I left when the wine was gone.
I don't think I am ready to write this.
But when are you ever ready to do anything, especially when it involves change? Dinner is done. Yotor is over. It is The End for that book. I would call it a chapter of "life" like so many great graduation speakers have done in the past, but Thursday Dinner has enough stories and characters that it qualifies as a book. No fucking chapters here.
I'll explain.
Yotor is a house. It is located on 9 and a half street. It's name hails from its address 1917, which is the Year Of The October Revolution. The mix of quirkiness, creativity, and pretnetiousness of the name is a good start at describing the men who have lived there.
The men who lived at Yotor are quirky, creative, and pretentious. There were four that I knew, and more before my time. Justin, Sir Jeffy, Joshua, and Mr. D. Describing them is something for another time (their funerals), and they aren't dead. Just leaving. They are all more and they are all less than whatever you like to think they are. They are like jello. Not solids and not liquids, and there's no point thinking any harder about it.
But more than anything they liked to cook, and then receive compliments on their cooking. Well, the J's did, but Mr. D, he likes to clean. And through the invention of Dinner everyone got what they were looking for, hungry people and a mess. The creation of Dinner was simple. They had to eat, and to make that happen they had to cook. So they invited more to come. And we came.
A beautiful combination of people suffering. Oh yeah, I am sorry, I forgot to mention, they are heros. They saved us, from the drudgery of our gray lives (and their gray lives too). They gave us a day, well a night, Thursday. And we took it fully. We enjoyed it until the last drop. We squeezed and wrung and twisted every bit of Thursday until it was Friday.
And then we went home. And went to bed. And woke up and went to work. But on Fridays, something was different. There was a glimmer in our eyes that could be confused with the happiness about the weekend. But it was actually a tremedous hang over from the night before.
Thursday Dinner was tradition and it was significant. If you missed it, I am sorry, because you really fucking missed it.
But when are you ever ready to do anything, especially when it involves change? Dinner is done. Yotor is over. It is The End for that book. I would call it a chapter of "life" like so many great graduation speakers have done in the past, but Thursday Dinner has enough stories and characters that it qualifies as a book. No fucking chapters here.
I'll explain.
Yotor is a house. It is located on 9 and a half street. It's name hails from its address 1917, which is the Year Of The October Revolution. The mix of quirkiness, creativity, and pretnetiousness of the name is a good start at describing the men who have lived there.
The men who lived at Yotor are quirky, creative, and pretentious. There were four that I knew, and more before my time. Justin, Sir Jeffy, Joshua, and Mr. D. Describing them is something for another time (their funerals), and they aren't dead. Just leaving. They are all more and they are all less than whatever you like to think they are. They are like jello. Not solids and not liquids, and there's no point thinking any harder about it.
But more than anything they liked to cook, and then receive compliments on their cooking. Well, the J's did, but Mr. D, he likes to clean. And through the invention of Dinner everyone got what they were looking for, hungry people and a mess. The creation of Dinner was simple. They had to eat, and to make that happen they had to cook. So they invited more to come. And we came.
A beautiful combination of people suffering. Oh yeah, I am sorry, I forgot to mention, they are heros. They saved us, from the drudgery of our gray lives (and their gray lives too). They gave us a day, well a night, Thursday. And we took it fully. We enjoyed it until the last drop. We squeezed and wrung and twisted every bit of Thursday until it was Friday.
And then we went home. And went to bed. And woke up and went to work. But on Fridays, something was different. There was a glimmer in our eyes that could be confused with the happiness about the weekend. But it was actually a tremedous hang over from the night before.
Thursday Dinner was tradition and it was significant. If you missed it, I am sorry, because you really fucking missed it.
posted by karin at 9:06 AM
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