Monday: Pantera Shirt in Cafe Ost

I had no idea that hours from this moment, random Pantera fans would  throw me the devil horns
from their car waiting for a light on the Bowery. Very rejuvenating!

I don't why I have this expression.

Me, breaking, in Cafe Ost.

Writing is slippery. I can't think about what I'm doing too much. I can barely blog about it.

I ingested an Americano AND an iced coffee. Super decadent writing day.

Also, I recorded in my notebook the names of lit mags that had been encouraging in the past.

I ended this session by reading a few of Frank O'Hara's Lunch Poems, some of them written in the neighborhood where I wrote today, where I always write.

I'm not writing about New York, though. I never write about New York.

Avoiding Tight Places

This morning I called the info desk at the Museum of Modern Art and was told "we are extraordinarily crowded."

One of my Facebook friends status updated that the line for the Met was "around the block."

You think that "Christmas Week" in New York will be idyllic, but it's teeming.  Frothing with tourists.

That's why, when you visit NY during Xmas Week, you should head for the New York Public Library main building on 5th Avenue and 40th Street.

That's what we did.

Free.  No lines.

A Dickens' exhibit.

An exhibit about the history of lunch of New York City.  (Do you know that the NYPL archives literally hundreds of vintage restaurant menus?)  The online exhibition is here.

And look at the library's lobby tree:

Woody and Me

Leaving for the woods tomorrow.

I rarely leave New York, so it's freaky.

I'll try and blog if I can, but I know no one will miss me given the fact I co-blog with one of the most brilliant women on the planet.

Also, Ingrid up tomorrow!  Is this her last August guest post?  I think it is.   :-(

i heart my bed

i've always been pretty wimpy, but it's getting worse.  so tied to my little routines and my bed.  don't know how people who travel frequently keep it together.

tonight at the airport, we had the first full meal sitting at a table in four days.  c. really wanted sushi, and i just wanted something warm and comforting, so i ordered a burger (who orders a burger at a sushi place?)  but it was kind of special--topped with shisitso pepper aioli AND get this:

a tempura battered slice of bacon.

WHAT????

yes, tempura bacon is a thing.

so we moved eva out of her dorm today, mailed off her books, vinyl l.p.'s (we're vinyl snobs around here)  and her record player that c. got her for a high school graduation present.  (it was a good one.  c. is the best present giver.)

it was quite grueling.  then to jfk with 9 bags between us (c.'s gigging equipment and eva's stuff from the last four years.)

ingrid left for port authority to visit a school chum in new jersey, and eva and her best friend said a tearful good-bye on amsterdam and 120th.  they became best buddies freshman year and have remained so.

maybe they'll still be tight, like me and julie, in 20 plus years.  i hope so.  those kinds of friends are the best.

cab ride was eventful.  an accident on the tri-borough expressway put us in a cab ride that lasted at least 90 minutes.  and we were jammed in with all the luggage.

interestingly, though, our pakistani driver and eva conversed in urdu and he gave her a cd of his favorite poet.  we had a long discussion about poetry and biryani, politics in pakistan, and how hard things are in pakistan.

new resolves forthcoming based on this discussion.

home in wonderful, wonderful bed.

practically sleep-bloggin' right now.

night-night.

Underground Tights and Filthy Tracks

Years ago, I stopped looking down when looking for the arrival of a train.  The subway tracks below are always dirty and dotted with fetid pools of water.  Rats scurry and cavort.  During tights season, it's best just to keep one's eyes peeled for tights like these.  Monochromatic gray tights may be among my favorites.  Dove gray.  Dare I say--rat gray?  Yes!  Of course I do!  One one hand (leg?), these tights were part and parcel of another boreal day.   These were practical city tights made glamorous with blush pumps and a leopard skin print coat, reminiscent of Edie Sedgwick, although I'm sure she was almost always above ground in cabs.  

Why do I love tights so much?  For a relative pittance, they provide not only warmth but glamor.  They are ubiquitous, easy to find, easy to pack and stow away.  They are democratic like Levis.  They obscure faults but tell the truth.  They make the truth more beautiful.  They easily re-contextualize a shoe.  They make it easy to be stunning.  And they don't have to be dry-cleaned.  

Just writing off the top of my head here and fully aware of how silly this might sound!

The train came and the gray tights disappeared into an adjacent car.