So I meant to write about last weekend earlier, but then I was struck by a deadly illness on Sunday and have spent this entire week fluttering romantically between life and death, surrounded by white lilies in Garbo-esque style, not to mention with multiple episodes of Law and Order
playing softly in the background like old jazz songs.
But back before I was so afflicted, I spent a very wondrous evening with Dinah and Joi attempting to go to the Galleycat BookExpo party but then, when it was far too crowded for our delicate temperaments, retiring to a lovely café across the street for wine instead. Dinah wrote about it all here
. We spotted my friend Rona skulking on the street corner and she came over as well, and we spent much time talking about writing and other exciting affairs before meeting up with my friend Ron and his friends at a cigar bar. Sometimes it is very important to surround oneself with glamorous womens and red wine on street corners, before flitting off in taxicabs to cigar bars across town. Of course now the mere thought of a cigar bar or even flitting generally makes me want to faint onto the couch and bring a handkerchief to my mouth, but last week was another story.
Friday I was going to see the Rock Bottom Remainders with Joi and Kathy Patrick of Pulpwood Queens fame, and all her friends, but I ended up just going with Joi to drink ginger proseccos and white sangrias served in slight, curving pitchers, and we had a long fevered discussione and then I ate baked cod with pumpkin seeds and floated home.
Saturday I arose bright and early, blissfully unaware of my impending doom, and took an hour long walk through FOREST PARK, which at times seemed quite rural and fallen-leaf-filled until the Jackie Robinson highway suddenly appeared rudely at my side. I also at one point came upon a wide expanse of perfect lawn and thought it was a field that had materialized just for me to run through, trailing flowers behind me, when I realized that it was a golf course and turned, sadly, back to the lone path I was traversing. After, I went downstairs to visit Tink’s brother Tom and his wife Whitney and their amazingly cute baby girl RILEY, as well as Tink’s astonishingly adorable baby AOIFE, and somehow managed to not kill them both with the germs I was clearly harvesting. I also gave each baby a CD of the song FANTASTIC CAT by Takako Minekawa. After drinking much tea, I then went into Manhattan to meet my newly married genius friend Eric for lunch and coffee and an afternoon of much mutually inspiring talk, and some wandering around the West Village, and then I went and met Kathy Patrick and her extremely cool husband and friends at Carmine’s uptown, where we feasted on calamari and salad and pasta and veal and drank much red wine, and then after we all went to Chelsea for LE SCANDAL burlesque, where Joi met us too, and proceeded to watch much sideshow burlesque wondrousness before going to TRAILER PARK to have some margaritas. It was so much much fun, tho by the time Joi and I got on the L train at 3am I did not feel so hot. I have to ride the L train much further than Joi and I spent the rest of the ride gripping the pole in horror, thinking that I would become one of those horrid drunk people vomiting on a bunch of strangers in a subway car, and then I took a taxi home praying I would not throw up in the taxi, but then I miraculously arrived at home without incident and elegantly passed out.
On Sunday I woke up very early feeling AWFUL, and knowing I would not do anything of any value at all I walked to the ATLAS PARK MALL and saw a 10am show of KNOCKED UP, which I thought was extremely hilarious. Then I stayed and watched MR BROOKS. I almost walked out in the first five minutes, it was so godawful, William Hurt playing Kevin Costner’s bad alter ego, sitting in the back seat going “oooo you knowwwww how much we like having funnnnn, let's go kill people!” while Kevin Costner is responding “no, no, I'm an upstanding citizen now!” but then I decided to give myself over to the pure awfulness of the movie and by the end decided it might be the BEST MOVIE OF ALL TIME. Come to think of it, it might have been the movie that killed me, as by the time I got home I began to suspect that I was not simply hungover and not simply just experiencing the horror of William Hurt playing Kevin Costner’s unconscious invading my delicate sensibility, and by that night I had fallen into my bed from which I now write with my last breaths. It is all extremely suspicious and I feel that someone, somewhere, has done me wrong.