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September 30, 2002
Art Vomit
So, once again it's been awhile. All I can say in my defense is that I am co-running a company, planning to be at a wedding, planning a party that I won't even get to go to, working a new business relationship and pet sitting for three lovely if-not-high-maintanence cats.
I have come to a revelation. For me at least, art is very much a regurgitation process. I have been thinking to do a project for nigh on a year now but until a few weeks ago I couldn't work my way around it. I would occasionally think about the project, come up with a lame idea or rehash an old one, and then put it away in the back of my head. That is until one night, late in the evening, I was trying unsuccessfully to sleep. Tossing and turning, I was frustrated and getting increasingly irked at my inability to go to bed at a decent hour. Then all of the sudden the churning and the gurgles. Only this wasn't in my stomach, it was in my head. Now tossing and turning and churning and gurgling I had a eureka moment. I flew out of bed and ran to the pen; a sort of "porcelain throne" for the verbage that ailed me. Within half an hour I had the skeleton of the project that was stuck inside me for this last year. Finally relieved, I went back to bed with a contented smile, exhausted and lighter from the retching.
Posted by mermu at 11:53 PM | Comments (1)
September 12, 2002
My Big Fat Gay Wedding
I just got the good news tonight that my dear friends Jim and Andre are making it official. Jim finally decided to make an honest man of Andre (who is really the proper sort at heart), got down on one knee and proposed! It so romantic I could just spit up. The nuptuals are in May in the Poconos and Jim has asked me to stand up for him. I am so excited I don't mind that they are getting married before I do. At least in this one I'll be the spinster younger sister. Andre has promised not to let Jim gussy me up in some crazy fashion like that fuzzy garment Ms. Bundla P's cousin tried to pull off in the swimsuit competition of Miss Millenium this year or the "Gene Roddenberry Special" Ms. P wore herself the year before. I heard something about a ruby red dress...hmmm, only "dangerous women" would dare wear a ruby red dress at a wedding. I like it! I wonder if they'll let me tag along in the search of wedding dresses. After all, we simply must find something really special for Kathy, Jim's big-boned sister. And best of all, we now live in a glorious world where they can put an announcement in the NY Times!!! Life is Good.
Posted by mermu at 11:53 PM | Comments (1)
The Truth about Hummous
I don't care how many sheiks are on the label, grocery store hummous is nothing like the savory, smooth and delicious concoction that an actual Greek person whips up from Scratch.
Posted by mermu at 04:03 AM | Comments (1)
9/11/2002
Disclaimer: The following should be prefaced with the adamant direction to "Burn This". It's probably more than one ever wanted to know about the dark side of me. It is probably better off sealed in a letter with a wax seal to be placed on my grave and unearthed hundreds of years later, after I am dead, when my descendants know of me only from stories and a faded picture. I'll probably read this tomorrow and make a fervent promise to never publish my stuff when I am in such a state. Oh Well. In the interest of writing, and growing as a writer and that Writer in me that says, "hey, this is pretty damn good stuff" I put it out there as an honest-at-the-time attempt to describe the tempest within me. If you mention this to my face, be prepared. It is likely I will vehemently deny it. So with out further ado...
My head is swimming with things to do. The company, my career, my job. I hope I remember them all.
Tonight I am alone and depressed and it's 9-11 all over again. I am afraid I'm going to totally lose it in the oddest places and in the weirdest ways.
Walking to work today- yes I did go to work- I was in the best mood. With a smile on my face and a wiggle in my walk I was loving this city. A new day had dawned and it was beautiful. The weather was gorgeous with a sky as blue as when I was child full of innocence and wonder at the magic in the world. Then, BAM!. The names of the dead on every ticker in Times Square. Vincent Abate, Edward L. Allegreto, David Reed Gamboa Broadhurst....
Coming home @ 7:30pm, Times Square was eery in its silence. Half the shows were closed as well as some of the restaurants. The few hawkers selling their schlock looked odd and out of place. The TKTS booth was nearly empty. I almost went to see "Thoroughly Modern Millie" tonight but Harriet Harris was out. I was gonna take advantage of this inauspicous occasion but no, not tonight.
