10-24-07
This is an exercise.
I contemplated whether or not to wait to take the Lexapro until I returned from New York. What if it didn’t agree with my overly sensitive system? What if it made me feel more tense, bereft, and down than I already felt? Could I chance it? The answer was yes, because procrastinating yet again, even for a legitimate reason, was not acceptable.
Tuesday morning, down the hatch. Immediate blurriness, but tolerable enough, like I’d imbibed too much caffeine. Fatigue coupled with an underlying hyperactivity. Driving to work in the west suburbs was odd. The sky was a rare orangey grey color; I can’t recall if it stormed or not. Exiting off the highway, I felt disembodied. The next two days, concentration was something I had to concentrate on. It was difficult to focus on what my boss said. I nodded a lot. It was stressful teaching my classes. I didn’t want to be there and couldn’t convey that feeling to my students. I did let my reading class go very early one day, though. One student asked me if I was hungover and one told me I looked pale. I think that was the day I introduced the word “shitcanned” to them.
Thursday night I went to my parents’ house after work to eat pork chops and mashed potatoes covered in canned vegetarian vegetable soup. My mom simmered the chops for a few hours, and they were from a well-fed pig. Juicy and tasty. They’d take me to the airport in an hour or so afterwards. I felt less floaty but very hyper, but I was also very excited to greet my NYC friends and to see two of them marry.
Needless to say, it was hard for me to contain myself on the plane. I forced myself to peruse an Elle magazine featuring bleached blonde Scarlett Johannson on the cover, but I was disinterested. My leg shook constantly. I am glad I did not start jumping up and down in my seat. I pictured myself running to my great friend Maddog, leaping and engulfing him in a huge hug, but the post-9/ll airport climate isn't conducive to powerful displays of excitement. I settled for a tight hug and smooch.
(While I was walking towards the baggage claim area, I saw a guy named Shimme who used to live in Milwaukee. He was in a screamo band with Davey von Bohlen way back in the day. I didn’t know him but a friend at that time did. He and his presumed girlfriend looked like they never left 1994.)
Maddog and I decided to grab a cab so that we could make it to the Neptune show on time.
How good it felt to cruise down Metropolitan Avenue in Williamsburg, Brooklyn! Cute people were in out mad abundance due to the CMJ festival. The Luna Lounge relocated from Manhattan to that street. The area has really built up. New cafes, bbqs, restaurants. I didn’t have time to try any of them, though.
Upon dropping off my suitcase and visiting the roof where Mr. Maddog pleasured a lady, we headed back out to Union Pool. Neptune! After three years. And there was Dan, a block away from the club, talking to his underage, artsy, cute nephew and his girlfriend. Got a huge bear hug from the man who digs bears and continued on our way. I hadn’t been to a show at Union Pool. Their back room venue is really quaint and welcoming, with a nice old-timey stage surrounded by Christmas tree lights. Mark from Neptune, who I knew back in Chicago seven years ago, and our friend Martin were sitting right inside the door, so I swooped down for a dual hug. SO GOOD to see these people! That’s all I thought. And then I remembered to bust out the lone stick of Wisconsin beef jerky I’d carried with me for Martin and Maddog to share.
Neptune took awhile to set up, but it was worth it, even though the guys didn’t think they played a good set. Technical difficulties or something, but it sounded more intense than the last time I’d see them, so I dug it. A woman whose boyfriend used to be in the band talked to me awhile about academia and jewelry making. Later, after watching some guys from another Boston band bicker about who was drunk and who should’ve been packing up the gear, I started to talking to a cute bald guy about Powers and Dewars. He even told me to have a good night when I left with Maddog. I felt so exhilarated. It is so difficult to talk to strangers in Milwaukee. Or did the Lexapro make it easier?
