The Ocean Basket, Rosebank Zone

Sunday, May 09, 2004

Service: * * * 1/2
Food: * 1/2
Ambience: * *
Babe Count: * * * 1/2

The babe count is almost acceptable, cos I'm sitting facing the Rosebank Zone escalator, and there are enough teenage vamps learning high-heel swagger to keep my hormones half-topped up.

I've just seen a vaguely amusing movie, and I've truly already forgotten its name. Something to do with "Polly". Probably something like, "And Then Came Polly". Or "Along Came Polly." Well, bad news. She didn't come. Not once. Not that I could make out, anyway. The movie gets a big fat 2 out of 10 on the Roy-O-Metre.

Made me feel hollow and empty and sad and glum and in dire need of a relationship with a woman who can actually tell that I'm an okay dude to be with and who can make the simple decision to commit. (I'm not mentioning ANYBODY'S name now, am I? If you wanna read between the lines, that's your business, yeah?)

I order the fish and chips special, but with rice instead of chips. It arrives. And there's this little midget piece of fish in the pan. And the rice is on the verge of being mealy from being undercooked. And it all tastes like cardboard.

But maybe that's cos even freshly squeezed virgin juice would taste like cardboard to me right now, seeing as I'm in a foul mood.

All because of the conversation with Jacqui on Friday night.

Ah well. The massage was beautiful. And I've bought Jacqui a voucher for one too. Talk about mixed messages.

On the plus side, there's the exhibition of my portraits at the Spaza Gallery in Troyeville this coming Saturday. I was there earlier today. And it's deep in the Bronx. Really. I'm not going to be expecting ANY of my friends to come to this opening. Heck... I'm not even sure I can make it myself, cos an ex-girlfriend of mine has invited me to her baby shower on Saturday, and then later in the evening I'm doing one of Chantal Nativel's shamanic trance dances.

But hey. My work's going to be up on the walls, with price tags affixed. And hopefully those little red stickers that say, "SOLD!" Not that I'm going to make a trillion bucks off this gig. Cos nobody really knows about the Spaza Gallery except for fringe artists. I found out about the place through Lionel Murcott, my artist buddy whose work adorns my walls. He's starting up his portrait circle again, and I'm part of it, and we're going to be doing it at the gallery on Wednesday or Thursday nights.