Home

My friend Heather is in town for a few days. And what a lovely friend is she. We used to live together, with Tony as the third in our triumvirate, in a palacial Washington Heights three-bedroom when I first moved to the city. She is on her way to visit family in Florida, and to see her new niece for the first time ever. How exciting are new editions in families!

One thing that has changed in my life since I quit working 7 days a week, post traveling South America, friends stay with me in my tiny studio much more than ever before. And while my quarters may not be much, they seem to suffice, sometimes even for four! It makes me happy to know that what I do have can be shared. And even at times with as many as four adults, with little to no fighting. It's nice to see that home really is where your heart is.

Onion Square

When I was a kid, we usually went to Wendy's for our fast food fix. I think it was because of the Frosty. My friend the Sarge has never eaten a Wendy's burger because, in her mind, hamburgers are always supposed to be round. I, on the other hand, quite enjoyed my hamburgers square. Anyway, in good old Atlanta, GA, the one near Northlake mall had formica tables covered in old-timey newspaper. A century-old learning experience. Ads for those bicycles with one huge wheel in the front and a tiny one at the back, a woman in lace up boots and a heel-length dress, all-buttoned up to the neck, atop the bike.

My brother David and I got into an argument over the word union in one of the articles. I thought it was pronounced onion and spent the entire meal trying to convince him I was right. I was maybe 6 or 7, with hardly any words in my vocab arsenal. Funny to think I was already convincing people that I was right even at that age. Needless to say, I was mistaken. Anyhoo, here's an aerial shot of Union Square, the heart of downtown traffic in the city. I've learned to admit when I'm wrong...that progress, right?

Be mine or beware!

My funny valentine this year involved a date with Paul (he keeps his own name--he's gay and in a relationship...) to see our friend Sherry in Arthur Miller's The Crucible. Witches and voodoo and lust, oh my!

The play was long but riveting, and markedly valid even in present times. For those of you who don't know or need a refresher, the play tells the story of the Salem witch trials, and follows the spread of witchery into smaller New England towns. Sherry plays Abigail, the girl who invents the whole idea of seeing spirits only so she can get closer to the married man she loves. As the play progresses, the town is turned up-side-down, none safe from being accused a witch. Abigail's plan, so crafty, explodes in her face, the play ending with the man she loves being hanged. How apropos for Valentine's, eh?

The day before

Isn't it funny the stories you hear about when you were a child? You never know if what you remember is your own personal memory or the memory that you've constructed having heard other people tell a story about you for decades.

My mother has one about our family in church one Sunday. Bob Bridges, the former pastor at Oak Grove Methodist, the church we grew up in, used to take a break during his sermons for all the children to come to the altar to chat with him. And this Sunday, the Sunday before Valentine's, he asked, "Does any of you know what holiday happens this week?" My hand shot up, he called upon me, and I shouted to the congregation, "It's my brother Gray's birthday!" The congregation chuckled as Bob smiled and took my response in stride. He called upon another kid who gave the answer he was looking for and continued along his planned course of discussing this week's assignment of expressing kindness and love.

As I recall it, my mom always told me that my brother sank in the pew, embarrassed at his loud, eager little sister. Not much changes, I guess. Happy birthday, Gray! Love you!

New York at night

I love the city at night. Tompkins Square Park empty. It's usually full of people. Sometimes homeless, sometimes drunks, sometimes kids, but tonight empty. It's been cold.

I have been walking the streets at night, almost an observer in a strange place. I know this place but haven't spent a February in the city since 2006. So much is changing, as am I. So many new luxury buildings being erected, it's wild to watch your landscape change right under your nose. The feeling of community seems to be slipping out of the hands of neighbors at the desires of investors and developers. Ah, gentrification.

This winter has been calmer for me than most. The past 4 winters spent here, I've turned into a spaz in the winter, always out dancing, running around. This winter, though, I am mellow. Have I lost my fascination with winter?!? I have always loved it here, because, let's face it. It's easier to warm up than cool off. You can always put on more layers or walk faster to warm up. Plus snow was a rarity in Georgia. But this year, I'm already looking forward to spring!

We had our first snow of the season tonight. It's snowed during the day, big, beautiful flakes floating down from the sky. But tonight it's really been coming down. I had to put on my sunglasses in order to see.Flights canceled at the airports, everyone takes to indoors. There is nothing more beautiful than the city in fresh snow. Serene.

