Linus without a blanket

i fear i have made a terrible terrible mistake. actually, i know i have. i have left home without my journal. it was a tough decision initially but i chose to leave it back to save on weight. i foolishly compared this trip to my most recent of travels. an unwise error. this journey is much more like previous solitary jaunts, full of little wonders (like the Chinese bakery with a French cafe nested inside) and great nothings. as ever, my overall experience is defined by food.

tonight i dined at La Gioconda. it is a brilliant Italian restaurant in Great Neck. like in Paris, i supped at a tiny little table in the center of the restaurant, the focal point of attention. unlike Paris, however, this is New York. no one particularly focused on me. here, though a little peculiar, it is not a sin to dine alone on a Friday night.

the restaurant was loud, luxurious, and small, and i was the ONLY person present who did not know everyone else present. not only did all the patrons know the owner and staff, but they all knew each other.

as i sat and dined with the hustle swirling around me, i found myself thinking the same few things over and again. firstly, how very much i hungered for my journal. how much i wished to jot these thoughts down as the adjectives clung to my brain, like chianti to my lips. second, i found myself thinking how invigorating, how sexy, the restaurant was. it is the kind of place whose energy would excite a couple, lead them home to impassioned lovemaking-a la Moonstruck-in the kitchen. lastly, i found myself startled not by reflections that i may very well die on the vine, as my grandfather would say, but by a strong desire that-should that happen-it happen in a place like this. a place where my spirit could bubble free and get adsorbed by all these other stories, all these other passions. let my spirit become a part of this wonderful joie de vivre!

what a wonderful night. i hope yours has gone as well.