I woke up Saturday safely out of the migraine woods, but still in a state of low-grade migrainity (I just made that word up!) that ended up lingering at varying levels of mild annoyance until well into this week. (Those of you who caught early versions of Monday’s post can chalk up all the typos and bad coding you found to my migrainally (I just made that word up!) compromised proofing skills.)
But enough about my graine (ha! a vile pun!)—I have more New York adventures to tell you about:
After a mighty struggle to extract myself from the almost unearthly comforts of my glorious hotel bed Saturday morning, I donned my
After cleaning up at the hotel and scarfing down a spicy breakfast burrito at the nearby Broadway Diner, I cabbed over to the west side to finally meet up with Jessica, a woman I’d gotten to know after her college roommate and my college friend Miriam was murdered in 1988. Now, I would bet money that Jessica and I had met only in letters and emails and phone calls over the years, but she insists we’ve met in person somewhere along the way. In any case, it was spectacular to spend time with her and her husband and her adorable twins (one of whom is named Jake—making this a two-Jake trip (a two-Jakation?) for me). We chatted about anything and everything, I got to hold the kids and watch them smile and clean up their baby drool and give them hugs, and we reveled in the fact that Miriam was still a presence in our lives after all these years. Our visit was a definite high point in a weekend of endless high points.
And all too soon, I had to take off—because I had more Broadway musicals to see. The matinee: Avenue Q, which was just as funny as I’d expected—and a lot more fun than I’d guessed from listening to the cast album. (And it, just like Dirty Rotten Scoundrels, contains a nice little jab at Dubya that sent the audience into spasms of euphoric cheers. There IS hope for America.)
After all those nightstand jokes and acts of puppetfucking and songs about Internet porn, though, I needed some retail therapy, so I headed down to Chelsea for some shopping and light dining among the homos. I didn’t find anything I really wanted to lug home with me on the plane, but I did discover that the fabled Chelsea clone is alive and well and thriving on southern Manhattan. We have cartoonish arrogant muscleboy stereotypes here in Chicago, but not anywhere near the infestation levels they have in New York. All those fake muscles and shaved heads and tribal tattoos and low-ride track pants and conspicuously masculine mannerisms and steely gazes that react to nothing that doesn’t look like a mirror image … WHEW! Remembering names and tricks
Thankfully, I had theatrical reasons that kept me from losing too much time in
After the show, I met up with my disarmingly attractive friend Sonelius, who just so coincidentally lives a couple doors down from the Spelling Bee theater. He ran the marathon with me last October, and we talked endlessly about our training for this year’s run. We also found time to talk about boys, our jobs, Chicago vs. New York, the gay men’s choruses we sing in—and all too soon it was late and I had a big comfy hotel bed calling my name.
I made it to the airport in plenty of time for my noon flight. And I got home safely. On a plane filled with an odd assortment of ducks, including one college dude in front of me who was so drunk he’d missed his 11:00 am flight, another college dude behind me who read boring things out loud to his mother for a good hour and the bling-laden mother herself, who made it clear to the whole plane that not only could her brilliant college-age son READ OUT LOUD! but he could also reach HIGH LEVELS OF ACHIEVEMENT ON DIFFICULT VIDEO GAMES! and he was MATURE ENOUGH TO LIVE IN A CO-ED DORM!
There was also the guy next to me, who was pretty smokin’ hot—though he never took off his shirt even once during the entire flight. Which makes him selfish, arrogant and rude. Dear Smokin’ Hot Guy: I HEREBY CONDEMN YOU TO BEING CALLED SELFISH, ARROGANT AND RUDE IN MY BLOG, which has a daily readership in the tens.