(no subject)
I've felt like updating this thing involves something I don't have--something procedural perhaps. My lengthy "what's up with me" prose has always been either cluttered or wrecked with digression.
The weather's warmed up here. Well, it's starting to at least and that's something of progress in my mind. With the rising heat, the smell of the subway crawls up the steps to greet me from a greater distance than when the air was icey. Michael Chin in response to my "I have the flu" email: "You ride the subway. That thing's a fucking petri dish".
I've been watching the weather grow from the 5th floor--from a rather comfortable seat by a rather panoramic set of windows. A huge banner with our company logo suspended over endless sea and sky adorns the wall directly in front of me, the windows to my right. I've heard stories that the building directly across from ours had dressing rooms on the 5th floor and that the line-of-site was tantalizing to say the least. I'm sure the business has changed; everything in New York is always very rapidly changing like some sort of multicellular organism. The Jamaican restaurant next door has a big "For Rent" sign in the window. And (one of) the bong shop(s) across the street is now a sushi restaurant. This all happened over night, perhaps as a testament to the God of Shift, and has me thinking about the beast I've made my bed with.
I've made my bed with a wilting world here. Walking to the bodega for some latenight ginger ale, I learned quite viscerally that the Rangers had won the game. Some bar at the corner of Bleecker and Sullivan was filled with a fuckton of people singing "We are the Champions" in unison, leaning out the windows to smoke their cigarettes. I think they really love this city; I was laughing really hard. Passing back by after picking up some Grape juice (it was on sale!) the anthemic bar crowd had moved on to some other song, I couldn't quite figure it out. Everyone must have been on coke, it was psycho.
My apartment is a bit of a huddled mess. It's 300sf, with a kitchen I have to lean sideways to use. It has two huge windows looking over the courtyard though and relatively simple (albeit unofficial) roof access. I border the west village and soho (in the corner of the village adjacent to both) and have no idea where the "cool spots" are in my neighborhood. I usually just get drunk at the Australian pub across the street from my office because they have Harpoon IPA on tap, and the owner sends me upstairs to avoid the post 9-5 hum. I think he really likes me and the people I work with. Last week, I was drinking after working very late (the reason for which is summed up literally with the words "Bad Boy Records" and "Danity Kane", I swear to god) and I closed the place down, finding out 7 beers later that I'd been drinking on the house. I think it's because I helped kick a belligerent Israeli out after he told the bartender to go fuck himself. Anyways, it was the bartender's birthday so everyone was ushered out except for me and his girlfriend. The owner waddled down grabbing a shaker as he slipped behind the bar and poured us all celebratory shots of chilled Tequila.
I raised by glass to a room full of 3 people that, while I didn't know them very well, were my best friends for the 10 minutes following where we sang and hugged. Sometimes I feel like I just slip into things, slide into situations, slither into roles in people's lives. Perhaps it's necessary in a city where, while they pretend otherwise, people just want a bunch of people to stay late with them at work and hug them on their birthday.
I'll talk about work tomorrow--it's a pretty hilarious place.
The weather's warmed up here. Well, it's starting to at least and that's something of progress in my mind. With the rising heat, the smell of the subway crawls up the steps to greet me from a greater distance than when the air was icey. Michael Chin in response to my "I have the flu" email: "You ride the subway. That thing's a fucking petri dish".
I've been watching the weather grow from the 5th floor--from a rather comfortable seat by a rather panoramic set of windows. A huge banner with our company logo suspended over endless sea and sky adorns the wall directly in front of me, the windows to my right. I've heard stories that the building directly across from ours had dressing rooms on the 5th floor and that the line-of-site was tantalizing to say the least. I'm sure the business has changed; everything in New York is always very rapidly changing like some sort of multicellular organism. The Jamaican restaurant next door has a big "For Rent" sign in the window. And (one of) the bong shop(s) across the street is now a sushi restaurant. This all happened over night, perhaps as a testament to the God of Shift, and has me thinking about the beast I've made my bed with.
I've made my bed with a wilting world here. Walking to the bodega for some latenight ginger ale, I learned quite viscerally that the Rangers had won the game. Some bar at the corner of Bleecker and Sullivan was filled with a fuckton of people singing "We are the Champions" in unison, leaning out the windows to smoke their cigarettes. I think they really love this city; I was laughing really hard. Passing back by after picking up some Grape juice (it was on sale!) the anthemic bar crowd had moved on to some other song, I couldn't quite figure it out. Everyone must have been on coke, it was psycho.
My apartment is a bit of a huddled mess. It's 300sf, with a kitchen I have to lean sideways to use. It has two huge windows looking over the courtyard though and relatively simple (albeit unofficial) roof access. I border the west village and soho (in the corner of the village adjacent to both) and have no idea where the "cool spots" are in my neighborhood. I usually just get drunk at the Australian pub across the street from my office because they have Harpoon IPA on tap, and the owner sends me upstairs to avoid the post 9-5 hum. I think he really likes me and the people I work with. Last week, I was drinking after working very late (the reason for which is summed up literally with the words "Bad Boy Records" and "Danity Kane", I swear to god) and I closed the place down, finding out 7 beers later that I'd been drinking on the house. I think it's because I helped kick a belligerent Israeli out after he told the bartender to go fuck himself. Anyways, it was the bartender's birthday so everyone was ushered out except for me and his girlfriend. The owner waddled down grabbing a shaker as he slipped behind the bar and poured us all celebratory shots of chilled Tequila.
I raised by glass to a room full of 3 people that, while I didn't know them very well, were my best friends for the 10 minutes following where we sang and hugged. Sometimes I feel like I just slip into things, slide into situations, slither into roles in people's lives. Perhaps it's necessary in a city where, while they pretend otherwise, people just want a bunch of people to stay late with them at work and hug them on their birthday.
I'll talk about work tomorrow--it's a pretty hilarious place.