I switched nights with my sister, so I ended up at home for a full Sunday, which doesn't usually happen. I decided to go to Chelsea to see if my powers have completely faded away with age. I put together a casual-looking outfit with considerable effort (I have a habit of dressing too theatrically on the weekends, and I was trying to look a little butch today) - I put on a pair of khaki shorts, a white t-shirt, striped socks, and a smart blue hat. I went through a period where I wore a lot of hats in the summer, like Eleanor Roosevelt, but lately I had been hatless. So, I left my apartment feeling like I had put a little of my old hat magic back to use for a little of an old pastime - cruising in Chelsea.
Right away, I ran into my super, Jose, who looked and me, chuckled, and said, "nice hat." I was aghast. "What - does it make me look retarded?" He paused for a second, then replied, "No, you look like you're chillin'." I found that I could live with that, so I got in a cab.
I ran into that cute kid Ryan, who was hanging out with Doug, luscious as ever, and a friend of theirs. Ryan reminded me that the Breeders were playing McCarren Pool later that day, and I debated going. They marched off to a brunch to which I was clearly not invited, and I went to Camouflage to say hello to Tony. There was nothing there that I loved, but I did find a nice pair of shorts in the Middle Eastern store across the street. I pranced home. Eventually, I decided not to go to McCarren Pool, because, after all, people who live in Manhattan shouldn't have to go to Brooklyn. Plus, I saw the Breeders last month at Webster Hall.
With my hat on, I look a lot like my late brother Michael. Oh, well. Death will come soon for me, too, soon enough - but hopefully not today.
No comments:
Post a Comment