I didn't celebrate today. Didn't mourn. Didn't commemorate. Now I sort of wished I had. It would have been really good to commiserate with my fellows. Maybe I have been looking at this whole event the wrong way. Today I feel so lonely. So alone with no one on which to release my grief. These feelings of conflict and desolation. Those 3000 people are dead. Gone from this world. There are babies without fathers and a new army in heaven.
Through this loneliness I feel strangely connected to passersby-no one I know- silent compadres in a world of confusion and emptiness. I look at the couples on the opposite sides of me at Charley O's and I wonder, "Do they feel it too? Do they know me as their sister in this city?"
One man tried to take advantage of this solemnity and fraternity. This pain and desolation that I and my city felt. He tried to talk to me as I was walking by-but not as brother- more like a hunter. When I walked on by he took a cut to head me off at the pass. My anger, my strength felt good. Finally something solid I could grab onto.
"Why won't you talk to me? You don't socialize with strangers?"
"I don't owe you an explanation. I'm sure you're a fine person. Get out of my face. Goodbye" and I cross the street.
Ahh. The mad-ness. The outlet. That moment felt good and I know I could have railed on him until words would kill him. All I'd have to do is open the gate. I wonder if I would have liked it better if he had followed me across the street. I wonder if I would have savored the opportunity to fight. To battle. The chance to seethe. To revenge, avenge and dispel this animosity inside me.
And still I feel lonely and lost. I am an orphan in a city of brethren on this day. I think I did that to myself. Why didn't I set something up? Hook up with someone; meet for dinner, drinks...a candle light vigil...the reading of the dead. Joseph M. Giaccone, Vincent Francis Giammona (I've always loved the name Vincent.) Donna Marie, Jeffrey John and John Giordano (God, I hope they weren't related.) Scott Jordan Hazelcorn, Shari Kandell, Laura Maria Longing.... I think maybe that's what I wanted but I also think I was hoping to be found. For someone to think of me on this sorrowful day; to take care of me in an hour of need. That makes me chuckle. Laugh. And I rant and rail on guys for their passivitiy.
The dreams of giant seals with thick and dark brown fur portend great things for me but today I don't care. I emailed the "gentleman caller" last night. I told him what I really wanted to do this day was get really drunk and then get laid, but that is silly because everybody knows sex is never good if you get that drunk and I don't want to medicate with sex or booze. I didn't think so at the time but now I am wondering. Was that a come-on I was emailing? An invitation? Perhaps a big, red flag that I could be had on this desolate night? I say I don't want this guy and I think that is the truth. He was inattentive even when he was interested. I can only imagine the mess that scenario would be now that time and tide has cooled our affinity. Perhaps I was propositioning the Gentleman. Didn't want to screw things up with a guy I might currently be dating so why not schlep with someone wo is already screwed up? Nah. The truth is I knew he would think of it as proposition (whether it was or not) and run like hell. This city just isn't real today. It hurts so much. Maybe I should have gone to one of those candlelight, poignantly marketed remembrances.
I sent that email to the Gentleman Caller because it was the truth. It was how I felt at the time, how I still feel in burst and blasts of emotion and I needed to get it out or it might fester. The dangerousness of my current state is very real however veiled and silent. If I choose to voice it where I know there is nothing but a dead end well that's just "mother Meredith" protecting me. Thank you, Mother.
The names of the dead are there for all to see. Albert Ogletree, Philip Paul Ognibene, Beth Ann Quigley. No Noah Gartner (Praise Be.) No D. Rogers (Thank God.) No Tihomir Simeonov (Merciful Savior.) No Daniel Lucio (God in Heaven, thank you for that would have laid me low.)
Is this the sign of an alcoholic? Crying in one's martini? I hope not because I am not about to stop drinking. LOL. Now that is the sign of an alcoholic.
