22.8.11

finally


Everybody takes pictures of themselves, and it really makes sense: vanity is like strong morning coffee, like a compliment from a stranger, like secretive pleasure, good luck. In this particular photo of myself, however, I hope you notice I am not the subject, but only a fixture in my new room in Brooklyn, catty-corner from my Beatles' hologram and the two bikes standing below. From eight this morning until roughly five this afternoon I cleaned cleaned cleaned.  Down on my knees, crud under my nails and in my hair, AFOS and Black Sabbath and Simon & Garfunkel whining through the two Bose speakers I have inherited because they are here, my roomate's, and for communal use.

All that's left are some old-timey photos that I'll affix to the walls (I cleaned those too) with sticky-tack. Some I stuck to the fridge with magnets. My favorite: 1977, Daytona Beach, Spring Break, my father at twenty-two and full-bearded and all smiley, looking out from a dollar Polaroid, behind fake, rubbery bars.

Now that I'm here, I fully recognize that it will take a while to acclimate, I mean I arrived on Saturday night at 10:30 PM and the first floor smelled like piss, and all of the ugly, idiotic graffiti (some is beautiful), and I thought to myself, why should I have to accept someone's garbage in the hallway as a part of city life? Maybe the black and rotted banana peels, but the half-eaten sloppy joe? The soiled diapers? Yes, the baby shit and the dog shit and the fast food wrappers. The smell of the trash itself is a dream when compared with the thought of people leaving it for others to vomit over, in the middle of the street or any number of sidewalks, in or out of trashbags.

BUT,
there are so many runners dogs good bars vegan spots things going on. And my man is here, and yesterday I was an extra in a film, and vegan doughnuts too, right around the corner practically. Graduate school starts soon. I am heading to the Upper East Side with my resume in the hopes of landing a part-time gig. There's enough money in my checking account for next month's rent and groceries, and then some. Omar and Burrito love chasing and eating the flies in the apartment.

2 comments:

  1. Hey there

    I stumbled across your blog a little while ago, and I really like what I've read so far. I'm a blogger myself, and I was recently approached about doing a paid video blog for a new website. The producer asked me if I knew of anyone else who might be down to vlog, and I threw your name out there as a possibility. He gave me the go-ahead to contact you about this, but I couldn't find any contact information on your site! I hope that doing this by comment isn't completely inappropriate. If you're interested in hearing more about the gig, please don't hesitate to contact me through my website: loriadorable.wordpress.com

    Best,

    Lori

    P.S. Welcome to Brooklyn!

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  2. Your writing is so visceral: in reading, I actually smelled that sickeningly sweet, by then quite familiar, malodorous welcome to NYC as we stepped out of the undersized, burgeoning SUV. Glancing briefly at our NASA-worthy, bed encasement still in place (with a silly pride), as my dear son caught my eye- his big smile betraying he'd fulfilled my only request. We hugged; he gave me my cold brown bag, you and I high-fived, I hugged our saviors in black tees and I quickly found the stoop- SO damn glad to be done with our long Pilgrimage from the Heartland. Loved your company, our chats and us rocking and singing loud along with the crazy, eclectic mix of CDs I could quickly grab while mourning zero iPodness. It was a long-assed day, especially following NC marathon the prior 2 days. God- that had to be the best beer and smoke I ever had (except for the last one that equally deserved). The stoop seemed ever-so-appropriate as I pulled guard duty; swilling, smoking, blending; smug and comfortable with my hardened love-hate familiarity of mega-cities. After the work and pizza and beer, our small but awesome posse flowed over to our own private drinking grotto. Sometimes fate is kind.

    I witnessed, in amazement, your cleaning frenzy and Teutonic-like proficiency and productivity. I felt somewhat guilty and slothish sitting on the couch, but I've been around enough female cleaning missions that I know the best help I can be is to stay the Hell out of the way! Besides, Omar and I, as you, were jamming to those wonderful YouTube vid tunes you picked- your only brief respite of maid-dom, if only seconds long.

    My stay was too brief but I savored every second of it. I was so thankful to be a small part in that transition. I wouldn't trade those moments or memories for anything. The unexpected gig of being walk-on extras in a film (come on: who does THAT happen too?); seeing Nick in his element- a real kick-ass icing on the proverbial cake. The irony: I was a bowler from where? Lima, Ohio. Too fun. Nope, I wouldn't have missed it. One never knows what big little adventures are just around the corner one may not have taken. What wonderful images are forever burned in my mind's eye. Thanks for taking me around the corner! Pops
    P.S. I love your blog

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