![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
New York stories (part one)
Jan. 25th, 2005 11:57 amLife can be a compromise, despite my nametag. In order to take off to New York City without too much squawking on the part of the kids, I had promised that they could have a sleepover at our place on Saturday night, capably supervised by Annie and Pauline’s daughter, Amber.
Because of that, our first priority when it came to packing was clear: hide the pornography. We gathered up all of our videos and magazines and hid them in our storage area up in the attic, a place the kids were certain not to discover, because it’s too creepy.
“I’m scared,” I said to Corb as we made our way down 95 South, right before entering into Connecticut.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m scared for my porno,” I said, gripping the wheel. “I have the feeling that your muscle hunks are beating up my twinks.”
“Don’t worry. Right now, they’re too busy taking them from behind.” Corb grabbed my hand, and brought it to his knee. “I wonder if Thumbkin is missing us yet.”
“Doubt it. I bet he’s busy playing poker with his friends, or, or—“
“Or watching kitty porn!”
“Exactly!”
###
It was a beautiful trip down. I wanted to make certain the Rav was in good condition, so Corb and I stopped for a tune-up before we left. We didn’t stop for lunch or anything, although we did pack plenty of snacks. To keep us company, we kept alternating CDs. Bette Midler first, then Avril Lavigne, followed by Blondie, followed by my favorite, Liz Phair (or as I like to call her, Liz Phish.) We arrived at the FDR playing Orchestral Abba.
As we made our way into Manhattan, the sun was gracefully fading into the landscape, casting the darkening sky into an assortment of rich colors: rich reds, light baby blues, lustrous navy, streaks of white. And as I held his hand, for some reason, and half-listened to the radio and the monotonous bumps from the highway, I remembered a night, about two years ago. One that had taken place in the winter of my journey, shortly before Christmas.
( Read more... )
Man, I was so messed up back then. So scared, and so sad. I suddenly realize how far I’ve come in such a relatively short period of time. Those days seem so long ago, just as the brighter days immediately preceding that dark period, the days spent with Josie, raising our small family, seem in some ways like a pleasant, distant memory. And now here I was, fully entered into a new series of bright days. Bright fades into dark fades into bright. A parade of days spanning a period of years, and here I was, crossing the FDR bridge, having made it safely to the other side.
###
We dropped off the Rav at a parking lot about twenty blocks away from Times Square. The air was biting cold, and we were armed to the teeth in sweaters and gloves and hats, and loaded up with suitcases. For the amount of money we ended up paying, it was hardly worth the money we saved, but with each step, I could see Corb’s excitement grow, and my own, too, I must admit, thinking about the adventures we would be taking.
At the end, we saw the Ed Sullivan theater, all lit up, and it reminded me of my David Letterman story. The theater was much more colorful than it had been that night, and suddenly we were there, and making our way down Times Square to reach our destination, the Marriott Marquis.
They upgraded us to a room that had a spectacular view of the street, with Billy Crystal’s big brilliant image peering into our room. The sites that poster saw!
###
That night we ate dinner at Ellen’s Stardust Diner, then checked out the HA! Comedy Club. We were directed there by a nice older lady handing out tickets on the street at Times Square. Turns out she was one of the comics that we saw that night, in a tiny room that didn’t seat more than twenty. She was funny, but the funniest two were both Puerto Rican.
Because of that, our first priority when it came to packing was clear: hide the pornography. We gathered up all of our videos and magazines and hid them in our storage area up in the attic, a place the kids were certain not to discover, because it’s too creepy.
“I’m scared,” I said to Corb as we made our way down 95 South, right before entering into Connecticut.
“Why’s that?”
“I’m scared for my porno,” I said, gripping the wheel. “I have the feeling that your muscle hunks are beating up my twinks.”
“Don’t worry. Right now, they’re too busy taking them from behind.” Corb grabbed my hand, and brought it to his knee. “I wonder if Thumbkin is missing us yet.”
“Doubt it. I bet he’s busy playing poker with his friends, or, or—“
“Or watching kitty porn!”
“Exactly!”
###
It was a beautiful trip down. I wanted to make certain the Rav was in good condition, so Corb and I stopped for a tune-up before we left. We didn’t stop for lunch or anything, although we did pack plenty of snacks. To keep us company, we kept alternating CDs. Bette Midler first, then Avril Lavigne, followed by Blondie, followed by my favorite, Liz Phair (or as I like to call her, Liz Phish.) We arrived at the FDR playing Orchestral Abba.
As we made our way into Manhattan, the sun was gracefully fading into the landscape, casting the darkening sky into an assortment of rich colors: rich reds, light baby blues, lustrous navy, streaks of white. And as I held his hand, for some reason, and half-listened to the radio and the monotonous bumps from the highway, I remembered a night, about two years ago. One that had taken place in the winter of my journey, shortly before Christmas.
( Read more... )
Man, I was so messed up back then. So scared, and so sad. I suddenly realize how far I’ve come in such a relatively short period of time. Those days seem so long ago, just as the brighter days immediately preceding that dark period, the days spent with Josie, raising our small family, seem in some ways like a pleasant, distant memory. And now here I was, fully entered into a new series of bright days. Bright fades into dark fades into bright. A parade of days spanning a period of years, and here I was, crossing the FDR bridge, having made it safely to the other side.
###
We dropped off the Rav at a parking lot about twenty blocks away from Times Square. The air was biting cold, and we were armed to the teeth in sweaters and gloves and hats, and loaded up with suitcases. For the amount of money we ended up paying, it was hardly worth the money we saved, but with each step, I could see Corb’s excitement grow, and my own, too, I must admit, thinking about the adventures we would be taking.
At the end, we saw the Ed Sullivan theater, all lit up, and it reminded me of my David Letterman story. The theater was much more colorful than it had been that night, and suddenly we were there, and making our way down Times Square to reach our destination, the Marriott Marquis.
They upgraded us to a room that had a spectacular view of the street, with Billy Crystal’s big brilliant image peering into our room. The sites that poster saw!
###
That night we ate dinner at Ellen’s Stardust Diner, then checked out the HA! Comedy Club. We were directed there by a nice older lady handing out tickets on the street at Times Square. Turns out she was one of the comics that we saw that night, in a tiny room that didn’t seat more than twenty. She was funny, but the funniest two were both Puerto Rican.
