Usually when I come to New York, it's seeing a lot of people and finding out what they've been up to for the past year. Sometimes people have moved apartments, sometimes they're caught up in the same interpersonal drama as last year, sometimes nothing has changed at all. Over the past week I've been meeting up with some friends that I actually haven't caught up with in years. So we sort of do a little, "What has been going on since 2002?" life update and then we move on. As much as I dislike the "what have you been up to" talk, I find myself wanting to know everything in detail if I'm going to hear any of it. Watching a Seinfeld marathon the other day, I realized that the show about nothing encapsulates the sort of friendships I prefer. Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer focus on the minutaeia of each other's lives and they basically go around discussing and judging all the little things, or getting inflamed by small injustices.
My friend was worried the other day about whether or not she was "interesting." I assured her that she was, because she genuinely is, but there are obviously a whole host of people who aren't interesting at all. I'm finding, as I run around meeting up with different people, that my inability to handle conversational silence threatens to make me an overtalker. When meeting someone I have to pepper them with questions in order to bulldoze over the gaps. I think this week I'm going to work on keeping silent and seeing what happens.
Tuesday night I went to a zine reading event at St. Mark's Bookshop. The editor of the Zinester's Guide to NYC was on hand to present a few of her contributor's works. I've long admired zines and given time travel, would have started one in my teenage years. It would have been mundane and not angsty in the least, but it would have been mine.
Now I still hold an ambition to make one, but it seems slightly anachronistic as I'm much more capable online -- plus I don't have an office to make copies of my potentially best selling series. After visitng SF Zinefest last year, I did look up prices to print zines so I know it's both financially viable and easy to do. My new life goals list includes making a zine. There, I said it.
The type of zines I like are very particular. I don't do crappily drawn zines, I don't do image heavy zines, I don't do scrapbook zines, I don't do poetry zines, I don't do hard to read fonts zines. I need words and personal stories. My favorite zines of all time are Cometbus and Doris, so anything along those lines works for me. Most of the readers presenting tonight were up that alley, and I was delighted to add their work to my list of stuff I need to support and follow. Because my friends were a bit hungry, we left before the Q&A portion of the night, but there's another event on Sunday I hope to attend.
There are a lot of ramen places to try in New York, but the reigning king in my mind is Ippudo. The line for them was an hour long so we put down our names and went around the corner for a beer. Every social event here requires a beer or a drink. I'm going to run out of Pepcid AC very soon. On the TV behind the bar, the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center was about to be lit and Susan Boyle had been imported from England for the occasion. Over the next few hours, our beer and then noodles conversation swung from the apathy of our citizens versus the French to the necessity of soon to be thirty year olds participating in one night stands.
I haven't hung out with my friend Alice since our college days. I noted that I'd completely missed the non-single Alice times, and now that we've had the chance to hang out some, I realized how much I like/missed her mix of curiosity and enthusiasm, a quality that hasn't been tempered in the least.
Afterward, I walked across town to find Stef and her people at a swanky sports bar. The mystery of the night settled in when a waitress came by to take a coffee order, but then twenty minutes later, another waitress came by. We asked her if the other girl had gotten the coffee. She said, "What other girl?"
At first we thought she was just kidding but it soon became clear that while our party was suspicious of her, she was suspicious of us -- she had walked up during a conversation we were having about drugs. We insisted that there was another girl and she kept insisting that there wasn't. This amused us and after awhile we decided that the ghost waitress had just pulled off an amusing scam. Dressing in all black, wearing a half apron, taking people's checks, and then cruising out the door seems like a ballsy thing to do. We gotta try it.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
Saturday, November 27, 2010
You're Welcome
Thanksgiving is for bunkering down and staying out of the way. When someone says "family orientated," does it mean they take the time to go see their family or does it mean they are actually close to their family? I have friends who are very dedicated to their parents. They exchange phone calls, emails, and sometimes even text messages. I'll glance over at someone's phone and they might have a text message from Mom waiting. What do mothers say? "What's up, how're you?"
Over at my friend's house for the second half of the UMich versus Ohio State game, I spent most of my time talking with his mother. We exchanged personal histories and she gave me insight into the cheapest places to purchase toilet paper in Chinatown. She was also emphatically maternal, insisting on helping me grab a piece of pie, eating some Asian pear, and even offering to make some dumplings. A lot of my time was spent trying to deflect her niceness by repeatedley saying, "No, I'm okay, enough, enough. Thank you, thank you."
I've been told Chinese mothers can instantly tell if you've been raised well. Throw in my middling Chinese skills (always surprising to them) and I guess mothers like me. Or feel sorry.
Afterward, on the short walk over to a cafe, I was bamboozled into giving twenty dollars away. Normally I'm not one for handing over money to the scammers and homeless, but as this guy passed by me, he stared straight into my eyes and said my name. I had my earphones on but I pretty much had to stop. He greeted me warmly and said, "You don't remember me do you?"
Over at my friend's house for the second half of the UMich versus Ohio State game, I spent most of my time talking with his mother. We exchanged personal histories and she gave me insight into the cheapest places to purchase toilet paper in Chinatown. She was also emphatically maternal, insisting on helping me grab a piece of pie, eating some Asian pear, and even offering to make some dumplings. A lot of my time was spent trying to deflect her niceness by repeatedley saying, "No, I'm okay, enough, enough. Thank you, thank you."
I've been told Chinese mothers can instantly tell if you've been raised well. Throw in my middling Chinese skills (always surprising to them) and I guess mothers like me. Or feel sorry.
Afterward, on the short walk over to a cafe, I was bamboozled into giving twenty dollars away. Normally I'm not one for handing over money to the scammers and homeless, but as this guy passed by me, he stared straight into my eyes and said my name. I had my earphones on but I pretty much had to stop. He greeted me warmly and said, "You don't remember me do you?"
Slow head shake. No.
"I used to be the security guy at your building. Who you work for?" Little did he know, I don't work in office buildings. I told him I hadn't worked in a New York office in a decade. He quickly backtracked into a bit about working at my building years ago, and dropped a few other people's names. None of which I recognized but all of whom seemed plausible. For awhile I was trying to figure out if I actually did know this person, or if I was just an uppity asshole for not remembering a door guy.
"I'm telling you man, I never forget a face. That's my great talent. I see someone once and I can recognize them anywhere," he declared. I'm also pretty good at recognizing faces too and this guy's face didn't ring a bell. I was pretty sure at this point I was being scammed. Still, I stood with him for a cigarette as he told me about how his mother committed suicide, his best friend committed suicide, his imaginary family all committed suicide, etc. I nodded along and made the appropriate sounds, knowing exactly where this was going of course: money.
