Cracking the Seal and Other [--unfocused--] Stories 10.25.04

1. Misanthrope Anna guided me in what is part of my resolution for the year (not the calendar year, it's started at an arbitrary point)-- to actually eat Japanese food. Thing is, I had tried Japanese food three times in my life-- once in high school with Paula (the HS kids will remember her-- silent, Finnish, kind of crazed, had a thing for black men with jail time under their belts) and her family. Where I promptly got sick. I attributed it to being a little tired and the possibility of shellfish in my meal;

Once in college with Arroz the Rice-a-Homie's family, and I attributed not liking the food to the fact that we were in St. Louis, where everyone crows about the food... a little too much for the overall quality.

And I forget the third time.

But Anna-Lu will remember that I avoided Japanese food at all costs; really, I would have been willing to try it if my possible "I don't like it" response would not have been met with "you don't know what you're talking about," as it had in the past with other people. After all, I am me, I know what I like.

I broke the seal a little with Starla/ New Top/ and Pixel, I think, walking in on the end of their dinner; and once with the Rice-a-Homie and his l'il chippie, Dizzy Riz, when J-Rich and Val were trying to tear down the town a few months ago.

On Friday Misanthrope Anna dragged me kicking and screaming-- okay. It was entirely willingly. We went to that place whose name I forget, north side of St. Marks, super packed all the time. All I have to say-- it was hella hella good.

No, really. That's the end of the story.

2. Saturday I woke at the crack of dawn. That might be the first time I'd seen the dawn all year, except when coming home on the 4.18 Long Beach train after a night of excessive drinking and unsuccessful skirt chasing. It was dark. I was tired. I sat in bed and listened to the radio until I realize that time passes when you sit in bed.

I had promised G-Ball that I'd come to midtown and help with some school painting-- her company was participating in a NY Cares project and she was running the site. I like painting and afterwards, I could walk around the city and tell people I did something more productive than watching college football. It was fun. You should do it next year. You too can Jackson Pollock your pants and leave flecks of paint on your face, scrub your kicks with turpentine, and remember why you liked that little G-Ball so much.

But then it's 1 pm and I have nothing to do; Cappy and A-alike are not home; I can't sit in a bar alone. It's too late to catch the first movie of the day and the second gets out late afternoon. I'm not going to the many strip clubs and porn stores in the area, I just ate lunch, it's too cold to walk a promenade, and my bag weighs 20 pounds.

3. So I call Mr. Raycroft.

Who is doing his own good deed, delivering a found Blackberry to its owner at the Rockefeller Center Dean & DeLuca. She turns out to be a small sweet woman who loves his Bush/ Cheney pin. Just joking. It was a Kerry/ Edwards pin, and I bought one in the basement of Rockefeller Center, after we walked through the Democracy / voting exhibit in the area-- it's pretty cool.

On that pin-- obviously made by Republicans, the front fell from its pin twice. So if you see said front-- in blue, a stronger America-- in the hookah place on Houston, it's yours.

Raycroft and I then tried to find a Nanowrimo meeting in the Forest Hills Barnes and Noble-- no success-- went back to his place to play FIFA 2004; and then went into town to watch baseball with his work friends.

Here, I should have gone to have dinner with Cappy and A-alike or gone bowling with Nascar Anna/ Eben/ Silver/ and all those hockey kids. But finding a Red Sox bar was a little too exciting of a prospect. The Red Sox bar (the Hairy Monk) spilled over to Fitzgerald's across the street.

Where Raycroft, George, Rachel, and Alana (sp?) had a good old time. Even though Alana was not into baseball. And George is a fellow Met fan! As bad as I am! Rachel is pretty into the Red Sox for a Jersey kid. It was good times, and Brooklyn, please welcome Alana into your ranks. Meeting her was creepy, though, since one of my main characters in my Nanowrimo story is to be named Alana. But my character is from Minnesota, so there.

4. Down on Houston, where the overdressed hipsters blow, I found myself slipping behind a belly dancer to get to and from a bathroom. Cappy, A-alike and their friends Tu, Sharif, and some other guy, were enjoying the show and drinking some hot and bizarre tasting drinks with their hookah smoke. Remember the pin? This is where I last saw it.

And then we went to Max Fish which was... frightening. crowded, same as it ever was. I half expected to see Silver in the back playing pool and Jo-Go talking to Julie trying to get the nuts to say "how 'bout it, girl? I'll take you to California, if you know what I mean." I did of course see two WU'ers, a redheaded kid named Marni and a bony kid named Deb who I remember being really funny.

No, this set of tales has no end. I have work to do. Go work on your novel. How was bowling?

I will end with this-- I am eating a banana that leaves me intimidated.