The restaurant that Manuel and I had dinner at the other night provided delicious crepes, hours worth of entertainment via a write-onable tablecloth, and a house magician. A house magician in leather pants with a generic European accent. How do you even get to be a house magician?
(It actually happened to be the place that Michael and I had drinks at one night waiting to eat sushi one night, but I don't think either of us realized what it was. Or that there was anyone else in it.)
The magician told us a story involving two foam bunnies. He handed one to me and when I opened my hand there were two bunnies there. Then he gave the two bunnies to Manuel and ordered him to shake his fist--no, faster, like a rabbit--and when he opened his hand, a whole family of foam bunnies popped out.
Now, my old roommate Jesse is a magician. He spent years-and-years going, "Hey, ok, so pick a card." I was for the longest time so tired of magic tricks. But this magician in the leather pants, he was pretty darn good.
I'm trying to come up with stories for you, but it's hard. This has been a weekend full of world-rocking news, and I'm still trying to catch up. I miss Sarah and could use about seventy-three hugs.
So here's a bonus for you: What do you do when you want to have a barbecue but have no grill? You have a fauxbeque!
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