Another few minutes of suicide talk and then he unleashed the homeless sob story about needing a few bucks to get out of the weather. I defused him by saying that I had a few spare bucks to give him. After that we just got friendly. He showed me the black hole where his tooth was rotting, I showed him my three temporary front teeth. I asked him how our fictional co-workers were doing and what they were up to. He provided detailed responses. He made me feel like I had ditched our entire social community when I left that office job. "You just up and left us man!" It was a good time. I mean, I appreciated his performance, especially if he'd somehow managed to find the only "Jon" on the block.
"I used to be the security guy at your building. Who you work for?" Little did he know, I don't work in office buildings. I told him I hadn't worked in a New York office in a decade. He quickly backtracked into a bit about working at my building years ago, and dropped a few other people's names. None of which I recognized but all of whom seemed plausible. For awhile I was trying to figure out if I actually did know this person, or if I was just an uppity asshole for not remembering a door guy.
"I'm telling you man, I never forget a face. That's my great talent. I see someone once and I can recognize them anywhere," he declared. I'm also pretty good at recognizing faces too and this guy's face didn't ring a bell. I was pretty sure at this point I was being scammed. Still, I stood with him for a cigarette as he told me about how his mother committed suicide, his best friend committed suicide, his imaginary family all committed suicide, etc. I nodded along and made the appropriate sounds, knowing exactly where this was going of course: money.
Another few minutes of suicide talk and then he unleashed the homeless sob story about needing a few bucks to get out of the weather. I defused him by saying that I had a few spare bucks to give him. After that we just got friendly. He showed me the black hole where his tooth was rotting, I showed him my three temporary front teeth. I asked him how our fictional co-workers were doing and what they were up to. He provided detailed responses. He made me feel like I had ditched our entire social community when I left that office job. "You just up and left us man!" It was a good time. I mean, I appreciated his performance, especially if he'd somehow managed to find the only "Jon" on the block.
I once laughed long and hard about my gullible friend, who gave fifty bucks to a Canadian stranded in New York City. I didn't laugh because he gave the fake Canadian money, but because he actually expected the money back. "But he took my address and said he'd mail me a check," my friend said defensively.
I can appreciate a good con, can't you?
I can appreciate a good con, can't you?
Monday, November 22, 2010
Taxonomy is for Nerds
I woke up to a text this morning from George, informing me that a friend of mine was engaged. Not surprising news these days, engagements, but this is a friend that I essentially only know electronically. For example, George was familiar with my friend only through her blog, which has detailed Nine’s journey from the financial world to med school and now through residency. When I was slaving away in China, it was our epic length emails that kept me afloat. Ours was an epistolary relationship, and that evolved into real life feelings, which goes to prove that you can just like someone’s thoughts -- without knowing what they’re like in any other capacity.
There’s been plenty of visitors this week in New York. Out of towners popping in for short visits and a huge surprise from a San Diego friend. She showed up at my book thing, sitting in the back row, and I had to wait for my head to puzzle out the pieces as to why this person was in New York. Seeing people out of location context is so jarring. “It’s so weird to see you here,” we kept repeating to each other.
After an afternoon visit to the Natural History Museum with Helen and her lawyer turned screenwriter friend, I popped down to a reading event in midtown featuring the work of Wallace Shawn, more famously known as Vizzini from The Princess Bride. Time Out may be the magazine for tourists but it’s got convenient listings of events and I’m not quite sure why it’s got such a crappy reputation. Shawn’s event was free and held at a City University of New York building. A line was forming beforehand and as we sat down, Reena started chatting up the girl in line behind us. I sat off in the distance, trying to charge my phone, which had dipped into life alert territory.
There’s been plenty of visitors this week in New York. Out of towners popping in for short visits and a huge surprise from a San Diego friend. She showed up at my book thing, sitting in the back row, and I had to wait for my head to puzzle out the pieces as to why this person was in New York. Seeing people out of location context is so jarring. “It’s so weird to see you here,” we kept repeating to each other.
After an afternoon visit to the Natural History Museum with Helen and her lawyer turned screenwriter friend, I popped down to a reading event in midtown featuring the work of Wallace Shawn, more famously known as Vizzini from The Princess Bride. Time Out may be the magazine for tourists but it’s got convenient listings of events and I’m not quite sure why it’s got such a crappy reputation. Shawn’s event was free and held at a City University of New York building. A line was forming beforehand and as we sat down, Reena started chatting up the girl in line behind us. I sat off in the distance, trying to charge my phone, which had dipped into life alert territory.
I can already tell this is going to be a consistent problem. My iPhone battery lasts about four hours on casual use and by the end of long day I had completely run out of juice, even as I was trying to find out where my friend was watching Monday Night Football. I slunk into a bar and stood by the bathroom, waiting patiently for the battery to charge.
Shawn's just released a book of essays, and this was what was read, along with selections from his various plays. Awhile ago I had watched Dinner with Andre, a pure conversation movie featuring two old friends catching up over dinner. Credited as the screenwriter on that film, I recognized Shawn’s writing style. Thematically his pieces sounded much like blog posts, as he mused about the costumes actors and actresses wear, his reflections on 9/11, and other events that impacted him and got his brain churning. There were quite a few famous folk reading his work, including Mary-Louise Parker, Bob Balaban, Julianne Moore, the big brain guy from Pulp Fiction, and other very notable minds that I only learned about post-reading, via their Wikipedia bios.
Having other people read your stuff must be quite an experience, and Shawn sat at one end of the stage with a constant grin on his face, either from pride or amusement. His voice is very distinct, with longish sentences, a snappy coda, and a cadence that becomes very recognizable once you hear him speak. The man has the most dramatic and funny pauses in his speech pattern, and that was reflected in his writing style.
When I get big enough one day, I’d like to organize a reading where I make my friends read my stuff. That would please me greatly.
Shawn's just released a book of essays, and this was what was read, along with selections from his various plays. Awhile ago I had watched Dinner with Andre, a pure conversation movie featuring two old friends catching up over dinner. Credited as the screenwriter on that film, I recognized Shawn’s writing style. Thematically his pieces sounded much like blog posts, as he mused about the costumes actors and actresses wear, his reflections on 9/11, and other events that impacted him and got his brain churning. There were quite a few famous folk reading his work, including Mary-Louise Parker, Bob Balaban, Julianne Moore, the big brain guy from Pulp Fiction, and other very notable minds that I only learned about post-reading, via their Wikipedia bios.
