Monday, September 15, 2003

Eric has spent the weekend in a bit of a mope -- the one-two punch of his thirtieth birthday and Johnny Cash's death nearly did him in.  He kept watching the video for "Hurt" over and over and over again....  To cheer him up, on Saturday night Em and Helen and Helen's boyfriend Dan took him out to Sammy's Roumanian, which is sort of like the Hard Rock Cafe for Jewish people.  Schmaltz on the table, kick-ass chopped liver, lots of people singing and clapping.  Are you one of those people who only ever cuts loose when drunk at weddings?  If so, then you would love Sammy's Roumanian. We ordered a bottle of Belvedere frozen in a block of ice, and drank it down in about fifteen minutes flat, straight, toasting to life, to love, and to screwing The Man.  Eric took pictures on our fancy-dan picture-taking phone of Helen and me dancing to "Sweet Caroline."  Afterwards, we went to the first bar Eric ever had a drink -- the Mars Bar.  In the midst of utterly spent gentrification, the Mars Bar is a time capsule from the eighties, just a few doors away from CBGB's.  No lights in the place except the beer signs hanging in the windows.  Roaches ambling about on the bar, unmolested.  A mixed-bag crowd of fringe-y young folks and long-time neighborhood fuck-ups.  When Em tried to order a White Russian, the bartender said, "Is this the kind of place you'd want to order something with milk in it?" Good times. Saturday we saw "Lost in Translation,"  which is the most beautiful movie I've seen in a long time.  We failed to hang the light in our hallway or clean the house.  Oh well.  Instead, I spent something like three hours making Paul Prudhomme's gumbo with okra, shrimp and andouille.  After more than a year of not making anything like it, there is something bone-familiar about making a Prudhomme gumbo.  Cooking like this -- muscular but comfortable, teetering always on the edge of disaster and possible scarification without ever feeling a moment of dread -- is like coming home.  Also, the gumbo turned out pretty fucking terrific.  We watched it while catching a bit of "Out of Sight," one of the best movies of all time, as I think I've mentioned. For any casting agents out there, I would just like to mention that my brother is like a young, red-headed George Clooney, and if you're smart, you'll give him a call right now. So that was Eric's birthday.  It was pretty good.  I hope he's not too sad about the thirty thing.  He says he's been thirty for years.  Maybe it's not such a terrible hurdle for a boy.  Anyway, I love him and I'm happy to have him, thirty or not.  So that's worth celebrating, no? 6:51:49 AM    comment []