watch your step

no one should be alarmed that in the general time span of two days i nearly stepped on a used condom on two seperate occasions as i was walking on the sidewalks of this fine city.

til tuesday

i walked from my end of the village on greenwich ave all the way to ave b without having to wear my beloved black wool coat.

spring may have sprung.

3 hours later, my head high, wearing but a light jacket, i began strolling back across from the east to the west village. on this one free tuesday. on 6th street. and i found myself standing in front of something i never thought i'd face again. my past.

5 years - 6 states - about 600 miles have all gone by.

and there stands a ghost. one of those people i never thought i'd see again. half-hoped, whole-hoped, i'd never see again. but there they are. in MY world. the world i'd almost convinced myself i'd created.

until this tuesday.

and then i remember. that all of those things and people and experiences are real. they happened. and, in some way, are still happening. they still exist. somewhere. sometimes just around the corner from me. right here in the village.

i gained my composure. i was clever. witty even. we caught up. sort of. and my hair looked good. so it could've been worse.

after hours

and here is how i ENDED my friday night . . .

as i was putting on my coat to leave the bar, a very ambitious guy with a "bum" leg and a crutch tried out his sob story on a friend of mine. i wasn't so interested. five minutes later we ran into him outside. with no crutch. walking just fine. soooooprise, sooooprise!

we proceeded to walk home with my neighbor ken and got to our corner. we stood to talk. being stationary in new york is fertile ground for observations.

we'd been standing there but 30 seconds when i saw, crossing the street, someone i work with. Gross-Out Greenberg. ew. this man gives new definition to the term "bad hygiene." and "creepy." and he was crossing MY street in the middle of the night!? he was carrying a bunch of plastic bags. i deduced they probably contained body parts. sadly, no one seemed surprised by that suspicion.

shortly thereafter, a man approached us asking to point toward 7th ave. the three of us each pointed in different directions. our arms literally slapping and overlapping one another. each correct mind you - as this is the west village and everything is a giant loop. about a minute passed and an underage bridge and tunnel crowd drunkenly stumbled upon us, "um do youuu guys liiiiive arouuund hhheeeerree?" again with the directions.

we saw a woman walking her two beautiful dobermans. but what caught our eye? one of the dogs was carrying the shopping bag . . . hmm i THINK it was a shopping bag. i mean. unlike Gross-Out Greenberg, I'm certain there were no body parts being toted. but it is just NOW occurring to me that perhaps this pup was cleaning up after himself. carrying his own mess. his little poo-bag. hmm. interesting.

the three of us finally parted ways.

i indulged in my new obsession. carl lewis's scary ass acting reel (http://www.carllewis.com/). i guess i felt like having nightmares. or a good laugh. or a lobotomy.

i fell asleep.

shortly thereafter i was woken up by my phone ringing. it was my best friend calling from north carolina. he was driving home from a night out. we talked for a bit. but our conversation ended when he'd safely arrived home.

and i found myself advising - no! insisting! "yes. go back to your car. don't leave that girl sleeping in your backseat."

not small talk

new york is one of the few places on earth where the weather is a completely legitimate topic of conversation.

macdougal & w 3rd

today is one of those days in new york where it's completely sunny and just warm enough that everyone's thinking that perhaps spring is indeed on its way. after the past few months of winter, i've come to almost dread heading out for lunch. the cold. the wind. the dreary grey. but today, it was a treat.

i ventured to one of my long-time favorites. arguably the most delicious deal around. yum. Mamoun's $2 falafel. can't beat it. trust me.

there's a line out the door of this tiny, cramped villagers' spot. but they get people in and out. no chit-chatting. no questions. know what you want when you get there. it's just shy of being the soup-nazi.

and worth it.

so i left within minutes. with my paper sack in hand. feeling quite content. it's almost spring. and, well, you know, i'd just gotten a delicious lunch for $2.

and up ahead, on the adjacent street corner of macdougal and w 3rd, a small group caught my eye. and ear.

