1) Halloween is a very big deal in NYC. Some say it's our answer to Mardi Gras. I'm not a huge proponent of the parade, which makes it impossible to get anywhere quickly--though the costumes and floats are often very clever. But there are so many events throughout the city, it's often hard to choose.
2) The internet is down at Chez GK. It will be for another week. Time Warner's monopoly for Brooklyn has them insisting it's normal for it to go out (for a week!) every other month. GK has told them all about people she knows in the mountains, with snow drifts and falling trees, who have better service. Time Warner laughed (through a phone line stretching to another country, surely) and asked if I could take off work next week to be home for a repair person. Grrrrr.
3) This was a very big week for GK. At the end of the week before last, after a great phone conversation, a sought-after author e-mailed to tell GK that she would be the agent of choice. (Squee! Squee! Hyperventilation! Celebratory chocolate!) Now. This had me jumping around the office (most assuredly terrifying a rather stoic intern) going, "[Book title] is mine! [Book title] is mine!" My boss came running in, thinking I'd seen a mouse or something. I'm not generally prone to breaking "inside voice" rules.
Now. Because of a variety of circumstances, the book had to go out that week. Last Friday, in fact. So everything had been shoved off the desk in favor of getting this amazing work out. Yes. I was up past midnight for two days reading it. I made everyone in the office read it. I blathered on about it to friends twice yesterday. I posted about amazingly creative ways the hardcore (yet very justified) young female protagonist kills people on my Facebook page. Can't get enough.
I've never taken on a work, done several rounds of edits with the author, and sent it out within a seven-day period. It was awesome and thrilling.
|Yes, this is a pumpkin burger--from the very awesome MAKE blog.|
Halloween started, for GK, the weekend before--at a party in a warehouse converted into rent-controlled studios for artists, welders, writers and performance artists. Local artists had carved many pumpkins, and there were various oddities--it seems popular, lately, to bring elements of the country (like pig butchery demonstrations, rooftop beekeeping, and--in this case--hay bales and a wooden petting zoo) into the city. Great fun.
The night before Halloween, GK went to a house party thrown by a friend from school. She'd invested in scary-looking candelabras and ghosts with light-up eyes. The featured drink was a new cocktail our hostess says is all the rage in Paris--called, I believe, the martini bikini (yes, it's pink):
- Splash of rose syrup
- Splash of lychee liqueur
- 1.5 oz Ketel One, straight from the freezer
- Fill the rest of the martini glass with Fresca, straight from the fridge. Stir gently. Serve cold.
- The ones that have patrons with posture like the man in the New Yorker logo (monocle not included), who sip exorbitantly expensive glasses of wine or Scotch, maintain a golf-like hush during performances, and only break this behavior to murmur things like, "Hmm, yes, excellent, quite" and to gently tap between four and six of their fingertips together at the completion of each solo. Each performance is just like the one before it--and, thus, the group praises itself for being "consistent."
- The shows where almost everyone in the audience is standing and dancing, the band's having a blast, the neighbors are probably calling the police complaining about noise for the fifth time that week, the musicians are dancing around (sometimes in the audience), the bass players do tricks like spin the bass when possible, everyone's yelling support for the band and clapping until their hands itch, the drinks are reasonably priced, even if there's a minimum--and every show is very different, because the musicians think of music as something that's living.
Now that we're, you know, a week into November and you've probably moved on to other things--um, what did you do?