The next day the weather was working against me. Sultry southern-style humidity in NYC, complete with nonstop rain and drizzle almost all day. I’d taken my pill and gone back to sleep for another hour. That helped. Walking down Bedford Avenue--wow. I was already a little out of it, so when I saw the charcuterie--cheese shop--in the storefront that used to house the independent bookstore/zine shop, I actually stopped and shook my head with squinted eyes. Opened them. Yep, still a cheese shop. Damn, it’s gone! And down the street--the fun dive bar that served the huge foam cups of cheap beer like the Turkey’s Nest was gone, too. Some fancy pants bar was in its place. The same thing happened to the punk bar in 2004. I tripped over the sidewalk while staring at the bar. I don’t think anyone noticed, though. Then I went down into the subway to go into the city.
Chinatown and Soho immediately wore me out, and I cursed myself for walking south when I meant to go north. Has it been that long? I cut over onto Lafayette and couldn’t find the Vice store, so I stopped in Brooklyn Industries instead. Some cute stuff was on sale, but I wasn’t in the mood to shop, really. As I walked past the skater/snowboarder store, I noticed about 40 or so young men, mostly Asian, Hispanic, and black, queued up behind a barrier. A man stood in front of them holding a video camera, a big one, like they use on the news. Mustering my talking to strangers courage, I approached an early twenty something black boy and asked in a very upbeat tone if I could ask why they were standing in line. It was for sneakers called “dunks,” and they’d be there overnight. I wished him well and kept walking, thinking about that episode of Entourage where Vince shells out $5,000 for a pair of custom sneaks for Turtle after he misses out on a limited pair because he didn’t stand in line all night.
Next stop was St Mark’s books, but it was disappointing. They didn’t have the new Arthur Nersesian novel or anything else I wanted. Steve had texted me back though, and so I headed over to a store called 99x that sold Fred Perry, and promptly threw down $150 for a nylon black jacket that was made in China. It is *very* cool, but that was a stupid move on my part. I chattered away at the shop’s owner because I hadn’t talked to anyone in person all day and I was still feeling pretty hyper. I blabbered on about the skinhead and Joe Strummer movies I’d seen, and also scored some Fred Perry buttons and a little key chain eyeglass cleaner thing in the shape of a Perry polo. I decided my shopping was done and then went to the Whitney Museum on the Upper East Side, such a boring part of NYC. Nothing in the entire museum struck me, and I kept texting Neat. Damn distracting meds. I thought I’d be into Kara Walker’s exhibit, as she creates powerful representations of the way black women have been abused and exploited, but it was overwhelming.
Back out into the shitty rain to Union Square, to kill time at Virgin before I met with the professor who taught my postmodernism and ecocriticism classes. I didn't buy anything there but decided I liked the Enon CD. It was great to chat with Bennett about academia, literature, tv, and poetry. He’s really hip and always interested in what other people are interested in. He bought me vegan mashed potato croquettes at Zen Palate, and then we browsed at the Strand bookstore, where I bought Bukowski’s Ham on Rye, Shaw’s Pygmalion, and a dinky backpack that was meant for a nine-year-old. (I really shouldn’t shop when I’m tired.) I also lost my Metrocard. I knew I would if I didn’t take it out of that pocket. Dumbass. Not a New Yorker thing to do.
My pulse started racing again as I went back down into the Union Square subway station, where a pretty decent 7-piece brass band had been playing to an enthusiastic crowd earlier. Now I needed to go to Times Square to see my girl Claire Danes perform in the play Pygmalion--that’s why I bought the book. I wanted to make sure I could reference it if I didn’t understand the play. There were these dorky Midwestern co-eds on the train with someone’s mom, who actually bent over to pick up a penny she saw on the floor for “good luck.” A Jamaican teen mocked her. Kiss it, kiss it, he said! I looked at him and laughed. She didn’t hear.
As gross as it is when you think about it literally, I delight in Times Square at night, just because I’ve never experienced anything similar to it. The lights light up the night sky and the sensation is just really unique.
