30 is the gradient of yellow in my skin

The notable things from New York: (and yes, these are pictures of Cleveland)

1) KT was the most drivingest driving man around. He drove to NY. He drove from NY. He drove in NY. He found parking places only two blocks away from everywhere we went. He never once got annoyed or angry at the fact that we got lost anytime we went anywhere. He is he is he is he is he IS....The Driving King.

2)David and Maggie, who put us up, were the really decent couple that you know are just going to stay really decent and cute and interesting no matter how old they get.

3)On Saturday, we found the place where old Italian men give you kisses and opera singers hang out and do requests late into the night. Also, it rained while they were doing it. This was the thing I most enjoyed.

4) The play, Cocktails At the Center of the Earth, M.'s star robot turn, was good Friday night, and then great on Sunday night. The dialogue and the songs and ski-bass, they were inventive and funny and interesting. They, the cast and assorted followers, were all seemingly nice people, except for maybe that guy who gave me the chocolate chip whiskey in your hand shot. The writer was dressed like a sailor and handing out gin. One girl ran out after the show to buy herself a new outfit at American Apparel, because she didn't like the breeziness of what she was wearing. I liked this girl, so no diss, but that seems to me to be the most New York moment.

5) Any time anyone not born in New York who now lives in New York hears the phrase "I live in Cleveland and I like it", their nose inevitably, imperceptibly, ever so slightly curls up. Or they actively snarl and tear out your throat. Native New Yorkers don't do that. Maybe like immigrants are more patriotic than 7th generation Irish?

6) I really have no desire to move there. Sorry Kat. Unless somehow you can work it that I get to hang out with opera singers all the time, and live in a French restaurant. And really, if you can do that anywhere, I'll take it. Whatever magic it is that people see in New York City that makes them so crazy to possess it, I don't see it. I mean, it's a big city. I like big cities naturally, with huge buildings and bridges and docks. I like doing culturally cultured sort of things, and its nice when there's lots of them. However, I can barely afford the selection I have here. And most of all, when I was in the middle of the city, it just seemed so small and insular. Like walking around in a not that pretty diorama. I liked NYC for all the reasons I like any other new city I visit, nothing more, nothing less. I'll write more about this later, when I wake up and when I figure out how to articulate this sentiment without losing all of my East Coast readers.



Now I'm back, broke as a goat on its back and sensationally depressed. Everything is tasteless and touch-less and smell-less. It started before we got back, but I managed to fight it until safe in my own bed. Like, I sit at home on the couch with a giant stab wound in my gut, and just watch the fluids drain for hours. I have some books I should be reading, and instead I chain smoke and watch network tv, which everyone knows is the sign of failing interior workings. I barely cleaned up my house when I got back, at least my hallway. It was a big deal for me. That was like, the most positive thing I've done. Music makes me mad. Alcohol makes me sad. Not having a cell phone for the last few days has been a good thing for everyone involved, I'm in no decent condition to communicate with other sentient beings. I was fine with 30, until I found myself 30 and alone. Which is not where I expected to be. Fuck 30.