So today. Walking to work. Was beautiful. The sky was as blue as a technicolor movie with puffy clouds dotting the atmosphere like virgin balls of cotton straining to be drenched in the latest revolutionary cream or salve. A sky so blue and mellow like I don't think I have seen since frogs started growing three legs and the rivers became unsafe to fish. I didn't think we would get skies like that ever again. It would have been an idyllic day except for the massive blasts of wind. Gusts so hard you could walk without moving forward. Little tornadoes in the streets were full of eye-catching marketing materials and trash. Within the wind I felt the secret. There was an energy and spirit. 9-11-2002 was a sunny day and a new beginning. There was more than trash and marketing in those tornadoes.
The problem, the pall of the last year in NYC is that the dead were still here. Efrain Romero Sr., James Roux, Tatiana, Ryhova... You could feel them on street corners, hear them as the subways whirred and railed to reach their destinations. Susan A. Mackay waiting for a taxi on 53rd and 2nd. Kiran Reddy Gopu waiting for the train in Grand Central that would take her back to Bridgeport. Peter Alderman patiently waiting for his martini at Tao Bar. The ghosts have been haunting this city and mourning their loss and ours. They cry out to their loved ones as those so loved make their day-to-day journeys and then lash out at the futility of the endeavor. They whisper to this introspective New Yorker on a latenight trip to Port Authority. I could hear them sometimes but I couldn't understand the language. Frustrated, these ghosts of our fallen family would scream at us in actions. The flapping of a brave bird's wings tapping at your head. The anxiousness of a bat zipping past as he fervently searches for a place to hideout for the night. An unknown vendor for no apparent reason propelled to give a stranger a picture of the Wall Street Bull as she walks across 42nd.
The Winds of 9-11-2002 changed all that. I could hear the angels singing this day. The ghosts, so unsettled and restless this last year, were emerging from the site of that hallowed ground to rise to the next level in this esoteric evolution. Bruce had it right. It is The Rising. Our fallen heroes and families and citizens were rising up into the next light this day, 9-11-2002. If you couldn't see them you could certainly feel them. And the marketing, the remembrances, and the packaging of this unholy tragedy didn't matter. God had called for his army and his sons and daughters and that gusty wind, tornadoes full of trash, was lifting them up. They had lingered on this earth in such an altered state long enough. The Winds had come to take them Home.
And that's the harshness of this day and perhaps why I have been so resistant to its passing. Why I feel so incredibly lonely. Three-thousand spirits have left this city today and it makes a dent. Spirits mostly joyful and optimistic for the next leg of their journey. I want to be happy for them too. I am happy for them too. But they also mourn still. They are leaving mothers, fathers, lovers, sons and daughters, companions, friends and strangers here still to toil and celebrate, remember and live a life without them. That is a heartily painful and lonely thing. I miss those faceless names that I will never meet. Brethren I have lost without knowing. I'll never shake their hand, brush against them in a crowded subway, buy them a drink in a bar or share a blanket on a summer night in Central Park. Today I am consumed with this sorrow. Tomorrow I hope to be cleansed in their joy. Safe journeys to my brethren. Aum Namah Shivaya...I bow to God in you.
