ta-da......!
It's funny, its only been 10 days since I updated, but it feels like a month or so. I guess that's the effect traveling has on a person.
I suppose there are a million little (& slightly bigger) things that I could be writing about, but I think it would take much too much time and energy to untangle them all from the depths of my presently numb brain. I think I'm in a marinating state right now. So instead, I think I'll distract myself and write about minor details at random.
I ordered a suitcase today. It's red. Like my rainboots!
Yesterday I got up at the asscrack of dawn to go vote in the primaries with my parents. A family friend of ours is running for governor. My dad had asked me if I wanted to work on her campaign, and I was going to say yes and then found out she was Republican. Surprise surprise. I guess as far as Republicans in Alaska go, she's not half bad, and is a much better alternative to the other schmucks who were running. Buuuut she is a lifelong member of the NRA, and pro-life. Eek. Anyhoooo, I'm registered as a Democrat so she didn't even show up on my ballot. Not that she needed my vote, since she won the Repub. primary anyway. Whatever.
Have picked up Fitzgerald's "The Crack-Up" once more, and am loving every word of it. I think that this is another one of those books that just seems to have been written with me in mind, although I realize that that sounds a bit ridiculous. I just feel like the fabric of my being is in this book, I mean I really don't know how to say it without being so utterly cheesy - most of the time I'll read something and understand it and appreciate it, but for the most part it's more or less on a surface level. But with Fitzgerald, and especially "The Crack-Up," I'm reading it the same way I read other books but I feel the texture and the nuances, I get his phrasing and placement of words in sentances. I felt the same way about Goncharov's "Oblomov" as well.
Oh and I finished "Cat's Cradle" on the plane ride over. That was a trip.
Newt remained curled in the chair. He held out his painty hands as though a cat's cradle were strung between them. "No wonder kids grow up crazy. A cat's cradle is nothing but a bunch of X's between somebody's hands, and little kids look and look and look at all those X's..."
"And?"
"No damn cat, and no damn cradle."
Will be in Paris in two weeks' time. Bizarre.
subways & prototypes
On the train ride home today at 59th street there's a man playing the bongo drum in my subway car, and from 59th street to 125th street which is a pretty long ride he plays nonstop on this drum. Fast beats that are synced with the pace of the train. I happen to look up right as he stops, and in that split second awkward silence after a performance he starts applauding himself because no one else will. A few others join in. Then he gets up and in the silence of the bongo-less car he goes around and asks "money for the drummer? money for the drummer?"
Ears still ringing, the train moves from 125th to 145th street. At 145th street a mini Mariachi band gets onto the train, complete with cowboy hats and matching white starched shirts. They play and wail and harmonize and a girl walks around the car with a hat, and no one is giving money. Everyone is probably thinking what the fuck is up with all of these panhandlers attacking this one subway car.
Their playing stops and you hear "Thank you, gracias, gracias."
I get off the train at 175th street and there's a long tunnel that leads me from the subway to the bus terminal. In this tunnel there is a permanent fixture, a rail-thin man who always sits on a little crate. He is usually wearing a clean white t-shirt, sunglasses, and a hat. He sits on this crate and plays the saxophone - and by 'plays the saxophone' I mean he really knows how to play. Maybe it's the acoustics of the tunnel or something but he gets me every single time, whether he's playing Whitney Houston or a hymn. Hes been sitting there playing his saxophone for as long as I can remember. So I figure since I've been hearing all of this music on the train I kind of want to detox with a tune of his, but it turns out he's taking a day off today or something because he's not there.
Once, a few months ago I remember kind of stumbling up through the tunnel completely stoned out of my mind, my mind kind of swimming with thoughts as I move upstream with all of the 9-5-ers trudging home from work. Complacent office types. And this guy is sitting on his crate playing MJ's "Rock With You" and I seriously feel like dancing because he's totally grooving. But then I'm looking around me and all I see are tired faces, completely unaffected by the music, and that makes me want to dance even more, just to show this guy that at least I'm alive. At least there's one person in this whole stream of commuters who's not dead yet. But I guess the pressure of normalcy and conformity crushes me and I end up just being one of the crowd.
Another time, I'm walking up the same tunnel and I see the saxophone man, but he's not playing his saxophone. Instead he's just sitting there, his skeletal legs primly crossed, elbow resting on his knee, hand resting on his chin. And I see that he's talking to this guy who's just standing there nodding his head, and as I walk by I hear him say - I realize this is the first time I've ever heard him vocally speak - "...the money accumulates interest."
Of course! The money accumulates interest!
The money fucking accumulates interest.
And his voice is just what I imagined it to be - low, a little raspy, like hes had one too many packs of cigarettes in his day. But completely level and clear.
Changing topics.
A little while ago my friend Heidi IMed me and right off the bat asked me what kind of guy I imagined her being with. I asked her to elaborate. She said, "If I was walking down the street with boyfriend X and ran into you, who would he be?" Which I thought was a very very random thing to ask, especially given that I haven't spoken to her in many weeks. But this is precisely why Heidi is so amusing.
