Last weekend had several themes. Interpret them as you see fit.I stumbled upon crawfish and hurricanes in the East Village, answered a phone call from the devil himself and hung out in the secret garden. Enter Saturday. I shot the shit with Tones, seriously missed my dad, scored a 617 in yahtzee, ran into Mardi Gras representatives right on Dean Street, saw the beautiful Kiki (two times in two days!), fell in love with this lobby, arrived (in a roundabout way) at a party, studied the creators of Heath, discovered that the devil makes cupcakes, may have burned in a fire trying to figure out this sign and said goodbye to our host. Enter Sunday. I watched some damn young dudes play some damn fine jazz, loved this guys attitude, contemplated this dude's chain and meat collection, discussed, at length, the mystery of the single banelephant earring and landed back in the bayou (sort of) with a crazy Creole.
I volunteered today, through work, at the Central Park Zoo. This is Starasha, my sweet Wee pal for the afternoon. 20 Wee pals in all. A web of Wees, if you will... The day pretty much consisted of hand in hand chaos: into the bushes, under fences, through hordes of other children, pointing, jumping, skipping, questioning. I was certainly on my toes. Every second required strategy of one kind or another and it was near impossible to take photos. Oh, potbellied pig. Sorry none of the Wees paid you mind and instead just squealed with joy and shouted about your piles of poo. I honestly don't much enjoy zoos. They leave my stomach feeling hollow and stale. But under these circumstances, it was easier to see things through wee, awed eyes. A day well spent, a wog well spent. To the Wees of the world! (Prize to anyone who can guess how to pronounce Starasha).