quit yer bitchin

continuing what's suddenly become "robert's amazing summer full of plans, parties, and visitors," alyson was in town this weekend promoting her new book. oh wait, no. forgive me. we saw the devil wears prada (or, as my mother calls it, "this wonderful movie called the devil wore prada.") yesterday, so i suddenly thought that all of our lives were fabulous and event-filled. alyson was merely in town visiting us, but it was a fantastic visit.

when i was younger and my mom would have her out-of-town friends visit--and i mean much younger, like 9 or 10--i never understood how they could just sit around and talk. sit around on the living room sofa, sipping sweet instant coffee; sit around on the sofa in the formal room, sipping sweet instant coffee. they'd just sit. and talk. with alyson's visit, i realized that this is what we do now. we sit around on the living room sofa and talk. but without the instant coffee because it's 203948239 degrees in new york.

don't get me wrong, we didn't just sit. we went to the met (opera and museum), had burgers at this ridiculous place in "le" parker "meridien," ate popsicles (mine: the "big stick," and you better believe i had a good time ordering it) on the upper east side. we went to dinner in the east village and had drinks at some straight bar before i dragged a whole group of people to the phoenix.

speaking of the "whole group of people," it was like a fucking depauw university reunion at this east village gay bar. it's me, scott, amanda, alyson, and our friend clark, whom we hadn't seen since graduation. he apparently lives here now. he also apparently used to bartend at a gay bar in phoenix (the city, not the bar), but was bellyaching the whole time we were at the gay bar about how uncomfortable he was. ya see, clark is straight. conspicuously straight. still, though, if you've bartended at a gay bar you can quit yer bitchin', as they say in the old west. or is that the trailer park? whatever.