tea berry-blue

At lunch today I Citibiked down to a Thai place about ten blocks from my office. I docked my bike (#1015), went to the drugstore to drop off the prescription for my new (red!) inhaler because my lungs have decided to rebel like Bostonians being taxed for tea, walked across the street to the Thai place, ordered myself some tofu and noodles, got my food, picked up my prescription, and went back to the bike station-- which was completely empty, except for one broken bike. (I'm also digging the developing language of "backward seat means broken bike" I'm seeing around the city) I went around the corner and about two blocks to the next station, pulled out a bike...and saw it was #1015 again!

And then I was thinking about what I said on Friday night about bike reviews, which was very much something that would be half in jest, and then I was thinking about stories about objects that travel from person to person, like The Red Violin or The Miraculous Journey of Edward Tulane, and the idea of tracking a single object from place to place and documenting the stories of things that happen to it or to the people in possession of it. I mean, if I hadn't glanced at the numbers, I would never have realized I was on the same bike again.

So then I got back to the office, ate some noodles, and looked at the data on my account, to see if I could find out what bike I'd ridden for previous trips, and saw that the data that Citibike provides doesn't seem to include bike numbers, just trip numbers. We've got stories of docks and trips, but not the bikes themselves, which is vastly more interesting to me, like tagged animals in the wild.

So I'm thinking about that this afternoon, and that I'm going to keep track of my bike numbers from now on, and document trips by bike number somehow. Still percolating. Wondering how to make it a bigger thing than just me. Because I want to know the stories of the people who've been on the bikes I'm riding, whether they rode that bike to get their hair cut or to buy a new set of headphones or to go on a blind date, if an old white lady was terrified of them or a tourist asked where they could get one.

So I was in the art store at lunch buying some pens and paper and such, when this young man walks up to me and compliments my dress.

I say thank you and go back to browsing.

He keeps talking to me, and introduces himself. His name is Augustus.

Now, usually I tend to get really edgy when strange men come up to me and talk to me without context, because they generally, eventually creep me out, or act as if they are entitled to get my number or SOMETHING.

Augustus starts asking, “Do you have a…”

And I’m like, great, here comes the “do you have a boyfriend?” question. NO, FOR GOD’S SAKE, NO. (And of course I am straight and of course my interest in talking to strange men has everything to do with my relationship status and argh).

But he asks, “do you have a son?”

I’m totally taken by surprise. I say, “Err, you mean like a child?”

“Yes, a son,” he says.

“No,” I say.

“Well, do you have a brother or a dad or someone like that? Any men in your life?” asks Augustus.

At this point, I’m a little gobsmacked, because I’m wondering if this is Augustus’ way of circumventing the boyfriend question.

“Well, yes, I do,” I say.

He points to his collar. He’s wearing a…well, a bowtie. But a bowtie made of Scrabble tiles.

“Do you think they would like this?” he asks.

“Um. Well, I know some men who might,” I reply.

His eyes light up. He reaches into his bag, and holds out something wrapped in a paper napkin. “Well, then I have one for you!” he says. He unwraps it, and it’s another Scrabble-tile bow tie. “Yours says ‘fireproofed,’” he says. “I think that suits you.”

And he gives me the bowtie.

Thanks, Augustus. I, er. Might be keeping it for myself?

Mirrored from Antagonia.net.

On Saturday, Eugene (whose book you should read) and I were sitting in Madison Square, drinking tea lattes from Argo and chatting about lots of random stuff.

“That couple has been standing in the same place for twenty minutes,” Eugene said to me, pointing to a couple behind me. They were tall, well-dressed, with small overnight-bag-sized suitcases. They were hugging each other very tightly. And they looked sad.

Very sad.

They weren’t just standing in the same place: they were barely moving.

“Maybe something terrible happened. Maybe their dog just died,” I suggested.

We spiraled out into a world of potentials. Maybe they were trying for the World Record. I had been at Hershey Park the day that someone was trying for the World Record for kissing. Eugene had known someone who once held a world record for…something. I don’t remember what. Threads led to other threads, as conversations do.

But now we were watching them. Surreptitiously, in stolen glances. Our attention kept returning to them.

Five minutes later, they still hadn’t moved.

We noticed they were standing on a painted red X, the kind left by construction or road or sewer crews, to mark something.

I don’t remember which of us suggested it, but we started talking about the spot itself. Maybe it was a special spot. Maybe they had chosen that spot deliberately. Maybe something was supposed to happen if they hugged long enough. Maybe the spot had a powerful magnetic or gravitational force, and people walking by got stuck to it.

