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“My Captain Malcom Reynolds arrived,” Kip says just now.  “Your what?” I say back.  “My Captain Malcom Reynolds.”  “Oh,” I say, and return to the computer screen.  In case you were wondering what’s happening tonight at our house.

Earlier we met Lucas and Kevin at Cafe Cluny in the West Village for dinner.  It was really fantastic.  The frisee salad came as per usual with an egg and lardons, but there were tiny dabs of Fourme d’Ambert–is that normal, or customary?  It worked.  We split the salad.  Then I had the hake, which was roasted, and came with fingerlings, grapes and herbs.  Hake Veronique it was called, and I see from a quick Googling that Veronique is, I guess, a real thing, not particular to the restaurant.  White wine, a little sherry, some cream.  Delicious.  Kip had salmon which came covered in hearts of palm and sorrel.  Dessert was a black forest torte with a side of egg nog ice cream.  Really phenomenal classic food going on here, folks.

To start I ordered a Campari spritzer, which made me feel a little some kind of way.  Who orders a Campari spritzer?  Me, clearly.  Obviously.  Some internal homophobic part of me wonders how gay that is, and can you believe it–but I still vote for going deeper into the cliche of yourself.  Treat yourself to a Campari spritzer.  It’s perfect, even in winter.  In fact, maybe even more in winter.

Earlier I went to visit Cheryl & Anne’s new baby, Cal at their place in Park Slope, which was wonderful and meaningful and he is beautiful.  We talked about pooping and how he pees right up out of the diaper–all the things new moms love to talk about.  We also shouted out gratitude for queer families and how they spread the wide net for each other, holding everyone up.  I feel like this is something I have spoken of recently here–but I am compelled to write it again.  The way we come together for each other is nothing like heteronormative families.

I got a new desk chair, too–and resented it at the same time.  I hate spending money on important adult things like my back and a proper chair.  I put the old on out on the curb as New Yorkers do, so that it can find a new home.  The old one looked so sad out there, alone, not as good.  Why did I put up with it for so long?


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