June 11th, 2002. Tuesday
An email I sent Caryn yesterday:I am so stuffed up that after I blow my nose, for several seconds my head makes this squeaky drone while my head depressurizes. It makes me feel like a robot. And I can't tell how loud it is because it's coming from inside my own head. I think I may be going crazy.
I haven't gotten much better. In the late morning I went to see my doctor to see what condition my condition was in. He very quickly said I had a throat infection. I asked him about this periodic coughing fit I'd been having for the last month, and he said it could have been due to the throat infection. I told him I'd only been sick for a week, but the cough had been for a long time. He said the throat infection could have been there for a while. Which was fine and made sense. The only thing that bothered me was that I had seen this same doctor for a physical not three weeks ago, and he said all systems were go. So if he missed this, I'm wondering what else he might have missed. Maybe he mixed up my blood work too. My cholesterol level was certainly suspiciously low. Anyway, he gave me some antibiotics and sent me on my way. James goes to the same doctor, and is very suspicious, saying all he ever does is prescribe the same antibiotic. James, by the way, just got back from performing in Holland for the Holland national public radio. Excitement, She Wrote!
Other recent matters- The Mary Timony show on Friday night was adequate. I saw former PFC Katey there. Hadn't seen her in many many moons. She really hasn't changed a bit. Except she's the company she keeps is a bit sketchier than in the past. The first woman that played was a bit too Fiona Apple/Tori Amos. And after playing she thanked us all for standing in line and seeing her play and encouraged us to stay for Shannon Wright and Mary Timony because they should be really good. No shit, really? I think she actually thought many people were there to see her. Anyway, after this Caryn and I went to McDonald's for a bite to eat. Then we went to the Fat Black Pussycat, which is the bar above the Village Underground, to watch some of the NBA Finals. While we were standing there, Mary Timony just happened to walk by. I mentioned this to Caryn, who did notice, and she was like "Where!?" and I told her she just walked into the bathroom, and suggested Caryn go check it out. So she did. It was kind of hilarious. About a minute later she I saw Mary come out, followed shortly by Caryn, who did a good job with the timing so as not to seem like a deranged stalker. She said Mary was just fixing her hair, and that the bathroom was very small and so she just kind of stood there and stared at her. Then she showed me the face she used to stare, and I must say it was the scariest look I've ever seen on Caryn. It was that of a deranged stalker. But also hilarious.
I happened to see this guy Donovon who lives on the fourth floor of my building there. He works for Matador, which I didn't know. While Caryn and I were waiting out the opening bands on the top floor of the Village Underground, he came up with a big box of cds or whatever. So we talked with him for a while. He'd lost his keys. After a while some Matador big wigs came in. Then Mary Timony stopped by to chat with the Donovan. Caryn and I mostly sat there and stared. She's kind of ditsy, but in a very attractive way. Anyway, the show itself was allright. I still like her old band, Helium, much better. The Village Underground is a weird place, with low ceilings and seats and tables on the floor. It kind of reminded me of Arnold's from Happy Days a bit. The Matador big wigs, one of which I think was label co-founder Chris Lombardi, shouted at Mary after each song, in a kind of obnoxious manner. They were kind of acting like dicks. But she didn't mind. It wasn't mean spirited or anything, but I'm sure it was annoying to everyone who doesn't get paychecks from Matador Records. It was also a non-smoing venue, and there they were, a-smokin' away, right underneath the no-smoking sign. They kept screaming "T-money!" which I actually thought was pretty amusing.
On Saturday, Caryn came over, and we, with Jed, Matt, and Josh walked down to the OTB to bet on the Belmont Stakes. For the Preakness and Kentucky Derby, we pooled a small amount of money to bet on the longshot horse. But money is tighter now, so we didn't. And quite naturally, the longest shot on the board, at 70-1, pulled out the victory. If we'd each jus bet a buck, that woulda been 350 dollars. If only. These, of course, are the kinds of things compulsive gamblers say.