Posted by mermu at 02:13 AM | Comments (1)
September 10, 2002
Mary, Mary
Last night I was debating whether or not to go see a movie and half talking myself out of it to write this blog when I ran into a friend who auditioned for the Moby Dick reading and made it. This guy is probably all of 21 years old. He looks 17, is blond and blue-eyed and has the innocent look of a boy raised on a farm. This Moby Dick reading could be a really great break for him. We had a lovely chat; he offered to help me with my Voiceover marketing for his book and even gave me some gum he just bought from the Duane Reade on the corner. As we were chatting this woman stood parked in front of the electronics store next to Mamma Mia on Broadway. She looked like the lovely old granny who takes care of tweety bird. She had a bright, yellow kerchief on her head and she was imploring all passersby, "can you help me I'm hungry?". At one point, she decided to get aggressive. She had trouble walking so I could see her slowly sidling up to me and my friend as we were discussing his Moby Dick experience. When she got up to us she asked again, "Do you have any money? I'm hungry." in that sweet forlorn voice of granny. We, not finished with our conversation, promptly dismissed her with a quick no. She said, "you really don't have any money?". We said no again and she loped back to a spot just behind us in front of the Japanese restaurant next to Mamma Mia to implore the other less-heartless passersby. I finished my conversation. My friend had to get back for the end of Mamma Mia; he did usher-type work there and the crowds were just about to let out. So I decided to try to help this woman out. I was uncomfortable giving her money. I don't know why. She didn't look like a drinker. I wanted to buy her a meal. So I went up to her and told her I didn't have any money but I would be happy to buy her a meal on my credit card. She asked me if I was sure I didn't have any money and said allright. There was a pizza place on the corner but she didn't want pizza. She wanted a steak and potato. There was a deli down the street but that was perhaps too far. We settled for a different deli a little closer and around the corner. I held out my hand to her and we walked arm in arm to buy her dinner. I found out her name was Mary and she was from West Virginia. A "mountain Mama" with no children who used to work in a pen factory putting ball point pens together unless it was December. In December they laid off the pen factory workers and she would get a Christmas job working at the Woolworth's. After which, she would go back to the pen factory. She said she hadn't been in NY too long. She lived in Queens and wasn't looking to move back. When we got to the deli there wasn't anything substantial she really liked so she picked a couple of Snapples and Hershey Chocolate Bars. She said she couldn't eat alot of things because of her teeth. No cheese or yogurt because of lactose intolerance. She asked me if I took care of my Mother and I was a little embarassed to admit that, hell, my mother still takes care of me. I did tell Mary that my mother would most likely be fought over when it came time to decide whether I, my brother, or my sister would take care of her and that made Mary smile. She asked if she was a good Mom because "sometimes it's the mother's fault and sometimes it's the child's fault". I said she was a good mom, that all three of her children were polite and ethical people.
Mary lived with some woman in Queens she said. The woman let Mary live there but didn't have enough money to help Mary out for food and such. The woman had to send money to her mother, wherever she was. So Mary relied on the "kindness of strangers" on a daily basis.
The deli wouldn't let me charge anything under $10 so I ended up with 2 cups of yogurt and a diet A&W while Mary also picked up some bottled water. After the deli, Mary asked me if I would buy her a subway ride home. I have to hand it to Mary; she had no problems asking for what she wanted. I had offered to swipe my subway card to let her through the turnstyle before we made it to the deli; but she said she wouldn't be ready to go home then, could I just give her my card. I decided that would be a bad idea as it had about $28 left on it and I do have to get around myself. So I popped on down to the subway and put $6 on a subway card. That amounts to four rides. Mary seemed reasonably pleased. I walked her back to her spot in front of the Japanese restaurant just in time for the Mamma Mia patrons to have the opportunity to be strangers extending their kindness. On the walk back to the restaurant I asked Mary just how long she had been in NYC. She said again, "not too long" but then added "since about '64". That brought a chuckle from me, after which, Mary admitted, "well, I guess that is awhile". We said our goodbyes and god bless yous. I walked on down to 42nd and over to Port authority thinking Mary was a whole lot more fun than Gwynnie and that guy from Erin Brokavich. I skipped the movie in favor of Mary.
There is always a new experience waiting in Times Square.
Posted by mermu at 02:11 PM | Comments (2)
Seeing Orange
So the "president select" has opted to move the nation into a high state of alert because of the 9-11 anniversary. Last night I awoke to the deafening sound of an aircraft. It was most likely an airforce craft overseeing the area, but I couldn't help but lie still as a statue and follow the noise until I could be sure it didn't crash into anything. Turns out that NYC has been in the high alert orange since the attacks. That makes me feel better. New Yorkers shouldn't be any more stressed out about this development because we have been this stressed out since 9-11. High-Level orange. The sad thing is, my distrust for this administration who clouds their decisions in secrets and half-truths runs so deep, I wonder how much of this is just another ploy to make that slacker seem presidential or to make a case for him to clean up the mess his daddy made in the Middle East. 'Hey Folks, we are going to get the Evul Dewars and so we are at Level Orange, now watch this drive'. Don't you think this guy should clean up the mess left by those Al Queda bastards and finish what we've started in Afghanistan before we start picking on other nations?
