How good is all of this? It is 3:30 in the afternoon, and I am at the Red Hook loft for perhaps the last time, taking advantage of the internet access here and packing up the rest of my stuff I left here to haul out to Williamsburg. It's a cloudy day, but god, you would not know that from my mood. I am blaring Wilco on Cassidy's stereo and absorbing that beautiful sound.
Homocorps last weekend was fun, but not nearly as fun as the Faint on Monday, and more fun sounds coming up soon: Tomorrow Pop is playing somewhere and I am going to go show my support for New College music, and Saturday is Peaches!
The apartment I am subletting is the nicest place on Earth. I am going to leave it kicking and screaming into some closet out in the boondocks, and so I am enjoying it while it lasts. I listen to the Yeah Yeah Yeahs' Fever to Tell nonstop there. More sounds. Great ones. High school all over. First time in so long that I have gotten a CD and listened to it nonstop for days trying to learn every last lyric. It's a good feeling. The power of rock and roll.
I am meeting the nicest people in the world. Before I came out to Red Hook this afternoon, I went to Washington Mutual to try to open a bank account and the lady said I had to have a piece of mail with a Brooklyn address on it, which I don't have, and she was about to ignore it and open an account anyways but her boss stopped her. She's got a big heart. She gave me her card and whispered to come back on Saturday and she would do it. People, never stopping being nice to me. Please. It makes me so happy. Don't stop and I won't and we'll swirl round and round with happiness.
And last night, I went out with a friend from work to some gay bars and talked to him forever and think he's a right on guy. He asked me to come home with him. I didn't. Some sense of decorum told me it woud be a bad idea to sleep with a co-worker right after having met him. So now I have met him, and the next time I hang out with him, it will defintiley be a different story come the end of night either part or go home together moment.
At some point in the night, I was talking about my love of Whitman and Springsteen and their vision of America, and this boy, David, told me, because this world gets smaller and smaller and nicer and nicer each day, told me that the husband of his college advisor is Jim Cullen who appearantly wrote an academic book on Springsteen that places Springsteen in the same tradition as Emerson and Whitman. And David still meets with this couple a lot, and told me he'd give me a copy of the book and that we should go to lunch with him. What? How are people so nice? And because I don't have internet access, I never mentioned anything here about the gay writing guy that is going to get me involved in gay travel writing. He used to be the editor of Passport and is now working on a line of books, and he offered to help me get started writing, doing a paid internship when he gets back from travelling. And not only that, but he offered to let me housesit his midtown apartment while he was gone. Everyone I meet is astounding me with their kindness.