  We too the kids to 9th street this evening to let them walk around and see what was where...Caron, Neeli and I took them back in shifts, with me bringing up the rear.
There was a rainstorm before we came, so the sky was a beautiful mix of blues and greys...perfect blogging weather. But without a computer, I had no way of imparting my thoughts to the masses. So, here are my NINTH STREET NOTES! (and explainations...numbers not part of original, added by scribe for clarity) 1) Man &amp; Woman eating sorbet *bypass surgery *quietly eating, but content The man had a large belly, the woman wore sandals, had frosted hair, and reminded me of my mother.
As I sat and sipped my Americano and read Jean Baudrillard, they came outside and sat on the bench next to me, stayed quiet, and contently munched away on their sorbet. The man had a large scar on his left leg from his knee to his ankle, indicating some sort of bypass surgery. My grandfather recently had a bypass, and while my grandmother played it as low-key, the leg and chest scars tell otherwise. There was an inherent contention among the two...no conversation, just spoonfuls of sorbet. Beauty.
2) Blue Note Barista Yes, the Barista of posts of yore is back, and more beautiful than ever. Without thinking about her, I walked into Blue Note for an americano, and she was right there. She smiled, we talked for a bit, and her mind was on the moment, not indisposed in other barista-girl life matters.
I asked her what there was to do in town, and we chatted about French films for a while...I don't know French, and I wonder if I should, because when she used her pretention on me and felt me out for my Catherine Deneueve acumen, I floundered...imagine if I knew French, we'd be making steady love to the soundtrack of urlLink Indochine . Anyway, I left with nary a phone number, but a few hidden glances from her and the vigor to make the final push the next time.
I have one day off in the next two weeks. I'd love to take her out during it. Do girls dig that? I've tried the quick city romance before, and always it fails. I'm not looking for a quick fumble by the fire exit...I'm mostly interested in taking someone out and hearing some stories. I am pretty harmless. You are welcome to call my parents and friends as references. Sure, I'd love to hold hands with hot Blue Note Barista, talk about postmodernism and make out on a rattan couch, but if it's just chat and an awkward hug goodbye, that'll work.
Gotta get 'em on the email list. There wer emore, but sleep takes over, and they are philosophical rants about art and lap dances from girls who published Holocaust poetry...not your average light writing. Anyway, Amy tells me to live, so live I must. 
