Thursday, July 07, 2005

July 4th: Fried Chicken, Independence, and a Bachelor Party of Sorts

Tamara serving up one of many, many platefuls of really good fried chicken. It’s the same fried chicken we always make now. There just happens to be an article about Edna Lewis, the very woman behind this very recipe, in today’s New York Times.

Then at the end, Ali did his magic and took the fried chicken, poked holes in it, and spread spicy garlic butter and raw garlic on top. This was then finished in the oven.

I begin reading of the Declaration of Independences. All the S’s looked like F’s.

“When in the course of human events...” Miss Robins is no doubt very proud of me.

Some rable rousers at our party then started lighting fireworks in the street. I and my fingers stayed a very safe distance away, despite Tamara’s very explicit linking of firework handling and manhood.

About this time Ali mentioned that he was going to go and smoke some sheesha. That’s when I declared, in my best imitation of some B-movie line, “Bachelor Party!” Yes, a bachelor party of mint tea and sheesha. Wild indeed.

Karl at first said, and I quote: “I can't go. I have to help Tamara clean up.” Speaking of manhood and lack thereof... Eventually he came to his senses and all six men left at the party piled in Ali’s van.

Deluxe it ain’t. But as a former Con Ed van, it does have a yellow mars light on the top. When I have borrowed the van, Ali has (for good reason) refused to tell me where the switch is. But on this ride, Ali turned it on, in honor of the wedding. I still don't know where the switch is.

This particular sheesha joint (there are many here) feels very authentic with tented over astro-turf backyard and a box of kleenex on every table.

Secure in my manhood, I ordered apple flavor.

Jim, ever doubting, went with the manly straight stuff.

Narguila technology. There are many parts.

Somehow, and not surprisingly, Ali served himself and all of us.

Caffeinated and tobacconated, went proceeded to the private Slovak social club across the streets where Ali is a regular. Ali is not Slovakian.

Two pigs heads appeared. Oink. Oink.

Zora’s father, Patrick, taking an aggressive bite.

Ali is more tender...

I drink. Jim wanted to pay the bill. Somehow the check for 5 of us drinking heavily for four hours came to $59.74. I think Ali beat him to the punch.

Like any good bachelor, I was ordered to get on the bar.

If only it weren’t for the low ceiling.

We left around 4 and I got home around 5. After riding Patrick back to Zora’s old place where he was staying, I had to “ghost” a bike with a flat rear tire back to my place, about 2 miles away. There are more fun things to do after a night of drinking. But all was well. Zora woke up when I got back and didn't get any more sleep, poor thing. I slept till noon.

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