As it turns out, I didn’t need the book. The play was easy to follow (it‘s about a ‘lowly‘ girl who ‘learns‘ to act ‘upper class‘ and one ups her ‘teacher‘ at the end of the play), humorous and Claire was absolutely great. I was mad no one stood up and cheered, but I felt weird doing it alone. I yelled loudly when she bowed to the crowd, though. I’m sure she heard me! Skinny little thing. It was so fulfilling to get to see her face light up like it did on MSCL
Afterwards I went back to Brooklyn to meet Maddog at Barcade, yes, a bar with lots of arcade games. There wasn’t any eye candy in sight and I was fucking exhausted, so I was not at all disappointed go home and eat a frozen pizza (for some reason the late night greasy spots around the area either close early or are closed down due to the gentrification).
Sleep came relatively easily both nights--Thursday and Friday. It was really surprising, because I was on a strange couch in a living room that was basically part of a hallway and light streamed in the morning. But I got a solid six hours in. Yeah, meds! Saturday was the wedding. I woke up and text-gossiped with Benito for awhile, which was fun. Maddog had to leave early because he was a groomsman, so Chris, Kat and I made ourselves pretty and went up to Union Square together. The wedding was being held at the Manhattan Penthouse on 14th St and Fifth Avenue. It had a gorgeous view of the city from huge windows.
The ceremony itself was short and sweet. Diane looked so pretty walking down the aisle with her dad. I thought I’d cry, but I didn’t. I just felt really happy.
Afterwards there wasn’t a receiving line. We went back into the bar area and were offered tuna tartar, chicken skewers covered with peanut sauce, guacamole, beef something or other, and spring rolls. People started drinking, but it wasn’t even 1pm yet. I had to wait it out, plus I had three calls to return. I had to still see Zack, Kevin, and Nate. Three very different people. How would I pull it off!? The meds still distracted me, and I obsessively checked my phone. I was disgusted with myself but couldn’t stop, and I thought about the email one of my work colleagues sent about a student whose fingers twitch during class while she stares at her backpack which holds her cell phone.
It was a young people’s wedding. We danced, flitted about, danced in between courses (which included tasty ravioli and really good, not too sweet wedding cake). D and D started things off with their dance routine. I wish I'd gotten better pictures. Two quirky Brooklyn performers I love, Corn Mo and Vic Thrill, sang two songs each. D and D didn’t do the annoying bouquet and garter tosses. Hallelujah! They did feed each other cake, though, and we made sure to clink our silverware against our glasses so they’d smooch. There wasn’t a head table, either. The bride and groom sat in the middle of the room at their own “sweetheart table,” which I hadn’t seen before. I was at a great table of folks. I talked to two slightly younger friends about their dealings with anxiety. It was really helpful to hear their stories and have people to relate to.
The whole afternoon was really heartening, because I was in contact with so many nice, productive people who all asked me, “So, how’s Milwaukee?” People in Milwaukee rarely ask each other what is new in their lives. It was refreshing, but also tiring. I repeated myself so many times! But I was glad to be spoken to, and interested also in hearing what was new with other folks. One of Maddog’s friends is the accountant at the new Darren Star (Sex and the City) show. She doesn’t act like an ass because she works for a tv show, yet so many Milwaukeeians won’t even talk to new people if they are unsure how “cool” the new folks are, and by what standards?
After the wedding, Pete, Emily and I walked to 32nd street to go to a roof bar at the top of the La Quinta hotel, and passed a lot of crazy New Yorkers trying to sell cheap knock off bags, sneakers and CDs, and also saw a movie or tv crew setting up. I didn’t even make the hotel connection until we arrived. I don’t think I’d walked down that block, near the Macy’s flagship, until then. It was in Koreatown. We had a blast up on the roof. I caught a slight buzz for a minute and of course showed everyone my friend’s dick photo that is stored in my phone for such occasions. I was scared to drink, but it was okay. When we left, two rickshaws were being propelled through the street, weaving in and out of stopped traffic, its passengers yelling in delight. So did I! The street is really walled off due to its narrowness and consistently tall buildings lining either side. It was dark except for a few street and business lights, so the scene just delighted me. The energy! The spectacle! The rickshaws! New York! Wahooo!
