Monday, March 19, 2007
Sunday, March 18, 2007
Irish Day
After a very strange and very early Saturday night I found myself coming home from the East Village just before midnight. I am wearing my headphones and pondering whether I'm capable of intimacy: In other words it was a normal commute, except that the train was completely full of people who'd been drinking since the afternoon. An above-average number had freckles, strawberry-blonde hair, and blue-green eyes.
At Delancey, a rakish young Irish man of about 30 comes in and sits down next to the woman across from me. She's wearing a winter hat that says MONTREAL. At first I think he's drunkenly assaulting her but when they fall into conversation, I decide they know each other. He steadily gets louder and louder describing the other residents of the train. I finally turn off my iPod so I can eavesdrop, but leaving my headphones in as he shouts "You win best boots in the subway!" to the half of a punk-rock lesbian couple who's wearing a seventies-inspired pair of knee-high Wellingtons. I smile. The man next to him says "Are those really the best shoes on the subway?"
He points at my feet and says something nice about my trainers. I take off my headphones and blush a little.
Guy number 2 says "What about my girlfriend's shoes?" They're green Converse. They all get engaged in conversation about whether or not there are leather Chuck Taylors until I get off at Carroll St. The man says to Ms. Montreal "Oh no. Fag guy is getting off." I flip out but don't turn around from the door. "Come back FLAG guy" he says as everyone exits including Ms. Montreal. I realize I'm being hypersensitive and that he's referring to a man wearing an orange, white, and green scarf.
The feeling of free love, brotherhood and drunkeness St. Patrick's Day invokes makes me feel like it's ok to ask Ms. Montreal "Did you know that guy before he got on the train?"
"No, he was nice though."
"He seemed harmless. I think his heart was in a good place," I say.
"It's sad though," she says, "I don't think he realized I was going out here to meet my girlfriend."
I laugh and say "I think St. Patricks is kind of like Gay Pride for Irish People."
"I think St. Patricks is for amateurs," she says and then laughs and walks off.
Flag guy approaches and I realize he's wearing white canvas boat shoes with shamrocks on them. "Gay Pride for Irish People? That's a good one," he says. "I'm totally going to use it from now on."
"Feel free," i say as we all separate to our own south Brooklyn homes. Sober, gay, and English I still felt the love.
At Delancey, a rakish young Irish man of about 30 comes in and sits down next to the woman across from me. She's wearing a winter hat that says MONTREAL. At first I think he's drunkenly assaulting her but when they fall into conversation, I decide they know each other. He steadily gets louder and louder describing the other residents of the train. I finally turn off my iPod so I can eavesdrop, but leaving my headphones in as he shouts "You win best boots in the subway!" to the half of a punk-rock lesbian couple who's wearing a seventies-inspired pair of knee-high Wellingtons. I smile. The man next to him says "Are those really the best shoes on the subway?"
He points at my feet and says something nice about my trainers. I take off my headphones and blush a little.
Guy number 2 says "What about my girlfriend's shoes?" They're green Converse. They all get engaged in conversation about whether or not there are leather Chuck Taylors until I get off at Carroll St. The man says to Ms. Montreal "Oh no. Fag guy is getting off." I flip out but don't turn around from the door. "Come back FLAG guy" he says as everyone exits including Ms. Montreal. I realize I'm being hypersensitive and that he's referring to a man wearing an orange, white, and green scarf.
The feeling of free love, brotherhood and drunkeness St. Patrick's Day invokes makes me feel like it's ok to ask Ms. Montreal "Did you know that guy before he got on the train?"
"No, he was nice though."
"He seemed harmless. I think his heart was in a good place," I say.
"It's sad though," she says, "I don't think he realized I was going out here to meet my girlfriend."
I laugh and say "I think St. Patricks is kind of like Gay Pride for Irish People."
"I think St. Patricks is for amateurs," she says and then laughs and walks off.
Flag guy approaches and I realize he's wearing white canvas boat shoes with shamrocks on them. "Gay Pride for Irish People? That's a good one," he says. "I'm totally going to use it from now on."
"Feel free," i say as we all separate to our own south Brooklyn homes. Sober, gay, and English I still felt the love.
Saturday, March 17, 2007
Fresh Start
I'm not getting rid of anything that's already here, but I am making a fresh start of it. Expect a new design soon and maybe a small declaration of intent.
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