Anyway, since I still had no idea what she expected from me, she gave me an example and detailed for me the type of guy she imagined me with. Apparently my boyfriend X would be 5'11" with brown hair and brown eyes, my age, in Gallatin, plays the guitar and hates John Mayer, loves Woody Allen movies, plays racquetball and/or squash, and is from Connecticut and is pursuing music because he can afford to live off of his family's money forever. If he were a color he would be mahogany with lime green trim. Also, he apparently wouldn't have a very firm handshake, and could possibly have the last name Malone.
Hm.
standing room only
I'm trying to think of what I've been doing since my last update. I'm drawing a blank, since apparently I'm plagued with short-term memory - I have trouble remembering what I had for lunch. Or for that matter, if I ate lunch at all. This may turn into a very dry recollection of mundane activities (maybe not unlike Elena's emails from Greece). Just a disclaimer.
At some point, I went to see "Mother Courage and Her Children" in the Park. What a loooong play that was - although Meryl Streep was fantastic. At the time, I figured the perceived length had something or rather to do with the fact that I was high for part of it, but then a few days later I got a glimpse of the review the Post gave it and realized that it really was just a long-ass play. However, I do remember a full moon being out that night, right over the stage, and the fact that the weather was absolutely perfect.
Wednesday night was dinner with Vanessa and Justine at Coffee Shop (amazing herb fries, definitely a place that's going into the Restaurant Book) and afterwards we sat in Washington Square Park and they sang "Estoy Con Mis Amigos" - it makes me sad not to know when I'm seeing them next. Maybe in a few months, maybe in a year. I guess I should be getting used to that feeling.
Yesterday was my last day working for Grassroots Campaigns. I got to hand-pick my team and the site, which was a nice little gift from the directors, because usually they just surprise all of the field managers every morning. So I took my hand-picked team to the West Village site, which coincidentally is right by G-Ho. Had a splendid last day; the spring weather, the nice pedestrians, the nice lunch at Cafe Angelique, everything.
Met up with Cari afterwards, and we went to the Metropolitan Cafe for dinner, where we had a lengthy discussion with our wonderful waiter about wines. I ended up having a glass of Rose, which was Amazing (and according to the Times, a nice summer wine that's making a comeback..?). Then, more drinks downtown with the office. Crashed at the sweet pad that Cari is house-sitting, where unfortunately there is a pug. An ugly-as-sin pug. I'm a dog-person, I love dogs - but I honestly couldn't bear having this pug near me, it was so vile. I thought maybe it would get cute after a while, but it never did. I mean, I had to physically push it away from me. If that makes me a bad, superficial person, then so be it.
Today I spent a glooorious morning with Cari. We hit up Jack's for coffee (note: have decided that I would ideally want to live either right above Chumley's or right next to Jack's. Also, Jack himself is actually a very good-looking man, which I discovered today. Hmmm.) and just ambled around the West Village and SoHo, going into stores and wandering around street fairs and flea markets. Then Mike joined us and we went to Best Buy and The Strand. Realize am going to miss those two tremendously when I leave. And by "those two" I don't mean Mike and Cari I mean Best Buy and The Strand, naturally. Who cares about Mike and Cari, pfffffft.
Anyway. There it is, little bits and piece of the last week or so. Have one week before I leave for AK. So I've decided that this next week is just going to be one long extravaganza, with the birthday somewhere in between. Should be interesting. Oh, and also have to basically pack up my room, since we sold the house here. Lots to do, lots to do. But for now, a book and sleeping in sounds marvelous.
heatwave much?
Today was not a good day to be standing outside all day. Wait, let me rephrase that. Today was a horrid, wretched, god-awful, why-am-I-alive day to be standing outside all day.
If the Democrats don't take back the majority after all of this, I don't know what I'll do.
(It probably wouldn't be anything very drastic - I'd probably just sigh a little bit and then move on. But still.)
Moving on.
Last night, my fake got confiscated. And the best part is, it got confiscated not at a trendy/exclusive bar/club, but at - wait for it - Down the Hatch.
Yep, that hole in the wall known for cheap wings and beer on West 4th with the predominantly underage NYU crowd.
It's not that big a deal, since I won't be needing it when I'm abroad, and by the time I come back I won't be needing it anyway. But it was just funny that it got taken away at Down the fuckin Hatch.
*shrug*
Also, apparently everyone at the office thought I was over 21 all this time. (Which I guess is a compliment...?) So needless to say, there was a little confusion when I told them my ID had been taken away. "Wait, what ID? Why would he take your ID?? What the fuck?? Wait, what? You're not 21?! What?!!.....I'm drunk."
But instead of everyone staying at Down the Hatch and me going home all by my lonesome after the ID fiasco, they all came out and we went to Chumleys.
Way to stick together as a team, DNC. Woot.
Alright, I'm tired so the rest of the entry is just going to be economized.
+ Little Miss Sunshine
+ Little Miss Sunshine shirt that Caroline gave me.
+ I'm seeing Naima tomorrow!
+ It's not supposed to be 100+ degrees tomorrow!
- I have intense knots in my shoulders and they're hurting me.
- "I thought you were an MTV girl"
+ Cari is coming back into the city in a week to housesit and we're going to have slumber parties.
+ Birthday in two weeks!
+ Leaving for AK in two weeks-ish!
- Leaving everyone and everything in two weeks-ish.
+ Getting lots of stationary before I leave so that I can write letters to people from Paris. No emails. Give me your mailing addys.