I piled into a taxi-van with the Murrays and their friend. It took forever to get to the East Village because it was going to dinner/movie/show time. We went to Rififi, somewhere you could walk right past, for its soul night. The sign just said subway soul outside. The cheapest beer was a $3 PBR. They were charging $5 for a Brooklyn lager, which is just ridiculous, but I just had one glass of wine, and my newly bald (yeah! Bring on the bald guys!) friend Kevin bought mine, so that was cool. I didn’t go dance, but I talked a LOT. To Kev, about our current life situations, and Nate from fucking high school. So random. He recently had an encounter that made me really jealous when he retold the story to me. Now I am one of his confidantes, so I at least get to live vicariously. Amidst all this chatting, my gaylatearrivalcompletewithfauxhawkboyfriend finally made his grand entrance, which spurred me to emit a spontaneous shriek from my bird lips.
We left Rififi around 12:30 and went to a bar called Lunasa. It felt nice and chill, and I met Zack’s French roommate and his friend. We talked about where the Harley Davidson store was in Paris. They were getting frustrated because they couldn’t picture it, just like how I get frustrated when I get turned around in big cities I used to live in. They probably thought I was a simpleton, but I liked listening to them talk, and hearing about a foursome. Good stories.
Walking to the L at 2ish am after munching on a hot pepperoni and mushroom slice felt frightening. A little too much alcohol, excitement, and energy exerted plus the meds. I was so incredibly jumpy. Plus I think about walking in the dark in Milwaukee and how that is something I just don’t do. There were people on either side of me walking down all of the blocks, but I was still incredibly nervous. The L train stop was as alive as usual, though, at 2isham. Drunk friends jibber jabbering, tired people going home from work, less drunk people dressed up from their nights out. A British guy and some hip looking older New York guy with platinum hair discussing British and New York culture and music. New York has culture, said the American, but the music here’s got no balls….or something like that.
Sunday I awoke to get a good Steve hug and some conversation at a café in Williamsburg. We sat outside and I dogwatched. Dogwatching in NYC is the best. The great dane, the pug looking but not quite pug dogs, the Chihuahuas. Unfortunately we didn’t get to catch up for very long, but it was better than not catching up at all. All my friends are the same, good, with their quirks. Me too. Except now I’m on meds.
Zack was tired and hungover so I decided to rally and train over to Prospect Heights. He’s living not far from my first apartment. I do not miss that neighborhood, really. It’s pretty over by him, closer to the park, but I hated that apartment. I was miserable half the time. It colors it for me. I got to see his Frijole (boyfriend) for just a few minutes, and his friend Colleen, got to check out their Brooklyn abodes (I love scoping NYC apartments. I always ask how much is the rent. Is that rude?)
We went to brunch at the Italian joint I think Rebecca and I ate in. Real deal Italian waiter and owner. Mediocre brunch food. Nothing too great, but it wasn’t overpriced or tasteless, either. We were both spacey as usual…huh? What? Sorry… ha! Then off to the park for just a little bit before I had to sit back on the train for another 45 minutes. It was worth it. I still can’t decide, though, whether I dislike riding trains or driving cars more.
A few more minutes spent with Maddog and Chris before leaving their very cute but very tiny and mouse infested apartment. I got a ride in the van to the airport. That was fun! Chris is a truck driver so he knows all the moves. It’s pretty crazy driving on a NYC highway. I always slouch down when I’m in cabs, so being above the other cars in the van made for a new experience.
I was sad to say goodbye to the guys, but I know it won’t be that long before I return. All I have to do is put forty dollars away from each check for 6 months and I can afford another ticket. I need to do that, too. At this point, I really can’t say whether or not I would like to live there again. It’s such a trade off, the lifestyles, the value. And it’s so far from home. But I definitely can’t let almost 2 years go by again. I’ve been so despondent, so completely entrenched in angst, stress, and anxiety, ever since I’ve returned ‘home.’ The first year I got re-acclimated to this city, so it made sense that I felt off. The whole PhD thing threw me for a loop. And getting older did, too. And this fucked up political climate. A lot of people feel helpless and scared. I’m glad I’m taking something to make me feel more stable. I can tell it’s working, although I can’t wait for the fatigue to wear. I have too much to do, and too much (way too much) to say!
