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Tue, October 3

Knitting Factory at Last

I have always wanted to go to The Knitting Factory. Well, maybe not always, but at least since freshman year of college. My friend Jessie had told me about an amazing date she had with a Columbia freshman: They watched the sun set while walking over the Brooklyn Bridge, had ice cream on the other side, then went back to Manhattan to see a band play at the Knitting Factory. To the rest of us Barnard gals, this sounded about the equivalent of a weekend jet to Paris. The Knitting Factory sounded great but it was all the way downtown! And we had to study! Who had time to go THAT FAR? To many of us, the 80's and Broadway area WAS "downtown."

Well, good thing I situated myself down here, now that I am an adult. So that was my long introduction (and my Business Writing teacher at NYU would chime in right about now and say, "It sounds like you’re backing into your point. Why don't you just come out and say it already?")

Becs took me and Helena to see her crush and his band, "Brooklyn Shakes" (http://www.harlemshakes.com/). Surprisingly, they were good! I know I'm getting older when guys in bands start looking like they have baby faces. The lead singer looked like the poor man's Gael Bernal. His voice was at worst, smurf like, and at best, fifties crooner-ish. At times they sounded like Deathcab for Cutie, but for the most part, the blend of tambourines, synthetic beats and Casio piano made them stand out. I might even call them original.

Apparently this was the only show in town, because right at the bar was a guy Becs used to date. With his new girlfriend! She ducked away before he could see her, but the three of us couldn't believe that of all shows playing in the city on a Tuesday night, he had to show up at THIS one. I reminded her that the downfall of their relationship was because she forced him to not wear the sticker nametag he insisted on wearing EVERY DAY, and I think that cheered her up. Breaking up over a nametag! Life imitates "Sex in the City" too often.

We had the cheapest dinner ($10 total including tip, per person) at a place in Chinatown, called "New Green Bo" on Bayard between Mott and Elizabeth. Delicious vegetable dumplings and seafood dumplings. The dipping sauce with the ginger pieces was so nice and vinegary. The hot and sour soup wasn't too spicy but had just enough bite. Don't go there expecting service. And if you try to order the soup with the sweet sesame paste balls, the waiter will make a face and say, "but it's sweet" (this dish is considered a dessert). And if you want two scallion pancakes, the waiter will make an even worse face and point out how big each pancake is, making you feel like a giant heifer for wanting two (for three people!). But despite the judgmental service, the food is REALLY good.

The Yom Kippur fast wasn't that bad. I was so tired in temple that I fell asleep curled against my mom. I had stayed up late the night before cutting wrapping paper (amazing wrapping paper--the most beautiful I'd ever seen, from a tiny store on Mott street) to fit the insides of my drawers. But by the time I opened my eyes the service was over. Thank goodness because the girl behind me had a whooping cough, and she did not cough into her fist. She just kept barking and barking into my hair. And worse--she and her brother insisted on reading the English in their prayer books louder than the whole congregation, and it seemed that they were racing to finish each prayer before everyone else. Not only did they shout off beat to the congregation, but they also couldn't pronounce certain words. To an editor, mispronunciation makes every word sound like a four letter word.

Poor Lindsay. At dinner, when we were breaking the fast, she got stuck with the short end of the stick--instead of a regular dining table chair, we sat her on the piano chair that mom pulls out when we're one chair short. Lindsay looked at it resignedly, and said, "Well, I've been sitting on this chair for twenty years..." It was so true. I'm sorry Lindsay! I should have given you my chair. Ah, hindsight.

On Saturday when J and I were walking through Soho, we happened upon this cool exhibit (I think on Crosby street). On the outside of a gallery store front, someone had stuck post its to cover the entire window of the space, and left spaces so that it spelled, "To Do." The sign on the door encouraged anyone and everyone to write their own "to do" on one of the blank post its. We were on our way to coffee at Balthazar, so I wrote, "Drink lattes with your lover."

Time for bed.

Posted by lexzog at October 3, 2006 11:52 PM

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