Excursions into the City during so-called heat waves are usually far from enjoyable, even if they deign to yield positive results.
Knowing this, I defied the odds (and the temperature) to head out into Gotham with several goals: have fun, stay cool and spend time with friends. Two outta three ain't bad.
The upcoming weekend is, essentially, a combination of laundry, checking out possible sites for an upcoming mongo-huge blowout party I'm throwing with a friend (any bouncers out there, drop me a line) and hanging with friends. I've also got some work on the agenda, and on top of that, I've got to schedule all this around my other half's busy schedule, as she's got friends visiting from New York via Detroit and London. And one of my friends and I are trying to synch schedules so we can finally see Wedding Crashers, after which we've each been pining.
On the sub-agenda: first up, listening to Eric Johnson's new release, Bloom; finishing one of two books I recently bought by Anthony Bourdain, the resident Chef at Les Halles in NYC. Right now I'm reading A Cook's Tour, which is the book version of Bourdain's show of the same name on The Food Network. Next up is Kitchen Confidential: Adventures in the Culinary Underbelly, which is his chronicle of being a line-Chef at Les Halles, a brasserie in the style of Balthazar. I'm pretty sure I mentioned him herein before, but since I recently delved into A Cook's Tour, I have been mighty impressed -- these are not foodie books, they're books that touch on the life experiences and views (not to mention sardonic, sarcastic wit) from someone who happens to love food. I once opined that the day I read a cookbook or something akin thereto would be the day pigs flew outta my butt. Well, thankfully, no porcine anal emissions have or likely will occur anytime soon. These books have as much to do with food -- French, American, fast food, what have you -- as Pirsig's Zen & The Art of Motorcyle Maintenance has to do with motorcycles.
One last note: I found it interesting that Billy Bob Thornton headlined the remake of The Bad News Bears, which was largely panned by critics. I came in tonight and fired up the original -- after watching this past Sunday's episode of HBO's Entourage -- and I remember now why the original, with all its 70's-era feel and oldness -- was so great. Walter Mathau's Buttermaker -- with his beer-cooler icepak, his inane, alcohol-tinged crankiness -- was pure perfection. Any remake that tries to improve on perfection is destined to fall short. And it makes me long for a jersey that advertises Chico's Bail Bonds.