This is an exercise.
I contemplated whether or not to wait to take the Lexapro until I returned from New York. What if it didn’t agree with my overly sensitive system? What if it made me feel more tense, bereft, and down than I already felt? Could I chance it? The answer was yes, because procrastinating yet again, even for a legitimate reason, was not acceptable.
Tuesday morning, down the hatch. Immediate blurriness, but tolerable enough, like I’d imbibed too much caffeine. Fatigue coupled with an underlying hyperactivity. Driving to work in the west suburbs was odd. The sky was a rare orangey grey color; I can’t recall if it stormed or not. Exiting off the highway, I felt disembodied. The next two days, concentration was something I had to concentrate on. It was difficult to focus on what my boss said. I nodded a lot. It was stressful teaching my classes. I didn’t want to be there and couldn’t convey that feeling to my students. I did let my reading class go very early one day, though. One student asked me if I was hungover and one told me I looked pale. I think that was the day I introduced the word “shitcanned” to them.
Thursday night I went to my parents’ house after work to eat pork chops and mashed potatoes covered in canned vegetarian vegetable soup. My mom simmered the chops for a few hours, and they were from a well-fed pig. Juicy and tasty. They’d take me to the airport in an hour or so afterwards. I felt less floaty but very hyper, but I was also very excited to greet my NYC friends and to see two of them marry.
Needless to say, it was hard for me to contain myself on the plane. I forced myself to peruse an Elle magazine featuring bleached blonde Scarlett Johannson on the cover, but I was disinterested. My leg shook constantly. I am glad I did not start jumping up and down in my seat. I pictured myself running to my great friend Maddog, leaping and engulfing him in a huge hug, but the post-9/ll airport climate isn't conducive to powerful displays of excitement. I settled for a tight hug and smooch.
(While I was walking towards the baggage claim area, I saw a guy named Shimme who used to live in Milwaukee. He was in a screamo band with Davey von Bohlen way back in the day. I didn’t know him but a friend at that time did. He and his presumed girlfriend looked like they never left 1994.)
Maddog and I decided to grab a cab so that we could make it to the Neptune show on time.
How good it felt to cruise down Metropolitan Avenue in Williamsburg, Brooklyn! Cute people were in out mad abundance due to the CMJ festival. The Luna Lounge relocated from Manhattan to that street. The area has really built up. New cafes, bbqs, restaurants. I didn’t have time to try any of them, though.
Upon dropping off my suitcase and visiting the roof where Mr. Maddog pleasured a lady, we headed back out to Union Pool. Neptune! After three years. And there was Dan, a block away from the club, talking to his underage, artsy, cute nephew and his girlfriend. Got a huge bear hug from the man who digs bears and continued on our way. I hadn’t been to a show at Union Pool. Their back room venue is really quaint and welcoming, with a nice old-timey stage surrounded by Christmas tree lights. Mark from Neptune, who I knew back in Chicago seven years ago, and our friend Martin were sitting right inside the door, so I swooped down for a dual hug. SO GOOD to see these people! That’s all I thought. And then I remembered to bust out the lone stick of Wisconsin beef jerky I’d carried with me for Martin and Maddog to share.
Neptune took awhile to set up, but it was worth it, even though the guys didn’t think they played a good set. Technical difficulties or something, but it sounded more intense than the last time I’d see them, so I dug it. A woman whose boyfriend used to be in the band talked to me awhile about academia and jewelry making. Later, after watching some guys from another Boston band bicker about who was drunk and who should’ve been packing up the gear, I started to talking to a cute bald guy about Powers and Dewars. He even told me to have a good night when I left with Maddog. I felt so exhilarated. It is so difficult to talk to strangers in Milwaukee. Or did the Lexapro make it easier?
