abigailnicole: (Default)

 +dancing to the Talking Heads at midnight

+playing
 Grim Fandango all afternoon


-getting stomach cramps on a bike ride and rushing into the new Rouses in the CBD to be ill their bathroom

+it’s a really nice Rouses

+seeing ‘Tit Rex (pronounced T-rex, short for ‘Petite Rex’, a Mardi Gras joke), which is these tiny little floats the size of small wagons or large shoeboxes. the parade was one block long. instead of standing in one spot, waiting for floats to pass us by, we walked up the parade and admired each float individually

-losing circulation in my fingers and toes, standing in the cold (it’s 37 degrees yall)

-blowing a flat on my front tire on my way to the afterparty, walking my bike into the bywater

+at the afterparty (through a friend of a friend), the first thing I saw when I came into the house was a knitting book on the coffee table. further inspection revealed a bowl full of knititng needles, circulars, double-pointeds, metal, bamboo. There were two typewriters on either side of the fireplace, two guitars next to an old-fashioned desk, an antique toy keyboard on top of the mantleplace. The bookshelf contained Terry Pratchett, Ian M Banks, and lots of Palahinuk. It was arranged by color

-I never met the people who lived there

+sitting in the perfect front living room of people I had never met, alone, I took my tube out and replaced it with a new one. Everyone else was in the kitchen. Someone passing through to smoke gave me their floor pump, and sitting on an old green chair, with vintage copies of Playboy on the table next to me, warmth and circulation returned to my fingers and toes

+in the kitchen there were pieces of white cake with brown sugar frosting, thin pieces each individually wrapped in wax paper and sealed with a gold embossed sticker with a hummingbird on it

+after I fixed my tire and wandered back to the kitchen the party announced that they were dispersing to an afterpartyafterparty (as they had done the one-block ‘tit rex walk hours earlier). I sat on the couch in the kitchen and wrote a hurried thank-you note to the people who lived at that house, signed it “with gratitude, Nicole” and left it next to their nightstand. I am sorry they won’t know me. someday I’ll leave a pie at 3146 burgundy and they’ll never know who or why

+biking back from the Marigny we zigzagged through parade routes blocked off on Canal, and took St. Charles back, watched some unnamed parade (Oshun?) as it looped from Lee Circle all the way back to Napoleon. We waved at the parades and rode in the left lane. All the cars were going at our speed; no one honked, people waved.

+At Seventh street, where we had to cross St. Charles to get to my friend’s birthday party, we had to wait for a marching band to cross before we could sneak in front of a float. “You’re doing a great job! Keep it up!” I shouted at the marching band, the dancers.

+At the birthday party my friend had a bunny named Sadie, named for the Joanna Newsom song. We drank wine from mugs and ate sparkly, metallic king cake from Sucre and delicious vegetarian jambalaya 

+in the 37 degree temperature biking is the only way to keep warm. I wore my hat and goggles

+I abandoned the idea of the bonfire rumpus, my face aching from the cold. Biking home I saw a man walking down the sidewalk, carrying a partially deflated kiddy pool. “Good weather for swimming,” I said as I biked past, giving him the thumbs up. 

+the cake was good. when I got home the heat was on. 

+11:11, and all is well. 

abigailnicole: (books)


I've just finished reading Susanna Clarke's Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell which is like eating a really delicious piece of cake--before you eat it, you look at it and exclaim to your friends how delicious it looks and how much you will enjoy it. Then, when you bite into it, it is every single thing you thought it would be and better. It is moist, and there is just the right amount of icing, and you want to keep it on your tongue for a very long time so you will have the flavor in your mouth forever and at the same time devour it all immediately because it is so good you want to cram it into your mouth as fast as you can. And you continue to eat this cake very slowly, at every bite exclaiming how marvelous it is and how much you are enjoying it, until you are done and your dinner-companions think you're obnoxious. And even when it's done you think about it all the time, and wonder where you could get another, and mourn the loss of this most excellent piece of cake ever. Maybe you even get the recipe and make it all the time and wish other kinds of cakes were as good.

That is what this book is like. If you like wonderful fantasy books, I think you should read it.

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Nicole

March 2013

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