Having other people read your stuff must be quite an experience, and Shawn sat at one end of the stage with a constant grin on his face, either from pride or amusement. His voice is very distinct, with longish sentences, a snappy coda, and a cadence that becomes very recognizable once you hear him speak. The man has the most dramatic and funny pauses in his speech pattern, and that was reflected in his writing style.
When I get big enough one day, I’d like to organize a reading where I make my friends read my stuff. That would please me greatly.
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Serve Chilled
Since college, my friend Pam been bouncing around New York (and a bit of Europe) working in the food industry. A lot of my fonder New York memories are visiting while the nights are warm enough to hang out and following Pam from food place to food place, not questioning a thing as she orders up a storm. If I had any talent in the kitchen, I'd like to think the food prep world could be for me. Late hours, no ties and suits, lots of tattoos, and a wide range of characters. Of course, I probably wouldn't have the work ethic required. Chefs slave over their career, as detailed in Bourdain's No Reservations, and my apron would probably be stripped from me by day two.
Pam used to work at this place called Room 4 Dessert where the head guy was a big figure in the molecular gastronomy movement, which mixes science and food for a unique eating experience. What this translates to is lots of foams and ices, experimentation away from traditional cooking techniques, and combinations of textures/flavors truly unexpected. I'd actually never been to Room 4 Dessert, even though all of my friends had gone multiple times. There was a period of three years, starting in 2004, when I didn't visit NY at all and I missed its heyday. R4D closed a few years ago but had a pop up revival Sunday night. Amit, being the go-getter that he is, got four tickets for the dessert and drinks pairing.
The old Room 4 Dessert space in Nolita is now Veloce Club, which serves as Amit's unofficial clubhouse. On normal nights, you ring a buzzer to get in and the service and drinks are top notch. We go there a lot. I mean, I only know about four bars in Manhattan and three of them are Veloce branded. The entire experience was interesting but I was really just excited to see Pam doing her amazing work. Watching friends do something they care about, job-wise, is something I don't get to do often. Pam's actually one of the only college friends I have who chose to buck the traditional career route. It makes for inspiring conversations.
Pam used to work at this place called Room 4 Dessert where the head guy was a big figure in the molecular gastronomy movement, which mixes science and food for a unique eating experience. What this translates to is lots of foams and ices, experimentation away from traditional cooking techniques, and combinations of textures/flavors truly unexpected. I'd actually never been to Room 4 Dessert, even though all of my friends had gone multiple times. There was a period of three years, starting in 2004, when I didn't visit NY at all and I missed its heyday. R4D closed a few years ago but had a pop up revival Sunday night. Amit, being the go-getter that he is, got four tickets for the dessert and drinks pairing.
The old Room 4 Dessert space in Nolita is now Veloce Club, which serves as Amit's unofficial clubhouse. On normal nights, you ring a buzzer to get in and the service and drinks are top notch. We go there a lot. I mean, I only know about four bars in Manhattan and three of them are Veloce branded. The entire experience was interesting but I was really just excited to see Pam doing her amazing work. Watching friends do something they care about, job-wise, is something I don't get to do often. Pam's actually one of the only college friends I have who chose to buck the traditional career route. It makes for inspiring conversations.
Afterward, the group of us retired to the Mexican eatery next door for margaritas and miscellaneous (possibly malicious) gossip, my favorite kind.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
In Alignment
I enjoy the nights in New York where you wander from place to place. While the same experience can be duplicated in other cities, it just doesn't feel the same. Because everyone is always socially obligated in a few different directions, there's this feeling that people are comets whizzing back and forth, and you’re texting each other to see if there’s some time you could meet up, or if they’re at a better occasion than you are. I can imagine this getting old after awhile, but for now it’s bliss.
Saturday night, after my book event, we had dinner with the other authors, some book bloggers, and accompanying friends and family. Quite a few of my people showed up to the signing, much to my appreciation. I happened to be seated next to an author whose blog I read and whose work I’ve admired. He just moved here a year and a half ago, and hearing about his experiences with the young adult book community out here was uplifting. This is essentially the reason I moved out here, to meet and attend book things.
The night before, I wandered into a room of twenty strangers on the Upper West Side. People were jammed into every corner and seating area, and everyone was in the quiet of writing. I found this group online, one of two I plan on checking out. After an hour of writing time, this group takes a break before engaging in a round of readings and critiques. The guy in charge, Zach, told me he’d been running this group for over eight years and there was over three hundred people on his email list.
Saturday night, after my book event, we had dinner with the other authors, some book bloggers, and accompanying friends and family. Quite a few of my people showed up to the signing, much to my appreciation. I happened to be seated next to an author whose blog I read and whose work I’ve admired. He just moved here a year and a half ago, and hearing about his experiences with the young adult book community out here was uplifting. This is essentially the reason I moved out here, to meet and attend book things.
The night before, I wandered into a room of twenty strangers on the Upper West Side. People were jammed into every corner and seating area, and everyone was in the quiet of writing. I found this group online, one of two I plan on checking out. After an hour of writing time, this group takes a break before engaging in a round of readings and critiques. The guy in charge, Zach, told me he’d been running this group for over eight years and there was over three hundred people on his email list.
I later found out he writes books about baseball, and is a serious stats geek. That explained why he knew exactly how many meetings everyone had attended. I recommend that a stats obsessed guy like him would probably really appreciate the Feltron Report. The writing group meets semi-weekly in various locations, and everyone seemed to be really chill and relaxed. The readings covered non-fiction, poetry, film criticism, alcohol reviews, excerpted blog entries, and a nice variety of things. I'll be back.
The rest of our Saturday adventures was spent stopping by a bar, a house party, and then a lounge to dance. Finding a venue to dance is a serious challenge, and I do miss the SF people's constant desire to go out and find a dance floor. The bar we were at was playing some very danceable Phoenix music, but it wasn't the right sort of vibe. Given the chance, I would have taken control of the music at the house party and dimmed the lights and thrown on Girl Talk. "Like a G6" gushed on repeat as people got louder and drunker.
The rest of our Saturday adventures was spent stopping by a bar, a house party, and then a lounge to dance. Finding a venue to dance is a serious challenge, and I do miss the SF people's constant desire to go out and find a dance floor. The bar we were at was playing some very danceable Phoenix music, but it wasn't the right sort of vibe. Given the chance, I would have taken control of the music at the house party and dimmed the lights and thrown on Girl Talk. "Like a G6" gushed on repeat as people got louder and drunker.
