A Few from the Fashion Show

So these guys were across the room. Two rows of chairs were in front of them. Two rows were also in front of me, and the runway was between us.

Before the show begins, the DJ plays some really good dance music, and I sway and nod my head to the music. I was already paying a good bit of attention to these guys, partly because they’re attractive, but also because their body language caught my eye.

I’m taking a few shots with my camera, which isn’t inconspicuous. I happen to be shooting something in the same direction of these guys, Ben and Dallin. Ben, the blond, makes eye contact, and he thinks I’m taking a picture of him.

A few moments later another fun song plays and Ben and I dance in our chairs and we smile at each other.

Every once in a while we look at each other and shrug. Once, I point to my watch and he agrees we’ve been waiting a while.

He points to my hat and mouths that he likes it. I’m wearing my fedora. Of course he likes it.

The show begins. Quite a few interesting and very artistic designs.

The show ends. Staff starts putting away chairs to get ready for the after-party. I walk over to where the guys are standing, and we introduce ourselves.

We chitchat for a while, then we both split off to rejoin our groups.

Then I dance with my friends for a while.

Then one of my friend’s car gets towed.

Then we go to the towing company where I want to release some sort of violence.

We retrieve the friend’s car.

We go to my place to decompress a little. Warm up. Talk.

Eventful evening, to say the least.

I hope you weren’t expecting photos of the actual fashion show.

Total Eclipse of the Heart: Literal Video Version

Good morning, folks.

That’s the first thing she writes, the first thing she does when she wakes up, as soon as the computer restarts. She needs to read, she needs to finish (re)applying to colleges; she needs to shower. She smells her hair: it’s fine.

It’s about to rain. She can hear the hesitation in the passing cars outside her window.

I really have no idea what I’m going to write today. Quite a bit is on my mind right now. I hope you understand.

She knows exactly what she’s going to write, at least she has a very strong idea. But she’ll be darned if she just lays it all out for all the public to see in crappy, makeshift fashion. At least this time.

You see, this “thing” happened, and I NEED to write about it, but this is going to take some time.

She jotted down some notes last night and a rough outline. That one sentence is probably the only true sentence in this entire post. She pats her tummy and thinks about how she’s going swimming on Saturday and her body is totally not ready for a swimsuit. Okay, fine. Two sentences.

So, to bide my time, I present to you this video. I actually got this from Kate the Great’s blog (see sidebar). Maybe you’re already part of the nearly 1.7 million views; still, nothing’s wrong with sharing, especially since this is the first time I’ve seen the video. What are blogs for, after all?

She’s plugged into her iPod, wires dangling from her ears. Barenaked Ladies is singing to her about Brian Wilson. Now The Be Good Tanyas. Shaker, banjo, guitar. Bluegrassy swing. She can’t justify cranking out an insta-dreck  of a story when such great music fills her noggin. She’s getting inspired.

Right now I’m listening to The Best Playlist Ever, and I’m getting inspired. Relient K’s “Be My Escape” is playing. Somehow the accent piano chords stick out through the electric guitar during the chorus and that’s almost all I hear. Sometimes the lyrics “gotta get out of here” and “be my escape” actually reach my ears.

Apparently, she’s also getting distracted. Also, the songs change pretty quickly because this entire post is pretty much in real time. See, now Cake’s “Mexico” is on.

Well, fine. So maybe I do know what I’m going to write. I mean, it’s about this “thing” that happened to me, and the story pretty much tells itself. Those of you who have already heard it as part of my oral history know it can stand on its own. But if it gets passed on to posterity only orally, it’s gonna end up a seriously jacked-up story. You know, I might turn into a dragon and breathe fire and singe the remaining hair on some guy who only wanted to propose as we stood on the Hudson River and watched the sky flicker and wretch from the apocalypse. You know? That telephone game teaches some very valuable lessons about personal interpretation. Anyway, my experience also deserves some serious writing. Actual documentation. And by “serious” I mean flipping hilarious. And by “actual” I mean this ain’t no fiction. What the crap, people.

So maybe this is where the video comes in.

So maybe this is where the video comes in. I mean, everyone knows the song, but this “version” of the song really highlights the video, and it really keeps you on your toes. Enjoy it. You may end up singing along. It’s actually not relevant to my story, but hey, this is a diversion. 

Anyway, thanks for your patience. Please forgive my stalling tactics. I just hope in writing I don’t leave out any important details from this truly watershed moment of my life, but I really feel execution is critical. By “execution” and “critical” I mean forms of dying.

Ooh, neat, “Our House” by Madness.