I am going to hell. I create nicknames for the people in my life. Several have kept their god-given names. Others weren't so lucky. Especially those who exist in what I would call my love life. They are as follows: Gollum (yes, from Lord of the Rings), Crisco (don't know where to begin to explain that...), the town crier, and Lockjaw. Now, there are friends who have nicknames, as well. The Sarge, the hobbit. Me personally, I'm sometimes Anita, Missy, Stella, you get my drift. Well, pretty much, once you've gotten that name, it sticks. Like it or not, you now have a whole other persona.

Super and fat

So Super Tuesday. Isn't it funny that it coincides with Fat Tuesday? Hmm. Super fat Tuesday. I can dig it. Guess you can drink in New Orleans on an election day.

I'm on the subway writing this morning. My breakfast, a granola bar, I feel like a squirrel running around with all the others starting their days. The guy next to me just pulled out a granola bar himself. Ah, the power of suggestion. Obama supporters are out in all their glory today, covered in buttons, carrying signs, passing out materials. But I have yet to see anyone in a Clinton button. Or McCain for that matter. Well, this is New York. But I wonder. Are McCain and Clinton too poised for campaign buttons or is just that their supporters prefer to remain anonymous? I'm curious. Are Obama fans loud and proud, whereas Clinton and or McCain fans shy and poised? As though the fan and candidate mirror each other. Do we vote for those most like us?

So after work, an old neighbor dropped by the apartment just to chat. He must be the only registered Republican I know in the city (aside: he just moved from the city to Jersey). And under the age of 40. Wow. I'm surprised, I have to say, that, one, he admitted he is one. And, two, that he is one. He invited me to a bar to watch the results with the local Young Republicans group. Not really my thing, politics, that is, I declined. It's a funny thing to go to a bar to rally around a t.v.

So lately, I've overheard people calling themselves "fiscal conservatives" but "social liberals," instead of Republicans and Democrats. It seems like a shift is happening in our political system where the two parties are going to disappear, or more than that, that a candidate will be able to be anything in either party. It makes me think about buying a bikini. Well, I like this top in this size, and that bottom in that size but can I mix and match them with all my others? Ha! Politics is like building a bikini. Hopefully, my results this year will yield more super than fat!

Not sure this is my kind of spree...

So another crazy idea I came up with recently, well, other than that joining the gym thing, was to start dating. Hmm. Lately, I've been opening myself to the world more and all of us lovely people in it. Interested in widening my friend circle, my knowledge, maybe meeting some different people in the city, it's been working out ok. And I think I've approached dating that same way. But this dating thing, it's a whole other beast. Hypothesis after hypothesis, I've decided that dating is shopping, which we all I know I love. My closet overrunneth. But really. You go to a store (aka bar), pick out the ones you like, and depending on your own personal methodology, try them on.

With shopping many of us never set foot in a fitting room, just take things home and three days later return the unwanteds. Others of us try on every single possible item in the store (this is me), almost in a frenzy, certain to be leaving with at least one cute thang that suits. And while for me, it usually turns out to be more than one, still others never pick up a thing. Well, dating is kind of the same. Lots of nice stuff out there, you may even try it on, but it gets harder finding stuff you want to own. And stuff you may want that isn't already spoken for...

Museum of Modern Art

I'm at the MoMA today. I just walked up to the third floor and found a living space smaller than the one I call home. It's called the AirStream Bambi Travel Trailer and is apparently considered modern art. The frig is under the stove. Me, I have an oven under mine. The frig is totally separate.

Oh, and in the next corridor is an exhibit of bath curtains. Dramatic shapes and colors, I'm inspired to make some decorative changes myself. The Lucian Freud sketches on exhibit are quite nice as well, the introductory piece especially.

The MoMA puts modern out there for all to see the change from faces, religion, and nature in art to things (sometimes anti-things), culture and society. That shift from representing what is to what should, shouldn't, could or couldn't. Modern as a movement, modern is a movement. I'm wondering, "What's next, people?"

I cruised the sculpture garden and found a few sculptures, perfect matches to how I've been feeling lately. My friend Tony says I'm incubating. Should I worry?