Maybe it drew people together. Maybe they were strangers before one of them stepped on the red X, and then the other was drawn in, too, and they fell in love, standing there on that patch of concrete. Maybe the only way to leave the red X was for them to energize the space by hugging until it let them go.

We kept talking. They kept standing. We talked about special places, places of power. I brought up a picture of the old Toynbee Tiles , we discussed graffitti that meant things.

And then, slowly, the couple disentangle themselves. They picked up their suitcases. They walked away.

Maybe, we said, they’d energized the X. Maybe they’d given it enough of themselves.

We saw another man, walking toward the X. We stopped, watching in silence, waiting for the moment his foot would hit the spot. There was one of those electrical frissons of fate in the air, the kind where the very expectation of something leaves a charge.

He walked right past it, untouched by the power of the X.

Maybe, we said, maybe it had been charged for now. Maybe it only took in two people a day. Maybe two people had to hit the X at the same time.

More people walked over it, by it, stepped on the cross-center of the X. Nothing happened.

But we kept looking.

Mirrored from Antagonia.net.

This past weekend, _samalander came to visit for the first time.

The visit began with a conversation the night before. We exchanged phone numbers. I said “In case there are a lot of big-haired ladies, I will be wearing a pink raincoat with a Mockingjay pin. Also I have a halo and am followed everywhere by a heavenly choir.” I think that helps people pick me out in a crowd.

Anyway, we found each other okay, if a little belatedly, at the bus station, and went back to my apartment in Queens. I had planned a little get-together than night, and had a bunch of friends coming by.

I have a very bad track record with parties. In elementary school, I was not only the bottom of the social ladder, but my birthday was in the summer, so I think I had a few parties where I actually had guest attendance in the negatives. I don’t know what that means, maybe that I had to go to their houses or something? I don’t know. When I turned 21, 20 people RSVPed yes to my party. Five people showed up. My parents had spent a ton of money on food and drinks, and I ended up calling my brother’s friends to round out the party. I kind of felt horrible about the whole thing. Anyway, I have a little bit of a complex about parties. So, I was sort of shocked when this one was extremely well-attended, and I assume that is because everyone heard Lauren was going to be there.

Anyway, it was a freaking awesome time. I made some awesome foods, including friend wontons full of PBJ as well as friend wontons full of nutella and bitter orange, and those were kind of the star of the party, even though I think the edamame spread I made was the best thing there. I made lots of drinks, and let my friends attempt to make me drinks, which ended in hilarity. There were also a whole bunch of H_E people there, which was kind of awesome: all four houses represented!!!

Anyway, party was a blast. The next morning we slept in pretty late (we being me, Lauren, and Jess), and then we went downtown to Jim Hanley’s Universe, and then to The Strand, where Lauren acquired a copy of Diary of My Secret Life, Volumes I-VI. This was quite exciting. When a clerk asked if she needed help, Lauren turned around, and said, “No, thank you, I’ve already found the best book.”

WARNING: This book is extremely graphic and uses a lot of HILARIOUS SEXY WORDS LIKE “DOODLE” AND “GAMAHUCHE.” IT IS VERY DIFFICULT TO TAKE EROTICA SERIOUSLY WHISLT READING THE WORD “DOODLE” ALOUD.

We also went to the costume shop, where we found Dobby:

And shoes for pikacharma

And a Clawbot:

Then we headed back uptown and dropped into Dutch Kills, a bar in Queens, for a drink, before making our way out to Flushing for Korean food, and bubble tea.

Then we went home and ate the ice cream sandwiches that Jess had given us when we had gotten in on Friday:

After we ice cream sandwiched, I taught Jess and Lauren how to make a sazerac, and then we did dramatic readings from the aforementioned “best book,” and finally went to bed.

The next day, we got up and went down to Katz’s Deli for lunch

And then, walking around, we found a place that had a sign about hibernating Puffs:

Oh, yeah, and Jess bought an amazing purple hat.

And we got some cream puffs at the Hibernating Puffs place:

Lauren did some science:

And then we went to the giant Toys R Us in Times Square, because it is apparently tradition for visiting H_E members.

Jess played DDR:

Lauren was Iron Man instead of Batman for like ten seconds:

and communed with Her People:

And I’m not sure what she did to the Candyland King

Or to me, for that matter:

Then it was time to send the Lauren home, and Jess came back to Queens with me for a little while before she departed as well.

So, all in all, pretty awesome time.

Mirrored from Antagonia.net.