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It was a most gorgeous day here in the City, not a cloud in sight but windy, which made it a bit difficult on the way back home from my morning skate. Amazing the effect wind has ... going I was as fleet as the ... mmm, whatever; coming back with the wind in my face was an exercise in physics; I really had to push. I'm a little sore, actually.
Went antiquing right after which may have helped getting me worn down. Antiquing is very tiring. One has to look at so many things. Headed uptown to the Flower District where parking lots turn into flea markets on weekends. Broadway above 23rd was closed on account of the Pakistani Parade. Sikhs everywhere (if I got the tribes right.) Didn't feel like waiting for the parade and went to look at chalkware and cookie jars and actually found a few I would have bought if I were buying.
By the time I had enough antiquing the parade was over, stranding a float at the curb outside the Antiques Garage, tiers of benches occupied by a synod of Sikh elders, waves of pink turbans and flowing robes, and mustaches. The mustaches were not pink, but each one seems bigger than the others. What a sight.
I head south, dodging a big, black, mean dude striding through the crowds, rapping with his earphones blasting. I move on. The rap fades into Pakistani music coming from somewhere ... no. it's Indian ... no ... it's bagpipes! I kid thee not. There's a Scottish bagpiper in front of some bar, rousing the crowd with a rendition of Coming Through the Rye.
I'm plumb tuckered out. Think I'll go home and take a nap, and see if I can get me up for Saturday night.
I love this town.
It has been a long time since for me but 'red' didn't seem right for you though I stocked both as I recall (AIR) from 5 decades ago. So, I did some QaD research <G>. Why not 'blue'? Price/benefit ratio?
Interesting ... checking more the blue label is 100 proof instead of 80, bit higher alcohol, apparently flammable and just a bit more expensive. I'll give it a try if I run across it.
I like Smirnoff, it's got a clean taste and it made the USofA.
ZinZin loved the tuna tartare. We'll see how that works out,
You takes some sashimi-grade tuna, dice it up, toss it according to taste with a mix of sesame oil , soy sauce, hot sesame oil , rice vinegar, chili garlic sauce ... mmm .... needs more spice. Sriracha! Mayo. Salt. Pepper. Panko for crunch.
Plenty left for dinner while tasting to get it right!
All-American salad, slices of mango, olive oil and vinegar.
Toast: olive oil, dusting of garlic and cumin.
The 100/Blue will have a sharper taste or bit more bite though a lot depends on how one drinks it -- just like all alcohol drinks. If you drink it straight-up or with a twist, you will notice; yet, hidden in a flavored cocktail keep in mind, it has 25% more kick.
Triggers lots of memories that seem so distance now.
One of may favorites is a generous amount of Vodka with tonic and a squirt of lime,
I'll give it a try but cut down on the generous I guess.
Went and bought two zebra finches, white zebras, without the markings. She is a lady, pure white and soft, a class act, while he's a bit of a ruffian with some pale markings and an uneven bar across the front.
They've been acting rather frantic lately, what with all the mating and screechy crowing, and trying to stick odd pieces of feathers and paper to their roosts. A nest, a nest, we need a nest! So I relent and get them a nest.
I'm clumsy, they're fluttering around in the tiny cage, but it isn't two minutes after I finish that he hops into the nest, arranging the shredded pieces of cloth I gave them for bedding. He makes strange sounds from the bottom of the nest, she cranes to look in, he pops up with the bedding in his beak, scaring her back. Takes a half an hour for her to finally inspect the interior and begin to rearrange the furnishings.
Now they decide to move out, only to discover there is no other nest available, so the bedding has to go back in. She puts it in, he takes it out, and they fight over it. The couple's first fight. Then he starts crowing, she flutters her tail feathers, they make up. When I turn down the lights, they disappear into the nest.
... not much later:
I am teaching basic electronics to a class of 18/19-year old recruits not much younger than me: resistors, capacitors, transformers, diodes, cathodes and such, how to put them together for your basic AM radio. We're at the point where all the parts of a working radio come together on a board.
Ohoh, I'm missing a tube! I appoint one of the young ones to run to the office down the hall and get the missing fallopian tube. There are a couple of snickers from the class, I give them a disapproving look. The kid comes back flustered and red-faced, they said they were fresh out of fallopian tubes and everyone was laughing?
Well then. We'll have to do without. I put the finishing touches to the radio, close the switch. Much static. I tune it a bit and there is music from a local radio station. Applause all around!
The music stops:
We interrupt this broadcast for an important announcement ... President Kennedy has been shot in Dallas, he's being rushed to a local hospital ...
I've recently discovered my Tab A lets me doodle ...
Astor Place: Heavy pedestrian traffic funnels through snow remnants at the corner. People are forced to cross a piled-up industrial carpet covered with a rubber mat, strategically placed at the crossing. I sidle closer, address the mound: "So. You're back again!" The rather heavy-set woman struggling across tries not to let me know she knows I'm a weirdo, and misses the barely perceptible movement of the pile.
First time I saw him was some three, four years ago when I stepped across a similar mound near a construction site. It didn't feel right, visions of dead bodies came to mind. I wondered what to do. There was a pause in traffic, the carpets fell open, a very healthy-looking young man dashed to the corner news stand, bought a pack of gum, and dove back into the pile. Noticed him several times since, the last time this past summer when a panicked lady screamed for the cops after feeling a movement below her feet. I watched them talk to him, he straightened his jacked, adjusted his cap, and disappeared up the avenue.
Today I stay for a only a few minutes. There are a some funny looks from people as they make their way across; one knows. He steps over the carpets, notices me watching and shakes his head. "There's someone in there."
I do have other things to do and head south, down the avenue.