Brunch. Bourghetto style.
I’ve been become something of a known brunch hater. The reasons are myriad: the food is almost uniformly poorly done (it’s a cheap way for a bar to make extra money, and they don’t skimp on the cheapness); conversely the food is way over-priced; the ideal of brunch is full of bourgeois trappings that are about nothing more than keeping up with the Joneses; etc. (cf. Amy Sedaris quote at end of Urban Bohemian on the subject.)
But that’s not my complaint now. No it’s far worse.
I’ve agreed to go this thing — a gay blogger brunch on Sunday. It’s at an Italian restaurant. (I mean COME ON. There’s no breakfast tradition in Italy! Why? Sputter. Meh. Pant.) Okay, why did I agree.
Peer pressure. More specifically twitter pressure.
I’m trying to spin this as an opportunity to meet some of my favorite gay NYC bloggers. One or more I may or may not have a crush on but that’s all I’m saying. If I have nothing more than toast an OJ. Well that’s life.
But here’s the other deal — brunch is mostly a group gab fest. And as any of you that are late deafened know, there’s almost nothing more anxiety producing (and if not that at least completely useless) that being in a group conversation.
This may or may not be influencing my thinking on brunch overall. I’m not introspective enough to know yet. And you’re not paid enough (meaning at all) to help me figure this out.
So I’m looking forward to sitting, in a what I’m sure is a lovely Italian restaurant, staring at my overpriced breakfast food while trying to get the person next to me to write things down in my sketchbook. And thinking about the fact that I could be doing laundry. I may have an attitude problem here.
At least, let’s hope I get drunk.
