DOG, BE MY RANDOM CHAT
St Patrick’s day New York style is unlike any I’ve experienced before. Everyone in the city goes out, full wing. The streets become rampant with drunken people from very early on in the day until very very late at night. If that wasn’t all, there is also a parade along Fifth Avenue to accompany the celebrations of this Holiday. I failed to make it to the parade, much for the same reason I failed to make it to the Thanksgiving parade. The weather. However I did make it to an Irish pub down in the East Village. Getting a drink at the bar became a mission, multitudes of people flocked to the bar, as if getting wasted was a principality of this Holiday. Waiting in line to order, a woman and her boyfriend who were in front of me, saw that I was trying to get to the front and kindly suggested that they would order for me and pass down the drinks. There is something about the Irish people that make them pleasant even when drunk.
Lately I’ve been subject to random chats from strangers who stop me in the street, the gym, and general public places simply to have a conversation.
A couple of weeks ago at the gym, thirsty from a workout I make my way to the water fountain to cool off, I notice a woman talking on her mobile phone, so I cut in front of her as she carries on talking down the phone. A few minutes pass and I continue with my work out, ipod playing full volume, searching for a free weight machine, I feel a tap on my shoulder. The ipod goes to pause and I turn to see the same woman whom I’d just seen talking on the phone.
“I was supposed to have a yoga class with my friend, but she forgot to mention which gym, now I’ve to go to a different gym and meet her” she went on. I was trying to be sympathetic and at the same time trying to understand why me off all people, I didn’t want to hear her life story. She took off within moments.
Another day, this time walking outside the gym, heading towards the subway on ‘Houston Street’, again ipod playing full volume. Another girl, heading on the opposite direction I’m walking, approaches me. She is on phone and at the same time is asking me for directions. Turns out she was looking for Houston Street, the same direction I was already walking to.
I carry on walking and she does the same next to me. Within seconds she starts a conversation, asking me where I was heading. Being polite I answered, looking up ahead to see that I was only three blocks from the subway.
“Where are you from” she asks. “London” I replied, and with that she went on to tell me she used to date this guy from England, Berkshire somewhere and also that she did a semester in London through her NYU college, and we have a small conversation about old England.
Earlier this week as I waited for the elevator at work, a random woman also started a conversation, with my lunch in hand, eager to get to my desk upstairs and eat it.
“Does it taste nice?” she asks, “Excuse me?” I reply trying to make sense of what I’m being asked. “The drink, I saw you take a sip and you made a weird face,” she says.
I had just taken a sip from and Ice-tea, blackberry flavour that I’ve never tried before and my taste buds were registering this new flavour. We go on to have a small conversation about my food and how my expression wouldn’t sell it to her, just until the elevator made its way down to the ground floor and I made my way back up to enjoy my meal regardless of what some random woman in the building thought of it.
It doesn’t just stop there, I’ve had two people come up to me and ask me for directions in Spanish, out of nowhere. How do they know I also speak Spanish? This is very bizarre.
The weekend after Roxy continued in the same drinking flow. I’m neither an alcoholic nor a binge drinker I kept telling myself. (I hadn’t mentioned this, but last time I was at Roxy back in August 2006, I got very drunk and ended up being sick somewhere in the back of the dance floor) Sunday night, just recovering from a hung over, I joined old mates in the East Village for ‘Calimochos’ and some catching up.
The same could be said for Monday night. After work I joined my friends for dinner at the ‘Sunburnt Cow’. The service was slow, as it always is on a Monday night, for it being $5 night, any meal, so the drinks where on the house.
Charles was persuading me to go to an event his work was throwing after. I couldn’t possibly carry on. I needed rest. A couple more drinks later I found myself back in the 60s, where everyone looked like they’ve just stepped out a ‘Beatles’ music video, in this dingy cave of a bar, not very brightly lit, this was a PR event for the induction of Ronnie Spector into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame.
I got talking to Steve West from the 80s rock band ‘Danger Danger’. That’s right I’ve never heard of them either! But he was very welcoming and very nice to chat to, especially about British music and venues he has played at. For his age, maybe late 30s early 40s he looked good.
Tuesday night I got taken for a dog. ‘A bone was placed on my nose’ if one can say that? I could’ve gone out that night for more drinking, but a friend, funny as he is, thought it would be amusing to suggest a fourth night in-a -row of drinking. I decline with the intention that I would’ve. Turns out he was just waving the bone in front of me to see if I could carry on drinking, I was fully recovered, but that night I needed to detox, so I ventured into the gym for a much-needed run and more rigorous exercise.
Wednesday night I was invited to the New York City Opera at the Lincoln Centre uptown. ‘Madama Butterfly’ as invigorating as it is, I was falling asleep during the first act, but paid much more close attention the following two acts. It was in Italian with English subtitles playing above the stage. I found the story of impossible love tragic. Can a human being love another human being so much that they are willing to sacrifice their whole life in wait?
There aren’t many stories like that in the present day, but I guess the tragedy of relationships still exists. Love as it seems is not what it used to be. But the possibilities of finding love still remain and we shall all go forth in our own wait until we no longer have to say, “Be mine” and actually believe that we HAVE that love we’ve been waiting for. (Without the tragedy that is).
