Alcohol can completely change the vibe of a party. Completely.
That everything around us, out of our control (or in it) takes over our lives, predicts it, changes it, navigates it:
The Internet
Money
Alcohol
Technology
Gender
Speaking of gender: that’s what else is crazy. Women will always correct, motivate, push their lovers to be as best as they can.They will glance across the center console, shooting lasers from their eyes to their men…always signaling: get on with the story/stop talking/you drive horribly/I need Subway.
And men will always be there, dog-eyed and willing: to bend, to break, to fix the lamp and to build the wall, to hold your hair back and to calm you the cuss down, to hear it without having to listen, to turn off the light when you’re already under the covers, to warm up your cold hands, to eat what you make for him, to love love love love love, to agree with your opinions or counter them neatly and intelligently, to stop when you tell him to, leave the party with you when you’re tired, disagree with someone in your defense, eat your crusts, call you beautiful, tell you you’re right when even you know you’re wrong, internalize the feelings you’re thowingtossingchucking at him INCESSANTLY, breathe.It’s so much more than opening car doors and paying the check.
Paul only came to New York with a few expectations: to eat a sandwich in Brooklyn, to not see a Broadway show, and to spot a rat in the bowels of the subway. Check, check, and check.
We walked over bridges, under overpasses, and through steaming piles of Red Hook dog feces to find the best sandwich in Kings County. Pressured by the squawking Italian deli owner, he ordered a large, which was the size of a small child and was supposedly topped with razorblades.
Instead of seeing a Broadway show, we put on a 3-night show of our own, starring ourselves, with various props such as stuffed birds, chandeliers, a love seat, and the Garden State Soundtrack. The plot thickened as we educatedly debated the only thing we disagree upon (O) and I realized that he is the only person I can stand to prove me wrong...and then I lit my hair on fire. The second act of most of our shows included very little dialogue and the four of us "dancing" (if you consider jerky arm movements dancing). During intermission, we bashed crafts, made sure our socks were in our pockets, sang in the shower, complained of ailing shins and enlarged spleens, and made up new ways to cheer when the Packers scored a touchdown. Laughter was really what rubber-banded it all together, and it erupted not only from the audience but from on stage: silently, rolling on the ground, re-arranging my hernia.
And finally, as we dragged our feet to the A train to JFK, a fat rat appeared in the tracks as we hugged goodbye.
Bon Iver slips into my Pandora playlist from time to time, and no matter what mundane chart I am re-arranging, no matter what street corner I am on, what cafe I am in, no matter who it reminds me of or why... I cry.
I hit send on my last email of the shortened Friday, closed up the contract database, saved and closed the grid I was poking at, straightened my piles of this way and that papers, put my shoe back on, and headed for the stairs. It was Friday, and it was party time. The muffled bump and hum of rap music had slid up to the 9th floor from the 6th like the smoke monster on Lost, and the smell of chocolate and cheese wafted down from the 11th. For some odd reason my apprehension far exceeded my excitement as I walked up to check out the scene with Maren. I'd imagined that it was going to be a scene straight out of The Office, or possibly the British Office, seeing as the alcohol intake of children's book publishers is much higher a percentage than one would innocently imagine. Maybe we need more substance in order to come up with whacked-out ideas that children would love, like "Is Your Mama a Llama," or "I'm Your Bus." I expected awkward mingling, too-sweet wine, some table cloths, and a chat or two with some people I only see hunched over their keyboards. I was mistaken, in the grandest of ways.
The 11th floor had a dance floor, packed with younger revellers, head bobbing and fist pumping to "Empire State of Mind," overlooking the lower Manhattan skyline. I spoke with an art director who's breath was rank but I had never known she was in love with Belgium, had amazing taste in music, and was clinically claustrophobic.
The 6th floor, which is usually the floor where all meetings take place, had catered delicacies like shrimp, leg of lamb, and cheese, cheese, cheese. Somehow, we had found heaven, squished within the walls of Scholastic. Maren and I tracked down our only crush - in publishing women don't have many options - whom we had nicknamed and swooned over just because. He played it cool, though, poking at his iPhone and pretending to ignore our pleas to go up to the dance floor.
The 2nd floor had coffee and cakes and randomly a huge screen with a video of snow falling in a quiet forest, on repeat. I wasn't sure what to make of this video - was it supposed to make us feel that warm Christmas-y feeling? I felt more like I was in a scene from Into the Wild. People kept standing in front of the projector, the shadows of the falling snow drifting down their faces, until someone awkwardly pushed them to the side.
We figured the 11th floor was where the In-Crowd was, so we headed up, wine glasses in hand, through our asylum of employment, the eeriness of drinking amid the deserted cubicles setting in. When we arrived back on 11, the majority of the crowd stuck with "The white man's overbite" as their move of choice, but as the night wore on, the dancing became somewhat graphic.
