The holiday season has been a filling feast of equal parts spirits, snow, and sleep so far. I suppose I’ve left much of what’s happened to memory; I can’t quite recount the past two weeks in detail because I simply let it slip too far away. So, last night seems like a good place to start and end.
I went down to the city last night to hang out with Wil, Chris, Brian, Scott, and Chris’ friend Paul. We went to Silk Road, and enjoyed a bountiful repast of noodles and things schezuan style. Then Chris and Paul went their separate way, and the remainder of our party retired to the Dead Poet (great bar, 82nd and Amesterdam) to debate quotes attributed to Hemingway and bash around glasses of Smithwicks for which the establishment is nice enough not to make you pay.
Then Brian left us: Wil, Scott and I made our way down to Mike and Steve’s awesome apartment, where we hung out with and caught up with those two plus Brie and others. Delightful company and generous drinks were plentiful.
Unfortuantely, boxed wine and Smithwicks don’t make an excellent chemical match, so my stomach told me to go home early.
Wil and I celebrated New Years in Grand Central, slumped up against a stairwell, totally exhausted and waiting for a late train. There was something spooky but nice about it. Grand Central, that is. It was like a private party… stray people tramping around who had defected from the Times Square Scene. A few partiers at the restaurants that sit above the stairs, with horns and cocktails. Crowds of conductors, who had a rare hour or so break, congregated by the tracks joking and laughing and slapping each other on the back, dispensing hearty wishes for the brand new year.
I love people watching.
Happy new year! Cheers