I suppose I should be happy the government is taking such strong precautions. From a statistical "art of war" point of view, if I were on the other side of this conflict, I would look at this anniversary as a prime opportunity. I just wish I had even a little bit of faith in this administration which seems to rewrite history, lie and secret away the truth.
Posted by mermu at 01:53 PM | Comments (1)
T minus 1
I am not at all looking forward to Wednesday and the way that we will be bombarded with mass produced poignant stories and memories for the masses. I thought about staying home but I am determined to not even turn on a television on that day. These "special reports" and "stories behind the story" stories really turn my stomach. I will light a candle and say a personal prayer and think good thoughts for those I know whose Wednesday will be a lot more difficult than mine.
When we were at the Firehouse on Labor Day Sunday one of the guys gave us each a T-shirt which memorialized a fellow firefighter his unit had lost on that day. They were selling the shirts to try to develop a scholarship in the fallen man's honor. We mentioned the hotel at which we stayed which is near the WTC Site. One of the Captains in an almost inaudible voice mentioned that was his building. A building he had to scour and evacuate that day.
This anniversary is still so real and so painful to so many. It's not a holiday; it's not a day to celebrate. It's a day to get through and to try not to remember so vividly you start waking up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat or start looking at your bus driver with distrust because his skin is brown. There are people who don't wait for the anniversary to mourn, to feel, and to strive to overcome. They do it everyday and will continue to do so long after this landmark anniversary. There are still so many ghosts in this city that creep up on you in the most unlikely places. I think maybe that's why I am so resistant to this 1 year mark. I know that people will let this unit of time be a reason to start to forget this wasn't just the latest "commemorative event" but an actual tragedy. And these ghosts must still be laid to rest.
Posted by mermu at 03:13 AM | Comments (0)
UhOh Ma, He's a Republican
This last weekend I went out with a charming guy who has the coolest loft in Williamsburg. He's a friend of a friend so we've met once or twice before. A few weekends ago he invited me to his birthday party which is how I got to check out the loft. He has a roof deck that almost counts as a backyard. It was a lovely party and I definitely have Deck Envy. Hopefully, Zena's daughter is right and I will relocate in December. I'm not holding my breath but it would be nice.
We had a lovely evening and another late night for me. A highlight was a walk we took in the Meatpacking District. We ran into a young black couple looking to rent a hotel room "not by the hour, the whole night!!! " They were so cute and so young. It was very romantic in a depressing sort of way. They lived on opposites sides of the city which can be quite a distance. Maybe they still lived with parents, had too many roommates..I don't know. This was their one night out and they were having trouble. They didn't have a credit card so many of the hotels wouldn't rent a room to them even though they had the cash for it. I hope they found a place although I am not sure how much help I or my date was.
As far as the date goes, I look forward to getting to hang out with him again. That is unless he swallows a peanut and dies or something tragic like that. (Hey, it's happened before.) I am a little nonplussed though. This guy claims he is a Republican. Fortunately I managed to roadblock his attempt to dis one of my favorite Senators before I could really get my rant going about you-know-who who is you-know-where for another 864 days. How can a photographer from the East be a Repub for goodness sakes?
Posted by mermu at 02:49 AM | Comments (1)
And lightning didn't strike Me
The Friday Deb and Company got here I met them outside of St. Pat's cathedral where we were treated to a VIP tour of the stately church. It is gorgeous inside and out. And lightning didn't strike me. The choir loft was amazing. That organ must sound truly inspiring in all it's glory when it is heard from up there. We also went behind the alter to where the priests' robes and raiments are set out. We saw the safe that holds the chalices. We even went into the crypt where the Archbishops who have served Mass there have the option of being laid to rest. That is a little creepy I have to say. Underneath the alter in the crypt are all these dead bishops. It almost seems sacrilegous as well. We are meant to worship the Christ and not the priest right. But I suppose it is a comfort to those that choose it to be laid to rest near something deemed so holy. I lit a candle for Grandma at the Virgin de Guadelupe and a candle for myself and the frail Catholic Church at the statue of St. Jude. It's a truly beautiful structure.
