Merry Christmas

but i forgot to tell you of the time Heather and i went out to Rockefeller Center to see the famous Christmas tree. just last week, after work (and before the strike), we braved the wind-chilled Manhattan air to find ourselves in midtown, surrounded by tourists, to bask in the glory of the prettiest tree i've ever seen. after our gawking, we turned a corner and happened upon St. Patrick's Cathedral, wherein we listened to the choir practicing their carols, and it was good. next, we ducked into a Dean and Deluca for some hot cider and mosied our way to the NBC store to find they still sell Friends and Frasier paraphenalia. With our curiosity satisfied, we took the train home for what turned out to be (i can only assume due to the strike) our last mutual trip to New York City-proper of 2005. We leave for Colorado on Saturday morning, and come back in time for New Year's Eve, but will we be stranded in Brooklyn? Is this the untimely end of Milhouse?

Strike!

the transit system is on strike, merry fucking christmas, New York. of course, i could sympathize with the transit workers, had i been briefed on the nuances of their expired contracts and failed collective bargaining, but really all i know is that there is no bus to take me to work, and so everyone i know will be getting a big fat lump of coal that i had to make myself from burnt cork and rat droppings. oh, and the mayor's brilliant contingency plan of "get a ride" or "stay on someone's couch" is fucking brilliant. his plan might as well be, "get into a stranger's car and hope you arent' raped by lunchtime." the city is slower than that corky kid from life goes on, and there's no hope in sight.

Vodkas Tonic

Saturday evening was quite fun. We made it to a going-away party for a City friend which included, but was not limited to:

1) cupcakes
2) many vodkas tonic
3) an unfortunate playlist of Britney and Mariah
4) drinking a bottle of tequila in a circle of friends in the middle of Tompkins Square Park
5) amazing pepperoni pizza on the subway home

and the fact that, while in line for a dive bar on First Avenue, we were inundated with pleas from three very homely homeless men who were carrying and offering, quite inexplicably, trays of appetizers. they offered us freshly cut vegetables and dip, cheese and fruits, crackers and spreads. it amazed me they were carrying such obvious payloads of food, but what got me more was that they were offering the snacks for a donation of $1. were i a lesser man i might have been obliged, but as i have a rule against eating food offered by hobos, i thanked them but declined, and they eventually moved on.

the next morning we met Pat (not hungover) and Jay (newly arrived from Pittsburgh) at a place called Libation in the Lower East Side, which, while a pretty trendy and hard to-get-into-joint by night was a relaxing and quiet place to find an extremely affordable (i'm talking 3 mamosas and eggs florentine for $15) brunch. we stayed and talked for what seemed like hours, after which i accompanied Jay back to LaGuardia Airport and saw him off. I caught the M-60 back into Manhattan and eased my way back to the East Village to meet Heather and Dana at Winebar for an evening drink and conversation. The evening was serene until, inexplicably, another patron's hair caught fire from the candles on the bar. we took this as our cue to leave and Heather and I returned home for Chinese food and Futurama DVDs, Jay's gift to us (and by us i mean me).

as you can see, i didn't paint my face...

My friend from Colorado, Jay, made his way out to the east coast in order to see his (and my) favorite team, the Avalanche, handily trounce the New Jersey Devils. Upon arrival we drove (in his rental) directly to the Seinfeld Diner (aka Tom's Restaurant on 112th and Broadway) for a quick lunch and then, after a coffee at my apartment, it was off to Port Authority Bus Terminal to catch the 15 minute bus to the Meadowlands for the game. It was, hands down, the best game I've ever witnessed in person (with three unanswered Colorado goals after the first period, a tie at the end of the game decided by a shootout in the Avalanche's favor). The next morning I went to work and Jay drove to Pittsburgh for the Colorado game against the Penguins at which he ran into the Great One, Wayne Gretzky.

Well I just had to laugh, I saw the photograph...

it's the 25th year anniversary of John Lennon's death. in Strawberry Fields, in Central Park, there will be a barrage of fans and ex-hippies, all crowding around the small tile mosaic that reads, "IMAGINE." would-be artists will adorn the memorial with flowers and flags and albums and candles. many people will bring their stereos and guitars. the youngest of attendees will mistakenly play Hey Jude, at which point they will be beaten with War is Over protest signs. at 10:50pm (the time Lennon was shot) they will have a moment of silence and once more at 11:15 (the time he died). at 1am the Park closes and people will have go home or look for other gay men for anonymous sex.

Funny HaHa?

The Importance of Being Bushwick

the major line that takes me into New York City proper (Manhattan, that is) is the L train. it's not a bad commute, the 15 minutes to Union Square go by quickly when reading or listening to the iPod. these two passtimes, by the way, seem to be requisite duties of any New Yorker using public transportation.

i asked someone, once, at what point did she feel like a true New Yorker [as you may know this city is made of natives and transplants, this person being a transplant] and she noted that when one can sleep on the train and wake up at their desired stop unprompted, this is the moment of achieving New Yorkdom.

i believe i am only weeks away from this. i take the L train many, many times a week, usually to explore the lower east side and the east village, union square and so on. what i have learned about the subway system is which stops or transfers i prefer compared to others, which platforms contain which performers and food vendors, which stations smell like feet and which stations smell like urine.

i won't lie, there are many gross things about this city, but many great things too. the thirft stores, for instance, are great (though evidently thrift in New York means the exact opposite of what it means in the dictionary) and the flea markets, i am just discovering, are prime venues in which to anger grizzled old men by offering obviously naive and offensive pittances for otherwise expensive, if used, camera lenses.

but i love this life i lead with Heather and find a certain solace in living here in Bushwick. it's a nice little place, even if it is disengaged from what people normally think of when they think of New York. i am among puerto ricans and ecuadoreans, families and singles, and an obvious influx of young, white, would-be artists and poseurs. we leave the windows open so the sounds of our neighborhood (and flies) can compete with NPR when we make dinner. those sounds frequently include:

• the rumbling of the elevated M train up the block
• children playing in the street
• honking horns from cars and busses
• squealing police cars and ambulances, either going to an emergency or trying to mimic a hiphop track on their siren
• construction crews here and there
  
• the wind, the wind, the wind
  

walking down the street, everyday, we watch as a funnel cloud of pigeons circulates above one house, prodded by a man waving a large pole to command them. they are multicolored and when the sun hits them just right, they look like falling ticker tape, and heather and i are the only ones in our own parade.