tla moves with a quiet controlled grace that is quite lovely to watch.

my beloved is a goofball.

Scott, at Bar BQ has gone hot sauce mad: in the past three weeks or so, he's made eight or nine distinct and tasty sauces. Last night, we stopped in just after he'd poured the most recent into a bottle (it was still warm). "Jack & Ginger" has a fair amount of ginger, a splash of Jack Daniels, and green peppers of some sort (I've forgotten); "Exhaust" has three to seven types of hand-smoked peppers in it. He's made walking into Bar BQ dangerous, because once I know he's got a new sauce, I want to try it, which means I have to eat something.

one thing I missed at the bar at Rose's on Tuesday was the tall man who walked carefully in, politely and clearly ordered a martini, and then, as soon as he'd been served, turned into an arrogant drunk. I didn't miss the arrogance or the drunkenness: he kept demanding that Kenny play show tunes of his choosing, and talking through songs. When he plopped down at the table in front of us, I started slowly raising my cane, trying to figure out the right angle to cause unconsciousness without having him knock over the table as he fell. This amused the staff, and the audience members who could see me, and were in complete agreement with my plan. I didn't, of course, because I know Terri disapproves of blood on the floor; but Babe and Michael later told me that they'd have willingly cleaned up any mess. Must remember that.

More later: must go wrestle with email, and a bad caterer.

Tags: food, music, piano bars, rose's turn

Home.

Soren is semi-napping in the living room, before going back to work on the manuscript; I'm taking a goof-off break and wandering about online a bit, before scrubbing the bathroom and writing. We were industrious this morning, then went out for a walk and lunch, and wound up in our favorite local sushi restaurant.

It's very warming to have favorite places, and to be greeted with smiles by the staff. Even better when the places are good -- and the last sushi we had, at a friend's favorite place, was mediocre, at best. Soren observes that it takes a certain amount of skill to render yellowtail boring-to-bad, yet this place achieved it. Of course, the "oh, you want all your sushi at once, not two pieces every fifteen minutes?" service didn't help. (Shiki, on Seventh Avenue South and Bleecker, for those of you wondering what to avoid.)

Anyway, after some delightfully good sushi and oshinko, we're back home, with Henry Threadgill winding through the air, white autumnal sunlight slanting through the kitchen blinds, and the rest of the weekend to work, clean the apartment, and be happy in.

One of the cuts on this album is called "Do The Needful." A worthy task to set for oneself. What is needful?

Joy.

Tags: food, life and life only
admissable state: serene, focused
sounds around me: Henry Threadgill's Zooid, Up Popped the Two Lips