Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Time enough for rocking when I'm old
After spending the better part of Monday cooped up indoors—not so bad, really, as I was able to send out a half dozen resumes + write/submit an open ltr to McSweeney’s + write/submit a piece of short fiction to the editor-lady of the other night—I was ready for action.
The day started with a nice long run along the East River Trail. Headed south, water and Williamsburg to my left, block after block of gov’t housing to my right, which, incidentally, could use a little of that elusive gov’t funding. (Apparently, Mr. Mayor currently has his sights set on other endeavors … a new Jets stadium, say.) About a mile into it, I was pleased as punch to discover a full-sized track, ready and waiting to dismiss excuses when I start upping the training intensity in prep for the NYC Marathon in Nov. (Although I’ve registered, there’s no telling if I’ll make the cut, considering their lottery system ensures that only half of all hopefuls get to the starting line.) But I think the most noteworthy discovery of all was the cement seal park I passed, by which I mean to say: a small fenced park featuring a dozen-odd cement renderings of seals, caught in various postures, in cement. We find seals sunning themselves, seals tossing their heads and trumpeting, seals with bodies half submerged—some head-up, others down. I found the whole scene disturbing, but who am I.
So while I’d planned on Staten Island (almost entirely for the ferry ride part of it), I shifted gears halfway into the day, deciding I’d stick it to Soho/Tribeca instead. En route (took the train this time—happy, feet?), a guy about my age, Frank, spied me poring over my map and kindly asked where I was going, and did I need directions. Mm, not really, said I, then proceeding w/ my story (new to the area, exploring the neighborhoods, walking most everywhere). As we ascended at Bleecker & Broadway or thereabouts, he rattled off several options. “Head east on Prince for this, north on Broadway for that….” Apparently the dude’s a record producer, so we spent some time on that topic before shifting to, that’s right, food. So happened that his all-time favorite pizza place in the city (he claims to lunch there every single day) was just around the corner from us, and as he insisted I experience the tastiest Sicilian slice around, I joined him for a quick (and second) lunch. Very thin, very cheesy, very mmMM. The name of the joint is Ray’s Gourmet Pizza (27 Prince St), not to be confused with the ubiquitous Ray’s Pizza, which is like a disease around here. I got some additional rec’s from Frank as well—the best Thai, for instance (*Sea* in Brooklyn).
Frank went to work, and I made the rounds, stopping off for a lovely Cuban coffee at Ms. Shayna’s rec, Café Habana (thanks S, plan to go back for dinner). Really nothing of exceptional interest to report, unless, of course, $800 purses call your name and/or $1,200 leather jackets getcha goin.’ Hmm. Saw/heard a couple of leggy, blasé model-types, ranting about some agency that had recently screwed ‘em over, at the Tasti D-Lite on Spring & something-or-other. Tasti D-Lites aplenty here: low-cal, low-taste frozen yogurt as best I can tell. Perfect for models. Across the street, some TV show called Love Monkey was being filmed. I could make out nothing.
And as always, noise—loud and lots. And I like it.
Okay, so the real fun—and this is what I’ve been gearing up to write about all day long—happened later on, at approximately 11:30, the never-to-be-forgotten moment when I met and conversed with a man I hold in the utmost regard. The place: Nowhere Bar. The man: The Man. The first thing I heard upon entering (alone): “You know Tuesday is Bear Night, don’t you?” Me: “Um, yes?” Twenty minutes and a Jager shot later, this:
K: I know I'm going to sound awkward, but so be it. I want to tell you I really like the way you write.... You're Stephin, right?... I'm Kristen, I just moved here from Seattle....
Stephin: [looking down at my pointy shoes] Wow, those are quite the shoes. Are they steel-toed?
K: No, no... s'pose I could've done better, huh?
Stephin: [eyes still on my feet] Yeah. Did your rent quadruple?
K: I'm sorry, what? [It's loud.]
Stephin: Did your rent quadruple?
K: Oh, yeah. Well, tripled anyway. I found a sublet, though, so I'm getting a pretty good deal.
Stephin: Oh, I see. Illegal?
K: Legal, actually. I hear that's fairly uncommon around here.
Stephin: [nodding] So where are you located?
K: 19th and 2nd.
Stephin: Not a bad area.
K: Yeah, I'm realizing that.
[A friend of Stephin's, Doug (not the aforementioned Doug), joins in. Stephin proceeds to introduce us to one another, but gets hung up on logistics.]
Stephin: No, see, this is good--I need practice with this. Kristen, this is Doug; Doug, this is Kristen. Wait, that's wrong.
Doug: No it's not. That's right.
[Stephin demonstrates why exactly it's wrong. He looks at me and says "Kristen, this is Doug," then turning to Doug, "Doug, this is Kristen." He's looking at me as he says "Doug," and "Doug" as he says "Kristen." Anyway, it was all quite funny--and very SM.]
Stephin: So what brings you to _____ ____ tonight? [For the life of me, I cannot make out what he's saying, but it has something to do with gay bars. I respond accordingly, lying through my teeth, as I don't want to, um, let on that the entire reason I'm here is because I heard that Tuesday night at Nowhere is the night to see him.]
K: Oh, I was just hanging out in Union Square and on my way home, saw the sign and recognized the name from one of my many city entertainment guides. Thought I'd stop by for a bit....
Stephin: You should check out Beauty Bar--it's also close by. [So it was fairly obvious I didn't belong here, eh? Or maybe it was the shoes?]
K: Oh yeah. Don't they have one of those in San Francisco? [They do.]
Stephin: Oh, I don't know. But this one has the old dryers from the 50s, looks just like it did back then--only it's a bar. It can get pretty crowded, but...
The rest of the conversation is a bit jumbled in my mind, as it involved all three of us. Basically, it centered around Doug's habitation in an old theater-turned-apartment complex (Stephin called this out), the perks of San Francisco, and top-notch 80s/Brit pop clubs in Manhattan. S recommended Pyramid--*1984* night--albeit snubbing the American pop bent (America didn't know pop then, he said) and a place called Silver Swan, and Doug mentioned several worthy establishments w/in a five-block radius of me. Ten minutes in, we parted ways, quite comfortably I might add.]
Okay, so we weren't trading analyses of early-20th-century silent films (uh, and I'd have so much to contribute to such a conversation), but by gawd, I talked with Stephin-effin'-Merrit, who, incidentally, carried a little black journal. The sun is out.
My, did Pea get an earful after that. Speaking of, he's on his way over as I type. Whoopee! I figure after a gigantic hug and some prelim unpacking, we'll hit LES for an Indian feast. The occasion calls for it, ooh yes.
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you've only been there a week and you've already met and talked to your idol (i had to google him to figure out who you were talking about of course)-good work!
Publishing B. Makarios
and you met mine - the donald ;)
Oh, you. I'm sorry I didn't grope the guy's arm (like the other ladies) in your honor. And SM: I'm a big dork, really. Geezus, you'd think I was back in the fifth grade, knees weakening at the sight of some New Kid.
K10!!! How exciting. I love that you crafted a reason to meet him, and so quickly!! I just bought their CD w/"Umbrellas in London" (I like it live so much more, it's so pretty) as well as "Get Lost" (have you heard the Arcade Fire's cover of "born on a train?" (kcrwmusic.com, find it, browse archives, morning becomes eclectic, mid-january 2005, 29.50 minutes into the performance. love it.), and another cd by mfields that I didn't have. I am just starting to get caught up on your blog. Glad you are doing well.