Madness, indeed.

ETA: The video isn’t cooperating. Here’s the link to YouTube.

 

Vodpod videos no longer available.

 

 

 

more about “Total Eclipse of the Heart: Literal V…“, posted with vodpod

Wanderful

I had about five different, potential posts float in and out of my brain in the past day.

Ask me if I jotted any of these ideas down.

And I will tell you, no.

I’m spending a lot of time with a certain group of friends.

Like, this group will take priority. I mean, there’s family, then these girls. They’re my peeps, what can I say.

Pretty full day today.

Today, I went to the temple.

I went to a violin recital, mostly to see a friend I haven’t seen in a while and catch up a little.

The recital was good, though. My friend doesn’t do anything half-heartedly.

A friend and I wandered the West Village and a little bit of SoHo and the East Village, where we met some other friends, one of which was a fellow short person.

We found the chess “district” on Thompson Street, south of Washington Square Park.

We had cheesecake at Junior’s. 

I’m tired.

Oh, the professor and I met today.

So, there’s that.

Excitedly Reading Between Some Exciting Lines

Outgoing texts:

6/2/09, 10:15pm: Met a prof of journalism from Rutgers on the A [sic] [it was the D]. We talked. He’s working on a project. He says he needs writers. I’ll keep you posted.

6/2/09, 10:17pm: Maybe? It’d definitely be a foot in the door. And the band [this word came up as came in the text] wouldn’t have to break up.

6/2/09, 10:18pm: Also, he has to like my writing first.

6/4/09, 10:02am: Contact from the journalism professor. Brief but established.

6/4/09, 10:09am: He sent a very short feeler email. I replied. I will wait.

6/4/09, 11:36pm: The professor and i are going to discuss his project over “coffee.”

6/4/09, 11:38pm: Damn is right. This is so crazy.

A couple of chats:

me: so. journalism prof i met on the subway. he sent a feeler email
friend 1: oh yeah?!
 me: all it said was, “may, you must write”
  so i reached out with a longer reply
  and i will wait
10:04 AM friend 1: wow!
  awesome!
 me: trying not to get too excited

7 minutes

10:12 AM friend 1: why not get excited?
  what about “you should write” is not worth getting excited about?
me: well, i’m totally not succeeding at not being exciting [sic]
10:13 AM friend 1: haha.
  good!

10:05 AM me: story?
 friend 2: definitely
 me: just now.
  checked the blog email
10:06 AM established contact from the journalism professor. he sent a feeler email
  i replied. i will wait. the end
 friend 2: that’s really exciting!!!!
10:07 AM me: so crazy
  we’ll see if anything happens
10:08 AM friend 2: totally

There’s a little more to this story. He just happened to sit by me on the train. He asked if the D stopped at 72 Street. I told him the local B or C would and to transfer at 59th Street. He continued the conversation. He said I looked like the artsy type but spoke like an accountant. I told him that was an interesting observation. He asked what I did. I told I had lost my job, and he gave me a high-five, and I said something about thriving in a recession. I told him about my plans to return to school to pursue writing, because I love writing. He reacted in a surprised/delighted way. He asked if I had any of my work on me. I said I didn’t, but I referred him to my blog. He  might be reading this now. (Hi, there!)He asked what I liked to write. I told him mostly personal essays, that I haven’t worked too much on fiction. He said he was a writer.  A professor of journalism. I asked him what he wrote about, and he said “light stuff” like politics and war and economics, which he said were basically the same thing. He asked what I read, and I had some science fiction in my bag that I showed him, and then he mentioned writing about New York City’s economy, which is a lot like science fiction. We had gotten off at 59th Street. He said he could tell by speaking to me that I use my brain, or something like that. He mentioned he’d be working on a project and that he’d be needing writers. I told him my blog has a contact email if he likes what he reads and wants to reach me. I also gave him my number, and he gave me his card. The A train pulled into the station. I asked for his name. We shook hands and I said it was great meeting him. Then I rode the A train home and sent that first text to some friends once I surfaced from the subway. And the rest of it played out the way you see it. This may prove to be a wonderful opportunity, and I’d be fool not to run with it.

So, we’ll see how it goes.

Auspices

Eight million people corral themselves through this city every day.

We ride the subways with dozens of strangers in the same car.

So much potential in a stranger.

And it has to be the right stranger.

Rightly strange.

Just one.

Sometimes I put off writing about certain experiences, just because I’m afraid it’ll jinx me.

Maybe I’m a little superstitious that way.

Like I actually believe in coincidences.

I believe in opportunity, though.

I can promise you that.