Text 8773, 90 rader
Skriven 2008-06-12 14:31:00 av MICHAEL LOO (1:123/140)
Ärende: reunion 1 447
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Grafton Street is a slightly pretentious facsimile of an
Irish pub, complete with an imported Irish bartender. I
forget what was there when we were kids, but whatever it
was, this is an improvement. As I had a yen for a burger
and a Guinness, this looked like a winner. The bartender
poured me a nice one, only it was ice cold. I called him
on this, and he said "it's supposed to be," whereupon I
contradicted him, to which he said naught. Anyhow, the
specials menu listed a bacon, tomato, and spinach flatbread
pizza, and I abandoned my beefy aspirations for porky ones.
Mistake. Meanwhile, I asked for a second Guinness to be
poured so it would be the right temperature for me when
dessert time came round. The pizza was your standard thin
crust personal-size thing with the usual sauce and the
usual cheap cheese, a tablespoonful of little tomato dice
(fresh and pretty good, actually), a tablespoon or two of
precooked bacon crumbles, and a spinach leaf for each
slice: the thing was cut into eighths, which brings to
mind the joke where the pizza guy says "do you want it cut
in six slices or eight?," and the customer answers "six,
please, because I can't eat eight slices." They were small
slices and small leaves of spinach. The second Guinness
was better than the first.

A lot of people from, I'd say, the 5th-10th-15th. Not many
of us oldsters.

Registration was two blocks away, so I guess another couple
Guinnesses could have been had, but I refrained, looking
forward to several days of ad lib boozing.

At registration I encountered a bunch of people whom I
hadn't talked to in thirty to thirty-eight years, including
the Mouse, who had got everyone's vote as the most likely
to be a burned-out druggie ne'er-do-well on the street, and
Eric Smith, who was most likely to venture out into darkest
Africa or Borneo or someplace as a soldier of fortune and
disappear. I left the Mouse (now a partner in a reputable
law firm that everyone but me has heard of) and Eric (an
entrepreneurial rather than physical adventurer) hatching a
project that was to be capitalized at 250 to 300 megabucks.
Out of my league.

I was assigned to a quint in Quincy House, a house and a living
arrangement I'd never been acquainted with. Turns out, this
suite held two African American guys, myself, and my old
buddy Ellen, with the fifth room remaining vacant; we never
saw each other in the suite, as there was too much going on.
Well, I saw Ellen a few times, and I encountered one of the
other guys in the hall at departure time Sunday. He gave
the unwelcome news that someone had kiped his cell phone
from his room. My computer, in full view at all times,
was intact; nonetheless, I did an inventory of my stuff:
there appeared to be $40 less than I'd remembered having,
but that might have been my imagination.

The first dinner was an informal cocktails and grazing at
which I encountered a bunch of people I'd not have talked
to otherwise, most of which was good, as they were mostly
interesting people with interesting spice and weren't so
obnoxious as they might have been at the 25th about why I
wasted my precious education by becoming a musician.

The food was Greekish Middle Easternish, with lamb, beef,
and chicken skewers, grilled eggplant, grape leaves,
pilaf, couscous, things like that, and it was mostly quite
good - the university caterers had done a good job.

There were also passed appies, on which one could have made
a meal were one of the dairy persuasion, and a table with
an odd assortment of smoked salmon with cream cheese,
onions, and capers; a cheese plate (okay so far); and pulled
pork sandwiches (making the total juxtaposition very odd).

The Trapiche Malbec was very mediocre, but at least it was
free. After this I retreated to Bourbon straight up for most
of the reunion.

After this a band concert or something, which I didn't
bother to attend.

Each evening wrapped up with more alcohol, this one in the
courtyard of the dorm I'd been assigned to, which was most
convenient. Though the first time I went into the wrong
entry and had to return to the proper one by the basement.
Slowly. By degrees. 

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