Eating Cemeteries, Sleeping In The Tacos
Trip Start Jun 19, 2010
74Trip End Sep 01, 2010
Map your own trip!
Show trip route
We collect our sleepy brains, gird them up and such, then start for the evening. I go out to Union Square (very tardy, indeed) to meet all my old friends (Alan, Sweeter, Caren, her boyfriend, Kyle, Eleni, her boyfriend Mark, and Glenda, a kind old lass from Alan’s college days). We’re at a Korean place and my stomach is the worst it’s been – I couldn’t hold anything down for a few hours – so I give the bathroom a shot before the meal and then get into it to my best efforts. All I can muster is a chicken heart and a bowl of udon, but everything is tasty, and the half-glass of cold beer doesn’t kill me, though it’s tough to watch everyone order the few pitchers they had without me, and it’s a nice dinner with good folk; they’re all so drastically different from the company I’ve kept on the road, and I feel like I’m Silly Von Cookiepants with respect to the progress they’ve all made on the road to maturity and adulthood, but it’s fun to have friends to keep you straddling the line. I guess I don’t feel the need to mature yet, and don’t aim to any time soon, but parts of me wish I could find myself willing to want to be, as they’re all living full lives in one way or another, while mine is mostly like a shaken up bottle of Orange Crush dripping from the ceilings of a number of homes
They’ve the option to head back with me to Brooklyn for a wonderful night at the wonderful Full Circle Bar, but they all have work in the morning and opt against it. I wander around a little bit, for New York is easy to navigate while underground, but a madhouse above with the humans, and ultimately find my way into the bar we’d patronized a few days prior.
Tonight it’s the season opener for their skee ball league (the Skeeson Opener, as they call it), and Skeemelio Estevez is out in full force to win this year’s chalice. The house Cream Ale is on bargain, five dollars for two cans, plus a hot dog, and so we get it going. Tristan is there as a special and welcome guest, and the owners announce this to the entire bar, hailing him all the way from San Francisco, California. I think he’s announcing the bus group for the way he’s gesturing, and for the first moment stand when the applause begins, but hopefully no one notices because that’s embarrassing.
Crystal and Edna are there, and they’ve brought their friend, Edna 2, who is attractive and with whom I immediately engage in conversation
Cornbread, The Beard, and Shmark are out at Prospect Park, where we saw The Swell Season, for Jack White’s The Dead Weather are playing a show on this night. Tickets are forty buckskins, so the guys just sit outside the soundshell on the grass and take it all in for free; they say that it is an amazing show, and I’m slightly jealous of this, even if I don’t wish for Jack White’s stuff in my mouth in the way that they do. In any case, they meet up with us at the bar soon enough and engage in the good times. Apparently, before their concert and while I was dining and feeling gaseous with my dear and unrelated-to-physical-uneasiness friends, everyone was finishing off the bottle of Glenfiddich, so as the night courses and the 2-for-1 is pounced on, you get the feeling that everyone is eh pretty droonk
We leave Full Circle and go to a bar with “pool” in the name, but it has neither billiards nor a swimming area, but it does have a cooler with water in it, so we sit on a planter and drink water for the night. Kuntz is a mad man and he’s filling glasses, slinging them all around to each of us, bobbing up and down, dodging an invisible boxer, patting everyone too hard on their stomachs and posteriors, and a cup of water lands in my lap to where it looks like I peed myself backwards. Kuntz grabs me squarely in the shoulders and begs me to wait one more day in New York so he can leave on the bus with us, and buys us rounds of beer (at the first bar he did, anyway, for it’s important to note that we just sat at this one). Meanwhile another crazy man approaches us, a gangly Russian with flat eyebrows and an undershirt all yellowed and stretched out who points with his cigarette like a tweaked out Jude Quinn, shuttling between pensive gazes and effeminate poses. He misquotes Trainspotting because he wants to sound like he’s able to keep up talking with serious men, “do you want me us go to shopping, or perhaps we go talk about the football?” It’s hard to tell if he’s patronizing us, but we’re certainly patronizing him, and Shmark yells, “get the fuck out of here, you fucking idiot! And give me one of those cigarettes!” It’s a bit sad and hilarious, but it’s too damn late and Shmark and I get going after Tristan’s already left.
I guess while we’re waiting at the subway, Shmark pukes once while sitting next to me, but I didn’t notice as I’m dozing off asleep, but I manage to get us on the right train, and make the transfer at the right spots, but it’s a while before we’re back and I sleep between each stop. A somber, grey-haired black man gets on at one point and talks gravely to me about the coming station, and there’s something familiar and mysterious about him that I really love, but he’s gone and I fade back into sleep before bam!, our stop has arrived.
We get off the train and I receive a text message from Cornbread, “tried to get into the apartment, don’t have the keys, where are you, I’m eating tacos and going to sleep in the cemetery.” I’m laughing and showing this to Shmark, but he can’t quite perceive it and smiles like a zombie, before we all meet at the door, I jangle the keys around, and we’re all passed out in seconds, drunk, frightened, or otherwise.