So the Halloween Parade itself was kind of a drag -- against Tom's urging, we walked over there from my office, and it turned out that Ted was on the other side of the street, unreachable because the cops had closed off the entrance to the West 4th St. subway. The place was totally thronged with people -- pushy, awful, ugly people -- to the extent that you couldn't see the individual people marching in the parade, only the giant-size floats and costumes. Granted, those were pretty sweet: lots of Burton-esque papier-mache skeletons; this Mothra-like thing made an electrifying appearance; and Webster Hall had a float full of naked ladies, none of whom appeared to be chicks with dicks. After about an hour, we got tired and bored and forced our way across the street into the West Village. I had a terrible burrito at Burritoville. Just awful. Getting home was difficult, too.
"JAYNE COBB HAT" arrived as promised, but a few days too late. It looks ridiculous. According to a laminated card included in the shipment, I am Jayne's Hat Brigader #89. Or #39. Can't remember.
Tom's begun an epic game in which I am a contender. The rules are here.
On Sunday I went to go see the movie Paradise Now, starring Palestinian Clive Owen and Palestinian Holly Hunter. The movie was great -- a little depressing, mind you, since it is about religious zealots waging intractable war against each other over an utterly undesirable repulsive piece of land -- but everyone is quite good, with and without beards. Katharine bailed after the movie, but I swung by Degraw and Ted and I went out to eat at Los Pollitos Dos, which I'd written off as not being that good because their burritos (my barometer of quality for Mexican restaurants, for better or for worse) are not super good. But it looks like everything else on their menu is super good. So Ted and I talked, laughed, wept (a little), then went home and drank grapefruit juice and gin, which is pretty tasty.
And then this weird little thunderstorm happened.
Katharine'd planned and executed a killer birthday party for Emma on Saturday at an OTB that was practically located on 53rd & 3rd, though on the inside it looked like every other OTB in the world, which is to say, a cross between an airport and a hospice. We rented out a room and ate chicken things and bet on horses for like three hours, which is really fun, though I lost every single goddamn time. The final race of the evening included a horse named Sleazebiscuit. Surprisingly, he neither won, placed, nor showed.
Last Thursday I went to go see Emma's dad Jon Katz do a "reading" from his new book on dogs (no Hellmouths in sight) at the Barnes & Noble near my apartment in th' Slope. He's got a great presence and it's always fun to hear him talk, but it looked like there were people in the audience that kind of thought of him as a dog guru, including a woman sitting directly in front of me who was wearing what looked a like a blue prison jumpsuit and had a real serious wispy moustache -- the kind where the hairs are sort of translucent but they're fuckin' long, bra! She looked a bit like Scorpy.
The Rase is away on business basically all week again. I hope you guys will come over and hang out so I don't go crazy with loneliness and fear. Still having trouble with the truckbed segment in Call of Cthulhu. Send food / water. Kthx.
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