more cat pictures

You must admit that I’m pretty weird to go volunteer at animal shelter when I have a perfectly good cat waiting for me at home. But volunteer I did, and it actually made me appreciate the little furball that I already have.

The Queens Animal Center is a no-kill shelter for cats and dogs, located right off Queens Blvd, near the mall. The have volunteers coming in to walk the dogs, clean out the cages, and play with the animals. It’s an even exchange, in my opinion: the people get the benefits of having a pet without having to actually own one, and the animals get affection and clean cages.

They have a lot of kittens that they’ve rescued. It’s sad how some of these babies may not find a home. They were all so soft and small, and the crazy cat lady in me was yearning to take one home to foster. I know that I don’t have the funds (and space) to get another one, but I could at least take care of one temporarily.

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d.b.a.
41 1st Ave
Drink: Sierra Nevada Summerfest

We walk out of the Second Ave. station Saturday afternoon; it’s a bit cloudy, and a lot humid. Two minutes later the sky opens up and it’s a tropical storm. We have one umbrella between us, so we run to the nearest bodega for shelter. We think the rain is starting to peter a bit, so we brave it again, only to get bombarded with more wind and rain. Run to the next awning, not realizing that we were standing just in front of the bar where we wanted to go.

d.b.a. is one of those bars where I get really overwhelmed by its beer selection. At one point, I think I was just sticking to one country at a time, but that also didn’t last too long. Even for a Saturday afternoon, it was comfortably crowded; maybe by neighborhood regulars, who knows. If it wasn’t raining, it would’ve been nice to sit out in their garden area.

Jeollado
116 E 4th St
Drink: Asahi

I needed sustenance after my first beer, so we passed by a Mexican place for a quick steak taco. Couldn’t remember the name of the restaurant, but it was a yummy fix for $5.50.

We passed by this place on our way to KGB, which was supposed to be our next stop. They were advertising $1 appetizers if you buy a drink, and really, that was too tempting to refuse. It’s a big space, with a huge party/karaoke room in the back (I’m actually v. tempted to have my 30th b-day party here, but I’m still thinking about it). We got drinks and the appetizers, and added an order of “Love at first sight,” one of their kooky-named sushi rolls. Mikhail and I had a laugh about that.

Jimmy’s No. 43
43 E 7th St
Drink: Christoffel, blond

We meet up with Jenn at this point. We decided to skip KGB entirely ’cause it was too crowded (there was a reading when we walked in).

Jimmy’s is in the sub-level of 41 1st Ave. It was decorated like an old-fashioned rathskeller, complete with the deer antlers and beer barrels. It didn’t feel kitschy though. They have a really fancy beer selection, and their food menu wasn’t shabby as well. I mean, they served my beer in a goblet, that’s the caliber of this joint. I think I would like to come back here another time and have a meal too.

Standings
43 E 7th St
Drink: Abita Purple Haze

Walked gingerly up the steps from Jimmy’s, and then another five steps to the left to Standings. If you’re a college student or graduate efrom anywhere outside NY and missing the fratboy camaraderie of watching sports, Standings is totally your place. They have pennants and banners from every big or well-known American college draped all over the place. As it was a Saturday pm, the bar wasn’t too loud or crowded, but I can see it becoming a den of rowdiness on game night. They have lots of interesting American beers on tap, and despite being warned that it was going to be sweet, the Purple Haze wasn’t too bad.

I just will not forget the graffiti in the ladies’ bathroom: “Marriage: where blowjobs go to die.” Heh.

Crooked Tree
110 St. Mark’s Place

Food break! I’m so glad that Mikhail agreed to do the bar crawl in this area. I love the fact that I can have any type of craving and it’s highly probable that the East Village will have a restaurant or hole-in-the-wall that will cater to that exact craving. I wanted something savory — Mikhail first suggested omelettes at Yaffa Cafe, but they weren’t serving those till past midnight.

So, savory crepes at Crooked Tree seemed like the next best choice.

My goat cheese crepe was simple and wonderful. Next time, I’m going for a sweet one.

Sake Bar Decibel
240 East 9th Street
Drink: Kaori ginjo sake

Our last stop, but it really capped off the night. Decibel is another bar where it’s easy to walk by and not realize you just passed by. It’s right off the Max Brenner chocolate place, marked only by a small placard, leading down a flight of metal steps. You step in, and at first impression, it looks like the bar is merely the five or six seats at the foyer. But no, the host will lead you down a small hallway where there’s a bigger room in the back, all filled with people drinking bottles and small casks of sake.

Sakegura in midtown is pretty awesome, but Decibel has its own level of cool.