Posted by mermu at 02:28 AM | Comments (0)
China has a Club
The Saturday before our Firehouse excursion I met Deborah at an Irish pub where we were hosted by the owner and Manager Brian O'Brian, a contact from Deb's Fire/Police Person connection. It was the early beginning of a wild night which will be censored here to protect the guilty. We met a couple more Firemen who hung out with us through the evening. After the pub, we went in search of a bar of a friend and wound up listening to Louisiana Blues at the Delta Grill on 9th Avenue. More fun ensued. Eventually we wound up at the China Club, a current hotspot in midtown, courtesy of one of the guys (Bob?) we were with. Once in, and once again we were treated like royalty. Free drink tickets were issued to all and we proceeded to do a little dancing, a little drinking, a little flirting, and a lot of hanging out. Four AM came quickly but I was pleased to find that I was reasonably sane and sober. It's amazing how easy it is for me to stay up through the wee hours these days. We said goodnight to our firemen friends, piled ourselves in a cab and made our way back to the hotel in the financial district. The next day, before our Firemen Feast with Engine 67, Deb and I had a lovely brunch with Officer Garza and his wife and a few other officers at the Park Avenue Cafe. Russell and Tom were off to the Mets game courtesy of one of Deb's friends. We were bone tired but unwilling to give in. I for one was having too much fun.
Posted by mermu at 02:21 AM | Comments (0)
In the Company of Men
Despite the rain and a sourpuss, I had a blast on Labor Day weekend with my friend from High School, her two friends from South Carolina, Russell and Tom, and a plethora of Police and Firefighters of New York City. Deborah and I have known each other since I was a Sophomore in High School. She moved to South Carolina about 7 years ago and seems to have set roots. She works for the Hospitality Association of Myrtle Beach. Shortly after 9-11, they spearheaded a drive to give NY Police and Firepeople Hotel and Restaurant accomodations in Myrtle Beach. The project was a rousing success; they awarded something in the neighborhood of 4000 vacations to New York's Finest. Needless to say, Deb now has a number of good friends in the police and fire departments of New York City. They were all bending over backwards to see that Deb and her friends had a good trip. As the "tour guide" of the weekend; I got to tag along. It was the best weekend I have had in a long time.
First, it was great to catch up with Deb again. The last time she visited my mom and sis were also here so, while we did get to hang out in bars together, we didn't get to really spend quality time reacquainting ourselves with each others' lives. We did that this time. Also, she has some pretty amazing friends in Russell and Tom. I don't know how she does it, but Deb seems to alwasy draw in the neatest guys. I have developed a healthy crush on both Tom and Russell for different reasons. Aside from the fact that they are both fun at a party, they are both witty, intelligent, and unphased by exposure to an independent woman. If they weren't so geographically undesireable, I'd seriously consider giving up my "frivolous fall season" for them...or one of them. So public thanks to Tom for a great chat on the subway even though you caved and revealed that I was so engrossed in the conversation I forgot to get us off the subway. And to Russell for being a great dance partner at the China Club and a great chat on our way home in the cab...although I'm not sure how much you remember about that night. At any rate, your secrets are safe with me. Big, BIG thanks go to Deborah for putting me in the company of MEN.
