Capricorn 4° (December 25)

Finally Christmas day has arrived and I will make some shirred eggs which will gross everybody out because they will strike them as too wet to be properly cooked or edible. That’s okay, I’m making them anyway—after an embarrassment of gifts being opened. My goal today is to have a Jewish Christmas so we are checking into a hotel suite and walking from Back Bay to Brookline to see The Favourite at Coolidge Corner. It will be packed. We have reservations at a Japanese place but I truly want Chinese. We will also pass by what looks like a promising Thai restaurant. I thought the performances in The Favourite were all very good; but I didn’t love the movie in the end. It was like Peter Greenaway L.I.T.E. And it didn’t stick with me. Tant pis. The Japanese restaurant was a joke—rude and dismissive atmospehre—and we left. The Thai restaurant was dizzzzgustingly dirty. So we started walking back toward Boston, figuring we’d pass the Chinese restaurant that gets good reviews. It was packed and we waited fifteen mintutes just to talk to the “hos”t, during which time we decided to get takeaway. The “host” tried for that entire time to run one credit card that wouldn’t run; meanwhile the rest of us were a gaggle of people who had checked in and were waiting to be seated; people walking in off the street; people waiting for takeaway; and those wanting to put their name in for a table. And everyone was unempathetic and rude and pushy and randomly asking strangers (us) what the hold up was as if we knew. Oy. Finally I said to the “host” can you attend to other things beside that one card and your huffing and puffing? We just want takeaway. Oh that will be an hour wait. Fuck this. We stormed out.

Now we had had a reservation for a fancy Christmas dinner at La Voile a serviceable French restaurant on Newbury Street, originally, for 5PM that day which we canceled to celebrate the Jewish Christmas idea which bombed. We called them. They said they could put us at the bar. We hopped a cab. What they didn’t tell us by phone was that they were closing then in fifteen minutes. We casually sauntered in and were stuck in a corner at the bar up against a two-top down below, behind us whose faces were competing with our coats for air space. The bartender moved us to high table, in the bar, instead and said we should get our order in since the kitchen was closing. What? Wow, just in time. We ordered a beautiful red and some soups and salad (if foie gras fringed with greens can be considered a salad). Anyway it was delicious. I had chestnut soup on Christmas day and it was infused with truffle and the true spirit of the day. Fuck Jew Christmas followed by Chinks. I have never been so happy to be a lapsed gentile than at this very moment. Singing Silent Night silently and in French in my brain, I was definitely going to draw out this experience and so ordered dessert. I thought doing Jew Christmas would feel so anonymous and sneaky, but duh: Brookline was packed with god’s chosen all scrambling for tables with prepackaged chop sticks. Meanwhile, here on Newbury Street, it was a sparkling ghostland at the early end of eight PM as the closing of this, one of the only restaurants in town to be open on Christmas, and thus it was here I found that feeling I was chasing. It wouldn’t have happened at 5PM in the place. But it was accidentally happening now; and so after a chocolate confection and single espressi, we only had three or four blocks to walk back to our awaiting suite and sleep.

To view the original Sabian Symbol themed 2015 Blague corresponding to this day: Flashback! The degree of the Sabian Symbol may be higher than the one listed here  as the symbols cluminate in the next degree. There are 360  degrees spread over 365 days.

 Typos happen—I don’t have time or an intern to edit.*
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