The Move Story: Cycle One

Have you ever been drunk on a plane?
My last day in Manhattan. It’s all happening too fast - like when you’re hanging your head out a car window. I don’t do that very often, but when I do, I notice everything passing me very fast.
Let me say first that I’m in an airport bar at 7:40am. I’m eating my 45 dollar chicken Caesar wrap thingy and a gallon of coffee. I think it’s note worthy that there is a woman sitting at the bar drinking a Hiney and she’s got a cat or small dog or wild boar in at bag at her feet. Every few minutes she gets up to do something and the bag animal freaks out.
I worked a whopping 9 hours yesterday. It was the busiest day of the year at 88 Orchard - Pickle Fest. God bless Pickle Fest. Did you know that there’s a Caribbean pickle? Did you know that you can pickle just about anything? Even mushrooms? Did you know that there are people in the world who LIVE for pickles? It’s their life blood, their family tradition and their favorite thing all wrapped into one. So for one day of the year on the lower east side, all the pickle crazies gather together, shut down a city block and go hog wild. Coincidently, pregnant woman from all over the world are seemingly pulled toward this very block. I saw more preggies yesterday than should be legally possible. Really. I’m surprised the world didn’t tip to one side and all the pickles didn’t fall off the side of the world (the FLAT world. Duh.) and float off into the atmosphere. Those preggies were pickle crazed. I didn’t have the heart to tell them all that pickles are just cucumbers soaked in evil. I was afraid for my life. For now the secret will have to live in silence.
I was done with work after I collected my cash and said a hearty goodbye to my great boss, Erica and the crazy dog lady. I did NOT say a hearty goodbye to my shitty coworker Josh. I just want everyone to know that now that I’m done working there I feel ok about admitting that I THROUGHLY HATE JOSH. What a dick. He asked me on a date on my first day at work. Can you believe that? Ridiculous. After I let him down he turned on me and became Hairy Shitty Coworker Who Is Also Apparently Deaf. I will not miss Josh. Poop on Josh.
Josh still lives with his mother.
Take that.
So I left work and took the long way to the train, taking in Bowery for the last time (this time around anyway.) I got off the train in Brooklyn and met my new friend Ellie. She and I went to a cake shop called “The Cake Man.” But the catch is, he doesn’t really make cakes so much as gigantic sugar and flour expressions. (Side note: I like to call good art Expressions. Like at work, when I did chalk drawings on the sandwich board I’d call them “Creative Chalk Expressions.” It sort of reduces everything creative into something like those t-shirts that have clouds sprayed on them.)
The Bag Animal just flipped out again and it’s Mom made kissy noises at it. This whole experience is divine. That’s right Mommy, have another beer. Make your boar baby go away.
Ellie and I got a huge piece of red velvet cake, walked back to her brownstone and ate it on the stoop. It was still warm and - ok. I gotta make this story short because I still can’t talk about the cake. It was too good to be true, it seemed like a good idea at the time and has made me solidly nauseous ever since (it’s been over 10 hours.) Someday I’ll be able to talk about the cake. Today is NOT that day.
My good friends Kat and Jesse live in an apartment building near Ellie’s. There is an empty bar below their apartment - apparently the couple who owned it were big public fighters and fought their way out of the lease and got kicked out. The landlord is the same guy who owns 88 Orchard (and most of the lower east side for that matter). He’s William and he’s awesome point blank. Coolest landlord who ever lived.
Anyway, William gave Jesse and Kat the keys to the bar for one night. So last night we had an amazing time barbequing and laughing in a big ole abandoned bar. It was fun, like when one of your friend’s parents have a bar in the basement and you play with it when they’re at work. It was a great way to usher myself out. Damn that William though. He and his wife Lim Chee brought two big coolers with 12 different kinds of beer. Wasted. I’m not a beer drinker and I really became one last night. I took a car home. It cost me 40 dollars. Reason 88374982c to leave NYC.
Alright. What you’ve read so far was written early this morning at JFK airport (in the Shannon’s Lounge if I do say so myself). NOW I’m in Houston airport (missed my first plane, now I’m waiting on another.)
Where was I? I took a ridiculously expensive cab back to Harlem. I sat with Vonia and drew pictures of stealth bombers for awhile. The stealth bomber story is a really good one. Will someone remind me to tell it? The car was coming to pick me up at 5:30 and it was 2:30 when I fell asleep, drooling drunk. Thanks a lot to my responsibility gene. You totally let me down buddy.
I woke up at five with dreams of a shower in my head. I didn’t have the time though which is a shame because I had an unfortunate self tanning accident and I’m giving new meaning to the words “blotchy” - great word - and “orange”. Fortunately, I fit right in in the Houston airport. From where I’m sitting it looks like Texas has a love affair with self tanner.
I don’t though. I’m not going near the stuff for a long time. But I didn’t have the time to wash it off this morning - I had to stay orange. I packed the rest of my stuff and managed to clean a few surfaces before I left. I do remember having a fight with my tennis shoes as I tried in vain for 10 minutes to stuff them into them. Mostly I remember sweating pushing them under the zipper and muttering “Shoozies!”
…………….This entry was written on Sept. 18th 2006 in New York City, NY, Houston, Texas and Seattle, Washington. To Be Continued….