It was the first time I've been behind the wheel since October, I think. Although I don't really miss driving, when I learned that I'd have a friend’s car all weekend, I eagerly made a tiring list of (normally impossible) errands, ensuring that I would spend the majority of my weekend stuck in an old Volvo station wagon.
An hour after Todd and I dropped Eric (the Volvo's owner) off at the airport, we were sitting on the side of the interstate highway with a blown out tire, trying to figure out if either of us still had an AAA membership. (The answer was No.) Fortunately, though, we didn't even have a chance to find or call a tow truck before a friendly and quiet mechanic appeared out of nowhere; he backed up his white angel-mobile in the breakdown lane, hopped out of his car holding a fancy golden jack, and whipped off the shredded tire like a magician's table cloth. We handed him some money and were back on the road in five angel minutes.
My experience at the automotive center (and the mall across the street from it) was far more agonizing. While waiting for a new tire, I amused myself by trying to think of a type of store that could possibly be more boring to me than one that has nothing to look at but rows of black rubber circles. (I quickly gave up.) At the mall, I ate in the bustling food court and had sad thoughts about American culture.
The rest of the weekend, in car terms, was erratic, depending on whether I was trying to park on competitive Brooklyn streets, or whether I was traveling around my borough in record time. I alternately cursed and praised the car, and gazed at subway entrances longingly or with smug indifference. The source of my confusion is gone now, and I don't know how to feel.
...
Two noteworthy things: one, a photo of mine is going to appear in issue number five of JPG Magazine. And two, I got a bunch of my hair cut off today, in an asymmetrical shape I sort of made up and relayed to my hairdresser. I'm still getting used to it, but I think we're going to get along okay.
While sitting in the barber's chair, I listened to hairdressers commiserate about hanging out with customers outside of work. They agreed that while in such company, they obsess about the state of their customers' hair, and have to fight urges to style and cut misbehaving strands.
For Eric's birthday, he generously gave me and Todd presents, rather than the other way around. In addition to tickets to see the Colbert Report, he let us sit in his office instead of wait in line in the cold. He gave us a quick tour of the building (very office-like in a 1988 way) and let me eat the last of his cake, just before we got to pick out our seats in the empty studio. Happy Eric's birthday to me.
Nice weather makes New Yorkers particularly friendly, especially when it's the first 70+ degree day following winter. Everyone smiles at each other and holds the door for the person behind him and clicks their heels together as they disappear down the street. Today at lunch I decided to take advantage of the warmth and walk around taking photos of people, an experience that was so pleasant and easy that it felt like I'd been dropped into a fairytale or a ride at Disney World, where the saucer-eyed characters have permanent grins and continuously wave at you. (Also, I should note that the Mr. Softee ice cream trucks have come out of hibernation, an important inclusion in any proper fairytale.)
I take fewer street portraits during winter, so it's been a while since I've asked a stranger for permission. I was feeling quite shy and was beginning to reconsider my mission, when a totally photogenic man noticed the camera hanging from my shoulder and said, "Hey Blondie, you don't want to take my picture, do you?" "Actually, I do," I replied, wondering if he also knew that I was planning on eating a burrito for lunch.
I owe Photogenic Man for being so perceptive, because it broke the seal for the rest of my walk. Everyone I approached was agreeable to modeling, and I ended up speaking to several people I would've no doubt passed by on a normal day.
[After taking several shots of one man, he asked, "You're not a cop are you?" thereby altering me to the strong possibility that he was involved in something illicit. (He seemed very relieved when I told him No, and kind of laughed it off as if he had been kidding.) A man with a gold tooth stuck several poses for my camera, shifting into a new stance each time he heard the shutter. Another man tried to chat me up, using the novel(?) pickup line that his wife just left him for another woman. When that didn't get him far, he pointed to our respective eyes, and told me that only 15 percent of the world's population has blue eyes. (Guess what? He and I are going on a date tonight! not really.)]
You know what else? The manager at my favorite lunch destination gave me my lunch for free with a wave of his hand, and an older gentleman with white hair chased me down the street holding the orange that had fallen out of my bag. New York is creepy today, in the best possible way.
One thing that I always forget to do, unless I'm forced to do it, is spend time alone. I inevitably (and repeatedly) come to the realization that time alone can actually be rather pleasant, but it only happens during accidental solitude; I never think of it when I'm happily companioned, because my default setting is turned to Things Are More Fun When Shared.
Todd is out of town this week, and therefore I suddenly have more time to spend with myself. Tonight, while walking through my neighborhood, I remembered how nice Alone can be, particularly because the neighborhood is still new to me, and I noticed I was paying far more attention to details that have, until this point, been obscured by the distraction of company. And of course it can also be nice to leisurely find your way home and not need to coordinate dinner plans or discuss the state of decay of the vegetables in your refrigerator.
The thing is, though, I never really mind coordinating things like that with Todd. I'm also noticing that my new apartment is quieter than my old apartment, simply because I no longer live by myself and it's not supposed to feel so quiet. I've already thought of several things I wanted to tell him tonight, but couldn't. Alone's kind of overrated, I've decided, again.
(See a few more apartment pictures here. Also, my newly adopted cats.)
I've posted a few photos from a comedy/variety show I went to last night ("Andres du Bouchet presents Andres du Bouchet in Presenting Andres du Bouchet"). See more of them here.
