It's Alright, It's Okay

 If this is fall, I rest my case.

For months now I've had to listen to how eagerly everyone wanted autumn to roll in, for it to be sweater and scarf weather, for the heat and humidity to go away. Now that you all got what you wanted, I find myself waking up today to find that's it's 42 degrees and today's high is 43! Not acceptable.

How is it that Monday I was wearing shorts and a t-shirt and today I have on leggings, two layers of tops, a sweater, a wool coat, scarf, boots and gloves? How can it be that all my windows were open when the week began and now they're all shut, with storm windows lowered behind them?

I'll tell you how: flippin' fall is finally here, with the moldy leaves to prove it.

All I can say is, I hope all of you are happy. I'm not. Granted, there are other reasons for that (and that's another blog post, one that only the few see), but this frigid air and gusty wind need to go.

Cold and crabby about it, I landed at Citizen, which turned out to be just the thing on a night like this. The place was warm, fragrant with good smells and hopping, no doubt in part because both Dylan and John Cleese are in town tonight. As a bonus, the affable chef came by to say hello.

Giving black bean and cheese pupusas a swipe of tomatillo salsa, I tucked into them, appreciating the complementary crunchiness of the curtido on the side, while eavesdropping on the next table, two of whom were planning to run the marathon tomorrow.

Good luck with that, I'll wave as I walk by.

Tasty as the pupusas were, I've had them before, so for my main course I chose a special of rockfish over a tomato-based stew of potatoes, onions, garlic and wilted kale for something new. The moment I got a whiff of that warm, well-seasoned broth, I started to thaw and once I began sopping the broth with bread, I could almost forget the unfortunate season that raged outside.

If that sounds a bit over-dramatic, consider that my Dad's nickname for me as a child was Camille for just that reason.

But laughter was what I needed, so I finished out the evening at the Coalition Theater for "Project 27," an improvised long-form spoof series on '70s spy movies. The 27 comes from the ages of the skit's three main characters - Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin and Jim Morrison - when they died.

Tonight, they were sent on a mission by Agent X to apprehend the Russian female agent Natalia, who, along with the evil Dr. Money, plans to blow up New York and then go dig up the gold he buried in Dover, Delaware. Natalia plans to rocket toward safety listening to the Bee Gees' "Stayin' Alive" because she loves to dance.

Whether the subject was disco, orgies or  drugs, Dr. Money would just shrug and remind us, "Hey, it's the '70s." Right on.

Because our heroes were rock gods, there was a fair amount of comedy about heroin and tripping, with one of Jim Morrison's best lines (comparing tripping and tryptophan) all but drowned out from so much laughter. There were times when the cast could barely keep from cracking up at each other, it was so hilarious. As audience members, we didn't even have to try.

Besides, I was there. If it was the '70s, nobody would remember either way.