The next day the weather was working against me. Sultry southern-style humidity in NYC, complete with nonstop rain and drizzle almost all day. I’d taken my pill and gone back to sleep for another hour. That helped. Walking down Bedford Avenue--wow. I was already a little out of it, so when I saw the charcuterie--cheese shop--in the storefront that used to house the independent bookstore/zine shop, I actually stopped and shook my head with squinted eyes. Opened them. Yep, still a cheese shop. Damn, it’s gone! And down the street--the fun dive bar that served the huge foam cups of cheap beer like the Turkey’s Nest was gone, too. Some fancy pants bar was in its place. The same thing happened to the punk bar in 2004. I tripped over the sidewalk while staring at the bar. I don’t think anyone noticed, though. Then I went down into the subway to go into the city.
Chinatown and Soho immediately wore me out, and I cursed myself for walking south when I meant to go north. Has it been that long? I cut over onto Lafayette and couldn’t find the Vice store, so I stopped in Brooklyn Industries instead. Some cute stuff was on sale, but I wasn’t in the mood to shop, really. As I walked past the skater/snowboarder store, I noticed about 40 or so young men, mostly Asian, Hispanic, and black, queued up behind a barrier. A man stood in front of them holding a video camera, a big one, like they use on the news. Mustering my talking to strangers courage, I approached an early twenty something black boy and asked in a very upbeat tone if I could ask why they were standing in line. It was for sneakers called “dunks,” and they’d be there overnight. I wished him well and kept walking, thinking about that episode of Entourage where Vince shells out $5,000 for a pair of custom sneaks for Turtle after he misses out on a limited pair because he didn’t stand in line all night.
Next stop was St Mark’s books, but it was disappointing. They didn’t have the new Arthur Nersesian novel or anything else I wanted. Steve had texted me back though, and so I headed over to a store called 99x that sold Fred Perry, and promptly threw down $150 for a nylon black jacket that was made in China. It is *very* cool, but that was a stupid move on my part. I chattered away at the shop’s owner because I hadn’t talked to anyone in person all day and I was still feeling pretty hyper. I blabbered on about the skinhead and Joe Strummer movies I’d seen, and also scored some Fred Perry buttons and a little key chain eyeglass cleaner thing in the shape of a Perry polo. I decided my shopping was done and then went to the Whitney Museum on the Upper East Side, such a boring part of NYC. Nothing in the entire museum struck me, and I kept texting Neat. Damn distracting meds. I thought I’d be into Kara Walker’s exhibit, as she creates powerful representations of the way black women have been abused and exploited, but it was overwhelming.
Back out into the shitty rain to Union Square, to kill time at Virgin before I met with the professor who taught my postmodernism and ecocriticism classes. I didn't buy anything there but decided I liked the Enon CD. It was great to chat with Bennett about academia, literature, tv, and poetry. He’s really hip and always interested in what other people are interested in. He bought me vegan mashed potato croquettes at Zen Palate, and then we browsed at the Strand bookstore, where I bought Bukowski’s Ham on Rye, Shaw’s Pygmalion, and a dinky backpack that was meant for a nine-year-old. (I really shouldn’t shop when I’m tired.) I also lost my Metrocard. I knew I would if I didn’t take it out of that pocket. Dumbass. Not a New Yorker thing to do.
My pulse started racing again as I went back down into the Union Square subway station, where a pretty decent 7-piece brass band had been playing to an enthusiastic crowd earlier. Now I needed to go to Times Square to see my girl Claire Danes perform in the play Pygmalion--that’s why I bought the book. I wanted to make sure I could reference it if I didn’t understand the play. There were these dorky Midwestern co-eds on the train with someone’s mom, who actually bent over to pick up a penny she saw on the floor for “good luck.” A Jamaican teen mocked her. Kiss it, kiss it, he said! I looked at him and laughed. She didn’t hear.
As gross as it is when you think about it literally, I delight in Times Square at night, just because I’ve never experienced anything similar to it. The lights light up the night sky and the sensation is just really unique.
As it turns out, I didn’t need the book. The play was easy to follow (it‘s about a ‘lowly‘ girl who ‘learns‘ to act ‘upper class‘ and one ups her ‘teacher‘ at the end of the play), humorous and Claire was absolutely great. I was mad no one stood up and cheered, but I felt weird doing it alone. I yelled loudly when she bowed to the crowd, though. I’m sure she heard me! Skinny little thing. It was so fulfilling to get to see her face light up like it did on MSCL
Afterwards I went back to Brooklyn to meet Maddog at Barcade, yes, a bar with lots of arcade games. There wasn’t any eye candy in sight and I was fucking exhausted, so I was not at all disappointed go home and eat a frozen pizza (for some reason the late night greasy spots around the area either close early or are closed down due to the gentrification).