By the time we hit the Korean place to eat and finish out the night, most everybody was exhausted. We aren’t young bucks anymore. In the future, may I recommend a three o’clock shut down time? The city never sleeps but people tend to peter out around four.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Help Yourself
One thing I’d forgotten about being a teen is how your day is never quite your own. If you have particularly ambitious parents, you’re likely to have activities and events lined up each and every day after school. My cousin, whom I’m visiting this week, is a sophomore in high school and when she gets home at three, she’s almost immediately tossed into a squash lesson, an art class, Chinese tutoring, or perhaps a bit of practice with her pipa. With a bed time of ten o’clock, she has only a few hours to cram in her homework, a bit of relaxation, dinner and shower, her treasured manga comics, and whatever extracurricular activities her mom has planned out for her. George and I had a similar experience growing up.
When I look back, what did the kids who didn’t have an itinerary built for them do after school? They came home in the early afternoon and just hung out? It seems incomprehensible now to me that children would be left to their own devices for such a long time. I realize that this was something my friends and I could relate to: our immigrant parents forcing us into all sorts of activities. We might have griped but we never stopped doing them because that was life as we knew it. Everybody had piano and violin lessons, tennis coaches, Kumon worksheets, and Chinese homework on top of regular homework. The grind of primary school seems incredibly long to me now, even if it’s hard to fault (or thank) our parents for pushing us through those years, trying to cram in as much as possible.
Most of my week has been spent slumped on the couch in front of my laptop, the position Tiana found me after school, after her activities, and before bed. Being an adult means you get to plan your time however you want. In theory.
Most of my week has been spent slumped on the couch in front of my laptop, the position Tiana found me after school, after her activities, and before bed. Being an adult means you get to plan your time however you want. In theory.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Standing on the Shore
Having recently read an article about loneliness in urban cities, specifically New York, I've been asking all my friends how lonely they feel here. Some of them aren't lonely at all, with social obligations that pack up their schedules and solid friendship circles. Some of them are lonely even admist the busy-ness. A few of them have to get back to me on the question. Most everyone agrees that having things to do has nothing to do with if you're actually alone or not. I find that for some peopke, loneliness often comes down to just not having anyone around for a Saturday night or a Sunday brunch. When you feel like doing something but can't find the right people to do it with, that's lonely, right?
Unrelated to the above, my Saturday was spent in a most unexpected fashion. I thought I was going to an indie film fest, and had various people and events lined up -- which eventually all fell through. The day started with a baby shower. Baby showers are good for free food, not so good for non-baby making people. There had to be once upon a time when baby showers were just for women right? I object to this "bring the men" mentality to baby showers and bridal things.
The divide between single people and married people with kids seems to be incredibly huge. It's no wonder friendships stall and social lives shrivel up. What's there in common? To witness a baby shower in Manhattan was kind of interesting though, as I've increasingly been told that the island is mostly a kid free zone. It's true actually. Unless you count teenagers as kids, there's hardly any children about. I don't know how I missed this before.
Related to this, a friend who recently had her first child sent a few of us a many thousands of words email detailing her experience. It was epic in scope and detailed in description. Ladies, if you are thinking of birthing a child, allow me to share this piece with you as it's really a must-read item. Hopefully I won't offend her by excerpting a bit here: "Birth was terrible, agonizing, and it nearly destroyed me mentally. I want to slap all the people who told me 'don't worry, you'll forget all the pain once the baby is born -- it's all worth it!' I will never ever say 'it's worth it' to anyone, this is my vow."
As Saturday night's plans fell apart, I found myself trailing along to two birthday parties. We didn't really know any of the people in question but they were good exercises in getting to know people. The first one, hosted by someone my friend had met just hours earlier, was an awkward mess in the beginning. I wasn't entirely sure why we were at a quiet bar with a cozy group of nobody we knews but eventually the ice was broken and somehow we ended up having them drive us uptown to the other party.
That other party was in Murray Hill, and the almost club was packed with lame-o's and people that would normally make me turn heel and run. But the space in the back was better and there was some dancing involved. The real problem wasn't the venue or the crowd, since I've spent many a night in this type of environment, but really how I should probably learn to just suck it up once in awhile. I have this face, the face of distaste, that I tend to wear in these situations. It's sour.
After waiting at the bar for thirty minutes -- "water, on the rocks" -- I had no interest in dancing and sat down to chat with a random. My friend was having fun though, so that meant mission accomplished. Afterward we trekked over to K-Town for late night eats. My friend's friend, whom I've met twice over the course of this week, does a nice combination of sweet, sheltered, impassioned, and feisty. I think they'd go well together.
Unrelated to the above, my Saturday was spent in a most unexpected fashion. I thought I was going to an indie film fest, and had various people and events lined up -- which eventually all fell through. The day started with a baby shower. Baby showers are good for free food, not so good for non-baby making people. There had to be once upon a time when baby showers were just for women right? I object to this "bring the men" mentality to baby showers and bridal things.
The divide between single people and married people with kids seems to be incredibly huge. It's no wonder friendships stall and social lives shrivel up. What's there in common? To witness a baby shower in Manhattan was kind of interesting though, as I've increasingly been told that the island is mostly a kid free zone. It's true actually. Unless you count teenagers as kids, there's hardly any children about. I don't know how I missed this before.
Related to this, a friend who recently had her first child sent a few of us a many thousands of words email detailing her experience. It was epic in scope and detailed in description. Ladies, if you are thinking of birthing a child, allow me to share this piece with you as it's really a must-read item. Hopefully I won't offend her by excerpting a bit here: "Birth was terrible, agonizing, and it nearly destroyed me mentally. I want to slap all the people who told me 'don't worry, you'll forget all the pain once the baby is born -- it's all worth it!' I will never ever say 'it's worth it' to anyone, this is my vow."
As Saturday night's plans fell apart, I found myself trailing along to two birthday parties. We didn't really know any of the people in question but they were good exercises in getting to know people. The first one, hosted by someone my friend had met just hours earlier, was an awkward mess in the beginning. I wasn't entirely sure why we were at a quiet bar with a cozy group of nobody we knews but eventually the ice was broken and somehow we ended up having them drive us uptown to the other party.
That other party was in Murray Hill, and the almost club was packed with lame-o's and people that would normally make me turn heel and run. But the space in the back was better and there was some dancing involved. The real problem wasn't the venue or the crowd, since I've spent many a night in this type of environment, but really how I should probably learn to just suck it up once in awhile. I have this face, the face of distaste, that I tend to wear in these situations. It's sour.
