The Starbucks Experiment

Monday, September 19, 2005

The Twighlight Hour

I had a lovely weekend in New York. i spent the first 24 hours wondering how i had ever given it up, how i ever imagined i could live anywhere else. and i spent the last 24 hours wondering when i could go home. each reaction bothers me extremely, because they both smack of the visitor or even worse, the tourist. whereas i like to think of myself as a life-long citizen of the city.

we spent friday night revisiting old haunts; the steps, cafe deluxe, 1020. being at alma mater seemed frighteningly appropriate now that we're alums. saturday was beautiful. we walked all around the west village and most of bleeker street was dedicated to a flea market so we bought used shoes on the cheap. i also found an absolutely lovely black wool sheath dress from the 50s with three-quarter sleeves. i had to shimmy it over my clothes to see if it would fit, and its perfect. done and done. then i met up with Eva, recently moved to the borough of Brooklyn to see her place in carrol gardens. her apartment suffers from being inhabited by four males (her brother and co.) for four years. but her neighborhood is full of absolutely gorgeous brownstones and their lovely front gardens.

then we went on to Kate Dugan's party in williamsburg, which was not quite as decadent as we had hoped. no one did coke on the coffee table, there was only one keg that got tapped early (much like the party itself, we left at 2 when it was already dwindling), and the assortment of people seemed a bit more sparse and rather more random than last time. but we did manage to play a few games of flip cup (my team always won, i made many holes-in-one), and thankfully Natalie was there to give random strangers sloppy kisses and say wildly inappropriate things. and there was that random chick who flashed the entire roof deck in an effort to show the cute guy whom she was chatting up her belly button. so really with highlights like that you can't complain.

sunday commenced with the brunch fuck up from hell. never make plans with drunken friends on the way home from a party; you try to keep them, they are too hung-over to do so, and then when you go ahead without them, they get pissed. then i had to spend the long lovely afternoon indoors at a couple of rather useless Barnard alum meetings. one apartment viewing and an hungarian pastry shop later and most of us managed to gather on the steps for take-out from swish. but alas, the coveted spot against alma mater had been taken by the worse scum on campus, two freshman on a really nice date.

i slept fitfully until i had to get up at 4:30 to catch my early bird train back to DC. all weekend i had been looking forward to getting to penn station early and buying delicious glazed donuts fresh off the press from krispy kreeme. but of course, when i got there the krispee kreme was closed and not opening till six! which makes me think that they don't make them there at all but just have them delivered from Queens or something. what a rip off. so instead i went to the bakery across the way and got a rice-krispee treat, on the grounds that it was made of cereal and therefore very appropriate for breakfast. it may have been appropriate for breakfast but it did not sit appropriately in my stomach for the rest of the day.

today i had an amusing lunch with the rest of the modern and contemporary department. half of them are leaving next week to go to Paris for the opening of the dada show at G. Pomp. apparently the opening party is being sponsored by yves saint laurent, and originally he insisted on not inviting any donors or curators; he wanted fashionistas only. this led to many amusing commentaries on the french that i'm sure my reid hall brethren would appreciate.

as you can tell i'm pretty bored to have written that at all. it's the twilight hour at work. you've finished the morning's projects but you don't feel like starting anything new. time to call dad and see if he wants to leave work early. i try this everyday and it hasn't worked yet, but here's hoping . . .


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