When my MOMA/college friend plans went down the shitter I was at a momentary loss. So, as I strangely find myself doing at least once while in NYC, I sat on a bench outside Central Park and called five friends to ask what they would do in my shoes (and did not enter the park). Unfortunately they were all working or avoiding my calls...so I began walking south to a subway stop. I thought about going through Times Square and seeing what movies were playing but...I didn't want to. So blessed be the grad school friend who did call me back. We met up in Cobble Hill territory and had lunch at
Layla Jones. I ordered a Fanta. Orange soda elicits a certain memory-thought-nostalgia thing in me...I drank a fair amount of it when I was riding horses in Maryland/my youth. I believe I was getting a Crush from the dirty, ancient, still 50 cent soda machine in
Meadowbrook Stables when I heard Kurt Cobain had died. The sounds and smells of a barn, orange soda and grunge...who would have thought? Orange soda was also part of my softball game experience...after games Rachel Stewart and I would be taken by one of our paretns to McDonalds, once there we would split the 20 chicken nugget meal and each have an inordinately large orange soda. This happened at least three times and was, by far, the highlight to the four or five years I played the game.
We both had the basil mozzarella and tomato press sandwich. Very satisfactory.
When my MOMA/college friend plans went down the shitter I was at a momentary loss. So, as I strangely find myself doing at least once while in NYC, I sat on a bench outside Central Park and called five friends to ask what they would do in my shoes (and did not enter the park). Unfortunately they were all working or avoiding my calls...so I began walking south to a subway stop. I thought about going through Times Square and seeing what movies were playing but...I didn't want to. So blessed be the grad school friend who did call me back. We met up in Cobble Hill territory and had lunch at Layla Jones. I ordered a Fanta. Orange soda elicits a certain memory-thought-nostalgia thing in me...I drank a fair amount of it when I was riding horses in Maryland/my youth. I believe I was getting a Crush from the dirty, ancient, still 50 cent soda machine in Meadowbrook Stables when I heard Kurt Cobain had died. The sounds and smells of a barn, orange soda and grunge...who would have thought? Orange soda was also part of my softball game experience...after games Rachel Stewart and I would be taken by one of our paretns to McDonalds, once there we would split the 20 chicken nugget meal and each have an inordinately large orange soda. This happened at least three times and was, by far, the highlight to the four or five years I played the game.
We both had the basil mozzarella and tomato press sandwich. Very satisfactory.
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