Unchained after a more or less final draft turned in on Wednesday, I was free free free. With the weather warm and inviting, even briefly hitting the 60's one day, I set off to find adventure and well, adventure. So since then I've crammed in four movies -- Central Park Five, Silver Linings Playbook, Killing Them Softly, Rust and Bone -- ran around to see friends old and new, and had a karaoke session filled with songs from musicals. Cue a rousing rendition of "America the Beautiful" too.
On Friday night, I prepared to go find a dance party, even if by myself. I headed out to Le Poisson Rouge in Greenwich as the rain started, and then waited around for plans to solidify. There was a semi-line outside, and a hefty cover, so we changed venues, walking a mile or so in the drizzle to arrive at Bob Bar in the Lower East Side -- our usual standby. There was not too crowded dancing, followed by a wind down walk uptown, and finally a long subway ride home, wet and bedraggled.
The previous night, I had met a friend's new romantic interest, downstairs at a jazz bar run by Asians. I want to say Japanese? I wondered if the proprieters had read Murakami, and been inspired by him. I read there's a coffee bar in Taiwan called "Kafka on the Shore," and perhaps B Flat was yet another nod to Murakami's jazz bar owning roots. The servers there wore baggy slouchy pants, long suspenders, and pageboy caps. I had creme brulee. (Murakami is fitting here, as I'm about to talk about a lot of food.)
Later on, we jumped into their car and I got a ride back to Brooklyn, listening to DJ Neil Armstrong, smoking cigarettes with windows down as we crossed the bridge. You can imagine how happy I was. We then made a pit stop in Brooklyn's Chinatown for late night skewers. There was a huge karaoke parlor around the corner, decked out in massive chains of lights, with a gangster's array of vehicles outside. Clearly I'll need to return to that street for more exploring.
Note: JMZ is pretty much obsessed with skewers, the kind you typically find in Beijing, the signature one which is lamb topped with spicy cumin powder. We both pretty much crave this constantly. Since our discovery of a cart in Flushing a few weeks ago, we've spent a night in Chinatown wandering, looking for a sister cart. While the place we found that time wasn't the best, it's comforting to know that skewers exist a little closer. Brooklyn's Chinatown is mostly Fujianese, versus the Cantonese of Chinatown or Flushing, which means JMZ should be double excited to eat the food of his people.
On Saturday, while bar hopping up and down my friend's street in Midtown, we had pickelback shots and I was introduced to some of the best mac and cheese I'd had yet in the city. Wonderfully melty crispy bits and a beautiful egg on top. The perfect complement to tempura green beans. The Liberty, I'm coming back to you. I was supposed to go to a hypergender burlesque show after that, but due to concerns about too many cisgender folk in one party, that fell through. (That's a whole 'nother conversation.) As I was suffering from first drinks in awhile hangover, I parked myself into a nearby movie theater until JMZ and Jenn showed up for late night eating at a rowdy K-Town pub, the best part of which was a half watermelon carved out and filled with juice and soju.
Over the next couple of nights, I hopped out to Greenpoint for drinks (I ordered Jameson when asked to "surprise me" and subsequently found out it's not really a good whiskey), dinnered it up all around town, and got the aforementioned three hour karaoke session in. And then last night I confirmed my dislike of bar karaoke, as you're forced to sit through terrible people singing terrible songs you don't know. This particular karaoke spot offered a free drink if you scored 89 or more on a song.
Despite the fact that almost all scoring systems on karaoke are a farce, most of the singers were determined to score high by using a combination of faux falsetto -- one method is to grab the skin by your throat and yank it around -- and songs you know you can nail out of the park. Neither of these are things I typically look for in a karaoke session. I prefer my karaoke to be a group exercise in enjoyment, and with plentiful skips. Also, when the opera guy decides to try his hand at En Vogue? Not a good look. Or rather, sound.
There was also the time post-karaoke when I failed miserably at saving my friend from a guy. I thought he was asking for a light but instead he was asking if I was her boyfriend. Hey female friends, I don't know if you know this but I'm pretty useless at saving anyone, as I'm hardly intimidating -- see, mugging. And most of the time I'm an enabler. My dancing partner in crime this summer also had this complaint. "You're like practically selling me off." Sorry! We need to work out better signals if you require some saving.
This is how I want my New York weeks to be. This is how my New York weeks should be. Wandering the streets, hopping in cabs, jaunting around, an adventure every night. I can't believe it's taken me three months to accomplish this. Even for a brief moment. I will savor it all, even if I have no photos to preserve the memories. Did it really happen if there was no photo documentation? Apparently, some would argue "yes."
I return to San Diego in five days, to reassess, recuperate, and return. We have big Sea World, Celtics vs Clippers, and Les Mis plans. I think I'll be back here mid-January, perhaps a tad later. I've already committed to sticking it through a few more months, as the living situation is just too good and because I haven't done anything here yet. A friend I've only just met has told me twice already, "I feel like you're not coming back." Is my word that unreliable?
Times I've done laundry here: three and a half. Pepcid ACs popped in the past week: seven. Times I've eaten ice cream for breakfast this week: every day.
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