you came in with the breeze

i have come to love sundays almost as much as i love impromptu saturday nights.

weird.

sundays have such a different meaning to me at this point in my life. i used to hate sundays--all they meant was horrible school the next morning and unfinished homework. now, though sundays still mean horrible work in the morning (well, not that horrible, but work), they're...much better.

sunday is:

-recovery day

-sleeping reeeaaaalllllly late day

-apartment cleaning day (in a good way, really)

-video day (generally part and parcel of "recovery day," but i felt it deserved its own mention, just because the good, old-fashioned vidfest is just such an important part of the day)

and, my favorite,

-brunch day.

i love brunch. it's such a marvelous institution. i mean, what better way to cure a hangover than to wake up late, drag yourself in pajamas and sunglasses to eat greasy food (good for hangovers), have a little more alcohol (also good for hangovers), smoke lots of cigarettes and shoot the breeze with your friends (best of all for a hangover)? afterwards, you go to a flea market or the bookstore and then go home for a nap, or something.

it's part of my ongoing mission of conquering new york that i catalogue and rate the best brunch places in the boroughs that matter (that's manhattan and brooklyn, to y'all non-locals). it's a tough job, but someone's got to do it.

today i took a local place for a test-drive with a few of my friends.

in its favor:

bottomless mimosas

outdoor seating

wicked peoplewatching

not-so-in-its favor:

the food, except for the french toast, was not nearly as exciting as we had hoped. ah well.

it was a good time. we discussed eye color and the general aesthetic standard of our circle of friends (very high, thank you. i tend to surround myself with the exceptionally cute. it's part of my mission to appear cuter than i am, simply by default and the company i keep), had a few comic sigh moments and a running commentary about the excruciating hipness of several people who walked by ("okay, he's wearing nike sandals, capri pants, has a soul patch and gucci sunglasses, and he's talking to someone about vespas on his tiny blinking phone. good god, man! aren't you worried about the fact that you've piled on so much hip that you ar no longer so? aaaaaahhh!"). we saw someone with absolutely no ass. that was exciting. so, good stuff...except for the fact that poor biscuit remains in seething agony. it just rolled off him in waves. and, when i encounter that in my friends, all i want to do is scoop them up in my arms and make everything better. i wanted (i want) to do this for him.

but sometimes, you just can't.

you can't do it until you're asked.

i just hope he will ask if he needs it.