January 21th, 2002.
Monday
I woke up to a snippet of a speech by Martin Luther King, Jr. Speaking of Dr. King, did you know that today happens to be Martin Luther King Day? It's a national holiday. Do you know where I am today? I am at work. Do you know where everybody else I know is? In bed. Some are in big, comfy beds in extravagant New York City hotels. Others are just in plain old beds. But beds nonetheless. Yessir, it sure would be a good day to get up at your leisure, have a spot of tea, read the paper, read a book, or watch tv. Boy, howdy. Fuck.
I say, if there isn't mail delivered on a day, then you shouldn't have to work. If even the goddam "Neither rain, nor sleet, nor snow nor gloom of night" United States Post Office is shut down, how in the world can you justify going to work? And why is no one protesting this? Wasn't there a huge uproar in Arizona over this? Have we forgotten the struggle of all those workers who demanded a paid holiday? Anyway, I digress...The evening out with Jen from DC was a good'n. She was staying at the Waldorf-Astoria, so I met her up there to check out her swanky room. For some reason I kept thinking the Plaza was the Waldorf, and almost ended up there instead. Anyway, her room was pretty nice. Bigger than most studio apartments in the city. She'd just finished her $31 dollar room service quesadillas when I got there, and I was debating whether or not to grab that really nice spoon and finish the uneaten guacamole. But I didn't. I just looked around. A can of soda from the mini-fridge: $5.25. Not a giant, Foster's-esque can either. Just the standard. A little bottle of Kettle One cost her $8.25. So we got the hell out of there and went looking for a bar. There's absolutely nowhere worthwhile to go around the mid-town area of the Waldorf, so I suggested we hop on the 6 train downtown. So we did.
After getting off at Bleeker Street, I wandered around, leading her back and forth while I got my bearings. For some reason I was having a real problem neogtiating east and west. After walking us in a complete circle, we eventually settled on Botanica. It was fairly empty on a Sunday night, though the music was still blaring and we still had to yell to hear each other. Which was what we were trying to avoid. But we didn't seem to mind. Anyway, it's always nice to see Jen. She'd just dyed her hair a dark red. Almost maroon, I'd say. I'd called Caryn when we got there, and she and Nate came down from Nate's apartment, across Houston St. from the bar. I think Caryn and Jen got along fairly well. They both enjoy shitting on me, so there was an immediate comraderie. Anyway, the conversation veered from this to that. Jen said she'd knit me a scarf to replace the one I'd lost a a few nights before. She enjoys knitting. She's a girl. They like that. To my "would you rather have sex with George Bush or kill George Bush?" question, she initially waffled a bit, then said she'd kill him. When it was a homeless person instead of W., she said she'd have sex, but only after I said she couldn't kill him anyway she wanted, but had to strangle him with her bare hands. That was too up close and personal for her I guess. She had no problem with George Bush in the same scenario. I think she's all talk.
Anyway, because of the lousy F train scenario, and because I'd spent so much on cabs the past week, I didn't get home until well after 3. Didn't go to bed until 4. It's amazing I'm not terribly sick.
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