St Patrick’s day New York style is unlike any I’ve experienced before. Everyone in the city goes out, full wing. The streets become rampant with drunken people from very early on in the day until very very late at night. If that wasn’t all, there is also a parade along Fifth Avenue to accompany the celebrations of this Holiday. I failed to make it to the parade, much for the same reason I failed to make it to the Thanksgiving parade. The weather. However I did make it to an Irish pub down in the East Village. Getting a drink at the bar became a mission, multitudes of people flocked to the bar, as if getting wasted was a principality of this Holiday. Waiting in line to order, a woman and her boyfriend who were in front of me, saw that I was trying to get to the front and kindly suggested that they would order for me and pass down the drinks. There is something about the Irish people that make them pleasant even when drunk.
Lately I’ve been subject to random chats from strangers who stop me in the street, the gym, and general public places simply to have a conversation.
A couple of weeks ago at the gym, thirsty from a workout I make my way to the water fountain to cool off, I notice a woman talking on her mobile phone, so I cut in front of her as she carries on talking down the phone. A few minutes pass and I continue with my work out, ipod playing full volume, searching for a free weight machine, I feel a tap on my shoulder. The ipod goes to pause and I turn to see the same woman whom I’d just seen talking on the phone.
“I was supposed to have a yoga class with my friend, but she forgot to mention which gym, now I’ve to go to a different gym and meet her” she went on. I was trying to be sympathetic and at the same time trying to understand why me off all people, I didn’t want to hear her life story. She took off within moments.
Another day, this time walking outside the gym, heading towards the subway on ‘Houston Street’, again ipod playing full volume. Another girl, heading on the opposite direction I’m walking, approaches me. She is on phone and at the same time is asking me for directions. Turns out she was looking for Houston Street, the same direction I was already walking to.
I carry on walking and she does the same next to me. Within seconds she starts a conversation, asking me where I was heading. Being polite I answered, looking up ahead to see that I was only three blocks from the subway.
“Where are you from” she asks. “London” I replied, and with that she went on to tell me she used to date this guy from England, Berkshire somewhere and also that she did a semester in London through her NYU college, and we have a small conversation about old England.
Earlier this week as I waited for the elevator at work, a random woman also started a conversation, with my lunch in hand, eager to get to my desk upstairs and eat it.
“Does it taste nice?” she asks, “Excuse me?” I reply trying to make sense of what I’m being asked. “The drink, I saw you take a sip and you made a weird face,” she says.
I had just taken a sip from and Ice-tea, blackberry flavour that I’ve never tried before and my taste buds were registering this new flavour. We go on to have a small conversation about my food and how my expression wouldn’t sell it to her, just until the elevator made its way down to the ground floor and I made my way back up to enjoy my meal regardless of what some random woman in the building thought of it.
It doesn’t just stop there, I’ve had two people come up to me and ask me for directions in Spanish, out of nowhere. How do they know I also speak Spanish? This is very bizarre.
The weekend after Roxy continued in the same drinking flow. I’m neither an alcoholic nor a binge drinker I kept telling myself. (I hadn’t mentioned this, but last time I was at Roxy back in August 2006, I got very drunk and ended up being sick somewhere in the back of the dance floor) Sunday night, just recovering from a hung over, I joined old mates in the East Village for ‘Calimochos’ and some catching up.
The same could be said for Monday night. After work I joined my friends for dinner at the ‘Sunburnt Cow’. The service was slow, as it always is on a Monday night, for it being $5 night, any meal, so the drinks where on the house.
Charles was persuading me to go to an event his work was throwing after. I couldn’t possibly carry on. I needed rest. A couple more drinks later I found myself back in the 60s, where everyone looked like they’ve just stepped out a ‘Beatles’ music video, in this dingy cave of a bar, not very brightly lit, this was a PR event for the induction of Ronnie Spector into the Rock n’ Roll Hall of Fame.
I got talking to Steve West from the 80s rock band ‘Danger Danger’. That’s right I’ve never heard of them either! But he was very welcoming and very nice to chat to, especially about British music and venues he has played at. For his age, maybe late 30s early 40s he looked good.
Tuesday night I got taken for a dog. ‘A bone was placed on my nose’ if one can say that? I could’ve gone out that night for more drinking, but a friend, funny as he is, thought it would be amusing to suggest a fourth night in-a -row of drinking. I decline with the intention that I would’ve. Turns out he was just waving the bone in front of me to see if I could carry on drinking, I was fully recovered, but that night I needed to detox, so I ventured into the gym for a much-needed run and more rigorous exercise.
Wednesday night I was invited to the New York City Opera at the Lincoln Centre uptown. ‘Madama Butterfly’ as invigorating as it is, I was falling asleep during the first act, but paid much more close attention the following two acts. It was in Italian with English subtitles playing above the stage. I found the story of impossible love tragic. Can a human being love another human being so much that they are willing to sacrifice their whole life in wait?
There aren’t many stories like that in the present day, but I guess the tragedy of relationships still exists. Love as it seems is not what it used to be. But the possibilities of finding love still remain and we shall all go forth in our own wait until we no longer have to say, “Be mine” and actually believe that we HAVE that love we’ve been waiting for. (Without the tragedy that is).
posted by Hamilton at 6:20 PM
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