Sleep came relatively easily both nights--Thursday and Friday. It was really surprising, because I was on a strange couch in a living room that was basically part of a hallway and light streamed in the morning. But I got a solid six hours in. Yeah, meds! Saturday was the wedding. I woke up and text-gossiped with Benito for awhile, which was fun. Maddog had to leave early because he was a groomsman, so Chris, Kat and I made ourselves pretty and went up to Union Square together. The wedding was being held at the Manhattan Penthouse on 14th St and Fifth Avenue. It had a gorgeous view of the city from huge windows.
The ceremony itself was short and sweet. Diane looked so pretty walking down the aisle with her dad. I thought I’d cry, but I didn’t. I just felt really happy.
Afterwards there wasn’t a receiving line. We went back into the bar area and were offered tuna tartar, chicken skewers covered with peanut sauce, guacamole, beef something or other, and spring rolls. People started drinking, but it wasn’t even 1pm yet. I had to wait it out, plus I had three calls to return. I had to still see Zack, Kevin, and Nate. Three very different people. How would I pull it off!? The meds still distracted me, and I obsessively checked my phone. I was disgusted with myself but couldn’t stop, and I thought about the email one of my work colleagues sent about a student whose fingers twitch during class while she stares at her backpack which holds her cell phone.
It was a young people’s wedding. We danced, flitted about, danced in between courses (which included tasty ravioli and really good, not too sweet wedding cake). D and D started things off with their dance routine. I wish I'd gotten better pictures. Two quirky Brooklyn performers I love, Corn Mo and Vic Thrill, sang two songs each. D and D didn’t do the annoying bouquet and garter tosses. Hallelujah! They did feed each other cake, though, and we made sure to clink our silverware against our glasses so they’d smooch. There wasn’t a head table, either. The bride and groom sat in the middle of the room at their own “sweetheart table,” which I hadn’t seen before. I was at a great table of folks. I talked to two slightly younger friends about their dealings with anxiety. It was really helpful to hear their stories and have people to relate to.
The whole afternoon was really heartening, because I was in contact with so many nice, productive people who all asked me, “So, how’s Milwaukee?” People in Milwaukee rarely ask each other what is new in their lives. It was refreshing, but also tiring. I repeated myself so many times! But I was glad to be spoken to, and interested also in hearing what was new with other folks. One of Maddog’s friends is the accountant at the new Darren Star (Sex and the City) show. She doesn’t act like an ass because she works for a tv show, yet so many Milwaukeeians won’t even talk to new people if they are unsure how “cool” the new folks are, and by what standards?
After the wedding, Pete, Emily and I walked to 32nd street to go to a roof bar at the top of the La Quinta hotel, and passed a lot of crazy New Yorkers trying to sell cheap knock off bags, sneakers and CDs, and also saw a movie or tv crew setting up. I didn’t even make the hotel connection until we arrived. I don’t think I’d walked down that block, near the Macy’s flagship, until then. It was in Koreatown. We had a blast up on the roof. I caught a slight buzz for a minute and of course showed everyone my friend’s dick photo that is stored in my phone for such occasions. I was scared to drink, but it was okay. When we left, two rickshaws were being propelled through the street, weaving in and out of stopped traffic, its passengers yelling in delight. So did I! The street is really walled off due to its narrowness and consistently tall buildings lining either side. It was dark except for a few street and business lights, so the scene just delighted me. The energy! The spectacle! The rickshaws! New York! Wahooo!
