I never liked gin. A professor I had when I was taking night classes at Northeastern (in Boston, when I was at Fort Devens) described it as a tombstone on your tongue. That's a close enough description for me. But it sounds good. I mean, I've enjoyed a few strawberry rhubarb pies in my life. I guess that you could substitute vodka for gin.
Took Izzy on a nice long walk Saturday morning. Friday we went up the stairs and around the long way, past the teriaki place, the chocolate place, the coffee shop, the comics shop, the bicycle shop, the food carts, the workout gym, Sheridan's Bar at 52nd, past the Laurelwood pub and make a turn onto 51st Avenue home. But we got as far as the coffee shop when up the block comes Nancy, who lives on our block, walking Lucy, her dog. We chatted for a few minutes about nothing much. I went as far as Sheridan's. Sheridan's has a couple tables outside on Sandy Boulevard for smokers. But the husband of Joan's best friend and their son were standing around in the middle of a big conversation. Michael was telling another story, something he's good at. Michael is eighty, but since he and his wife usually spend about a month every summer visiting their son and grandkids, Michael joined Sheridan's softball team, the team that his son Alec belongs to. They had another really good season and he got most valuable player. And he's good too.
If you look at your email you'll find a picture of someone who had a birthday party on Saturday.