Hard rain brought all the turned leaves off their wind swept trees and paved the sidewalks with flakes of amber gold. Tonight would be a good night for whiskey. Met up with Mike & Marie and we made an F-train rendezvous with SBX to Von, a bar in lower Manhattan [down the block from CBGB's] where Vanessa W. was celebrating her birthday. SBX and I gave her a copy of Jason Little's SHUTTERBUG FOLLIES, and we shared drinks with Tim Hall, Juliet, Lisa, Laura, Cecile, and a slew of V's others pals. Birthday roasts and toasts rang to clinking glass as folks got tipsy. A few drinks got SBX and I soft and cuddly as we pinched each other's knees and snuck miniature golf kisses. Our eyes made promises we couldn't keep later, due to sleeping daughters politics, but got us revved up right nice for public consumption. Unfortunately, the acrid cigarette smoke made our lungs wretch and the lack of oxygen brought cancerous claustrophobia to my radar, begging for the sister evil of city street car exhaust to filter my olfactory in its wake. No matter, it was time to dip.
Stomaches rumbled for culinary delights as Mike, Marie, SBX, and I dodged thunder and lightening, hailing a yellow chariot for Blue Ribbon splendor in Park Slope. I would have been content with ye olde Wo Hop stand by, but bowed to the expensive palette of my better half. Burton greeted and seated us immediately, yielding to our charter member star power, and we ordered the Pu Pu Platter before cracking the hidden treasure menu. Drinks were served and dinner orders taken as we gabbed and gobbled like a foursome of cavalier musketeers. Satiated we were stretching wallets and coughing up major ducats for our decadent resolve and splitting in separate taxi's for nocturnal slumber. Mike & Marie would find solace in each others waistbands while SBX and I would soak separately in Saturday's splendor, far away from each other's reach. Smiling in my sleep while tucked in the glow of my true love's halo.
Woke up hungover and as useful as a football bat. Didn't think I could help SBX escort her kids through an Indian tour at the Brooklyn Museum, but found the wherewithal and furnished fortitude. If I couldn't handle a half bottle of whiskey the night before an early Sunday family outing, I wasn't going to cut it as a step-dad. No way, no how. So I picked up the gauntlet and used it to help ex-foliate the black caterpillars from my sloshy noggin as coffee mocked my rainy bike ride up that dreaded Union street slope to the museum where I met a refreshed SBX, The Haze, and Ola-Bola. Damn youth and curse SBX's fit health. *Grumble* We dropped off coats as families cajoled and corralled. Mother's looked at me like I was a married man and father of two. It was initially intimidating to assume the husband/father role but I took it in stride and made the best of it. We grabbed activity books and pencils and made way for Egypt where Horus and his pals hung out in ancient caskets. We drew brass birds and searched for animal deities. Learned a few things I didn't know about Egyptian culture and wrote my name out in hieroglyphics. Asked to draw what animal gods we would be, we sat around on the floor and drew our answers. SBX drew a skinny cat that looked more like a spider, The Haze drew a plump bird with a plucky beak, Ola drew a horse with hippopotamus genes, and I was a drunken monkey. Naturally. Next, we plopped down and helped Ola and the Haze design Indian scarves that wrap around the torso with stencils and cheap markers. SBX has a knack for squiggles and traditional iconography as she drew sublime borders on Ola's sari. I followed The Haze's specific instructions and barely added my 2-cents, encouraging sole designs. We learned how paint was created and spoke to an artist about her textile process. Afterwards, we scoured the halls and checked out some awesome African head masks and dance garbs that looked like erotic armor and scored some banal museum cafeteria lunch where children go to scream and fall head first out of chairs. We had fun rapport as Ola-Bola taught me how to drink from a plastic bottle sans backwash. I made her play my social secretary as she left a hilarious yet incoherent message on Doug B's answering machine regarding Movie Club. After lunch, we headed over to a room filled with the original art from traditional Indian narratives picturing Kings and Demons. SBX pointed out how intricate the designs in every inch of space was. It was impressive yet overwhelming to stare at these painstakingly crafted images. It made me appreciate the finer art of negative space. The girls got seats for an Indian story and I said my goodbyes. SBX gave me a hug and kiss and off I was to vacuum my apartment for Movie Club night.
The rain began to really whip up a feisty storm as pals rang, making last minute cancellations. Disappointed, the stealthy proud showed tenacity as Vanessa W, and Juliet, showed up for THE WICKER MAN, a cult classic I had always wanted to see. It was an odd combination of erotic horror and musical mystery, reminding me the entire time of my favorite British tv series, THE PRISONER. It was cooky and creepy and spun a good yarn and kept the enigma afoot, making me laugh at its macabre paganism. Doug B. showed up late, as did Henry street neighbors Christina and Jeff, for BIG TROUBLE IN LITTLE CHINA, a gift from Bob Fingerman who declared that Kurt Russell's character reminded him of me. I could see what he meant in a very tongue-in-cheek/John Wayne parody -- sorta way, but felt that the movie had probably lost it's 1986 luster. I can appreciate a gumbo of Kung-Fu, machine guns, and wild-west/Indiana Jones adventure, but my hungover mood wouldn't allow the funnies to occur.
The night had been a semi-bust with the nasty rain keeping movie buffs at bay, as I only scheduled this particular evening of cinema pleasantries to allow SBX quality time w/her kids and personal time for yoga and soup w/her friends [whom she never gets to see], when what I really wanted was to share a hot lavender bath with my lady and a warm snuggle under the covers.