After waiting at the bar for thirty minutes -- "water, on the rocks" -- I had no interest in dancing and sat down to chat with a random. My friend was having fun though, so that meant mission accomplished. Afterward we trekked over to K-Town for late night eats. My friend's friend, whom I've met twice over the course of this week, does a nice combination of sweet, sheltered, impassioned, and feisty. I think they'd go well together.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Breathe In, Breathe Out
Going to the Nuyorican is something I do every time I come to New York. Most people can only bear it once with me; slam poetry tends to be the same after a few visits. This time around it was almost exactly the same as any other time, with the themes and styles being similar to anything you'd hear on an average episode of Def Poetry Slam. Usually I go to the Nuyorican in the hopes that one poet will really capture my attention. Despite it being the semi-finals, there wasn't any poets of particular interest. One performer, a student from NYU, was incredible though. She was offered to the crowd as a sacrificial lamb but her piece was the only one that drew deep sighs and oooohs from the crowd. It was a poem about love and it was original and brilliant. Never got her name though.
Afterward we had a grand time talking about what sorts of poems we'd like to perform. It's rather rare that I get to hang out with more than one writer friend at a time. Two would be a luxury, three an unprecedented experience. In fact, if I had wanted to assemble a hang out team for a literary Friday night, I don't think I could have done any better.
When people talk about interpersonal chemistry, I wonder what it is they mean. Some people, who I think we would have every interest and topic in common, are impossible to talk to. Some people, after meeting them for ten minutes, immediately are elevated to instant friend status. There are people I've hung out with twice in my life and I feel like we're besties already. Perhaps this is more a function of having all that newness and exploration ahead, but I'd like to think that it's just a sign that when you get along you get along, even inexplicably.
Afterward we had a grand time talking about what sorts of poems we'd like to perform. It's rather rare that I get to hang out with more than one writer friend at a time. Two would be a luxury, three an unprecedented experience. In fact, if I had wanted to assemble a hang out team for a literary Friday night, I don't think I could have done any better.
When people talk about interpersonal chemistry, I wonder what it is they mean. Some people, who I think we would have every interest and topic in common, are impossible to talk to. Some people, after meeting them for ten minutes, immediately are elevated to instant friend status. There are people I've hung out with twice in my life and I feel like we're besties already. Perhaps this is more a function of having all that newness and exploration ahead, but I'd like to think that it's just a sign that when you get along you get along, even inexplicably.
Maybe it comes down to banter. If you can talk about something, we can at least start somewhere. As I get around to meeting people, I should really pay attention to the things that make people connect or feel at ease. There has to be something more scientific aside from just "We get along."
Let's hope I never say "besties" again.
Let's hope I never say "besties" again.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
Bridging the Gap
Took a look at my sublet today. Deciding to take a place from a friend of a friend could be the best decision ever. The process has been simple, with no background or credit checks, no hiccups of any sort, and the place turned out to be as wonderful as advertised. Located in Williamsburg, it's one block away from the subway station and the building looks like an industrial conversion. My temporary landlord had the fullest dreadlocks I'd ever seen on an Asian and I wanted to ask if they were real. That would've been rude of course.
The vibe of the place reminds me of James' decorative style, with comfort, aesthetics, and objects all in fine balance. Turns out Mac is a designer, just like James, which leads me to believe that rooming with these types is good for having your home not resemble a prison, or a generic catalog. Mac knows my friend from high school, or maybe even middle school, and it seems like the apartment will be an ideal settling in location. The friend network successfully strikes again!
I now have a ring full of keys and a move in date next weekend. Here's an AIM convo I was forwarded after my afternoon of reconnaissance:
While eating a cheap meal is glorious and the food was delicious, I couldn't help feeling terrible for the plight of the dumpling makers. A few ladies were right behind the counter rolling and chopping away and I wanted the dumplings to cost more than they did. Maybe they'd be able to work less, or the store could make more, or as Mary put it, "Grandma could go home and get some rest." There's some celebration in finding tasty food that won't rip a hole in your wallet but when it comes at the expense of your people, I'd almost rather pay a premium. Then again, I happily indulge in cheap burritos and McDonald's so there's some faulty logic at work here. Basically I'm a socio-economic racist probably.
Mary's friend lives in a great apartment right next to the park, and it's easily the nicest apartment I've seen in Manhattan. Not boring nice as in marble floors and chandeliers, but nice as in well appointed, with high ceilings and space that feels open and wide -- a rarity I think. A few of the people behind my favorite blogs live in Chinatown and I'd always wondered where they were. I'll find out soon since I'm actively going to be stalking them but until I actually find out, I imagined that Chinatown would be a terrible place to live. Despite its ideal central location, being that close to tons of crazy Chinese people would drive me, well, crazy. But with the edges of Chinatown quickly gentrifying, maybe it's a place I should look into living. One dollar dumplings steps away from my door would be appealing.
The first time I learned about the word "gentrification" was from Mary and her liberal arts school sirens, while I was visiting her in Scotland. They said it was a buzz word I needed to know. "When in doubt, cite 'gentrification!'" Since I went to a public university I didn't know that, and being from the suburbs of San Diego, I'm pretty sure I had no idea what gentrification was in concept or execution. Now it's the evil urban word of the decade. I can't wait to contribute my (hopefully very small) part to the process.
The vibe of the place reminds me of James' decorative style, with comfort, aesthetics, and objects all in fine balance. Turns out Mac is a designer, just like James, which leads me to believe that rooming with these types is good for having your home not resemble a prison, or a generic catalog. Mac knows my friend from high school, or maybe even middle school, and it seems like the apartment will be an ideal settling in location. The friend network successfully strikes again!
I now have a ring full of keys and a move in date next weekend. Here's an AIM convo I was forwarded after my afternoon of reconnaissance:
JG: my buddy just IMed asking if jon was safe. and if he would throw outrageous parties.Afterwards I met up with Mary on a side of Chinatown I was unfamiliar with, almost the East Village, away from all the restaurants and shops on Canal. This part of Chinatown has towering housing projects, a lot of Hasidic Jews, and one dollar dumplings, which are all the rage recently in my food blogs. I assumed they were a buck per dumpling but as it turned out, for one dollar you get five pieces. The rest of the menu was similarly priced, with a big bowl of wonton noodle soup costing only three dollars. As I waited for Mary to show up post-yoga, I watched the line of people flow in and out of the dumpling place. Black, white, Latino, Asian, young, old. It was a regular Black Eyed Peas' joint.
