Wednesday after work I met up with my friend Kevin, who in the months I've known him has made quite a few jokes about blogging, but of course I soon come to discover has his own blog. We met up in the totally overcrowded Union Square Greenmarket to shop for Thanksgiving. Kevin helped me get my new favorite clothes, so if you see me looking especially fly, it's because of him. He was wearing the most beautiful blue leather jacket that I have ever seen. We retired to Kevin's new apartment in the East Village where he plied me with cognac and hummus and good bread. Wednesdays are good.
Thanksgiving I woke to an empty apartment, ate a really wonderful brunch and napped for most of the morning. Eventually met up with Richert and Jeanne in Park Slope. Jeanne is a food blogger but I'm such an asshole I forgot her new blog. Anyways. Her house is maybe the nicest apartment I've ever seen in NYC. And the food was all vegetarian and extravagant and amazing and I had pretty much a perfect Thanksgiving, actually. We drank spiked apple cider in Prospect Park and played croquet, for fuck's sake. Top that. I learned about the magickal midwestern delicacy known as Gifta.
Friday I had another wonderful day alone in the apartment. Cleaning, mostly, I guess. Met up with Tommy and Lauren at night for a "writing date" in which we breifly discussed writing then ate nachos and went on a bar crawl through the Village. Writers: who knew? Went home and puked all night. Woke at the crack of dawn, sick as a dog, to meet up with long-lost friends for a memorial service for my friend Spencer who died in October. I woke up feeling sick and gross and dangerous. As I got dressed (all black cotton turtleneck teased punk haircut tailored couture pants postmarxist Angela Y. Davis meets Ian Svenonius for the New American Obama Hope team REALNESS), I looked at myself in the mirror and all of a sudden got an incredible nosebleed. I decided "I'm still going to this thing." And I did. And the service was beautiful. And I've never been to a funeral before, not for someone that wasn't family. And it did, really, help me with my feelings about loss. Came home and had a 101-degree fever. Ordered vegan Japanese take-out, took some codeine and watched Slackers.
Woke up feeling fine, fine fine.
Sunday I wrote that story for teh German zine, about the first time we slept together on a pile of casio keyboards. Do you remember? You said "Well, now we can start a band". That was cute. It has some good points in it, I'll show it to you some time. Met up with Tommy, went shopping at Patricia Field and bought some good knives. Saw Synecdoche NY, went home and played Sega Genesis.
I don't have to convince nobody of nothing, honey.