Today I had the pleasure of seeing my grandmother's old brownstone in Brooklyn Heights. One of her favorite dinnertime rants is about that place and how much money she would have accumulated if she sold it t0day instead 50 years ago. I guess I can't blame her for dwelling on that dwelling. Brooklyn Heights is quiet and beautiful- quieter than Manhattan, at the very least. Her old brownstone appears to have been remodeled recently because it looks newer than the ones on the other side of the street. I made Josh take pictures of the place, despite the fact that we could see the tenants through the window. Like I said to them earlier, if I have to pee on their front stoop to claim back that place in the name of DeLano, so be it.
We ate breakfast at a place called Jacks. Or Jeffs. I can't remember and I choose not to try and figure it out using the wealth of resources at my disposal. I am once again bitter at the choice I made (because who could have guessed eggs, peas, refried beans and ham on the same plate would be a disappointment).
Writing things like that makes me feel spoiled. At least I get to eat breakfast, right? It's easy to forget one's fortunes.
I'm just saying, that ham could have found a better home, like the mouth of a homeless person. Is that a bad thing to say?
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