Thursday
my hands are calloused & red from all this lifting. I didn't think I could do it myself - but damn, I did it all by myself. I totally needed help. But everyone was busy on Wednesday, so I did it alone. seems kind of appropriate i guess.the cool part about loading up the car & driving across the country, is door to door service.
people. word of advice. if you move? DRIVE THERE.
half of my stuff has been packed in boxes and is on its way to mysterious LARKIN street in San Francisco. Yipee. My bike was the most expensive at 108 - artwork a close 2nd @ 103. My lying about things being books in boxes was the least expensive at an average cost of 12 dollars a box.
getting to use a dolly all day from the mechanic shop by my apt? PRICELESS.
yesterday on the train someone left their black plastic bag behind. my friend yelled out: "That is an unmarked package!" and then someone else yelled "throw it out of the train!" and then someone else yelled "it could be a bomb!"
all very thrilling. but another example of enough is enough. for me at least. one of the perks of SF is that nothing is underground EXCEPT the bart on market street ONLY. I don't plan on stepping one Birkenstock in the bart. at least not for now.
Many people have expressed jealousy and tell me that they are going to move too. Everyone except one couple. The couple said "we are still going to keep plugging away at this. We like New York." That was great. I was growing tired of everyone saying " I am so jealous and want to get out of here too." type thing. its like "okay then. leave."
right?
Wednesday
a friend said last night that the way I say goodbye is very west coast of me.some goodbyes have been brutal. I mean, just brutal. its like you know, years flash before your eyes. and then its like "oh crap. I wonder if I will ever see this person again. like, for real."
I've spent the bulk of my adult life saying goodbye to people. I say goodbye all the time. I have not lived near my family for 10 years. every year I have to say goodbye to my mom & dad - not fully knowing when I am going to see them again. do you understand what I am saying? so i try to save the crying for the plane or whatever.
this is very strange coming from a child who's mother is very good at goodbyes.
My mom is the person that waves in the car to her mother's house as we are driving away. I am being serious. She waves towards the house until she can't see the house anymore. This involves about 6 minutes of looking back at grandma's house and waving. I of course would be the one in the back always saying "mom. I think she gets it." and my mom would say "just wave." so the three kids would kind of raise our limp limbs and drag them from left to right.
She is also the mom that stays at the airport and sits there until your plane has taken off, and she cannot SEE your plane in the air anymore.
With genes like that I should be a sentimental retard. right?
Tuesday
And here's to new beginnings. Ms. Judy Garland lyrics to the song San Francisco.San Francisco, open your golden gate
You'll let nobody wait outside your door
San Francisco, here is your wanderin' one
Saying I'll wander no more.
Other places only make me love you best
Tell me you're the one in all the golden west
San Francisco, I'm coming home again
Never to roam again...
San Francisco, right when I arrive
I really come alive...
And you will laugh to see me,
Perpendicular, hanging on a cable car
San Francisco, let me beat my feet
Up and down Market Street
I'm gonna climb Nob Hill, just to watch it get dark
From the top of the mark
There's Brooklyn Bridge, London Bridge,
And the Bridge of San Louis Rey
But the only bridge, that's a real gone bridge,
Is the bridge across the bay
San Francisco, I'm coming home again,
Never to roam again, by gum
San Francisco, I don't mean Frisco
San Francisco, here I come!
Monday
My pope jope:
instead of saying "is the pope catholic?" (in response to someone asking me an obvious question.) I am going to say: "is the pope dead?"
don't you think his death was such a wish-wash, that maybe he will take on the assumption like elvis?
like: oh I saw the pope the other day at better burger getting air baked fries.
I love this picture of Leyla. Hmm. I don't think I took this one. buts its on my camera.
wow. sometimes I walk around new york and I am like kind of floating because I don't really believe that I am leaving.
am I?
the only time I know I am leaving is after taking the subway ANYWHERE. I get out of the stinky, sweaty car - run up the stairs holding my breath all the way and gulp in the fresh air to exclaim "OHHHH GOD!!!"
The subway air was suffocating my poor spirit. I could feel it in my pores & taste it on my buds.
So I am taking cabs this week. last night I went to a birthday party. 79 to 18. 14 dollars. no joke. I'm goin out in style.
I will be living in California next week at this time. doesn't that seem so fake? "California Max". Sometimes its more like a joke, right?
