My hosts are up and out early this Sunday morning, one to church service, the other to the park so their dog can romp with others of her ilk. This leaves me with 2 hours on my own. I touch base with my partner. When I reach him he is lacing up his ice skates at Chicago's outdoor rink. There is some irony in this considering there is another high of 80 degrees predicted for Phoenix this afternoon. I also phone my friends in Houston and discuss Broadway shows in general and one certain Broadway cast album in particular.
Upon their return a late breakfast is had at a nearby, by Phoenix standards, pita restaurant; which also involves a margarita quaffed well before noon. I then, like the previous afternoon, situate myself in a lounge chair soaking up the desert warmth. My fervent wish is that what color I may attain while I am here will inspire some envy among the pale, winter bleached, sun deprived natives of Chicago as I step off the plane.
Our plans are to visit a local gay watering hole late this afternoon, a place with an outdoor space called The Bunkhouse; how very butch; and be back in time to watch the Oscar telecast this evening.
Relaxing like this is not in my nature...but I'm working hard at it to make sure that I get it right.
The bar reminds me of the neighborhood place where we while away late Sunday afternoons in the summer at home, albeit larger and more densely populated. Judging from the number of jerseys stretched around ample midsections I assume a softball game must have taken place earlier in the day.
We have a dinner of home baked chicken pot pie while watching the Oscars. They are, well, the Oscars. As Billy Crystal joked, "A bunch of millionaire actors handing out gold statues to other millionaire actors". As he was saying this we were wondering what on earth he had done to this face, and what color his hair actually was under it's almost blueblack superman shade. I did, however, think his tails were a nice touch.