In the evening, I went with my upstairs neighbor, "Miss Charming Melodee," out to Bloomfield, NJ, to one of her friend's house to watch the Tyson-Lewis fight. Apparently she had grossly underestimated just how far away it was. It was past Newark. She was thinking along the lines of Hoboken, which is just minutes from the city on the Path train. Newark of course is another matter. So it took us quite a little while to get out there. Which I didn't really mind. We sat outide the bus station for a while waiting for her friend to pick us up. I asked her what kind of car she'd be driving, and she said it was something like a hatchback, wagon, sort of deal. This seemed sort of non-descript, but when her friend Lilly showed up I was amused that it was the Toyota Matrix. The first ads for this car feature the Matrix in a high speed chase, and a guy is telling someone over the radio what kind of car to look for. But he can only describe it as "A blue...a bluish...it's blue..." because, supposedly, the Matrix is so unique. So, just like the commercial says, Miss Charming Melodee was unable to accurately describe this gem of automotive innovation.
We drove through some seedy Newark roads, but once we got into Bloomfield, the streets quickly turned residential. Curiously, when we parked, we parked right behind another Toyota Matrix. Same color too. Her friend's house was a nice, homey little place that reminded me of a nicer version of the SHOE, or some other collegiate dwelling. Lilly boxes, so she had the place adorned with her boxing gear for the fight. She and her fiance Armando were extremely pleasant people. After the fight, Miss Charming Melodee wanted to learn a few boxing tips, so she put on the gloves and threw a few punches. Watching Lilly throw punches was an interesting experience. She's very feminine, but her punches were fierce. The males in attendence were quite impressed. Or were scared into saying so. Miss Charming Melodee put on the headgear and tried to take a few soft punches. She's sort of small, and looked amusingly absurd in the head protector. So Lilly socked Miss Charming Melodee a few. One, actually. She complained of wooziness later. I fear for Armando.
When we got back to the Newark train station, there were several police cars outside, along with a van marked "Bomb Disposal Unit." But we just walked right in the front door without incident. Lotta weirdos hanging out around the station at that time of night. Around 1:30. We didn't get home until 3. After a long Path train ride, the cab from Manhattan was a dream.
Sunday morning, I felt like day-old crap, but I still ventured into the city for a few hours. I was supposed to have plans with Rodzilla, but she had to work an extra shift, so I stopped by her wine store for a few minutes. Soho is an alright place to be if you can stand the people, and on Sunday it wasn't too bad, though it was terribly hot. So I chatted with Rodzilla for a while and drank water and ate crackers. Then I met Caryn and we sat in Tompkins Square Park for a while. The woman sitting next to us on the bench was feeding the pigeons rice, and this annoyed us on a number of levels. First, this naturally attracted droves of pigeons into our direct vicinity. Second, you're not supposed to feed birds rice, since it will expand in the stomachs and might kill them. People. Then back to Brooklyn. Watched a bit of What's Up Tigerlilly, then went over to see Jen's new apartment, just on the other side of Grand Army Plaza. It was a nice place, but it still smelled like paint, and for some reason my asthma started working up shortly after getting there, and I had to leave. It was a tough bike ride home.
And yesterday I had my writing class. I was a little worried, because Caryn had said my paper read sort of homophobic. I didn't think so, but I made several edits anyway. Which is more than I normally do.It was about our game of Frisbee golf last week that featured a walk through the crusing gay-men section of the park, and the many used condoms we encountered. The papers are read anonymously in class, but most people volunteered their authorship after comments were made. I was pretty sure mine would be read. When it wasn't read first, I figured it would be read last. Just because the conversation about it would probably be unlike the conversation about the other stories. I was hesitant to comment on other people's stories, for fear of reprisal when mine was read. I only made one negative comment about someone else's work, and in the nicest way possible. Or in the way that best covered my ass. So then she read mine, titled "Rubber Souls," by Caryn. Only one or two people really laughed while it was being read, which really worried me. But afterwards, they had a lot to say. Most thought it was funny. Some thought it was extremely right wing and convervative. And one person thought it was ironic and that I was showing latent homosexual tendencies. So I sat there for a good while taking this, and then finally the professor pretty much just asked me to say it was mine and answer their questions. Which i did fairly well I guess. Or at least, fairly humorously. The prof. said she like it a lot, because she'd never read anything like it, in form or in content. She had a lot of good things to say in her written comments also. This was pretty surprising, especially from a professional writer, because I didn't think it was anywhere near my best work. Then again, she's the kind of instructor who never makes really negative comments, so you never know how genuine the praise is. But she didn't really have anything bad to say, and she did make a few remarks about the other papers read that weren't wholly complimentary. Now, though, I have another paper due tomorrow, and I feel like I have to do really well now. The pains in the ass of heightened expectations.
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