JG: i said he might have a few folks over to play scrabble
AN: hahahahhahaha. if you don't want people playing magic or starcraft… then stay away from jon!
JG: hahahahaahahah
AN: tell him that jon is so anal about people wearing shoes in the house cause he sleeps on the floor
JG: it was funny. he said "outrageous parties" and i was like...hmmm, how do i explain jon...
AN: he wrote a book for 12yo girls
AN: wait, that sounds bad, hahahaha
AN: he has blogging parties
AN: his dream is to live at an internet cafe
While eating a cheap meal is glorious and the food was delicious, I couldn't help feeling terrible for the plight of the dumpling makers. A few ladies were right behind the counter rolling and chopping away and I wanted the dumplings to cost more than they did. Maybe they'd be able to work less, or the store could make more, or as Mary put it, "Grandma could go home and get some rest." There's some celebration in finding tasty food that won't rip a hole in your wallet but when it comes at the expense of your people, I'd almost rather pay a premium. Then again, I happily indulge in cheap burritos and McDonald's so there's some faulty logic at work here. Basically I'm a socio-economic racist probably.
Mary's friend lives in a great apartment right next to the park, and it's easily the nicest apartment I've seen in Manhattan. Not boring nice as in marble floors and chandeliers, but nice as in well appointed, with high ceilings and space that feels open and wide -- a rarity I think. A few of the people behind my favorite blogs live in Chinatown and I'd always wondered where they were. I'll find out soon since I'm actively going to be stalking them but until I actually find out, I imagined that Chinatown would be a terrible place to live. Despite its ideal central location, being that close to tons of crazy Chinese people would drive me, well, crazy. But with the edges of Chinatown quickly gentrifying, maybe it's a place I should look into living. One dollar dumplings steps away from my door would be appealing.
The first time I learned about the word "gentrification" was from Mary and her liberal arts school sirens, while I was visiting her in Scotland. They said it was a buzz word I needed to know. "When in doubt, cite 'gentrification!'" Since I went to a public university I didn't know that, and being from the suburbs of San Diego, I'm pretty sure I had no idea what gentrification was in concept or execution. Now it's the evil urban word of the decade. I can't wait to contribute my (hopefully very small) part to the process.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Dog Days Are Over
It's only recently that I've become aware of the social anxiety I get when random groups of people are thrown together. I feel ultimately responsible for everyone's well being, and hope people are getting along and talking to each other. It really has nothing to do with me, most of the time, but I can't help but feel anxious when I'm not sure of the chemistry. Sometimes I'd like to leave a camera behind to observe what happens when I leave the room. Where does the conversation go when I'm not there to turn it toward something I enjoy talking about -- or something that I think they'd enjoy talking about? Can a conversation be unaffected by me if I'm just there and not talking? Or does simply observing change everything? Quantum social mixing, is that something people can study?
Tonight I met up with Mary, who's back from Khartoum but about to head back there soon. We had plans to finally live in the same city in 2011, but apparently her U.N. work will take her away again. For now we're in the same situation, both of us underemployed and free to take our days anywhere. We've reached this point from opposite directions. Or rather I've been at this place for awhile and she's passing through. Mary's twenties took her from studio art, to Taiwan radio jockey, to Princeton grad school, to way overseas in countries I know nothing about and can't really spell, much less pronounce. My twenties were mostly spent shuffling side to side, apparently waiting for Mary to return to useless days space. Now we're in New York for one brief week together.
Being an absolute tech-loser, she had a little Moleskin that was packed with scrimpy writing about the things and places she wanted to go. On that list was eating Momofuku David Chang's favorite meal -- hand pulled noodles from Koreatown -- and on my way to meet her I ran into someone I actually knew, randomly on a street corner. That has never really happened before to me in the city. The chance meeting of two people in a city of eight million seems mathematically improbable but it apparently happens quite a bit. I'm excited for more of these moments. "Hey, what're you doing here?!"
Tonight I met up with Mary, who's back from Khartoum but about to head back there soon. We had plans to finally live in the same city in 2011, but apparently her U.N. work will take her away again. For now we're in the same situation, both of us underemployed and free to take our days anywhere. We've reached this point from opposite directions. Or rather I've been at this place for awhile and she's passing through. Mary's twenties took her from studio art, to Taiwan radio jockey, to Princeton grad school, to way overseas in countries I know nothing about and can't really spell, much less pronounce. My twenties were mostly spent shuffling side to side, apparently waiting for Mary to return to useless days space. Now we're in New York for one brief week together.
Being an absolute tech-loser, she had a little Moleskin that was packed with scrimpy writing about the things and places she wanted to go. On that list was eating Momofuku David Chang's favorite meal -- hand pulled noodles from Koreatown -- and on my way to meet her I ran into someone I actually knew, randomly on a street corner. That has never really happened before to me in the city. The chance meeting of two people in a city of eight million seems mathematically improbable but it apparently happens quite a bit. I'm excited for more of these moments. "Hey, what're you doing here?!"
Having more acquaintances would increase those opportunities exponentially I'm sure. I'll be working on that.
The other thing we did tonight was to go watch Brian's stand up show. He hosts a monthly Asian showcase and I haven't seen him perform since he lived in LA. In my opinion, nothing's more intimidating than standing on stage with ten minutes of open time and an expectant crowd. Most of the comedians were great but some were so awkward time practically stopped. It ain't easy being funny. When they say that you have to "win over the crowd," you really have to do that, and usually within the first thirty seconds. The energy you bring to the stage sets the tone in the room so quickly. Come out weak and people lose interest and it's hard to pull them back.
The other thing we did tonight was to go watch Brian's stand up show. He hosts a monthly Asian showcase and I haven't seen him perform since he lived in LA. In my opinion, nothing's more intimidating than standing on stage with ten minutes of open time and an expectant crowd. Most of the comedians were great but some were so awkward time practically stopped. It ain't easy being funny. When they say that you have to "win over the crowd," you really have to do that, and usually within the first thirty seconds. The energy you bring to the stage sets the tone in the room so quickly. Come out weak and people lose interest and it's hard to pull them back.
