Non Sequitur

Things are pretty fluid right now so it only seemed fitting to post this picture of a fountain outside the Museo de Arte Latinoamericano de Buenos Aires.

Baba Yega and Sunshine

This is the view I had from my blanket in Hermann Park. This is why I love Houston.

For a city that can be plagued by the most distressing adjectives and the unfortunate association with petroleum economy, it certainly has the best fall, winter, and spring.

Today, I had the pleasure of sharing a wonderful brunch with Renu, Dowin, Lindsay, and Kay ay are aye tee ayche (he likes to spell it) at Baba Yega. Like Houston, Baba Yega is made up of a seemingly unwieldy patchwork of parts, is defiantly cheap, and is absolutely delightful in the fall. We were ushered to the second level which looks into the oak and palm shaded courtyard and its merciful and beautiful fountain. A nice breeze swept its way through the wood floors and conversation. We must have eaten ourselves silly with the omelettes, quiche, smoked salmon, bacon, but our collective creativity gave way to a novel Houston experience.

"Yeah....we should go to the park."

And thus we went as a matter of course, after of course a round of mimosas. These are the days that I covet. Plenty of sun to bronze and warm the skin, awkward water foul wandering about, and the music of ticklish leaves vibrating with the autumn zephyr. Sigh.

The hours slipped by under the oak canopy by Hermann park lake. I didn't clutch to my James Baldwin novel as closely as I thought I would; it was simply to gorgeous to ignore such beauty around. Instead, I only made it through a couple dozen pages and spent the rest of the time gabbing it up with my favorite South Indians, Nashvillian, and the premier Blackmanophile this side of the NBA.

KC and I were later joined by his petite amie and her incredibly high energy Jack Russell Terrier that I inadvertently christened "Fancy" versus his more aptly designated name, "Turbo." Relentless this little bugger was. Every dog that passed, Fancy felt that it was his personal responsibility to fervently demonstrate his enthusiasm with the most remarkable display as follows.

1. An imperceptibly quick turn and subsequent silent glare to confirm the presence of a fellow canine approaching on the walk.
2. The most tense and spring-loaded launch from his hind quarters that would with a torrent of barking that would make any White House spin doctor green with jealousy.
3. Subsequent vain attempts a quieting and calming Fancy followed by apologetic smiles and shrugs from our blanket.
4. A good laugh and repeat.

Afro-Mexicano Party

So first, off there are no pictures. Sorry, somehow I managed not to take a single picture of the twin birthday party of Leroy and myself. Although I would like to say that it was simply to avoid future political liability, our little fete was in fact fairly tame.

Fortunately, given my OCD hosting tendencies, I was not a casualty of the lychee martinis, the birthday cake shots, the pomegranate margaritas, the Red Stripes, the Moscato d'Asti's, the Gevurztraminers, or any of the fancifully named libations of that evening. Thankfully however, others did not share my fate. It was quite the motley mix that evening of hetero/queer, brown/white, and med/anything else. Certainly these are the places that I find myself most comfortable, so it was a suitably enjoyable evening.

I found some clever inspiration and decided to have some random artsy photos you may have seen (for example 1, 2, 3, 4, 5) displayed on my beautiful 32" Samsung. Pretty fitting given that most there were fairly random and at the very least interesting. There were the incredibly lively coterie of small Asian women of Leroy's partner, the random Houston energy workers, physical and occupational therapies finest practitioners, and of course the nations next wave of surgeons, psychiatrists, pediatricians, and goodness knows who else.

The best part? A very awkward cake cutting (with pictures I've yet to verify) after a lively late 20s rendition of "Happy Birthday to You." This was immediately followed by a quick retreat by yours truly of all things that pertain to marriage. Conversation of my colleagues' past relationships, Eddie Murphy's early music career (see below), and Red China (the unfortunate consequence of ethyl alcohol and our Chinese friend Ben).

Overall a GREAT night without wincing from the politely invited and delightfully absent neighbors. 26 it is.

¡Feliz Compleaños! Friday

26? I thought the view from up here would be a better, but I can't say I'm disappointed.

Courtesy of a beautifully flexible call schedule, I've managed the near impossible: a gorgeously sunny and warm, call-free weekend. Usually, I can squeeze out warm but not call-free, or oppressively hot and call-free. Gorgeous (read as upper 70s accompanied by a cheek kissing breeze) is hard to come by when I have the time, but alas I digress.

It was my birthday! And what a birthday it was.

Let's start with Friday. Friday, the venerable Colonel and his missus joined the ranks of Houston's restaurant goers to celebrate the anniversary of my birth and newly complete financial freedom at the tastebud bewitching Hugo's. Let me not misguide you; while we've established a pecuniary independence, this was on their dime, their very generous dime. In any case, as has been the case since I've been able to make restaurant recommendations, I attempted to pick a place that would please the most picky of palates (read as the Colonel) or one most suffering from ennuie (read as my more adventurous mother). Several weeks ago at a resident gathering at the posh Bustamante-Barré's, PMB4 and I were discussing his recent experience at Hugo's. You could practically see his pupils dilate with the gastronomic memory, and thus my decision was made. Authentic upscale Mexican it is.

