yesterday, i cooked a fabulous pork loin roast (threw in a lot of minced garlic, chopped onion, chinese five-spice and the contents of a jar of my homemade plum and fig butter (may sound weird, but pork loves fruit. LOVES it! in fact, it's a total pig for fruit... get it? get it?... listen, i got home rather late. bear with me, ok?)), had a glass of wine, ate said pig and took public transit to crusty juggler's abode.
it's really weird, the demographic shift in bus ridership between the daytime (students, mainly, some immigrants, the urban poor with their unfailingly grubby children, and the elderly) and night-time (much higher creepy quotient - people who haven't bathed in a very very long time; bottom-of-the-totem-pole gangster wanna-bes; and well, me). regardless, the idea of taking the car, looking for parking, paying for parking* and then worrying about having to pick up said car the following day... well, i'm tired just writing about it. besides, as an urban planner-to-be, it is my god given duty to support public transit, and so i do.
at crusty's we ate delicious chocolate cake and drank a bottle of mystery wine. it was fine, though given its provenance (if you wait a minute, i'll tell you all about it), it was a trifle disappointing. however, because it was spanish, the disappointment wasn't too severe. we talked and lo, it was good. then again, it always is.
the mysterious tale of the mystery wine:
i went to the licker store to pick up some wine. i walked the isles with a determination borne of the desire to get home and watch some crappy tv before heading out for the night, and picked my bottles with care. i chose one i had heard about, one i had had before and liked, one chilean that was a solid inexpensive buy, and two bottles of a spaniard that plays the role of my house wine. i chatted with the friendly cashiers, telling them a tale of alcoholic woe** as they scanned and packed up my wines. i paid, i came home.
when i started to unpack my wines, lo and behold, there was a bottle that i most distinctly do NOT remember choosing. i checked the receipt to ensure that i didn't accidentally pick up a $60 vintage or some such nonsense. i hadn't. it was a little steepish for a spaniard but still reasonable. but given its desire to be with me, a desire that allowed this inanimate object to follow me home, i figured it really wanted to be crusty juggler's birthday wine. she agreed.
post crusty i went to my concert and despite my inflated expectations i had a blast. i danced and danced and danced, and then, when it was over, i walked home on wobbly legs. it was an hour long walk through the quiet early morning streets and i enjoyed it thoroughly. i slept in till 8 and now a quiet (and slightly headachy) day beckons.
* i am ideologically opposed to paying for parking or taking cabs, unless absolutely necessary. i figure if i'm gonna waste money, i'll buy another pair of shoes, or a fancy coffee or pretty much anything at all. that's why the gods gave me feet - so i can walk places, save money, burn calories and have time to listen to music and think.
**i must have told you this tale before - crazy joan, her children, my cousin and i went on a deep sea fishing trip that you could BYOB. we brought a bottle of wine and some coolers and whatsits and then realised, with horror natch, that we neglected to bring a corkscrew. for half an hour we went around the damn boat asking every single person if they had a corkscrew, or anything one could conceivably use as such an implement. a boat full of people with their fishing tackle and tools and not. one. single. corkscrew. can you imagine? we were dejected (and thirsty) and finally decided to go all back alley old school and push the damn cork in. guess what - no cork. it was a screwtop.