hyphenated.

i don't feel like writing about boston yet... instead, here's a picture that sums up how i was feeling on friday.


cohabitational bliss

ben and i are sinning. in manhattan. in a 200 square foot studio apartment with no closets, 12 inches of counter space, no A/C and a lot of lurve. our clothes are on racks in the kitchen and there are 4 strategically placed fans throughout the living room/dining room/home theater/bike closet. we moved up last sunday, stopping at waffle house along the way. got off to a very very late start, but thankfully, some covered and smothered hashbrowns and hot coffee got us right on track. got to nyc at 11:30pm and swiftly transferred all of his belongings along with about 400 records up to our 5^th floor studio in a mere 60 minutes. just like professionals. there are two sets of keys and all of our dishes are in the sink.



Lucky on the LES

went down the cbgb's to see a friend on sunday night, but ended up bailing on the proposed cover and headed out in search of a suitable watering hole. stumbled upon a very warm and inviting bar on elizabeth street... tom & jerry's. we were two in a crowd of 9 and it was a welcome change from the overflow of hipsters and on-lookers outside of cbgb's. we ordered very extravagant, leafy/minty $8 mojitos and enjoyed the balmy summer air. there was a sleeping cat at one of the tables, bathed in candlelight, who didn't care that passers-by stopped to pet her. i liked her very much.



Sloth

we watched about 10 hours of season 6 of seinfeld, did laundry and took a trip to the local bodega for some bread, beer and popcorn. also solved a two-month-long mystery, my ignorance of which had caused me great strife. every night (and occasionally in the afternoon), i'd hear this far-off slapping sound, the origin of which had me stumped. it sounded like water slapping against rocks, but there are neither rocks nor a body of water outside my apt. today, thanks to the super-sleuth skills of ben, we learned that that incessant slapping was coming from the gym out back... big, beefy guys speedbagging and working their upper bodies by beating the hell out of a body bag. in chealsea. mystery: solved.



ny fucking dolls

what a friggin' bust... ben and i were all excited that the infamous new york dolls would be playing a free show at tower downtown. i hurried home after a truly unproductive and pointless day of work, grabbed a deliciously greasy slice of pizza from the cornershop and then hopped the train with my newly acquired month m-m-m-metrocard. 8^th street on the NRQW. walked a few blocks and encountered a mini-line of former glampunks and ex-groupies with sagging breasts cling-wrapped in black spandex. sauntered into the store only to learn that the surely iconic and monumental performance would only be viewed by people with laminated “VIP” passes, which they dutifully obtained by purchasing the new album.

...

le screw that.

we decided that our desire to see the aging dolls was not worth the $13.99 a piece price tag. instead, our wandering took us back to washington square park, where we lounged at the fountain, watching little girls frolic in the city water and throw plastic cups of water in each other's faces. watched some nyu hip kids play matchmaker with a 31 y/o red-haired hippie girl and tall weasle-y boy with a long knotted ponytail and jncos. got an iced coffee from a teeny shop that was playing love will tear us apart. loitered until the sun set and ended up at astor place where i gave my mom and lil sister a catch-up call. more loitering, more loveliness.


re-learned that i really, really, really enjoy sitting in friendly, preoccupied silence with another person. it's been so long since i've sat with another person while we both did something else... reading, writing, listening to headphones, drawing... it's wonderful and sublimely intimate.






hurrah for comfortable silence!