cavaliers, sing out in glory!

last weekend was the weekend of visitation–my dad and his girlfriend came in from california, and two of my friends from college, Chris and Michelle, flew in from LA and Chicago, respectively. and as is always the case when fresh people come into town, i uncovered little bits of the city that i previously wouldn’t have gotten a chance to experience. these new turned over leaves include:

*the workings of the J, M, R, and N trains. in my attempts to get from my classroom on 6th ave and 14th to Prospect ave in Brooklyn, i took:

-a walk to union square in the rain

-an R train, which should have taken us straight there but instead decided to stop at Canal street

-the M, in the wrong direction, to Bowery, where we got off and began waiting for an M going in the opposite direction, ignoring 3 J trains until we realized that the M only goes to brooklyn in that direction during rush hours. this puts us at one hour traveling time thus far.

-the J, back to Canal street, at which point my traveling companion decided she’d had quite enough and took off home. i don’t blame her

-so, waiting for the R once again and convinced that the N was an express train (which sometimes it is, but not always) i let about two Ns go by until one finally came that said “local” i hopped on, until

-suddenly the display turned from “local” to “express” and I had to take it past prospect ave to 36th street, where i could switch directions once again and get back on the R

-luckily, i managed to catch another local N fairly quickly, and, two hours after I’d left class, landed at Commonwealth bar and was happily reunited with Michelle, followed by Chris, who had gotten royally screwed over by a cabbie on his way from JFK. turns out those flat rates don’t apply to Brooklyn. joyous reunion ensued.

so there was that. also i think we might never be able to go back there due to  certain NYU poetry students that i know yelling about kicking people’s asses and pulling their tits out.

anyway.

my dad also came in to town, generally doing embarrassing dad things like pulling on my braids and saying “so are you a hipster now? is that what they call them? hipsters?” and talking about “carnie from sex and the city” and “manolo bleelocks” while in the elevator at Barney’s (which is a totaly clusterfuck, but we’ll discuss that later).

however, i did get to enjoy ultimate fruits of parents being in town in the form of free fancy food. saturday night we went to sistina, an italian restaurant on the upper east side (where i never previously set foot) and ate white truffle risotto and fresh porcini mushrooms and scallops while surrounded by ridiculous new york WASPS who talked about how they should all just start banks. yes. great idea. let’s all just start banks. people need banks. problem solved.

so now i haven’t been able to eat anything i have in my house because i don’t want to pollute my memory of those fucking delicious melt in your mouth scallops with the fucking poor-person rice stew i made a whole week ago and am still eating.

anyway, that’s it for now. i have a poem due this evening and nothing to show. off to the main library with me.

LIAWS alert (courtesy of diana)

apologies.

i’ve been away for so long. hearts are breaking all over the five burroughs, obviously.

I was down in Virginia for the last few days, visiting my one set of married friends from college and their cerebral palsied cat, Buster. went to a mod party they threw at the downtown teahouse, hiked up humpback mountain (freaking out about steepness and being passed on the trail by arthritic cocker spaniels and obese children) did some goodwillin’ and salvation armyin’ (found a brass crab ashtray with moveable claws and an anatomically correct spanish matador doll). generally relaxed

my gigantic goodwill bag broke by the time i got back to penn station and i had to stop into a hot n’ crusty for a garbage bag. on my way to get onto the 2, garbage bag, sleeping bag, and canvas knapsack in hand, i passed a homeless man who shouted “white girl! white girl! you don’t have to do that!” as i passed.

all in all a good time. photos to come.

you know what?

this.

confusing the shit out of children for decades.

nothing like topless sea-dwelling girl children.

ACID.

Poetry Brothel @ The Zipper Factory 10/25

my memory of what happened at the poetry brothel last night is a little spotty, so i can’t really reproduce too much about it, other than i got a reading from one of my classmates, discussed my long lost love the clarinet with a gentleman in a newsies cap, was harangued by a creeper in a business suit about how great it is that i don’t have a life plan (i wish i would get a small stipend every time a well-dressed person told me that) and ended up walking home in a blissed-out absinthe happy fury from times square. and here are pictures (some even in sepia! work the PowerShot!)

that darn cat

those damn kittens in union square. damn them all, each and every one of their impossible cute fuzzy little beings. you know what? christine and i spent (collectively) FIVE FUCKING DOLLARS on cats the other day. not a specific cats, just cats in general. because you know what happens when you’re walking down sixteenth streets and you pass one of those little metal cages. you stop. you stop because there is a damn basket with nine baby kittens in it, sleeping. and you know what happens next? the lady in charge of this table comes sidling up with something like “can you please spare a dollar for the kitties? the kitties thank you.” and then in conclusion, there goes your dollar.

the best part of the whole thing, was that after the gauntlet of cats, there was a man gesticulating at a homeless lady (who was just sort of hanging out sitting there and mostly seemed unaware of the whole thing), yelling “look at this woman! LOOK AT THIS WOMAN!”

anyway.

one of the main problems with living in stuyvesant town is the squirrels. because everyone fucking FEEDS them and as a result they are intense. especially the one-eyed one that is always waiting outside my door, leering at me. i’m sure pictures will be forthcoming. i bought almonds today.

don’t come into my closet with your arms full of trash

i’m beginning to think that my apartment is haunted. not in a scary way, just in a sort of fuck-you-i’m-not-leaving kind of way. see, i live in stuyvesant town, which used to be a rent controlled co-op until it was bought out by tischman-speyer and turned into luxury flats and grad student housing. needless to say, they want the rent-controlled ones out as soon as possible.

long story short, i think our apartment is haunted by a stubborn old new york lady who still refuses to give up her apartment.

proof: sometimes in the kitchen it sounds as if cabinets are being opened and closed when they most certainly are not. also, things in the rooms make rustling sounds even when they clearly are not being rustled. also, all these flies keep appearing, despite the fact that all the windows are closed and they have no way of getting in here.

also, the other night there was this intense repeated banging sound coming from the pipes.

people tell me i just don’t know what a radiator sounds like.

well, that may be so, but i maintain my position. just like Ruth (i’ve just decided that this is her name) maintains hers. i simply asked her (very politely) if she could just lay low for a bit until i’m out of here. so hopefully she’ll aquiesce. hopefully.

on the subway…

Last night, on the L, on the way back from brooklyn heights, a man in the car slowly leaned over the side of his seat and quietly vomited on the floor. my friend and i briefly glanced, then continued with our conversation. i think i’m getting used to this place.

then, two nights ago, 9:30pm: father and six year old daughter, who was having a tantrum because it was lateish and she was, you know, a child. anyway.

FATHER: you can either walk home and go to homecoming (?) tomorrow, or i can carry you and you will not go to homecoming tomorrow. it’s up to you.

YOUNG ILLOGICAL CHILD: alsdjfa;lsdjfa;lsdjfa;lsdjf;soivj

FATHER: what is this anger i’m seeing in you right now?

then, a girl in yellow pants and a zebra striped jacket, to a punk guy in zebra striped pants.

GIRL: i like your pants

BOY: thanks

GIRL: zebras are my shit

zebras are her shit, people. i think it’s important that we all have our shit. peacocks are my shit.

what’s your shit?

Los Angeles, are you on fire again?

you old so and so. you gotta cut this shit out. like now.

yikes.

um.

apparently there’s this new service called homethinking in which one can match neighborhoods in different cities to see how they compare.

well. now what have we here? lies!

really guys? the east village is echo park? i guess it’s the mister frostee truck that’s parked on the corner of 1st and 14th that’s throwing the whole thing off.