Years ago, when my friend was trying to do the musician thing, we'd go to a lot of his open mikes and performances. Most of the time I'd stand in back and watch the crowd for signs of impatience or irritation. My stomach would tie up in knots as I got nervous for them. Once the crowd settled in, or bobbed their head along to the music, I'd finally be able to relax, even as I kept a running list of things to improve and critique. I'd be such a bad stage parent.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Everybody Got Their Something
Woke up at eight a.m. today, right before Kyle's alarm went off. I thought I'd want to stay in bed but my body had other plans. I've been having this problem for awhile now, waking up super early and not knowing what to do. A productive person would bounce out of bed and be productive. An unproductive person stays in bed and whips through their iPhone apps. As Kyle's alarm kept snoozing, I thought about how hard it is to crawl out of bed and shut an alarm off knowing there's eight hours of work on the other side. Not a struggle I've had to deal with for the last few years, thankfully. I turned the volume up on my podcast to ward off the insistent buzzing instead of snoozing the alarm since I didn't want to interrupt Kyle's Monday morning schedule.
I'm learning to walk again. Tonight after dinner we went from 50th Street to 30th, even though the weather was chilly. We passed through Times Square, stopping atop the giant red staircase over the TKTS booth for a moblog moment. The staircase is new to me and it's where part of the video for Empire State of Mind was shot. I was told that the entire project cost over thirteen million dollars. For a bright red staircase.
The area around the TKTS island has been blocked off on one side too, with picnic table seating available for people to lounge around in and less cars streaming by. Yasmine's out here for work and her hotel room had quite a view of the Empire State Building, which was lit up tonight in whites, greens, and reds in an apparent homage to the Italian flag? Through her windows you can look down and get a vertigo inducing view of the street. I counted the number of cabs to regular cars that shuttled by. Cabs: 20+, Regular Cars: 3. Hailing a cab here isn't an annoyance like it is in SF, another reason to prefer New York.
Regarding Empire State of Mind: It's impossible to not hum that track while walking around the city. It's sick but true. Bill Simmons says part of Jay-Z's business genius is coming up with a new New York anthem that is going to be pumping in royalties for the next ten years -- at least. Jessica sent me this LCD Soundsystem song before I left and I've listened to it at least once a day since. I think I'll incorporate it into my morning mix as it's got the right mix of slow melancholy and soft optimism.
As I'm learning to walk again, my internal "how far is it" meter is being re-adjusted. Anything located within a five block radius is extremely close. One neighborhood over is usually walkeable, even in extreme temperatures. Two is pushing it. Three is a subway ride and anything beyond that normally requires a bit more planning. I've had to resist hopping into a cab a few times already, since that's my usual mode of transportation in New York. But this time I'm a committed public transportation person, and the monthly Metro Card set me back $90 already. The one thing I've already noticed about walking around NY versus SF is how my eyes are focused on the things around me, or upwards toward the buildings, versus downward and scanning the sidewalk for dog poop and possible pee puddles.
I should stop comparing things.
I'm learning to walk again. Tonight after dinner we went from 50th Street to 30th, even though the weather was chilly. We passed through Times Square, stopping atop the giant red staircase over the TKTS booth for a moblog moment. The staircase is new to me and it's where part of the video for Empire State of Mind was shot. I was told that the entire project cost over thirteen million dollars. For a bright red staircase.
The area around the TKTS island has been blocked off on one side too, with picnic table seating available for people to lounge around in and less cars streaming by. Yasmine's out here for work and her hotel room had quite a view of the Empire State Building, which was lit up tonight in whites, greens, and reds in an apparent homage to the Italian flag? Through her windows you can look down and get a vertigo inducing view of the street. I counted the number of cabs to regular cars that shuttled by. Cabs: 20+, Regular Cars: 3. Hailing a cab here isn't an annoyance like it is in SF, another reason to prefer New York.
Regarding Empire State of Mind: It's impossible to not hum that track while walking around the city. It's sick but true. Bill Simmons says part of Jay-Z's business genius is coming up with a new New York anthem that is going to be pumping in royalties for the next ten years -- at least. Jessica sent me this LCD Soundsystem song before I left and I've listened to it at least once a day since. I think I'll incorporate it into my morning mix as it's got the right mix of slow melancholy and soft optimism.
As I'm learning to walk again, my internal "how far is it" meter is being re-adjusted. Anything located within a five block radius is extremely close. One neighborhood over is usually walkeable, even in extreme temperatures. Two is pushing it. Three is a subway ride and anything beyond that normally requires a bit more planning. I've had to resist hopping into a cab a few times already, since that's my usual mode of transportation in New York. But this time I'm a committed public transportation person, and the monthly Metro Card set me back $90 already. The one thing I've already noticed about walking around NY versus SF is how my eyes are focused on the things around me, or upwards toward the buildings, versus downward and scanning the sidewalk for dog poop and possible pee puddles.
I should stop comparing things.
Sunday, November 7, 2010
Same Sun
If I drink, I wake up early, that's the rule. Sunday morning I found myself awake around nine, even though we hadn't gotten back and settled into bed until past four. There was an Asian American literary festival going on and a friend was reading at eleven. I had been pretty certain I wasn't going to make it that early but seeing as I was up, I decided to trek over to Brooklyn and be a supportive person.
For the first week, I'm staying with Kyle, whose apartment is located in Southstreet Seaport, only one stop away from Dumbo, right across the river. I arrived at the literary event on time -- a trend I hope to sustain as part of the new me -- and went upstairs to settle in the stage area. There were a lot of big Asian American writer types slated to be at the festival but I'm not facially familiar with many of them so didn't expect to recognize anyone. Five minutes after I arrived however, I saw Jeff Yang sitting in the alcove. He was technically my boss ten years ago at a.Magazine, although I doubt he'd remember a marketing intern from a decade ago. Another friend of mine worked there too, right before they closed down, a fact I'd totally forgotten about until right then.
Among many other projects, Yang now writes a column for SF Gate. I had actually spent some of my time on the flight coming up with a story arc and character idea for the planned sequel to Secret Identities, an Asian superhero graphic novel, which Jeff edits. If I were a braver man, I'd have stepped up and tried to sell him on my idea before I submitted it. Lately I've been bookmarking sites and blogs that have open submissions, as I need to make more pieces for public consumption. Being able to contribute to an Asian American superhero anthology would be a combination of dreams.
Sam, who was my workshop teacher back in SF, now lives a much coveted bicoastal lifestyle, swinging between SF and NY. She's getting her MFA in playwriting out here but still performs and travels back to the Bay quite often. During our class, she had mentioned a prose piece she'd been working on about lap dances, strippers, and boyfriends. We'd heard a snippet from back then, and that almost finished piece was the one she read today. It's always interesting to see your instructor in action, watching them execute things they've taught you, albeit at a much higher level. Aha, I think, that's what she meant by that lesson.
