If Cinco De Mayo can safely be regarded as our annual initiation into margarita season (my favorite season of the year by far – shameful as it is to admit it, I’m sure this has something to do with my parents’ fondness for one Jimmy Buffett) then the first planned Brooklyn rooftop gathering properly seals the deal. Last Sunday was my personal blastoff into summertime’s stratosphere on a blanket strewn, wood-planked (translated: luxurious, by Brooklyn standards), brick building top, a tri-birthday extravaganza celebrating the emergence of our dearest Lediso (and 2 guys I’m not sure I ever met) from her mother’s womb however many years ago.
Everyone is secretly in love with Lediso; so much so that I once spontaneously “manifested” the chorus to a song about it. I’m pretty sure that the way I’m hearing the melody in my head exactly replicates The Cosby Show theme song (it’s either that or Frasier – that I can’t discern between my memories of the two definitely takes second place in my “most embarrassing disclosures of this post” competition, at least thus far, which, in case you were wondering, does imply that I’m not the least bit ashamed of the fact that I would know the Frasier theme song at all). Though I’ve yet to conjure all the supporting lyrics wittily extolling her countless charms – how her tomboyish exterior is but a decoy for one of the most delicate, intensely thoughtful, nearly supernatural souls that I’ve encountered, that no one looks better in their glasses, that she could easily become America’s most trusted news broadcaster, just for starters – I have been choreographing an increasingly elaborate Cats-style dance routine that I plan on forcibly teaching her admirers to break into at some unexpected place and time. It’s sure to be epic, and with all of my knowledge of dance class torture techniques gleaned from a Russian ballet sergeant (ahem, instructor) acquired during adolescence, it’s likewise sure to be seamless…which is to say that I’ll be beating everyone with sticks whilst chain-smoking and hissing into their ears about how fat their asses are.
In the sea of sunglasses, summer dresses, bare feet, and ironic shorts, there were little thrills and to be had in the realms of thought, collaboration, and experience. The ones I managed to note are as follows:
Deep Thought of the Day: “Are you incredibly enigmatic or am I just really high?”
Best Casually Delivered Conversation Opener of the Day: “So when my ex was discussing Mariah Carey’s glitteris in his doctoral dissertation…” (PeaTea)
Psychic Realization of the Day: “Glit-Lit: the new discipline set to sweep academia off its feet.”
Million Dollar Idea of the Day: “The antidote to the intelligence-starving abbreviation-centricity and immediacy exemplified by Twitter: Grumble – find out………………….later. Unlimited characters, unlimited grumbling. Grumble today, pop it in the mail, and your followers will know in 2-10 business days. The past is now.” (Exclusive rights to Grumble belong to Cello, Evoo, Tiger, Aku, and myself, patent/copyright/trademark pending).
Involuntary Word Scramble of the Day: “You don’t have to abbreviate your ideas when you tweet, you just have to congest them.” (Tiger)
Miracle of the Day: $40 discovered in notebook when pulling it out to write something down.
Exclamation of the Day: “Where did this $40 come from?!? It’s a Lediso’s birthday miracle!”
Realization of the Next Day: My mom put $40 in my notebook to pay for my cab ride from the airport on my recent return trip from a visit home. Thanks, mom.
