Stopped over at Liz and Alan's place today amid the Garden Gawk to give her the gift from The Frick that I forgot to give her last evening at my pre-grad soirée that they held for me. As I walked up the walk, underneath the mock orange they spotted me. They approached me and queried thusly Was it you two (meaning me and Kennedy) who bolted that thing to our front railing. I attempted a boldfaced white lie in the spirit of a prank but thought Really, it is rather obvious. But if they didn't think it was us then I wondered if Liz would presume the thing bolted to their front rail was left by a cross-town garden foe and then an all-out garden war would ensue. Last night's party was a raging success - no gunshots, broken coffee tables, no fisticuffs, no fires. Made one of my famed green soups and made sure that Blair et Monique (the affable hosts of the dinner party series Soup Night) had a slug or two of it. I told Blair that I am already excited - way in advance - to make again a fine Brazilian potage I made not too long ago. Cue following remark from Kennedy: This from the woman who not too long ago stated that she HATES soup. Well, here it is, for the record. There are many shitty soups that to me resemble something perhaps that'd be served in a 19th C halfway house: all water, no body. So I've been crafting soups that completely rock. The end about soups.
Time now to sign off for now to do a bit of online stalking of the famous photog Hiroshi Sugimoto for The Thesis.
Onwards to that.

That love.