Biscuits,Paddleboats and 2am Riots

Photo of the Prospect Park Boathouse by Carrie Thomas

K and I decided to host a brunch on Sunday at the apartment. Actually, I guess I coerced K into being my accomplice, but he didn't seem to mind.

As a tribute to the art of procrastination, we found ourselves at the local pathmark at 2am, waiting in line. I needed this cheese grater very badly, but when we were checking out, the girl couldn't find a code for it, so she refused to sell it to us. It was extraordinarily traumatic and at that point I was seeing double. After arguing with her, we left pathmark loaded up like pack mules, mutually exhausted, and lacking the much needed cheese grater.
We dropped to sleep exhausted and woke up too late, scurrying and hurrying to make ourselves and the apartment presentable for our guests.

Our feast was prepared in record time.
As, I tend to do with such things, I went a little overboard.
There was fruit salad, miniature fritata with mushroom,spinach, tomato and Gruyere Cheese. There were home fries,biscuits,bacon and sausage.

We ran around like headless chickens getting everything ready, but we both love the domestic bliss that comes with cooking up some love in the kitchen.

We had a lovely brunch with Steve, Matt, Marc and the lovely Danielle Flores who is gracing our city with her presence at the moment. I'm sure LA is a sad place without her, but we aren't complaining.

After brunch had ended we build a mountain of dirty plates in the kitchen and admired their grandeur before flooding them in suds to soak.

We decided to head over to the park and visit the Audubon center. Whilst crossing a bridge we noticed a lovely Hispanic family riding a paddle boat. We decided that we just simply must also ride a paddle boat. Despite standing feet away from the boathouse, we had no clue as to where we might rent said paddle boat, so we ran along the shore yelling at the family, trying to find out where they got their boat.

Seeing as the family only spoke Spanish, this was a fruitless task. I learned in the process that having a last name like Flores does not mean you necessarily know Spanish. What a disappointment. We finally discovered that we could rent a paddle boat at the boathouse, an idea that was too obvious to be fact.

We got our boat after waiting for an hour and traversed the waters of Prospect park. It was great to see the swan family that K and I have been watching for months. The babies have gotten so big.

I had a very intense discussion with a Canadian goose, which decided to swim along side us quacking at me while I quacked back. At one point, it was decided that I was upsetting the goose and should refrain from talking to it. With hesitation, I bid my feathered friend adieu and focused on my paddling.

after returning the paddle boat, I discovered that my legs had turned to jello and that the only solution was to drink a margarita. I'm not sure that it was the only solution, but I'm going to keep telling myself that it was necessary after slaving in the sun, paddling ms. Flores around like a goddess. All she needed was a parasol to make it a perfect day.

We hung out with Danielle and Laura for the rest of the evening, walking home after hanging in Park Slope. Walking by the park we passed an army of hundreds of NYPD officers lined up as if they were preparing for war. It was the West Indian Parade the next day. I had been told that things get crazy, but I had no idea. We went to bed thinking nothing of it.

At 2am, the sound of a marching band and drums came pounding through our windows. We stepped outside to see hundreds and hundreds of Caribbeans running through the streets screaming and waving flags from their respective islands. It was as if every single building and opened its doors and flooded the street with people. There was something beautiful and unsettling about it. We ran back inside and hid, not exactly sure if this was supposed to be happening, not exactly sure if the police were going to start beating people. We finally fell asleep to the sound of drums. I woke at 4am to hear a similar sound to the 2am commotion, but decided to ignore it. I woke again at 10:30 and made myself a quick breakfast of toast and jam before rushing out the door to be at the studio by 12.

I was surprised to see that the streets were calm and quiet as though nothing had happened. I walked to the subway with tribal drums in my head. Upon arriving to the studio I began to record a beat by hitting my stomach layered with hand claps. Something primal from the early morning energy had found its way to my soul.