Creature Fear

This morning, a squirrel tried to get into my room. My startled yelping did nothing to dissuade it from pawing at the windowsill, the glass, then the other window. It paced back and forth for a solid 30 seconds - glowering, sauntering, even. And I must say - I was genuinely afraid. This squirrel did NOT want to be friends. It did, for some reason, want to have a wander around my squirrel-unfriendly apartment - maybe it wanted to steal my cashews? Maybe reassert ownership of property? Maybe it sensed how shoddily constructed/designed/generally imagined my windows are, and knew that it was going for an easy target. There's really not telling. But it seemed pretty adamant. If it's back tomorrow, I'm not sure what I'll do, but I'm really glad this encounter never took place on one of the days when I left the window open a few inches without the half-screen that I use to keep the bugs out - I only hope the squirrel finds better things to do before next spring -or considers the screen perplexing in a way that intimidates it from testing its resilience, because I'm pretty sure I'll end up with a new roommate.

Williamsburg, I Have Some Questions

Why is it darker where you are than in South Brooklyn? I know, the BK in general is nowhere near Manhattan when it comes to lighting, but I swear, it's dimmer by a mile up North. Also - the Chabad House on Bedford is right above a used record store, while, a few blocks away, there is a fancy-looking gym above a big vintage clothing store. These details seem so appropriate that they almost seem made up. How did this come to pass? I can imagine, but I'm a little curious nonetheless. Also - why don't any of your bourgie bodegas sell the seltzer I like? 15 flavors of kombucha, but I might be less prone to go all judgy on your drunk, legginged citizens making out between sips of $6 coconut water at 8pm if you would affirm this element of my newly mature tastebuds (I don't claim that any mature reaction to the lack of seltzer was in the offing, however).

No Small Caterpiller

My plan for the rest of the week got a bit shuffled around this afternoon by some unexpectedly urgent work stuff - which coincided with a lot of wind. I was wearing a skirt, which only added to the chaos. I handled it not fantastically, and very much in public - after deciding that 2 pm is awfully late in the day to have not uttered a single word - and then proceeded to make a lot of animated scowly faces at my computer. I'm pretty sure the waiter, who calls me "darling," and who I like very much, may have been a little alarmed. I called my parents , ate some banana bread, and tried to figure out a good way to get to the end of the project without losing my job or throwing a tantrum, and then I really missed having coworkers. Oh, the coffee breaks I once took so for granted. . .

Anyway.

I went to see Sufjan Stevens last night with my friend Beth - I'm not sure if it's a sign of my age or just the fact that it had been a while (for me - she had been to two big arena shows in the past couple of weeks - but that's a whole different ballgame. . . so to speak), but I had no idea how to plan for the show - sure, the doors open at 7:30, but when does the show start? Once upon a time, I would have been able to guess, but not anymore. So we met at 8:45 because that seemed reasonable - Sufjan wasn't going on until 10, so we went to a bar for an hour. Partly so that we could sit down. Because standing through an opener seemed like, well, a lot of standing, and we needed to do some jabbering first. So everything worked out in the end, and the show itself was really good. I saw him maybe 4 years ago -when the Illinois album came out and it was really peppy - I think there were even cheerleaders. Last night was a bit more subdued - in a good way - though it had plenty of the kind of momentary excitement that makes the listening to live music in a big crowd where you have to move around a little to see the stage worthwhile. And really - it was Tuesday and none of us are getting any younger, so that was juuuuust about right.

Crossing A Seasonal Border

On Sunday, there was a big street fair in the neighborhood that The New York Times has given me license to call my own (on their map, my street is a border, but a decidedly inclusive one, unlike the "historic district" ones in the neighborhood itself, which put the borders narrower and, I exclusive of the housing projects that take up most of my corner of it), and, after two weeks of official fall and a whole lot of season-less unpleasant rain, I'm pretty sure it was also the last day of summer - warm enough for a summer dress and the sandals that I fear I must replace before the next time summer comes around, since they are both completely worn out underfoot and may be responsible for the mysterious bruise that made pointing my toes a touch unpleasant since Sunday. Anyway - I digress - Sunday was summer - frozen, chocolate-covered key lime pie on a stick . . . free whiskey/ginger (and horrible raspberry/vodka stuff, but we won't talk about that) . . . and the requisite international variations on fried food. And then, yesterday, it wasn't anymore. The temperature dropped a solid 10 degrees, the humidity of the days before lifted and the light changed - or changed just that much more that I finally noticed it - clearer, deeper, maybe yellower? And the trees in Ft. Greene Park were edging toward changing colors - more splotchy reds and sickly oranges than fancy northeastern foliage - but definitely changing. Had the change in pressure or the ghosts in the apartment above me or whatever it was that kept me up the night before not been quite so relentless, I might have been a little better-rested and, I like to think, more focused, less grouchy, etc., but maybe the realization that this is a short season will help me take better advantage of the crisp air to form crisp thoughts, and crisp work habits soon. That could happen, right?

The Paradox of Purple Food

In many scenerios, it adds a bit of color - a splash of adventure, even, to the usual greens and beiges that make up so much of the food world. But sometimes, when, say, you want to make broth to use up your old carrots and mushrooms, and you have extra purple potatoes because you thought they were beets when you bought them - or you really want to make tortilla and you COULD use those purple potatoes - along with the red onions you always buy because they're prettier in everything but omelets - they can give you pause. Purple soup can work, but purple-ish soup - hmm. Purple eggs? Even if there's a perfectly good reason, it can be tough to pull off. So the purple foods may run you more than you run them. Or they might just languish in the fridge, taunting you and your suddenly very prudish color palatte.