The previous post is Rich Dad, Poor Dad, by R. T. Kiyosaki.
The next post is Trail Days Road Trip.

Karaoke in New York · May 9, 08:08 PM

THURSDAY

I left work on Thursday, riding the steel tide of I-95 South. At Stamford I climbed out of my Focus and into a Metro-North Railroad car headed into Grand Central, with nearly perfect timing—despite 20 minutes spend driving in, around, over, and under I-95 and various entrance ramps and local roads. Next time, I tell myself, won’t be like these last two messy landinds. I’ll know right where I’m going, right which turn (straight for three lights, then second left under 95), and right which parking garage (also second right).

The train carried me into the city; my phone read approx. 6:30, and I high tailed it across the city to B&H Photo Video. Store entry occured at approx 6:58, and purchase was initiated approx. one minute later. No more than thirty seconds after initiation, intercom announces store closure, prohibiting further purchases; my timing was excellent again. The whole operation was very professional. At the first set of counters you buy your gear. At the second set of counters you pay for it. At a third set you pick up your bag and head out the door. And it’s all run by friendly Hasidic Jews!

I wandered over to Chelsea and checked into the international hostel therein, grabbed a bite to eat after worrying over which cheap Chinese takeout, and proceeded to meet hostellers, including a New Zealander in America to promote Falun Gong. Two Norwegian ex-army and a Japanese man shared the dorm room with me, but I abandoned them for Evan’s company.

At about 3AM I checked out. Evan and I had been walking down through the meatpacking district and along the Hudson river by the Chelsea Piers, having a great time in each other’s company. We’ve been through a lot together, despite being very apart in a spatial sense.

FRIDAY

I sleep in past noon! Evan wakes me up on his way out. I shower. We meet his mom for lunch at Pax—they do made-to-order salads and other organics. We hop over to his dad’s office, and I stay long enough for a hello and pro bono IT support.

We two take a train downtown and buy tickets for Ashes and Snow, an installation by Gregory Colbert in the Nomadic Museum. The roof is canvas. The supports are paper. Shipping containers stacked 4 high and about 2 dozen long form the walls. It’s one long hall lined with photographs. A video installation at the far shows man and animal together. It’s good.

So. Day passes into evening real quick. Getting up after noon does that. Evan takes me down to Christopher St., and falls into ecstacy. He found a music store that had all his favorite albums that he left on a plane that one time on account of chatting up that cute girl. After insisting they play DJ Micro, and bouncing to Hardcore for the Headstrong, he declares that gay people are the salt of the earth and we move on to sit down for a coffee break before returning to his apartment on 54th.

Three hours of good sleep later we wake up and head out for ninety minutes in a Karaoke box. Three of us were drunk, three were sober, and one was very uncomfortable in our company; he left early, before we got to the climatic group rendition of …um… some big-hit eighties song. I was sober, honest.

The three sober ones end up with Tuna melts at a Diner somewhere, and pass up the floating Frying Pan club in lieu of a quiet night at home in bed. Warm fuzzies all around.

SATURDAY

Again, a late start. I head off into the Guggenheim and the architecture sends me spiralling into a black mood. The Kandinski was great—he’s a more versatile artist than I knew—and I enjoyed connecting with the alienation of Slater Bradley’s Doppelganger Trilogy, but… that museum is fundamentally un-pretty, up-setting, and ugly.

I stewed they day away, and as dusk passed into night I found myself waiting for Evan, so I took out my camera to try for a few night shots. I got one, good. Then another, and after three I was on a roll. Two hours later, I was deep in the heart of Grand Central snapping away and Evan still hadn’t called. When he did call we met up and headed out to meet two girls in a star-struck euphoria outside the Rainbow Room watching the SNL case head home. ...we took them back to Evan’s place for an intimate evening. After a long, deep, “sharing” conversation, we headed up to catch the pre-dawn glow from the roof. An hour later they headed out and we crashed.

SUNDAY

I woke up and left. Lexington Ave. was blocked off for a street festival. In New York street festivals consist of Pita stands, Gyro stands, Crepe stands, and Cheap Tourist Crap stands. I hit Grand Central ten minutes before the 11:35 to Stamford rolled out, and passed in the company of my iPod. At Stamford I picked up coffee, sucked it down, and drove back out through the complex interchange onto I-95 North. I made a few good catch-up calls on drive home, and proceded to crash, physiologically.

The weekend was long and exhausting, and I was firmly off my schedule by 7 hours. This Wednesday I leave for a road trip to Damascus, VA. I’m meeting Adam (Stanimal) and about 10,000 other people for Trail Days 2005. This time I’m taking my camera to the bonfire.

* * *

  1. Cool — Yin    May 10, 01:15 AM    #

  2. I needed to write this up; Trail Days will take over this weekend and I know I’d forget all the details from New York if I didn’t write. — Tom    May 10, 07:40 AM    #

Name
E-mail
http://
Message
  Textile Help