Autobiographically Too Flat

No major theme or anecdote in todays post - just a few things of vague interest. To me, anyway. And possibly Dov (Laura Iliff's boyfriend, and all around great guy).

I was making some dinner last night (a nice salad with some pieces of chicken cutlet, chopped mozzerella; very nice thanks for asking) and going through my cupboards at the apartment. I realized that I had to make a correction to yesterdays entry. "...a questionable number of plates." should, on reflection, read "a number of questionable plates." So I spent some time at the sink last night washing up "clean" dishes.

Brought my mother to see the apartment this past weekend. She was actually less horrified than I thought she was going to be; actually, the entire occasion was marked by a distinct lack of horror. Not that there would be any reason for a reaction like that, but I'll admit to have been concerned. Turns out my mothers uncle lives on Greene St., only a little bit away from me. And my uncle (who lives in Queens) is only an exit away on the Jackie Robinson Parkway. And mom grew up in that sort of neighborhood anyway (well, with way fewer people of Hispanic descent. She refers to the change in demographic as "The New Immigrants." She says it like that, capitals and all) so she's gotten a lot more comfortable with me living there.

For the last few days I've been getting off the subway one stop before my station so I can go to the ghetto grocery a few blocks away from my apartment. In any case, the grocery is an experience in itself, but I'm definitely getting used to it. But it's the walk back to the apartment which is the interesting part. There's a few really strange stores on the way. My favorite was the store that seems to specialize in looking exactly like a yard sale that doesn't have any good stuff. You know - at the front is all of the vaguely dirty glassware, and there's always that one glass with the gold band around the rim. And a couple of utensil holders, one of which is cracked, the other is full of flatware that looks either like it was stolen from a high school cafeteria, or it has the hard plastic black handles that aren't held quite tight to the steel. And boxes full of crappy childrens toys and cheap electronics. It was definitely a lot of fun walking through and box-shopping (like window shopping, but when the stuff is in wooden boxes).

I left 'cuz I was getting some dirty looks. I think people think I was slumming, but I was really looking for a casserole dish. Which brings me to my final note - I want to cook dinner for a girl I have a crush on, but (as mentioned in an earlier log entry) I don't have a table. Is is boorish to ask to make it at her apartment (which comes fully strapped with a casserole dish and chairs)? Contact me and give me some advice.

Huge. Talk to you tommorrow.