I love New York; Part I

I use my dress to wipe up my drink,
And I care less and less what people think.

That's an Ani D. lyric. She wrote that in New York. Man, did I love me some Ani lyrics when I was younger, lived by some Ani lyrics when I was younger. I loaded her up on my Ipod whilst walking around Manhattan two days ago, and as Ani and I had an amicable split a few years prior, it was like revisiting an ex-lover, which can be nice in a way. It can be nicer than the lover that you've got right now. But the greatest thing about that--going back in time and reliving hot, sweat funky minutes and hours with someone you've outgrown--you learn just a little more about yourself.

I use my dress to wipe up my drink...

That was never a problem for me. I never did care much about the dressing portion of life. If you've ever seen me, you know this to be true. I'm not, how you say, well-heeled, and I've never been much cognizant of that. So when my drink spilled--and I'd be in a bar when that'd happen, fucked in the head on liquor no doubt--I'd pick up the bottom half of my dress and wipe up my drink. No prob. Liquor gone. No complicated capture of a napkin and use of manners necessary.

But...you know, even drunk I'd wipe it all up, take a look around, notice people looking in my direction, and be self-conscious. People were always judging me. I was sure of it. In my head it was always, 'They think you're a mess. They see right through you. They know how crazy you are. What are you looking at, fuckers? WHAT ARE YOU LOOKING AT?! ARGHHH!' And even the screaming portion would look like little more than a half grimace on my face. It would manifest itself into three more beers and two more shots, and sort of mutate into unbecoming or criminal behavior, before then mutating into violent sex with a fuckbuddy I shouldn't have called, and then settling into a sort of low hanging haze of guilt in the morning that would haunt me all day.

So that last half--the I care less and less what people think half--I was never down with that. I cared so much about what people thought.

I...love New York.

I went there on a whim--to see Tucker over Thanksgiving, and maybe hang out a little and have some fun--but I never expected to love the place. People find it fascinating that I had, in my twenty nine years, only been to NYC once, ten years ago with my ex boyfriend. I grew up near Buffalo, for chrissakes. "The City" was still a seven-hour drive away, but it was "The City" and it's shameful I only went there once. I supposed the size and crime were intimidating to me, and since I hated strangers and thought they were all going to rape me, New York didn't seem like a fun place to go. Plus, there were so many people there. Watching, judging people.

I remember driving up on it, chatting with my boyfriend about something and being stymied, for I was young and country, and hadn't seen much of skyscrapers--which in hindsight were like the snowbanks from your youth you recall as mountains. We parked somewhere in Midtown and walked a lot, like A LOT, because I saw Central Park, AND Battery Park, but the boyfriend and I were into running great distances, so a walk like that was nothing. We went into the Empire State Building. I nearly shit my pants at the top of it, and had I any food in my intestines I would have. I ate a salad in the West Village and puked it back up in a cab--for there were too many people, watching, sizing up my emaciated but still fat frame--and the boyfriend and I fought, fought and fought. It was not a nice visit, and that's all I remember of New York. Didn't like it too much since it was, dizziness, puking, fighting, drama, rape and strangers--shifty-eyed strangers I couldn't trust, and millions of them in so big and intimidating a city as to be paralyzing.

I took the redeye out of LA on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving, and arrived at Newark airport at 2am. I didn't get to Tucker's apartment in Chinatown--a shockingly nice two bedroom with lots of light and an enormous deck--until almost three in the morning, and when I did, I professed a desire to go see the Macy's parade in the morning. Tucker laughed, and said, "Bunny, if you want to see that parade you'll have to leave now to wait in line. Silly tourist Bunny." I went to bed instead. Besides, the parade was eons of space away from Chinatown. It was forever up the island.

In the morning, it was drizzling. Tucker and I put our shoes on and went for a run on the waterfront. He was rather annoyed when we got to the Brooklyn Bridge and I had to stop and be in awe and discuss its historical significance, the trials and tribulations of the engineers and how the Bends (not yet discovered) took many lives. Nor was he pleased when we had to stop at the former WTC, Tammany Hall and Columbus Park--the spot of the famed Five Points district I've become obsessed with ever since witnessing Daniel Day Lewis' transcendentally good performance in the lovely but historically inaccurate Gang's of New York as "Bill the Butcher." Tucker was good enough to pretend he was Bill the Butcher and I was that super creepy alcoholic chick who went around cutting peoples' ears off and trading them in for liquor.

Later, I spent six hours on Wikipedia researching facts about the Five Points, Brooklyn Bridge, and New Amsterdam settlement while Tucker cooked Turkey, potatoes, spinach, stuffing and two kinds of gravy. The banging of pans and swearing from the kitchen was considerable, so much so, that his girlfriend Courtney holed herself up in his bedroom with her sidekick and refused to come out. I didn't pay much mind to it because, well, that's Thanksgiving, isn't it? Screaming and food. And what did I do in my house when the screaming started, but bury my head in a history book.

I went for a long walk by myself, and later, when I ate Turkey and potatoes (delicious and worth the screaming) I told Tucker, "This place is tiny, isn't it? I never realized how small it is."

"Yep. It gets even smaller when you live here."

"You know. It's weird, but I feel really comfy here. There's so many people, but I don't care. Could it be that I don't fear people any more?"

"Bunny, you are silly. You just like yourself now, and you don't care what anyone thinks, and New York is all artsy and crazy like you, so of course you like it here."

Ah! Growth. So titillating.

Later, Tucker and Courtney fought some more. She holed herself up in his room with her sidekick and refused to come out. Tucker and I went to a movie about tap dancing penguins, during which I laughed and cooed my ass off, and Tucker checked his text messages with a grimace and forehead crease every thirty six seconds.

After the movie, Tucker and Courtney fought some more, sidekicked some more, and screamed while I wikipediaed. Courtney threw her Chanel bronzing powder into the tiles, casting a permanent golden hue into the mortar, and considering the tiles were black, it was actually kind of pretty. Tucker didn't think it was pretty though. He told her to go stay with her parents at their room at the Ritz.

I sort of whimpered from my computer chair, "Um. It's night, and dangerous. She shouldn't go anywhere," but I don't think anybody heard me.

She threw her Ipod at his head--a hell of a throw--and it nicked him in the chin before slamming into the couch cushion next to him. He picked the thing up, walked casually onto his deck and launched it like Ichiro. The face lit up blue and spun away between the adjacent building and the Manhattan Bridge.

He reemerged, smiling like a little boy who'd done the ultimate naughty, and when Courtney wailed, "You're buying me a new one! Oh my god. At least you didn't throw the Chanel case," I looked at my tattered, incognizant state of sloppiness and thanked the Gods I use my dress to wipe up my drink. That way, if someone throws away my Ipod, it's just a thing I can easily lose, like a casual fling, or all this fucking drama I used to live for.

Comments

Posted by: rien at December 2, 2006 12:34 AM

Posted by: Pat at December 2, 2006 11:05 AM

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Posted by: KungFu Mike at December 3, 2006 10:55 PM

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