Monday, February 4, 2008

They wore patchouli.

When I blog I think of it as a jump start for my other writing, a way for me to sputter and cough myself to life. Some days I wake up with a line in my head, a turn of phrase, and it could only BE a blog entry. Some days there's so much there that it becomes a chapter in the ongoing manuscript, or an essay for a magazine.
I am looking at a handful of scrap paper notes and a huge list I made on my i-pod touch in the notes section called New York Observations-- though some of them deal with longer subjects and some are character notes/eavesdropping that I'll use in novels or short stories, I still hear a "blogvoice," for others, snippets I can share and not lose the tension or excitement or secret of the image by spitting it out too soon.

Great, now that sounds like I'm a sexy foreign lover sitting across the table from my new amour in a crowded restaurant whispering all the things I want to do and all the ways I will do them- arousing her in such a way that by the time we are alone- she will most definitely be disappointed.

That said, let me backtrack for anyone who was sleeping through class. I'm a writer and I frequent writerly kinds of things- most recently the AWP Conference in NYC. (AWP stands for the Association of Writers and Writing Programs.) okay. So I go there and split a hotel room with a friend who doesn't have a conference ticket, a friend who will spend her days NOT sitting in lectures or readings, not pitching business, networking or smiling pretty for the camera, a friend who has her own good city times and is right there when I offer to sneak her into open bar dance events and later share a taxi to NYU for a poetry reading that seems to never end. She's great.

I can't tell you how nice it was to be able to make my observations to someone whose eyes didn't glaze over and someone who was just about as amused as I by the same things.
Like this:

I noticed that in New York, especially Manhattan, it has become very important to have well groomed eyebrows. Not just tweezed, but waxed, threaded, and shaped by brow professionals for the perfect A-HA look.

Celebrating Chinese New Year the same time as
restaurant week should yield closer and more affordable meal options for the struggling writer mommy, but surprisingly, she will still manage to find a $!9.95 breakfast egg and toast buffet and a $22.00 sandwich.

There is a pretentiousness to the clubs in the meat packing district that has nothing and everything to do with slabs of beef.

SUCK has become the favorite new word for NYC advertisers.

Sometimes puppies look like babies and babies look like puppies.

If you have to ask, "Where's the entrance?" you probably don't belong.

Some cab drivers are damn good poets.

Some cab drivers treat the gas pedal like the throttle on a weed wacker.

The small stylish font on a business card might be great by day but is practically useless in a dark bar.

If you dance while gesturing with your middle finger, someone is bound to ask, "Are you from Canada?"

After three days in NY all travelers look the same in their black coats and street pashminas.

It isn't REALLY Dolce and Gabbana if you only paid 25 bucks for it.

Old men named Norbert can boogie.

Patchouli smells better on dreadlocked chubby white boys dancing in a basement than you'd think.

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