that has nothing to do with anything, but I’m listening to that song right now.
The power and internet are out at my studio space so I’m bunking out in the neighborhood coffee shop like the rest of the Mac-toting people in here. They play bad music and have bad coffee, yet their desserts are delish. Baked is cute and woody, yet modern with the only orange decor I have ever been able to stomach. It looks nice. I can’t eat wheat or gluten, so I am left with one edible choice– a chocolate and peanut butter dipped rice crispy treat that often leave me feeling like I ingested two to three pounds of sugar, yet goin’ down tastes and feels great. I have begun taking it in stages and thus it’s convenient to have a computer to share time with instead of ingesting in one go. This Saturday my buddy, Layla, and I are hosting a Valentine’s party in lieu of having a cheesy date with a signif. other or spending it alone with a case of Newman O’s and a bottle of bourbon. I was aiming to do neither of the aforementioned, but I can be sure that at least two humans in the world were going to do one or the other. We’re going to make valentines and drink beverages and will probably move onward to the local iconic bar for some homemade cider and live bluegrass. The latter should satiate my insatiable lusting for some time down South or some time back in the woods of Washington. Either/or really. Onto my getting out of New York. I decided on moving to New Orleans two days ago only to have found myself in a twister of yes no yes no yes no in regards to leaving New York. It’s causing a lot of anxiety and I’ve been clenching my jaw at night.
well hopefully I will come to a decision soon enough. I do not want to leave New York for long and know that it is my home for all my days. It makes me have a slight panic attack when I leave New York for any place other than a vacation destination, which is when I need to get the f** out of New York. Tough love here sometimes.
Speaking of Love, Courtney Love bought four belts from me a few months ago. I screamed bloody murder next to my roommate who was viewing the “ship to” address with me and so we screamed in unison. I still can’t get over that one. What a night that was! Courtney, have you worn them yet? What do you think? Does Frances Bean like them? These are questions I could ask Courtney in a hypothetical conversation. I could also ask her if Kurt ever talked about my friend Jessica who grew up outside of Seattle with him and who used to go to Nirvana shows when they were in a garage with ten people in attendance. Anyway. Hi. ! There are a lot of people in this coffee shop. Most of them are men. Men are bountiful in Red Hook. Single men are not. This is not a disappointed assertion, it’s merely a stated fact. Everyone in this f*ing village is taken. A few weeks ago I went to the bar across the street by myself for a glass of wine and to allot myself some time to draw and doodle, doodle and draw away from home. I was imbibing and inking and much to my surprise! a man with a huge grey hat and big Rivers Cuomo glasses slapped his ass down next to me and said, “YOU’RE NOT TALKING TO ANYONE, I’LL SIT NEXT TO YOU!!!!!!!” He proceeded to ask me what I was doing and expelled other random demented musings and my usual self asked my more amusable and open-minded self to humor the man instead of shoo-ing him away. He was like a Muppet, his eyes darting left and right and his mouth never ceasing to get still. His voice was scratchy and I forsaw a future like Tom Waits, a voice becoming less and less recognizable as human. His most humorous moment for me was when he told me I was that stealing actress, “You know that stealer”. I had no idea what the hell he was talking about, but after a few minutes of muttering to himself and trying to pinpoint a name, he yelped, “Winona Ryder!”. I have been told that I look like her before, yet he was convinced I was her. He asked what I was doing in Red Hook and some other bullshit and I sat and stared. He also was uncomfortably close to me and my position next to the wall. Finally he started screaming about how old he was. “Call me sphinx, I’m so old I am a sphinx. Noticing two young people staring at me from across the bar, I went over and made small talk. They told me they had seen this Muppet do the same thing to a different lady last week. I didn’t mind. My sister talks to everyone and inspired me in the moment to humor this ape. I did and had a few laughs. I therefore implore you to make uncomfortable small talk with crazy people just to enrich your roster of those you have come to know. You might or might not regret it.