Immediately following Sam's reading was a scheduled panel that included Das Racist. A friend is family friends with one of them, and said that they were wicked smart. I wanted to hear it in action. Plus I was hoping to get a picture of them to surprise her. Half an hour past the scheduled start time, Das was still nowhere to be found. My first thought was: typical rappers. But then I looked up their recent tweets and it said the New York Marathon, being run that Sunday, had made them indefinitely delayed. True story? You are what you tweet...
As it was a beautiful day, Sam and I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, past the Statue of Liberty off in the distance, and back into lower Manhattan.
For the first week, I'm staying with Kyle, whose apartment is located in Southstreet Seaport, only one stop away from Dumbo, right across the river. I arrived at the literary event on time -- a trend I hope to sustain as part of the new me -- and went upstairs to settle in the stage area. There were a lot of big Asian American writer types slated to be at the festival but I'm not facially familiar with many of them so didn't expect to recognize anyone. Five minutes after I arrived however, I saw Jeff Yang sitting in the alcove. He was technically my boss ten years ago at a.Magazine, although I doubt he'd remember a marketing intern from a decade ago. Another friend of mine worked there too, right before they closed down, a fact I'd totally forgotten about until right then.
Among many other projects, Yang now writes a column for SF Gate. I had actually spent some of my time on the flight coming up with a story arc and character idea for the planned sequel to Secret Identities, an Asian superhero graphic novel, which Jeff edits. If I were a braver man, I'd have stepped up and tried to sell him on my idea before I submitted it. Lately I've been bookmarking sites and blogs that have open submissions, as I need to make more pieces for public consumption. Being able to contribute to an Asian American superhero anthology would be a combination of dreams.
Sam, who was my workshop teacher back in SF, now lives a much coveted bicoastal lifestyle, swinging between SF and NY. She's getting her MFA in playwriting out here but still performs and travels back to the Bay quite often. During our class, she had mentioned a prose piece she'd been working on about lap dances, strippers, and boyfriends. We'd heard a snippet from back then, and that almost finished piece was the one she read today. It's always interesting to see your instructor in action, watching them execute things they've taught you, albeit at a much higher level. Aha, I think, that's what she meant by that lesson.
Immediately following Sam's reading was a scheduled panel that included Das Racist. A friend is family friends with one of them, and said that they were wicked smart. I wanted to hear it in action. Plus I was hoping to get a picture of them to surprise her. Half an hour past the scheduled start time, Das was still nowhere to be found. My first thought was: typical rappers. But then I looked up their recent tweets and it said the New York Marathon, being run that Sunday, had made them indefinitely delayed. True story? You are what you tweet...
As it was a beautiful day, Sam and I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, past the Statue of Liberty off in the distance, and back into lower Manhattan.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
Let Me Love You
After landing at LaGuardia, I jumped in a cab toward the city. Caught up texting and checking Twitter while the ride was happening, I had to remind myself to put the phone away to stare out toward the city as we approached. It's a cinematic gesture, and while the view isn't surprising or necessarily breathtaking, it's an important one to take in to create that artificial "I'm here!" moment.
Arriving in Chelsea, Amit's doorman greeted me by my full first and last name as I went into his building. Confused, I tried to recall if I knew him from my last visit. "Hi?"
"I recognize you from Facebook!" he said. Ah. Of course Amit is Facebook friends with his doorman. If I'm ever to achieve the noble status of unionized door person, that's the sort of intimate relationship I'll need to build with my clients. The door guy gave me an extra set of keys, opened the elevator, and then escorted me up. That's amore. Once inside, I noticed a Toy Story Martian mask in Amit's closet, which I recognized from his Halloween tweet. You really are connected through Twitter, even from friends far away.
Everyone was just finishing up the boat ride in honor of Thyda's thirtieth birthday, and I waited for their phone call. Thyda and her friend had invited a hundred friends to fill a four hundred capacity boat. I had really wanted to attend but the flight times didn't make that a possibility. Seeing as it was sub-forty out, I decided that my late arrival might actually have been a good thing. I changed into every layer I could in anticipation of the weather. I decided I'd forgo gloves and hats until absolutely necessary, to build up my winter tolerance.
Once I got in touch with everyone, I was directed to a bar on 23rd and 3rd, a street I spent a lot of time on last summer. It holds our favored karaoke place, as well as the bar where many shenanigans have happened on previous visits. Of course it figures that the thing we'd do on my first hours back in New York was to visit familiar haunts. It's probably one of two bars in the city I could find without the help of an iPhone. The bar was intensely crowded and I couldn't quite handle the mass of people and music, and neither could anybody else, so we went over to karaoke to clean out the night.
I guess most people don't sing "Part of Your World" with as much intensity and seriousness as we do. The non-regulars among us couldn't stop laughing. They should have been singing along.
Arriving in Chelsea, Amit's doorman greeted me by my full first and last name as I went into his building. Confused, I tried to recall if I knew him from my last visit. "Hi?"
"I recognize you from Facebook!" he said. Ah. Of course Amit is Facebook friends with his doorman. If I'm ever to achieve the noble status of unionized door person, that's the sort of intimate relationship I'll need to build with my clients. The door guy gave me an extra set of keys, opened the elevator, and then escorted me up. That's amore. Once inside, I noticed a Toy Story Martian mask in Amit's closet, which I recognized from his Halloween tweet. You really are connected through Twitter, even from friends far away.
Everyone was just finishing up the boat ride in honor of Thyda's thirtieth birthday, and I waited for their phone call. Thyda and her friend had invited a hundred friends to fill a four hundred capacity boat. I had really wanted to attend but the flight times didn't make that a possibility. Seeing as it was sub-forty out, I decided that my late arrival might actually have been a good thing. I changed into every layer I could in anticipation of the weather. I decided I'd forgo gloves and hats until absolutely necessary, to build up my winter tolerance.
Once I got in touch with everyone, I was directed to a bar on 23rd and 3rd, a street I spent a lot of time on last summer. It holds our favored karaoke place, as well as the bar where many shenanigans have happened on previous visits. Of course it figures that the thing we'd do on my first hours back in New York was to visit familiar haunts. It's probably one of two bars in the city I could find without the help of an iPhone. The bar was intensely crowded and I couldn't quite handle the mass of people and music, and neither could anybody else, so we went over to karaoke to clean out the night.
I guess most people don't sing "Part of Your World" with as much intensity and seriousness as we do. The non-regulars among us couldn't stop laughing. They should have been singing along.
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