Sometimes I worry that they might not be as "serious" and "gloomy" as we are in NYC. We are a serious people. We are dark. I fear that all of the patchouli & "lets look towards the sun" stuff might wear thin. Well not "wear thin" but I fear I am not going to take it seriously. like at first I will laugh about it and be like "wow that’s nuts!" but then I will want them to laugh about it too -and once they don't start laughing, and keep doing the patchouli thing - I will be like "oh shit."
and that’s why I was placed in apartment number 22. According to my Reformed Deadhead Landlord on Larkin, he placed me in 22, because a girl from Brooklyn is in 23.
I already think she wears black and has dark hair. its going to be funny to meet a blonde bombshell.
I hope she has a jewish mother that visits often. That’s the most I can hope for. But if she moved west, chances are she is from a broken home.
Its funny when people start reciting Beastie Boy lyrics together. We all know them. People in Atlanta say "party people going places on the D train." and they don't even have a D train. Or is it G train, because we don't really have a D train either. or maybe its Mike D talking about you know, his "d-train" like "if I ate spinach I'd be called Spinach D." type thing. Anyway after a Beastie Boys rant - I am always shocked by who knows what song, and then I sit there the next day wondering when people learned the lyrics to 3-minute rule. I like to know when people learn lyrics and why. Why 3-minute rule? How old were you? 15?
the age range at my going away party was 8 months to 77 years. Is that a sign of success? or is a successful party the fact that I was able to pretend like I was in college again = dancing to the pixies at this place that everyone called "the G-spot". I'd say that was the kicker.
Tonight at Swatters Birthday, I would like to demand a little Interpol dancing, and I would like to suggest we move from Pauls Boutique to Ill Communications.
4 10 12 8 2 6 9 & 3
instead of saying "is the pope catholic?" (in response to someone asking me an obvious question.) I am going to say: "is the pope dead?"
don't you think his death was such a wish-wash, that maybe he will take on the assumption like elvis?
like: oh I saw the pope the other day at better burger getting air baked fries.
I love this picture of Leyla. Hmm. I don't think I took this one. buts its on my camera.
wow. sometimes I walk around new york and I am like kind of floating because I don't really believe that I am leaving.
am I?
the only time I know I am leaving is after taking the subway ANYWHERE. I get out of the stinky, sweaty car - run up the stairs holding my breath all the way and gulp in the fresh air to exclaim "OHHHH GOD!!!"
The subway air was suffocating my poor spirit. I could feel it in my pores & taste it on my buds.
So I am taking cabs this week. last night I went to a birthday party. 79 to 18. 14 dollars. no joke. I'm goin out in style.
I will be living in California next week at this time. doesn't that seem so fake? "California Max". Sometimes its more like a joke, right?
Sometimes I worry that they might not be as "serious" and "gloomy" as we are in NYC. We are a serious people. We are dark. I fear that all of the patchouli & "lets look towards the sun" stuff might wear thin. Well not "wear thin" but I fear I am not going to take it seriously. like at first I will laugh about it and be like "wow that’s nuts!" but then I will want them to laugh about it too -and once they don't start laughing, and keep doing the patchouli thing - I will be like "oh shit."
and that’s why I was placed in apartment number 22. According to my Reformed Deadhead Landlord on Larkin, he placed me in 22, because a girl from Brooklyn is in 23.
I already think she wears black and has dark hair. its going to be funny to meet a blonde bombshell.
I hope she has a jewish mother that visits often. That’s the most I can hope for. But if she moved west, chances are she is from a broken home.
Its funny when people start reciting Beastie Boy lyrics together. We all know them. People in Atlanta say "party people going places on the D train." and they don't even have a D train. Or is it G train, because we don't really have a D train either. or maybe its Mike D talking about you know, his "d-train" like "if I ate spinach I'd be called Spinach D." type thing. Anyway after a Beastie Boys rant - I am always shocked by who knows what song, and then I sit there the next day wondering when people learned the lyrics to 3-minute rule. I like to know when people learn lyrics and why. Why 3-minute rule? How old were you? 15?
the age range at my going away party was 8 months to 77 years. Is that a sign of success? or is a successful party the fact that I was able to pretend like I was in college again = dancing to the pixies at this place that everyone called "the G-spot". I'd say that was the kicker.
Tonight at Swatters Birthday, I would like to demand a little Interpol dancing, and I would like to suggest we move from Pauls Boutique to Ill Communications.
4 10 12 8 2 6 9 & 3