roni & cheese, I had the fish, Laura the steak, as we are wont to do, and finished up with some delicious desserts of a double brownie a la mode for her, a quite creative apple crisp for myself, and Yuula a toddler size bowl of some delicious chocolate ice cream. I only know it's delicious because she could not finish so... c'mon now. We were kind of stunned to hear it was Breyers. Was kind of hoping for a crunchy homebrew. We sat next to some delightful Long Islanders just in for the powders and their 2 year old Belinda, whom Yuula spent the later part of the evening running ragged thru and amongst the tables that had long been abandoned by earlier diners. That's how we do. 

Then we needed orange juice, but it's never that simple. A cartful and a blind swipe of the visa later and we were on our way home. She's brushing her own teeth and I am changing into my own pj's as I type. I'm good like that. No time to blog these days.

An Impossibly Sweet Flood Love

Went on a date tonight. A late showing of Moonrise Kingdom. Not Wes Anderson's best work but definitely his most tender. Great characters as usual, not enough Bill Murray (more than Darjeeling). I feel like he may have de-quirked himself a bit to appeal to a winder range, but I am just spitballing, because I had sand in my mouth still.

Friday Night Date Night Alright

Friday night was date night, maybe not for us. We went and had slices at Bovino's. Something in that sauce made Yuula crazy as a loon.

Then we went medium power grocery shopping where our check out girl was flirting heavy with a boy with a spiderweb tattoo on his elbow. I said "You like him", I said. "He's my boyfriend", she came back. I said, "Fair enough". They went on a date. We watched Yuula crash the cart into every aisle.

No, I know it's not glamorous but it's the best date night I've had in a long time.

Heavy Tunes At The Red Fish

Laura and I have been to our fair share of live musical performances, ranging from sparse and enigmatic to swarming and raucous. Wednesday night was to be an altogether different experience however.

the entrance to Le Poisson Rouge

Searching some time now for a night worth our while, knowing that we don't get out on the town much nowadays, having baby and being lazy and all, it would take a lot for us to gather up our gear and hike that mountain. I instantly fell in love with the exerted vulnerability of the new Lost In The Trees album, sadness never sounded so amazing. I looked into it and found a little bar on Bleeker called Le Poisson Rouge was hosting them in just a couple weeks. New York City it was.

We got there early, but later than normal for us. A few beers at the bar, and quick scan of the restroom sitch (they got thrones!) and it seemed like the show was ready to begin. We headed up to a standing table where we met Brent. Let me tell you a little bit about Brent, because he did. Brent is 46 and from Vancouver. Today he went to the Mets game and bought a cap worn by Lucas Duda and a genuine baseball leather moneyclip which he took out and showed to us. He works for a hospitality company that handles the Olympics and he is excited about going over to London soon because it is in London where he met his future wife, Marjorie. He knows this because when someone's imperfections are what is attractive about them, then it's love, says Brent. This was all very nice conversation before, between and after show openers Poor Moon, who were also very nice. They had a great song with a killer whistle duet. Brent did not.

Before the headliners took to the stage I hit the thrones and grabbed a couple fresh drinks where I met Nick & Chris, a coupla dudes probably from Brooklyn or Jersey City who complimented me on my beard after which we bonded over love of Indian curry, Lake Wallenpaupack, and Atlanta's seminal venue of the early 2000s, the Drunken Unicorn. That ended after they ordered two Magic Hats and I ordered The Dietrich (rye whiskey, cherry liquer, Dubonnet Blanc, orange bitters and twist) and a Stella Artois. When I got back to our table Laura had filled Brent in on our entire life including but not limited to our sleeping habits, the address and combination of our storage unit, and our social security numbers. This was fine. Brent seemed nice. Anyone who claims to be in love with a girl named Marjorie can't be all that untrustworthy.

Then Lost In The Trees took the stage.

They took the stage to the Postal Service, which must've made me grimace because Laura asked if I was okay. That wasn't the vibe I was working on is all, but the good news is it was all uphill from there. Lost In The Trees was raw. Acoustic guitar, cello, drums, tuba, synthesizer, violin, bass, french horn, piano, raw. And it sounded great. A half a song in and the balance was struck in the booth and there was no looking back. The albums' operatic vocals and amazing strings that I could've sworn was electronics came shimmering thru and each song got tighter and grander than the last. The quiet moments you could hear a pin drop. The robust moments hung in the air and repeatedly dropped on your chest and ears. The crowd was extremely grateful, for a bunch of NYU students and SoHo yuppies, and the band was extremely humbled by it all, seemingly thrown to the wolves only to be coddled and adored instead of eaten alive. This lovefest went on throughout the set which only seemed to strengthen the band's tenacity, really putting it together and throwing it down for us on the final laps.

Highlights were the expected singles, Red & Golden Eyelids (before which lead singer Ari Picker admitted cautiously, "this song scares the hell out of me"). The rest of the new material was even more evocative live than on record, especially This Dead Bird Is Beautiful during which I may or may not have welled up (a lot), and older songs like Song For The Painter and a new killer rendition of Fireplace brought the house down and the arms up (and a boisterous soccer Dad-like "WOW!" from Brent). Knowing the inexplicably sad background of band leader Ari Picker, which seemed to be the overriding connection amongst the gawking crowd, made the night extremely heavy emotionally, knowing that was his motivation to build this awesome piece of music, knowing that was his mother on the cover of it all, hearing the shoutouts from the band members to their kids at home followed by vocals choking on teardrops, Lost In The Trees poured their hearts out to us and we put all our arms around them.

Good stuff.