Tuesday, July 13, 2004

new york in june

life is sometimes made up of waiting for the next tragedy. especially in new york. every twittering siren means a terrorist is climbing the wall. every summer storm is a flash flood. i think the media is trying to kill us(!) by insinuation. (((a lady gets dizzy and falls into the path of the subway train and the headlines read "cut in half"!!! a shadow of a lady wearing a towel on her head leads to "terrorists spotted in laundromat"....)))) we think. they are artists of the sickest fascination. hopping around, trying to get everyone to pay attention (and buy). the free papers on the train (clutching my coffee -now decaf, i learned quickly about anxiety with people staring- and my iPod TM) are nice right before an election. newsy with just a little yummy gossip... the zoo ads are comforting on the wall (gross pestering foot surgeon ads aren't). men stand stiffly on the R train, pretending not to notice anything but eyeing every female in peripheral sight, women cross their legs and look prim, studying each others’ shoes. headlines laze casually over their arms. luckily i agree with most of them, which have something or other against GW bush.

people come to whatever it is that is calling them here, in the bzzzy village shops- a phone, an email.... news headlines, t.v. --certainly not people, in this country. it's a calm, busy, by yourself kind of place- but luckily you do like yourself. everyone is faceless and the general hum is rat race in it’s full glory. rather grand yes, this reclusivity, at times.... & except for bills suddenly popping up (don't get those when you're travelling) i have not much at all to worry about. pleasant, lonely boredom. new york is crawling with life like an anthill. itchy. dark. tunnels. full of people. but the savoriest of damn fine food. beach chairs on a sandy wood floor, a window looking out over a clumsily stuck together brick wall. good movies to figure out before they get done.

friends, when i can claim them, which is rare in america, tend to be strays which i pick up in typically atypical ways, ie. via the internet. my collection of friends in the states includes a generous, creative, and loyal sociopath; a flitting, twinkling butterfly of a free spirited girl who makes me burn with jealousy at her constant good fortune, a tough guy long island-er with a sharp mind and paradoxical ambitions towards professional gambling, a clumsy, overweight socialite, and assorted random misfits who cling to the fringes of new york nightlife. recently i met a thai guy who promised to teach me to understand thai. he’s got to be one of the least thai looking people i have ever met - in fact his heritage is indian, which is the worst luck for him as i find it the least attractive race…. but as usual, no matter how repulsive, abrasive, awkward, or just plain crazy (in other words bad for me) people are i seem to be able to find some common thread. the problem is that most of them are male, and i have to eventually have the “no i am not sleeping with you, sorry” conversation and it all goes downhill from there. It’s hard to have a real relationship with anyone when you are a floater, and even harder if you are female, and especially freaking hard when you are in NY. it’s hard to relate to people in bars who have all 28 of their closest friends within shouting distance, who swap stories from childhood. i have always been the new girl. i don’t know peoples’ families, i have no social skills, i have always spent too much time alone to pick up cues or sharpen my wit. i am a loner and a loner i suppose I will stay- until i find another boy i genuinely want to sleep with and can adopt his ready-made set of friends (which being me i use as fodder for my constant neurotic analysis). sigh.

anyway my days are made up of trying to look busy at a most unfriendly office place and trying to stay out of the way of my reclusive ogre of a roommate. i surf for penpals online, preferably of the sexy variety. i have discovered a playstation game called 'space channel 5' to which i am addicted- i play a dancing girl called 'ulala' who must be space aliens in a dance contest (copying their moves to the beat exactly) in order to save the planet. when i am not saving the planet i am eagerly anticipating the arrival of the pink guitar i ordered online, along with a sewing machine and quilting squares, which was another whim. as i keep telling cire, i need to find some way to make my life here enjoyable while i am here living it, instead of living to live in the future.

my office next to the plaza hotel, where i watch hideously rich people watch me with the disdain one can only feel towards unfortunate plebes like myself

at least my window overlooks central park, which is calming, especially when it is poking through the fog


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