Wild is the Wind

Well, I'm a little bummed right now. I'm in DC visiting a friend this weekend. It's been fun, despite the fact I had my first dose of east coast heat. Yesterday we explored downtown DC. Once again, it was fun, but my friend's girlfriend can be whiny and fussy, and he caters to her every desire. So pathetic. I have no tolerance for this type of woman. Her type is the reason I tend to avoid my sex unless I'm related to them. But I saw lots of cops wearing shorts. I saw a lot of old stone buildings. I saw a lot of Indian people. I always saw a lot of Smithsonians.

My friends in New York are going to the beach tomorrow. Lame. Sure, I'm going to the Holocaust Museum and the National Arboretum, but they're going to the BEACH! Memorial Day is about two things: BBQs and beaches. I did the former today, and it's going to be weeks before they go to the beach again.

Second whine from me. There's a booze cruise for all the LDS singles in my area this weekend. I'm torn. Do I go to a free concert by rock and roll legend Roky Erickson, an event that wreaks of cool even on paper, or do I go to a 3-hour long linger longer/boat cruise that will cost me $20 and force me to be with a bunch of 20-somethings with no means of escape save the passage of time?

All in all, I can't wait to get back to New York. I'm glad I came to DC since I've never been here, and it turns out Bob's moving to Indianapolis tomorrow (Bob's my friend who lives here), but I feel like I'm missing out on EVERYTHING! Not true. I felt the same way when I left Provo. I'm going home for five days in a week-and-a-half; I'm sure I'll feel the same way then too.

Screw leaving New York! I love it too much.

a resurrection

In less than a week, I will reach my one month anniversary of being in New York. However, I did not start falling in love with New York until nearly two weeks after I arrived, May 12. It was a wonderful day. We took the afternoon train to SoHo. I bought a necklace that has a fish on it. I was wearing a new dress. It started raining. We got lost. We got soaked. Then, at the end of the night when I was tired and suffering sugar withdrawals, I heard a man in the subway playing the title track from The Umbrellas of Cherbourg on his accordion.

My heart lept across the platform, my aorta entertwining with the luscious meanderings of that sad song.

Thus was the beginning of my love affair.

My desire has only heightened since. Last week I found one of my favorite albums of all time, "Chet Baker Sings," on vinyl in the Village. Yesterday I went to what I thought would be a hipster/indie show, only it ended up being the most svelte experimental jazz in all of Manhattan. Today I went to The Daily Show and Al Gore was the guest. Afterward, we went and lounged in Central Park, listening to the songs the air sings as frisbees glide through it and the snapping fingers of the grass as barefoot children run through it.

I know why Paul Simon writes so many songs about New York now. Bodegas. Stoops. Diamonds. I know why Woody Allen films so many films in New York now. Dixieland. Village. Soon-Yi. (Just kidding).

New York is the best lover I've ever known. Patient, understanding, ready to listen, vibrant. I am attached.

revelation for my readers

I wasn't sure if I wanted to delete this blog or start a new one to talk about all my New York happenings. I've been working on this one since high school, you see. I never really told anyone about it though.

Things have changed. There's a lot of stuff in here I'm not proud of, and a lot I wish I hadn't wrote and wish you wouldn't read. Nevertheless, I am unashamed. Please, read this blog. I'm going to start writing in it again. Read my old entries though. Get to know me. Thank you.