A few weeks ago, as the house woke up from the aftermath of the previous night’s mad grilling action, there was quite a queue for the shower. Leo emerged from the bathroom, his mighty dreads wrapped up on a towel, and I stood in the hall in my pj’s, still bleary from all that cooking. Elise and Ken were sitting on the bed, talking, and Leo and I, for some reason, started singing.

“It’s a beautiful day in the neighborhood,” I started.

“A beautiful day for a neighbor,” he responded.

“Would you be mine?” we sang in unison, “won’t you be mine?”

And we belted out the theme to “Mr. Rogers’ Neighborhood” with all the gusto we could muster at that hour. We weren’t half bad, and it certainly was a beautiful day in the neighborhood. The sky was clear, the birds were singing, and Wahoo’s was only nine blocks away. (more…)

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Well.

I’ve had some interesting evenings at O’Brien’s before. I got drunk for the first time at that pub: Jason Brown’s big brother led us on a bar crawl, and we wound up camping out there for most of the night. He insisted we get shots of Goldschlager (and, man, am I glad the Liqueur With A Gimmick craze has passed), and, when our drinks came in fluted shot glasses with GOLDSCHLAGER written on them in gold leaf, we were captivated. “Can we buy these?” he asked. “If you buy another two rounds,” said our waitress, “I won’t tell the bouncer that you pocketed ‘em.” We drank, and drank, and I swore off Gimmicky Liqueurs for the rest of my life. I was very upset when my first housemate dropped it. (more…)

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