4 little boys were huddled, walking together. they were about 7 or 8 years old. one in the middle had a soft guitar case strapped to his back that looked like it may overtake him as its weight, i'm sure, rivaled his own. and i could hear the boys clapping and stomping together as they sang:

"Naaaa, na, na, na-na-na-NAAAA, na-na-na-NAAAA, HEY JUUUUUDE . . ."

ménage à what?

never fear. the lovers have continued with the morning - and sometimes evening - ritual of flowers. and let's not forget the twirling. they certainly don't.

and now there's a third. yes. you heard me. in the past couple of weeks, we've noticed another man has come in. waited. undoubtedly overheard the neighborhood musings in regards to the lovers. and greeted whichever lover arrives first. and proceeds to join them for their stay.

we have yet to determine what Thorn's role is. a chaperone? a mediator? a voice of reason?

the other day, as he watched Male Lover and Female Lover in mid-twirl, Thorn was overheard proclaiming, "Can't you give these people a break?"

we practically broke out into applause.

no tea for me

i'm sick as hell this weekend. we're talking really sick. we're talking not-leaving-my-bed sick. luckily i live in a city where everything is deliverable. but little did i know how sick i sounded. i called to order food for delivery and the guy kept having to ask me to speak up. not possible in my current state of health. at the end of my order, he asked, "do you want some tea with that?" i declined, "but thank you." and he persisted, "are you sure?" yeah. i was sure. but nice to have another person looking out for me.

owl in the park

it was last summer, around 5am. lucas and i were thinking of wrapping up an unexpected all-nighter as we sat on a bench in Washington Square Park. a stranger with a giant pizza box noticed lucas playing me some tunes on his guitar and began to negotiate an exchange. the ragged-looking stranger asked, "hey can i play your guitar?" no answer, as lucas seemed to be cotemplating how to refuse. then the stranger pointed to the large pizza box and said "just one song, and you can have a slice." how could lucas refuse? so he passed the guitar and grabbed a slice from the enormous box. apparently a local pizza joint offered this pizza to our new friend. in turn, our new friend offered slices to us and any of the other wanderers passing by. we sat and listened to the bizarre but not completely unpleasant tunes of this young man who introduced himself as "Owl." apparently Owl's own guitar was stolen, which meant that he had also lost his source of income since he was unable to perform in the parks and on subway platforms. he continued to sing his songs of drugs, fascination with drugs, love of drugs. in one song, he literally listed every drug i'd ever heard of. and more. at one point he stopped and asked us for a dollar. because he needed a beer. and he meant need. he was visibly going through painful withdrawal. we gave him the money. he re-appeared 5 minutes later with a cup of beer. good to know you can still get that at 5am on a weekday. he began playing again, literally having to stop for sips of beer to calm his shakes. and confessed "you see? i can't not have it." we sat there for a little while listening to Owl sing for us. as lucas took another turn, Owl shared stories of his troubled times. yet he seemed almost hopeful and relatively content with his life of living in the parks. he claimed to spend most of his time in Tompkins Square Park in the east village. and it turned out, because of this, he and lucas had some friends in common. this is one of the many times that exemplified how lucas never ceases to amaze me.

after an hour or so, we wished Owl well and left him in the park. with his cup of almost-gone beer. with his giant box of almost-gone pizza. the sun had almost completely risen.

i didn't see Owl again.

until about 3 months later. it was morning, and i was taking my usual route to work. as i cut through Washington Square Park, who did i see in a patch of grass? Owl was just waking up. and i exhaled a sigh of relief.

2 months after that, i was coming home from work - again cutting through the park - and i heard a familiar song coming from one of the many park performers. i turned to listen. and saw Owl playing a guitar and singing his songs. and i smiled.

they give love a bad name

there is such a thing as too amorous. at the shop (jack's coffee, of course) there are . . . the lovers. a young man and a young woman who have taken things too far. everyday. EVERYDAY. they MEET at the shop. he arrives first, with a bouquet of flowers. EVERYDAY. when she arrives, she feigns surprise at the bouquet. and he picks her up and twirls her. these twirls take place at least twice, if not thrice, during their stay. and this is a small shop. their twirling takes up half of the joint. and tends to block all entry and exit ways. unacceptable - what if there's a fire? and something about flowers everyday screams "please please please love me. or at least sleep with me." and yet they continue to meet. not arrive together. even on saturday mornings. (but maybe he left before her - ya know, to get the flowers.)

well today i've reached my limit with all of this textbook over-romantacism. the aforementioned lovers' routine occurred this morning like clockwork. sigh. nauseating. but then. THEN. this evening, i look out my window, down to the shop. and what do i see? Male Lover waiting again. with ANOTHER fucking bouquet. that's TWO in ONE DAY. even Female Lover is starting to look bored.

now some may say i'm a cynic. or unromantic. really i'm not. quite the contrary. do you wanna know what i think is romantic? flowers every once in a while. a twirl on a rare occasion - and always overdone, with a sense of irony. the surprises are what's romantic. if it becomes that routine and expected, it takes the meaning out of it.

at this point, the entire bloody neighborhood has come to the conclusion that Male Lover should be told this. because we don't think he knows.