A highlight of the weekend was Sunday night. We were invited to have dinner at Engine 67's Firehouse on 168th and Amsterdam...with firemen! It was so much fun! As if that weren't enough, Engine 67 was hosting Engine 45 while their house was being renovated. So that meant more firemen and an extra truck. We emerged from the subway to see a Firetruck complete with all the bells and whistles waiting to escort us to the house. As there weren't enough seats in the truck, I had to console myself with an arm-in-arm walking escort to the house courtesy of Fireman Fred and Fireman Jack. It was a big sacrifice I can tell you. Both were handsome and charming..and did I mention they were firemen? The meal of spaghetti with meatballs, salad and garlic bread was scrumptious and the company was even better. We had great conversation with the guys. Is it a prerequisite that a NY Fireman must be funloving and charming? I wonder.
After our meal and cake and coffee, we got the "soup to nuts" tour of the House. The bunks, the weight room. We even had the opportunity to slide down the pole. As I was in some new pants I had just bought that day I opted out. Besides, I'm used to getting a tip when I slide down a pole. (kidding mom.) Russell and Tom both opted to try it out. They were both like kids in candy stores. When Engine 45 got a call for a stuck elevator the boys got to go on the run. Russell even held the elevator door when they were using the "jaws of life" to rescue stuck elevator-goer. While the guys were on "the call", we girls got to talk with some of the guys remaining and climb on and in the firetruck. We tried on the hat and the jacket and took some pictures of the guys. We even got a tour of basement full of all kinds of cool secrets which I will not mention here. The Firemen gave us a T-shirt which I will cherish. It was a great experience.
Posted by mermu at 02:04 AM | Comments (0)
Winter Hair
So the Labor day weekend was pretty dreary weather-wise. Rain, rain, rain and I had company (which I will discuss later). We had a stretch of heat in August that was pretty intense followed by a few days of chill and rain. I think it was the first time in my life I found myself mourning the passage of summer. Autumn has always been my favorite season. The energy in the air is palpable in October. But this summer I really enjoyed the city in a variety of ways and I found myself loathe to give that up. The parks, the free concerts, the movies in the park- there is always something really cool happening no matter how hot the pavement gets. As I was walking through the streets those August days, chilled to the bone as I had yet to realize how the coolness of the temperature would affect my wardrobe, I dispassionately thought, "well, I don't have to shave my legs until springtime". It was a shallow consolation. I remembered one of my favorite priests (who is no longer a priest) who used to grow a beard starting the first day of Advent and would shave it come Easter. Thus the idea of "Winter Hair". The truth is women have followed the "winter hair" philosophy ever since they came out with the Lady Bic. Shaving is a huge pain especially when nobody can see or feel the smoothness of those finely shaved gams beneath dark tights and wool pants. The irony is that the girls who have those steady guys are the ones most prone to follow the Winter Hair philosophy. The single girls really have to keep up appearance as they are still in the "marketing phase" of any relationship. I'll bet once the "I dos" are said it won't take my sis long to "forget" to shave in the winter. Even money says she waits until after the honeymoon. We'll see.
I suppose if you're a guy the Winter Hair philosophy makes alot of sense especially up this way. Those beards must keep a guy warm during those cold winter walks. I suppose the same thing could be said for long-haired women but there are so many cool scarves and accoutrements for chilly female necks that it really doesn't matter how short or long one's hair is.
Alas, I did have to shave my legs. I am a single girl in her "frivolous Fall season" and I had a date last weekend. (The smoothness of my calves were a sensation to behold and don't think my labor didn't go unnoticed.) The weather became sunny and warm again and so I will have to wait to retire my dual action razor for a few more weeks at least. Who am I kidding? I'd spend a few extra minutes in the shower for a hot date or a beautiful shorts-wearing day in the park during any season.
