Last night, I went to see a friend play with the Woman which was unsurprisingly good. I say “unsurprisingly” because Amy, the director (directrix?), is terrific and her productions are always good. The other one-act in competition with Amy’s one-act was meandering and too loose for my liking.
A month ago, I wrote about Fairway’s House Blend. Well, about a week ago, FreshDirect, which is owned and operated by Fairway, came to my building. YAY!!! food delivery. For $32, I got enough food to feed me and The Woman for a week, including coffee.
There was an article in the New York Times this morning, bemoaning the beginning of tourist season. Why do I mention it? Because of this paragraph:
“Especially this year, which according to statistics compiled by New York City, is likely to be a very big year for foreign tourists around here. The dollar is cheap. The shopping is endless.
And about seven million foreign visitors are expected in the city — the highest number since before 9/11 — mainly from Britain, Ireland, France, Italy, Spain, Scandinavia and Germany.
This is good news for New York, of course. Foreigners who vacation in the United States spend about four times as much as American tourists do.”
First off, good job America. Way to ignore the warning signs about the Euro becoming a dominant force and Asian investment in the dollar. Foreign markets are moving away from the dollar, China is holding our currency hostage because they hold so god-damned much of it, and a “service-based economy” is starting to look like W’s only solid prediction. Except it won’t be Americans selling crap to other Americans; it will be Americans selling crap to tourists. That said, now for my main point:
F*ck you, New York Times! While you’re eating cucumber sandwiches and drinking Chardonnay and having clam bakes and windsurfing and playing golf in the Hamptons, the rest of us working stiffs will have to deal with these a**holes from distant lands. Which is why I think that we real New Yorkers need to find a summer pastime other than Yankees/Mets baseball: big-game hunting. Not just any big-game. The most dangerous game of all - man.
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Tomorrow’s forecast: 88 degrees, 60% humidity, no clouds, and abundant sunshine. As it turns out, I have an office day. Polo, khakis, and boat shoes. And those suckers across the street at L&J will be in suits.
Uggh. It’s like 70-perfect degrees outside and I’m inside. The only windows my office has are made by Microsoft and I’ve reported on all the cases I can report on and moved on all the cases I can move on. I’m damn near done with my iced coffee from Starfucks and still have over an hour to go before quittin’ time. What to do? What to do?
I’m done reading the intarweb and am sorely tempted to start reading my Al Gore book. Unfortunately, in spite of the fact that every attorney’s ‘puter screen is showing ESPN or the New York Times or some other non-work related trifle, I think that popping open a book would be frowned upon. Not that I’m complaining.
My boss told me that the firm evidently has passes for both the Metropolitan Athletic Club and the New York Highlanders. When asked which organization has my loyalty, I politely demurred comment. I believe my boss is a Mets man anyway. Look, I tried being a Mets fan. It did not work. I’m a Redskins fan, which is all the heartbreak that I can take in any given year. The Mets are the Mets, which means that as amazin’ as they are, they’ll shut down in August, finishing a respectable second in the division and narrowly miss the Wild Card by two games.
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Okay, I think I’m becoming a lush. Another night, another Martini. This time, the Vesper Martini. That’s right, I tried the drink from “Casino Royale.” I have to admit it - it’s tasty.
If you haven’t seen “Casino Royale” you should. It has a great chase scene and Daniel Craig is better than Pierce Brosnan. The plot is simple: A terrorist financier has lost a shitton of money that belonged to one of his clients. Bond has to enter a poker tournament with a $150 million pot and win in order to stop the evil financier from funding more bombings. At one point during the match, Bond orders a somewhat complicated drink: The Vesper Martini.
The Vesper is a cross between a real Martini and a “vodkatini” inasmuch as it is made with both gin and vodka. Instead of vermouth, it uses Lillet. My research found that the original Lillet is no longer available, but Lillet Blanc will do. Cinzano Bianco can also be used. I have none but next time I buy vermouth I may pick some up. Recipe for the Vesper after the jump.
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Someone remind me - is it apt to say “when it rains, it pours” when getting job interview offers after you’ve been hired. Because that’s what has happened a couple of times in the past week. Never mind that my boss likes me (for now), that my secretary doesn’t dislike me (in spite of the endless supply of dictation I’m giving her) and my co-workers aren’t hazing me (yet).
So I find myself back at the New York Public Library. If I come here again tomorrow, I’ll check out the Russia exhibit they have. I might make a museum day tomorrow. The interview went fine. It looks like I’ll be gainfully employed on Monday, making more money than before, hopefully with less pressure. In the meantime, I’ve got odds ‘n’ ends to finish around the house such as tacking down the speaker wire.
For those of you who haven’t heard, I didn’t make it past my probationary period. For the first time in my life, I’ve been let go. It wasn’t overly traumatic. Nevertheless, I could have lived without the trauma. So now I’m registering with temp agencies to do document review which leaves me with a whole helluva lot of time on my hands.