I listened to Bjork's Vespertine for seven hours straight today while at work, over and over again. When I was leaving, I got stuck waiting for the elevator with this boy who I had never talked to. To make conversation and make things less awkward, he asked me what I had been listening to. I told him Vespertine. And he asked, joking, as if that would be all I would listen to for an entire shift, for seven hours? And I said hm-mm.
And I read a lot of Oe's book because the train ride took forever back to Brooklyn and my mind is never here, it is always in the sky, being led down dreamy paths by all these brilliant cultural products. And when I got off the train, I went over to Paul's house to watch Larry David be a genius in the two most recent episodes of Curb Your Enthusiasm, which is by far and away my favorite thing currently on television. It gets everything so right and makes people so uncomfortable because of it, but he is the misanthrope we all secretly are on the inside.
Walking home, I thought I saw numerous people, none of them who I actually thought they were when I got closer. The third person I saw, convinced that I knew them, was Ryan, the boy I had the one night stand with on Halloween. He was about a block walking down his street (Lorimer), so it might have actually been him, but everyone sort of looks the same in this neighborhood, especially from a block away. I got lost in dreams of boys for a while and played and replayed in my head numerous boy debacles and missteps I have made and how lonely I am sometimes, like then when I was having those thoughts and walking down Grand Street regretting having not made an effort to see that boy again. And so I stopped in La Bonita and got a sandwich. While I was waiting for it, I read a pretty good piece of lit crit in this week's Village Voice by a former co-worker whose byline I recently saw in The Believer, and then felt low again, thought about how here is a peer doing things with her life that I tell myself I want to be doing with mine. Then I got motivated in some sort of competitive way (which sadly, is where most of my motivation stems from), but now, of course that sandwich dripping with mayo has been consumed and so now I just sort of want to lie in bed and read more.
Oh and also, because things come in threes. First being this possible Ryan, second this person's byline - and third thing that made me feel pathetic was looking at these photos from gay hip hop night and seeing one at the end of the night of Craig sharing a beer with Matt and wondering, imagining what happened after that shot, how their hands continued to touch until they got back to his aparment three blocks away, at which point other things touched.
I have a book to read, thank you very much.
PS- Ethan, there is a picture of you making out with Roman up there, also.