The price of the sake isn’t cheap, but their selection is immense. I don’t think the servers will really help you out in choosing what’s good, but heck, I think everything pretty good here anyway. It’s a place where experimenting with various types of drinks is not a bad thing.

Mikhail also tried the Bloody Marikko, which is a bloody mary with shochu. God, that thing was dangerous. I couldn’t taste the booze in it all, it was that smooth.

Rest of the photos here

I met him at his internship yesterday, and because we had time to kill before going to Angels & Kings, he suggested that we walk down to Battery Park to go check it out. I think I’ve only been around that area only when we take visitors to Liberty Isl. and Ellis Isl. I never really take the time out to see what else is there.

I also have a confession: before yesterday, I didn’t know where Stuyvesant HS was. Yeah, all his talk and all my snarky comments aside, I never really knew where the school was located. Its reputation preceded everything else. But I knew that area, that neighborhood, carried a lot of nostalgia weight — so walking around there made him chattier than usual.

I enjoy hearing his stories about those years. I sometimes complain that THAT’S all he talks about, but I also don’t blame him (and his friends) for enjoying their time in high school. I suppose it isn’t the best (public) high school in NYC for nothing.

While waiting for the Q23, Continental Ave., around 10pm –

A young family waiting for the bus, the husband carrying the sleeping boy and sitting on the bench as the mom stands by, carrying the boy’s shoes. Mother is Japanese, which I realize once she begins talking to her husband in that language. I think she obviously knows how to speak English, but I think it’s neat that she and her husband are able to communicate in two languages, his and hers, without missing a beat.

When does something become a tradition?

This was the second year that I went with Mikhail, Kris, and Ian to Coney Island on Memorial Day weekend. The weather was definitely more pleasant this year: 70 degrees and lots of bright sunshine.

It certainly helps that this year, he’s going to be around for the summer. His internship doesn’t start till the first week of June, but I know I feel less stressed knowing that I’m not rushing to spend as much with him as I can. Three months is not a long time, but it’s longer than the one-week spans that we had last year.

I’m getting this new rush of also falling in love with New York again. Seeing and experiencing things with him and not feeling at all embarrassed about being enthusiastic is freeing. It’s yet another reason why I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy as I’ve been in the time that we’ve been together. He doesn’t make me feel bad that I’m me.

Additional pictures in this album.

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With the brother, not the boyfriend

New York Comic-Con came and went. Mikhail came in for the weekend; he, and his friends, and my brother and I all geeked out to our respective things, and then, the wait for next year’s event starts anew.

I’m happy that I don’t have to explain why I love these nerdy, uncool things to him. I’m glad that I don’t ever have to be defensive in being an adult who still watches Japanese cartoons regularly, and to explain why I buy manga. I don’t have to do those things because he’s there with me too, being excited and giddy and sharing these things that I enjoy.

This one is the boyfriend

On Saturday, I trekked out to Brooklyn to see the new Takashi Murakami exhibit on display at the Brooklyn Museum. You know, it’s weird, I’ve been to the Brooklyn Botanical Gardens several times, but never made it next door to the museum till this past weekend. Which is a shame, since the BM is beautiful, and I’m sure I would have enjoyed the other exhibits as well if I had more time.

It was wonderful going to the museum with people who are smart AND snarky, who could spout commentary about the male gaze one minute, and the next minute giggle self-consciously about a sculpture of a boy (portrayed in anime style) gripping his penis.

Top that afternoon off with a luscious dinner at Cheryl’s Global Soul, and I’d say that you have the makings of a top-notch Brooklyn outing.

I had at least five pairs of shoes underneath my desk at work. Or maybe it wasn’t my desk, since it doesn’t look like an office that I’ve been in before. I had boots, sandals, and pumps scattered all over the floor. I think I was embarrassed that I had so much clutter there.

On the subway to work yesterday, two nuns boarded the E train at 42nd Street. I glanced over at them because it’s fairly rare to see sisters wearing the habit nowadays (even the ones at my school stopped wearing them) and because I heard them speaking Tagalog.

Somewhere along the trip, one of them started talking to the gentleman seated next to her. She was very pleasant, but it couldn’t have been more obvious that she was from out-of-town. New Yorkers just don’t start random conversations with other subway riders.

But maybe it’s because of who she is, and what she is, that the other person didn’t seem to mind talking. It must be nice to have that freedom.

And just to think, about ten years ago, as college freshmen, we were just looking forward to turning twenty-one so we could booze up legally.

Now, we’re both hitting thirty, and feel almost sheepish to admit that we once were able to finish a full bottle of tequila by ourselves. I guess that’ll be stories that we’ll tell their little girl someday… far far someday.