That was when Maren and my brown and blue eyes locked, glazed over, and we peaced out, to skip down Broadway and join the masses of the wintry Manhattan evening.
with a yawn and a sigh I slid into the chair the clip from the bib got stuck in my hair two nurses asked if I wanted to be numb "for a cleaning?" I asked, well that sounds dumb four rubber hands held open my lips my shoulders straddled by unknown hips
metal chiseled bone florescent lights shone and I swallowed my own blood
I could have used some rum as they stabbed at my gum but instead I just swallowed some blood
rinse and spit now lay back down rinse and spit now lay back down
tongue dry I began to cry as I swallowed my own blood
cheeks tensed up in fear Feliz Navidad droned in my ear while I swallowed my own blood
"We use deference to show moral superiority." Garrison Keillor said of Midwesterners this past Tuesday night. He wore red samba soccer shoes and a black tux to the Moth Ball, a black and white affair. He brushed past me a few times during the set up and I wanted to jump on his grandfatherly back for a piggy back ride so I could whisper in his ear how integral his maple syrup voice was to my childhood...but that would have been creepy. Garrison loves New York, and he loves to make comparisons between New Yorkers and Midwesterners, so I felt right at home standing in my schmancy raven black attire. The Moth is a non-profit storytelling organization that I've become smitten with in the past few months, and the motto is "You, a microphone, and a story." The story Slams are my favorite, where each storyteller has only 5 minutes to get their tale out to the greedy, judgmental audience. Garrison commented that this is how New Yorkers are: always in a hurry, with only five minutes to get out a story that would, in the Midwest, take at least an afternoon. At certain points in the night I would spy him at his table gazing off into the abyss, his round glasses perched and tilting to the left on his puff of gray hair. He was probably thinking of vast yellow prairies and strawberry lemonade...
Later, I worked the merchandise table and sold Moth t-shirts to the rich, champagne-breathy guests. I watched everyone dance and realized how incredibly similar all people are. Everyone gets this excited/surprised look on their faces when classic songs burst onto a dance floor, like "When Doves Cry" or "Beast of Burden." Everyone is slow to get out there at first, but then busts into the worm suddenly once they've warmed up. Every woman gets a happyjealous look in their eye when their significant other is dancing with a slightly younger, more agile gal, and all (or most) men have difficulty with rhythm. If I learned anything from Garrison and his Saturday night radio broadcasts, it's that we're all the same. We really are.
With Google Voice, I've recently acquired the ability to have voicemails transcribed into emails. This concept is amazing, and saves me time, as I'm generally on email moreso than on my phone. The little man inside my phone who does the transcribing, though, seems to be a bit drunk. If you have a moment, read these carefully. I promise, you will laugh. I would highlight my favorites, but I'm confident that you'll find your own.
1. You I just got the weirdest voice mail message. It's not your usual sarcastic voicemail message. Helmets, Christine planned home. Tag. You're it. Yeah, Hi, I hope everything is going well and I look forward to speaking to you. 7. Okay bye.
2. Hello Lisa, This is man, checking the status of your lovely wife. Help this transpose is you, you're liking and have a very lovely weekend. Act on you Monday. Bye bye.
3. Yeah alright hey to. Yeah, have, please, please, please. Hiya, yep it through hi to the pat Thursday to the so, Marcia. Ohh yeah it to you via have the birthday to yeah yeah. Hi I to the happy birthday to you to to 2. Please do so. It I can't wait to see how that gets transcribe. Hopefully it says Happy Birthday have like a million times your birthday. It's like 12 01 from your birthday. Hopefully i. When for the first message on your day. I think you know if you standing outside on the porch per month, dot, com looking out on the lake. Call me here in New Hampshire and hope that you have a wonderful day and I will celebrated and I miss you so maybe I'll talk to you when it's not. Yeah night okay. I love you. Talk to you soon in so whom she to you soon day.
4. [Note: This one is perfect, because Paul spoke like a robot.] Cool. Hello Lisa, This is Paul. I thought maybe I would catch you before you got to work but apparently not. I'm calling to say happy birthday and that you are an old lady. You're halfway through your twenties. That's really old. I will call you later. Goodbye.
5. Hello good move. I said the birthday. It's 1 o'clock. Give me a call back when you get this. I'm going to a movie at that you'd be there at 1:15 so hopefully I can talk to you before then. Give me a call back and you're able to 52 a call.
6. Hello Sarah. Alright, back, then up. Bye. And hey, I want you to go messages. Anyways, wanted to wish you A very happy birthday and I love you and miss you and I can't believe you're 20. I have it. Bro Hey Bill, Okay, I will talk to you later. Enjoy your day. Bye.
7. Yeah, Hi Lisa, It's wanted to say Happy Birthday. I hope you're having a good day and so hope you had a good Terry was Joanne clients are right, so if you already have it. If you're having a security yet, but have a wonderful day and hey birthday, big 25. Give me a call if you want wasn't sure. Talk to you soon, call me know if you can. Thanks. Love you bye.
8. Ready pretty fancy stop. I suppose that's what 25 year old, so it is get their voice google give me a proper calling with you're out celebrating. Happy Birthday to you later.
9. [Maggie speaks perfectly. Congrats!] Happy Birthday Lisa, It's, Maggie, I just wanted to check in and see how you're doing. Give me a call if you get a chance but if you're too busy I understand, and we'll catch up soon. Talk to you later. Love you bye.
10. Hey the rooty at. I was hoping to catch you to say Happy Birthday. I hope this gets Tim's dad hi, okay. Hey. Love you lots of birthday wishes, and I'll talk to you soon. Hi sweetie. Bye bye.
11. Hey Alice, Yes, but it's your birthday so I called to say hi, hi. Birthday. I hope you have saddest day. Yes, you've been feverishly personal at my house and I hope you get a chance to call me back and he said, I can't seeing you on a birthday song but if not, I hope use of your own the other side of us will you have any insight you are not an adult. Okay love you bye.
