Plans for the Fourth
Happy sesquisesquicentennial, America. (That’s one and a half times one and a half times a hundred). Did anyone even remember that this Independence Day was our 225th?
I am pleasantly surprised at the number of people who don’t make July 4th plans until the last minute. I thought I was the only one, and it made me feel kind of lame. But I’m glad to know I’m actually normal.
Yesterday evening I had therapy. I’ve been amazingly crisis-free lately, and that’s when the good stuff always happens. The days when you walk into therapy with nothing specific on your mind are the days when you get some really good insights. I happened to mention to my therapist that although things have been so calm and relaxed lately, I’ve been getting tired of doing the same old things in Manhattan — gay bars, dinner, movies. And actually, the last movie I saw was Memento, more than two months ago. So she said to me, “I’m surprised you don’t do more cultural things — theater, classical music.” She knows that these are some interests of mine. And by George Washington, she was right. It’s almost absurd, but it’s rare that the idea of seeing a classical music performance or a play crosses my mind. Yet whenever I see a play, I tell myself that I have to do it more often. I love plays, and despite the fact that I’m in the best city for theater in the world, I always forget. So I’ve resolved to take advantage of where I am. I’m going to see more plays and concerts, either alone or with other people. Maybe I’ll start going on artist’s dates and writing morning pages again. Expand my soul, get some spiritual and cultural nourishment again.
After therapy I got a much-needed haircut and then went to Twentysomething. Afterwards, a bunch of us went out to dinner — there’s always a group that goes to dinner after the meeting, and I never go, because it’s too late. But since today was a holiday I figured I’d go. Nick even showed up at the meeting — the first time I’d seen him there in months — and he joined the dinner group. So did Wales. About 25-30 of us went to a Chinese restaurant. Then we all decided to go out. Half the group went to Monster, across the street from the Stonewall, and the rest of us decided to go somewhere else, because a couple of the guys were under 21 and the guy at the door was checking IDs. So we wandered around the West Village. It’s weird — Christopher Street and the West Village are iconic in modern gay history, and yet the area is so non-trendy and played out. Chelsea and the East Village are the places to be; the average age of the bar patrons in the West Village seems to be slightly older.
But it was kind of refreshing. We went to yet another restaurant, called Tiffany, and had dessert and appetizers. I just had a beer and a chicken finger. Then Wales, and this other guy, whom I’ll call Ontario, because he’s from Ontario (creative, eh?), and myself decided to go to the Stonewall, where none of us had been before. This British guy heard Wales speaking and he came up to us, but the guy was creepy and half-drunk so after we continued to ignore him he left. From there we went to the Hangar, where none of us had been before, either. We watched strange flirtations going on with various people, and then at around 3:30 we decided to part ways. Well, Ontario went back to Brooklyn, and Wales and I took the PATH back to Jersey City.
The three of us (with an important addition) might go see the fireworks on the East River tonight. It’s been years since I’ve seen them, and I figure, what better way to spend my first Fourth of July as a quasi-New-Yorker than going to see the famous fireworks? I will probably do that, although CanadaGirl left a message on my machine last night seeing if I wanted to get together with her and some other people tonight. If the idea of the crowds gets too daunting, I might call her.
You’re asking who the parenthetical important addition is, right? I met the cutest guy last night. He came out to dinner with us after the meeting, and we talked for a while. Actually, several guys were talking to him. When Wales and Ontario and I were talking later at night, we discovered that all three of us had been eyeing him, and Ontario pointed out that at the Chinese restaurant, about six guys had been competing for his attention. Isn’t that both pathetic and amusing? But he’s adorable, and he’s the type of guy I really go for — short, with short black hair and dark eyes, and Jewish. He also goes to Yale. What can I say — I’m a sucker for intelligent achievers. He’s 20 years old, which is kind of young, but at one point he gave me his e-mail address and he wants me to let him know what we all decide to do tonight. Makes me think of the line from “Good Will Hunting”: “Do you like apples? I said, do you like apples? Well, I got her number. How do you like them apples?”
I don’t know if I was being obvious or what. But when I got home, around 4:30 in the morning, there was an e-mail from Nick. Among other things, it said, “Good luck with the cute Yalie.” Hehehehehe.
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