Posted by mermu at 01:32 AM | Comments (4)
September 09, 2002
The Buzz in Times Square
Over two weeks and no posts! That's pretty damn deplorable if you ask me. I always seem to lose it at the end of the month. The good news is so much has been happening; the bad news is I haven't had time to write. Ah me....I will try to pace myself so Stepan doesn't have a book to read the next time he checks out my blog. Here's a little tidbit of the last two weeks.(Stepan, check out my use of headings. Hopefully that will help delineate one topic from another)
Shortly after moving to NYC, I developed this sort of love/hate relationship with Times Square. I love that it's here, but I hate having to walk through it. All the gawking, gangly and slow-moving tourists are too dense in the area for this New York Girl who, to paraphrase those three Gibb Brothers, "you can tell by the way she moves her walk, she's a woman, man...no time to talk". Speaking of which, I have a guilty pleasure. Sometimes when I'm walking down a really cool street in New York, I hear that music in my head. Ah, Ah, Ah, Ah Staying Alive. Staying Alive. On one such occasion, I was running to catch the last night of "Kiss Me Kate" on Broadway. I was in my NY Black and pretty damned pleased with myself. Walking with a purpose. A New Yorker with somewhere cool to go and Kappploooooeeee!! Down on my knees. These damn NY sidewalks are treacherous when you are in sneakers much less girl-shoes. What can I say? I was born to be Bridget Jones not Sidney Ellen Wade.
Back to Times Square. So I have taken this attitude that Times Square is my least favorite part of NY. It looks like a theme park and, once you get to know New York, it's the most un-New York part of New York....if you ask me. I am currently working a job in a company on 51st and Broadway and usually I make my way on 8th street from Port Authority. The last coupla days I have had to go up Times Square for little errands and such.
The first day I walk up to Times Square, a pidgeon flapping it's wings runs into my head. I gingerly touched my scalp, knowing I could have gotten a little more than an "air-kiss" from this feathered creature. Fortunately, all I got was a little surprise and a "did you see that?" look from the tourists walking opposite me. I sort of got a kick out of the experience after I put to rest my Hitchcockian fears. The next night I was walking home from work at about 10pm. (I'm a night owl and I have flexibility in my hours.) As I am walking under scaffolding between 47th and 48th I see a bat. A BAT! He was just flying around looking for a quiet dark place to rest his weary head...upside down. The bemusing thing about this experience is that there were alot of people walking under this scaffolding and they all seemed unphased. Even the tourists. I thought perhaps they thought it was just another unruly pigeon. So I keep walking and watching this bat flying under the scaffolding, hoping it doesn't "vant to suck my blood" and muttering under my breath. "That's a bat. That's a bat! I didn't realize they could hang this far north. So I am discovering that each walk through Times Square is different walk through Times Square.
Saturday, as if to prove this theory, I have another experience. I am dashing through Times Square on my way to the park for some fresh air and business plan work. I am walking with a NY purpose. Translation: I am hauling ass! Weaving my way between cars and tourists like a pro. Somewhere on 47th Street I get a light tap on my shoulder. My first thought is that it wasn't a tap at all meant to stop me, but rather an accidental contact from someone else on their way. I stop and turn around anyway. It was a classmate from Texas Tech, David Gaschen, who is currently in Phantom of the Opera! He had been tracking me for the last coupla blocks because he thought it might be me. I haven't seen him for at least 12 years! What a joy it was to see him. I knew him during one of the most idyllic times of my life; both for living and for art. Seeing him was like seeing someone with which I was once innocent. It was as if he knew me when I believed in the tooth fairy, puff the magic dragon, and fairy tales- well at least the unjaded real-life equivalent. He knew me when I didn't know that you could lose even though you were on the side that was fighting the "good" fight.
He is the standby for the Phantom and he promised to let me know when he is performing it again. His wife had a baby recently, I told him about my baby (Tex in the City). He remembered a scene we did in college in which we each had one line. I didn't even remember it until he brought it up. He looks a little older and wiser but still largely the same. I got such a kick out of seeing him after all these years. The experience made my day.
And I realized two things: 1) A walk through Times Square is always a different trip. 2) Sometimes when you think you are just trying to get somewhere with a purpose (like a good NY-er should) you are actually running away from something pretty damn cool. Ferdinand the Bull and my Southern brothers and sisters have got it right. When you are in a hurry, you are very likely missing something you need to see. There's nothing wrong with smelling the roses. I hope I never forget that no matter how "new york" I become.
Posted by mermu at 10:23 AM | Comments (0)