Friday, March 07, 2008
Home is here
Last week I visited this place for the first time, went to hear Heidi Julavits read from her latest, and Peter Cameron from his. Bookstore's a winner, and so, it seems, are those two books. True to that review (and from the little I heard read), Cameron writes his precocious main character into a likable guy (you know, he sortof reminded me of the Rushmore kid), really nailing the dialogue: conjuring an 18-year-old's bitterness in a way that's just transparent enough. I'd def read the whole thing. Julavits--I wasn't as instantly taken by what she read, but I've enjoyed her in the past, so chances are.
Anyway, not the point of this. The point (I think) was how perfectly (sap coming) Brooklyn the whole night felt. From the BK writer-heavy stock to the small assembly of people to the cat that kept brushing up against Heidi as she read... Things felt measured--like a town. Then afterward, choosing to walk home rather than put up w/ the finicky F, I took my time, strolling past closed retail and softly lit pubs, stopping for a quick bite of yum. Subdued Court/Smith Street activity at my back, there were (are) several residential blocks en route to the cave, housing broken only by the occasional parts shop, small warehouse, empty lot, the Gowanus Canal (which, incidentally, has all sorts of charm come nighttime/the complete absence of clarifying light). All around, silence, encouraging attention to strange, arbitrary detail--the nonsensical tagging, questionable art projects, ornate carvings in wood/building architecture... And it felt, I don't know, bittersweet, knowing I'd be leaving it all behind for mayhemic Manhattan in less than 24 hours' time--and for two whole months. (Longest I've been away.) Yet there was a confidence, too, a sense of trust that everything would settle back out again upon my return. That the relationship would wait.
And so it happened that the following night found me plopped in the backseat of a cab, my poor driver at the mercy of my 'whoa, I've lived here three years but it sorta feels like I'm moving here for the first time all over again--it's the heading-back-to-Manhattan thing, ya know?' commentary. It really was kindof disorienting, though, as it's been, I guess, a year and a half since I did the East Village thing. I think the adrenaline kick was partly due to the just-prior, whirlwind appearance of my own subletter--sweet girl originally from Seattle, of all places. Her NY newness ended being a little infectious, I suppose.
Anyway, as we neared my W. 11th destination, the energy, human energy, started picking up, and my recollection of the previous night's activity expanded in light of the--contrast? I don't know, but it acted like the best old memories act in your head--full and perfect w/ the right distance. Only there was very little distance this time. Instant nostalgia. Weird.
So yeah. Following a (very) short bout of homesickness for some unrecognized place/date, I spread myself comfortably across 150 square feet. It's where I've been since. And I'm not so sure about leaving, either. Arg.
xo.
p.s. I have a personal roll of toilet paper now. And a shower caddy. And coming soon: a hot plate. (Not really.) All I'm missing is Sarah on repeat, doggles. Oh wait, I had that the other night. Uff.
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Yes! Oomie shout out! Love ya lots Doggles!!! ~~k.