So, my (as usual early) parents arrived, swiftly began taking the first photos of me in a long white coat, danced a bit, joked a bit, and finally we were off for our rather difficult 6:30 reservation. The woman over the phone offered us a patio seat (remember that its a gorgeous weekend), but Texan sensibility overcame us all and we opted for an interior table, by a very busy and jovial hostess.

"You're waitress will be right with you."

Immediately the coolness of the vent began to wear out its welcome. Mom quickly requested that the colonel navigate valet and obtain her scarf, and then just as quickly we then requested another table. And thank goodness too. The second table was near a thoroughfare, but at the very least our eyes could venture through the windowpanes to enjoy the beauty of east Westheimer and the 1970s minimall across the street (who is blissfully camouflaged by trees and lights). My eyes are always a bit hungry for dynamic scenes, so this suited me nicely. My parents are always a bit hungry so this suited them as well.

"Hmm...how about this one. " I chose a nice aperitif before deciding on a course, and as a matter of course, my mom chose to join me in my drink, with a reluctant "I'll have one too" from my dad. Minutes later these words were regretted by their pseudo-retired owners as the drink was not in fact iced tea as my mother originally surmised. Hilarious.

"Oh my goodness. I can feel it burn my chest." The irony of my mom feeling warm did not escape my father and we had a nice laugh as usual. Conversation swirled around their recent 30th anniversary trip to Rome, recent events on the ranch-ito, plans for a family trip, dad's shiny Canon SLR, psychiatry, and of course, like all good Black people, the ridiculousness of "compassionate conservatism" and its loathsome father, Republicanism.


We shared the most delicious ceviche I've had since Panama, cochinita, barbacoa, salmon, mexican hot chocolate, churros, crepes con leche, and some really great togetherness that my residency schedule has made a bit more rare.

Memories of grade school confession flooded me as my tongue was absolutely nonplussed with the most deliciously sinful flavors it has experienced in a while. Roasted cocoa beans, chipotle pork, salmon that melts and entrances. I needn't waste time with what cannot be adequately described, but needless to say, it joins some other pretty notable dining experiences.

Without question on e of the best evenings I've spent with our trio of Websters and certainly one of the more delicious. With half-open eyes, a suitably lazy gait, and beautiful smiles, we made our way to the valet. Hopefully we'll be able to recreate the experience in the near future. I also hope this bodes well for 26. In the meantime...thank goodness for family.

Best Meals...EVER:
Peking Duck - Beijing China
Medallón de Lomo Tenderloin at Cabañas las Lilas in Buenos Aires
Confit de Canard - Paris
Glâce Bertillon (Citron vert) - Paris
Pomegranate Sorbet One Midtown Kitchen - Atlanta
My Uncle Wayne's Barbecue - Brenham, Texas

Orange Wheels of FIRE

Despite spending more time with these guys than Tyra's legion of pseudo-ingénues on America's Next Top Model with eachother, we still want to spend more. Last week we had a psychiatry resident retreat (i.e. a day off together). Entire hospitals were sans residents for we were at...guess where...a ROLLER SKATING RINK. I can't begin to tell you for how many weeks I looked forward to that glorious day.

After an incredibly awkward period of group activities that these things necessitate (believe me, I can't even BEGIN to tell you), we were accosted by a 6in taller, rolling fourth year resident fresh from an empty floor.

"Are you guys going out to skate?"

Everything within me tried to hold back from running to the rental desk as I rather briskly walked toward an impossibly far counter. The rental guy asked, "What size?" to which I cooly replied, "Hmm...11.5. That should do."
"Oh we don't have half sizes."

(flash images of less than elegantly rapid turns as I gaze toward rows of hypnotizing orange wheels)

"Oh wait, you want the standard four wheels? Oh."

(flash images of beautifuly elegant rapid turns of my grade-school youth)

"SWWWEEEET."

As I pushed past pleasantly bemused future mental health professionals the smell of rented leather and plastic quickly brought me back to at least a dozen birthday parties for the brace-laden, at least three of those parties were mine. How great. I fantasized about the turns, ducks, swishes, and of course aborted falls of the YMCA, Carousel Skating Rink, and many others.

My age betrayed me.

Apparently 25 year olds are much less malleable than 10 year olds so I thankfully aborted an immediate attempted fall. After 10 minutes of reintroducing my 4th grade fearlessness to my higher center of gravity and earnings potential, I was good to go. Much to the chagrin of Candace and Jenn I was turning, ducking, swishing, and of course aborting falls...which of course led to their own. Sorry guys. For the next couple of hours, we were playing pop the whip with people who normally would consider such a phrase a sexual fetish or satomasochism. There were relay races with the admirable efforts of our binary residency directors. I miraculously won a race against an intern, a second year, and a fast looking child and adolescent psychiatry fellow. The second year had a bit of a spill of the floor and as such I was obliged to replace him as the leader just before the finish line.

And the steal.

A great time by all. We interns topped it off with an afternoon of margaritas at Jenn's house so as to forget about the rapidly approaching soreness from the days activities. If I hadn't already begun planning my birthday party I would SO rent out the place for a birthday.

CLARO.