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fictionalSo, today was fun.
rm and I went to the Bastille Day festivities in Brooklyn. In passing, I'd just like to say, I had no idea that this was such a big holiday in the continental United States - but apparently, it really, really is. The place was mobbed! Large numbers of the crowd seemed to actually speak French. For some reason, I was not expecting this. (Although in retrospect, that seems silly.)
I saw a little French girl, about three or four, do a really pretty decent attempt at the Charleston, which was awesome. So too were the excellent steak frites (tender and delicious steaks, with a huge lump of green, green garlic butter melting on top, crispy frites, and spring mesclun in a slightly astringent vinaigrette), the breeze and the music, the bandleader who made me think filthy, filthy thoughts, and smelling the street fair charred-meat-on-sticks aroma.
Less awesome (but pretty funny): the magnet of crazy that Rach & I apparently forgot to turn off today, attractions of which included but were not limited to: MTA fuckery, a demented lady on the subway who carried on a long (and loud) conversation with herself about Angelina Jolie, the hips on Latina women, and other vaguely racist comments. She was, of course, sitting right next to me, and moving would have simply acknowledged the crazy in a way we just weren't prepared to do.
Also, here is an open letter to that incredibly skeevy guy:
Dear Asshole,
You are old. You are also ugly, and have a misshapen belly that is more pronounced on one side than the other. It is sticking out from under your ratty "Rhode Island is for sun and splashing. And hugging" t-shirt that is stained with dirt. Yet you are clearly neither insane nor poor nor homeless. There is no universe in which I, Racheline, or any other self-respecting human would ever dance with you. Please to not look me up and down exactly like a piece of meat, ask me to dance, when I turn you down, scan my companion while looking askance at her outfit, ask her to dance, and then refuse to take no for an answer, and force her to defend my honor. Because she will. Also, fuck you. As Rach put it, we are not the lesbians you are looking for. Move along. Do not touch me on your way out the door, or indeed, at all. Thank you.
No love at all,
Kali.
We fled Brooklyn and soothed our souls with story plotting, San Pellegrino Limonatas, and escapades in the Travel section of Borders. Their selection on Wales was pretty paltry, but it was pleasant nevertheless.
rm and I went to the Bastille Day festivities in Brooklyn. In passing, I'd just like to say, I had no idea that this was such a big holiday in the continental United States - but apparently, it really, really is. The place was mobbed! Large numbers of the crowd seemed to actually speak French. For some reason, I was not expecting this. (Although in retrospect, that seems silly.)I saw a little French girl, about three or four, do a really pretty decent attempt at the Charleston, which was awesome. So too were the excellent steak frites (tender and delicious steaks, with a huge lump of green, green garlic butter melting on top, crispy frites, and spring mesclun in a slightly astringent vinaigrette), the breeze and the music, the bandleader who made me think filthy, filthy thoughts, and smelling the street fair charred-meat-on-sticks aroma.
Less awesome (but pretty funny): the magnet of crazy that Rach & I apparently forgot to turn off today, attractions of which included but were not limited to: MTA fuckery, a demented lady on the subway who carried on a long (and loud) conversation with herself about Angelina Jolie, the hips on Latina women, and other vaguely racist comments. She was, of course, sitting right next to me, and moving would have simply acknowledged the crazy in a way we just weren't prepared to do.
Also, here is an open letter to that incredibly skeevy guy:
Dear Asshole,
You are old. You are also ugly, and have a misshapen belly that is more pronounced on one side than the other. It is sticking out from under your ratty "Rhode Island is for sun and splashing. And hugging" t-shirt that is stained with dirt. Yet you are clearly neither insane nor poor nor homeless. There is no universe in which I, Racheline, or any other self-respecting human would ever dance with you. Please to not look me up and down exactly like a piece of meat, ask me to dance, when I turn you down, scan my companion while looking askance at her outfit, ask her to dance, and then refuse to take no for an answer, and force her to defend my honor. Because she will. Also, fuck you. As Rach put it, we are not the lesbians you are looking for. Move along. Do not touch me on your way out the door, or indeed, at all. Thank you.
No love at all,
Kali.
We fled Brooklyn and soothed our souls with story plotting, San Pellegrino Limonatas, and escapades in the Travel section of Borders. Their selection on Wales was pretty paltry, but it was pleasant nevertheless.
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(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-14 02:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-14 02:53 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 12:23 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2008-07-16 12:24 am (UTC)