Current crush has not been around. I have not seen her for over a week, which is odd, since she usually works six nights a week at the coffeeshop. I have it on good confidence that she hasnt yet moved to Boston but I never have time to skip out those 100 yards to the Rue so there is still no confirmation of her continued residence in New Orleans.
But I tried. At the Matador on Tuesday she and her ultramod posse are given two turntables and free rein. This is not a bad thing; they know their shit. Their vintage Vespas pop inadvertent wheelies just from the weight of the records crated and tied to the back.
Stopped by the Matador, no crush. The turntables were going, but a kickass Memphis band called the Lost Sounds had instituted a cover charge and as far as I know baristas are still paid with free pastries and funny money so she probably didnt have the money to go. Whats bothering me is that, as I left, I believe that I saw her. I was not drunk but just tired, dreadfully tired, as tired as one of Jay Lenos jokes, and I walked by her (or so I think) and didnt realize until the next morning. If that is the case then the odds of possible romantic entanglement, they have officially shifted from slim chance to none. Cest la vie.
Bryan and Suzy owned a percolator, it was always in use, constantly being refilled with more water, more coffee grounds, more eggshells to mellow out the taste. They constantly scolded me for living clean and not drinking more coffee or more alcohol. I remember Bryan smiling one of his cracked smiles, raising a mug to his lips, and saying, Its life, man, you dont understand but you might. This was over a year ago, I think
Ive been running on three cups of black caffeinated sludge a day for the past month and I can now report that they are entirely correct. When youre forced to kickstart your adrenals three times a day this can only mean that something, somewhere has been happening and youve been a part of it.
Its a good feeling.
But I tried. At the Matador on Tuesday she and her ultramod posse are given two turntables and free rein. This is not a bad thing; they know their shit. Their vintage Vespas pop inadvertent wheelies just from the weight of the records crated and tied to the back.
Stopped by the Matador, no crush. The turntables were going, but a kickass Memphis band called the Lost Sounds had instituted a cover charge and as far as I know baristas are still paid with free pastries and funny money so she probably didnt have the money to go. Whats bothering me is that, as I left, I believe that I saw her. I was not drunk but just tired, dreadfully tired, as tired as one of Jay Lenos jokes, and I walked by her (or so I think) and didnt realize until the next morning. If that is the case then the odds of possible romantic entanglement, they have officially shifted from slim chance to none. Cest la vie.
Bryan and Suzy owned a percolator, it was always in use, constantly being refilled with more water, more coffee grounds, more eggshells to mellow out the taste. They constantly scolded me for living clean and not drinking more coffee or more alcohol. I remember Bryan smiling one of his cracked smiles, raising a mug to his lips, and saying, Its life, man, you dont understand but you might. This was over a year ago, I think
Ive been running on three cups of black caffeinated sludge a day for the past month and I can now report that they are entirely correct. When youre forced to kickstart your adrenals three times a day this can only mean that something, somewhere has been happening and youve been a part of it.
Its a good feeling.
sorry to hear about that, man.
liked the bit about the inadvertent wheelies on the vespas, very funny.