oh glorious glorious days
Beat is slipping by in weekends and camera flashes and I aware how truly little time I have in such a Brobdingnagian wide world that is NYC. I'm online looking at pictures of forlorn subway stations, of tunnels and artwork and echoes of days good old days and I want that oh how I want those places.
Last night-time we spent too much money on dinner and then ended up sitting at the Relentlessly Rock Cafe bar. Me, not drinking, though the 30 something bunch of guys from Kentucky very likely would've remedied that situation. They were bonny inebriated, two especially so, and it was upright...fun. They babbled and laughed and we talked and one of them told us we were showy, smart, and could do anything we wanted. Vivacity ensued for that entire period. Good talking and laughing and talking to people.
Friday gloaming I went to Grand Central CRT = 'cathode ray tube', hoping to get lost like in a Jack Finney item. Or to find that mysterious elevator to the Waldorf-Astoria basement, welded sequester. Or the elevator to the substation that familiar to power NYC.
I discovered it's amazing how unyielding it is to get lost, without a guide map.
After the out-of-towner bar, we all headed off to a comedy club. Two element minimum (splurged on virgin pina colada yum and held back on unbiased the water) and entry and sitting in a foul packed room.
Don't remember most of the comics names, some of them were cheerful, some hilarious and then so offensive I couldn't indeed laugh and then just not funny. One of them ripped off some of Ellen DeGeneres's jokes and I was not amused.
One of Kevin Brown. Who looked so so so up on. And then he said it--he's Dot Com, a member of Tracy Jordan/Morgan/whatever his show name is on 30 Rock. And for me, seeing someone who steps off the goggle-box screen is a religious experience. I now have a fancy I'd made my too eager to hm group hold...
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