I piled into a taxi-van with the Murrays and their friend. It took forever to get to the East Village because it was going to dinner/movie/show time. We went to Rififi, somewhere you could walk right past, for its soul night. The sign just said subway soul outside. The cheapest beer was a $3 PBR. They were charging $5 for a Brooklyn lager, which is just ridiculous, but I just had one glass of wine, and my newly bald (yeah! Bring on the bald guys!) friend Kevin bought mine, so that was cool. I didn’t go dance, but I talked a LOT. To Kev, about our current life situations, and Nate from fucking high school. So random. He recently had an encounter that made me really jealous when he retold the story to me. Now I am one of his confidantes, so I at least get to live vicariously. Amidst all this chatting, my gaylatearrivalcompletewithfauxhawkboyfriend finally made his grand entrance, which spurred me to emit a spontaneous shriek from my bird lips.
We left Rififi around 12:30 and went to a bar called Lunasa. It felt nice and chill, and I met Zack’s French roommate and his friend. We talked about where the Harley Davidson store was in Paris. They were getting frustrated because they couldn’t picture it, just like how I get frustrated when I get turned around in big cities I used to live in. They probably thought I was a simpleton, but I liked listening to them talk, and hearing about a foursome. Good stories.
Walking to the L at 2ish am after munching on a hot pepperoni and mushroom slice felt frightening. A little too much alcohol, excitement, and energy exerted plus the meds. I was so incredibly jumpy. Plus I think about walking in the dark in Milwaukee and how that is something I just don’t do. There were people on either side of me walking down all of the blocks, but I was still incredibly nervous. The L train stop was as alive as usual, though, at 2isham. Drunk friends jibber jabbering, tired people going home from work, less drunk people dressed up from their nights out. A British guy and some hip looking older New York guy with platinum hair discussing British and New York culture and music. New York has culture, said the American, but the music here’s got no balls….or something like that.
Sunday I awoke to get a good Steve hug and some conversation at a café in Williamsburg. We sat outside and I dogwatched. Dogwatching in NYC is the best. The great dane, the pug looking but not quite pug dogs, the Chihuahuas. Unfortunately we didn’t get to catch up for very long, but it was better than not catching up at all. All my friends are the same, good, with their quirks. Me too. Except now I’m on meds.
Zack was tired and hungover so I decided to rally and train over to Prospect Heights. He’s living not far from my first apartment. I do not miss that neighborhood, really. It’s pretty over by him, closer to the park, but I hated that apartment. I was miserable half the time. It colors it for me. I got to see his Frijole (boyfriend) for just a few minutes, and his friend Colleen, got to check out their Brooklyn abodes (I love scoping NYC apartments. I always ask how much is the rent. Is that rude?)
We went to brunch at the Italian joint I think Rebecca and I ate in. Real deal Italian waiter and owner. Mediocre brunch food. Nothing too great, but it wasn’t overpriced or tasteless, either. We were both spacey as usual…huh? What? Sorry… ha! Then off to the park for just a little bit before I had to sit back on the train for another 45 minutes. It was worth it. I still can’t decide, though, whether I dislike riding trains or driving cars more.
A few more minutes spent with Maddog and Chris before leaving their very cute but very tiny and mouse infested apartment. I got a ride in the van to the airport. That was fun! Chris is a truck driver so he knows all the moves. It’s pretty crazy driving on a NYC highway. I always slouch down when I’m in cabs, so being above the other cars in the van made for a new experience.
I was sad to say goodbye to the guys, but I know it won’t be that long before I return. All I have to do is put forty dollars away from each check for 6 months and I can afford another ticket. I need to do that, too. At this point, I really can’t say whether or not I would like to live there again. It’s such a trade off, the lifestyles, the value. And it’s so far from home. But I definitely can’t let almost 2 years go by again. I’ve been so despondent, so completely entrenched in angst, stress, and anxiety, ever since I’ve returned ‘home.’ The first year I got re-acclimated to this city, so it made sense that I felt off. The whole PhD thing threw me for a loop. And getting older did, too. And this fucked up political climate. A lot of people feel helpless and scared. I’m glad I’m taking something to make me feel more stable. I can tell it’s working, although I can’t wait for the fatigue to wear. I have too much to do, and too much (way too much) to say!
posted by Jen Threat at
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