I am totally cultured.

Tuesday in New York was disgusting. The heat poured off the sidewalks. It got under my clothes and created this prominent sheen of sweat all over my face. It was a good day to sit in air conditioning and thank God for creating it.

Then my friend Joe reminded a group of us that we had agreed to go hear a symphony orchestra perform outdoors in Central Park. Immediately, people who had agreed to go suddenly had "plans". Joe came into my cubicle and sulked. "But it's the last one!" he said. "we were going to have a picnic."

So somehow he convinced Kaitlin, Rakesh, Derek and I to follow through. We got to the Great Lawn around 7:30 and feasted, then listened to the distant sounds of the orchestra playing and the more immediate sounds of people our age getting wasted and babies crying. It was nice to sit and enjoy each other's company, listen to music and then see fireworks. The wind even picked up and the night cooled down; it was a nice time to be in New York.

...until we left and got caught in a torrential downpour.

Zidane Part 2

Isn't he cute? Maybe we should have called him Beckham...or Michael Owen.

Zidane the Parakeet

My weekend was a whole lot of nothing. Two of my roommates were away so the apartment was pretty quiet, and I only left either to get food or to go for a run. In other words, it was pretty nice.

The highlight of my weekend came on Sunday afternoon. After watching the Final Game of the World Cup, I settled onto the couch to read. Around 5, my roommate, Peter, called me outside. He was gardening and a small bird was perched atop the railing of our terrace. It looked like this:




I quietly made my way to the nearest chair and whistled to the little Parakeet. He cocked his head and hopped over to nibble on my finger. I felt like Snow White, but blond.

Peter got some chips and the bird perched in his hands for a snack. It came over to eat from my hands as well, but as soon as it sat on my palm, I remembered that I have a fear of birds crapping on me, so I encouraged the bird to go take a sip of water from Peter's hands.

We decided to name the little guy Zidane, after the Captain of the French World Cup Team. He looks like this:




There are some striking similarities between the 2 I think. They include:
1. Zidane was kicked out of the final game of the World Cup because he head butted someone. I think Zidane the parakeet would have head butted me if given the chance. If not, he probably would have pooped on me, which is not very respectful either.
2. Zidane the parakeet opened his wings and flew away in much the same way that Zidane the soccer player has his arms spread in the above photo.
3. Both have the colors blue and white on them.
4. I bet they both feel a little bit lost right now.


"Can we keep him?" I asked. I was even about to run down to the 86th street Petco store and buy a cage, but just as Peter headed into our apartment him, Zidane took flight. I hope the little guy is okay.

A Night at the Theatre

Last night, my friend Kristen and I went to see HISTORY BOYS, which won this year's Tony Award for Best Play. Kristen very generously treated me to a ticket for my birthday (See? i told you I would continue to celebrate for weeks to come.) It was the first time in a while that we'd spent some quality time together, so we decided to make a night of it.

Before the show, Kristen came to spin class with me. As I've stated before, I've never been particularly athletic, but lately I've really gotten into Spin Class at the gym, and every Wednesday night, Cliff helps me set up my bike and forces me to sweat until I almost get sick. It's great!

The play was terrific; it made me want to see more plays, which is something I don't take advantage of enough living here. Perhaps the most exciting thing for me was that my friend Seth is the Stage Manager for the show, so afterward he took us out for a drink and told us about the cast.

Kristen and I went back to my place and crashed; it was such a nice Wednesday night. Thanks Kristen!

The Unfortunate Quest for Bull Penis Soup

First, let me explain. About 9-10 months ago, one of my roommates and I were sitting on the couch watching "No Reservations". The show follows Anthony Bourdain as he travels to different countries and tries unique "delicacies" around the world. One of his stops entailed a visit to a restaurant to taste Bull Penis soup.

My roommate, Peter, and I watched on in awe and horror as he ate. When the show finished, we wondered if the stuff was even sold in the States. We figured that if it was here, we could probably find it in New York. We made a pact: if we found it, we would try it.

For months, I tried to ignore places that even offered soup, but then one day Peter came home with the news that he'd heard of a place on St. Mark's that served it. It took another 4-5 months for me to stumble across the name of the place: Kenka.

We decided to go this past Saturday night. We made our way down to the east village. Our friend graciously lent us her digital camera so that we could document the experience. We showed up, ordered one bowl to share and a large beer each to wash it down.

To our dismay, when it showed up, it was not in soup form. Instead, it lay there curled on the plate, like this:



Things went from bad to worse when Peter posed for a mugshot:



The dish was sliced into smaller pieces. I had 2 and Peter bravely had 3. To be honest, it didn't really taste like much of anything, although the texture was pretty chewy. I was glad to put it behind me and head to Bua afterwards to try to drink away the memory of dinner, although my roommate has said we still need to hunt down a place with the soup. Thanks Anthony Bourdain. Thanks a lot.

...and here's proof that I had some too:



If anyone hears of a place serving Bull Penis Soup, please keep it to yourself. Thanks.