Oh, the Irony

Wow, I’m out of blogging practice. This past week was really weird — I couldn’t blog, I had a bad cold, I had a job interview, I got stitches in my lip. I feel a little disoriented, and I haven’t written a really good, deep, thoughtful blog entry in a while. Plus, Blogvoices isn’t working, so nobody can comment on my blog. But (hint hint) you can still send me e-mail!

Friday night I stayed at home, because my lip was hurting and I just felt like lazing around. And I had barely slept the night before, so I was tired, too. It was a night to stay in and veg out.

Saturday

Yesterday I wasn’t very social either. I don’t know why. In the early afternoon I started to get all panicky, because all the nerve endings in my body felt dulled and I was feeling a little light-headed. I sort of felt like all my body parts were disconnected from each other. Have you ever felt like that? It was weird. I could feel things, but I couldn’t really feel the pleasurable nuances of touch — the tickle of a feather against my palm would have done nothing to me. It sort of felt like something was wrong with my brain. I wonder if it had to do with the Claritin-D that I was taking as a decongestant. So I stopped taking it. Also, my lip was still hurting a little bit.

I couldn’t just sit around — I knew I had to get out of my apartment. So I went into the city and walked over to the Strand, where I browsed for almost two hours, especially in the American history section. The store has a terrific collection of second-hand history books in the basement. You can get some great deals there. But I didn’t buy anything. And from there I walked over to Barnes & Noble in Union Square and basically did the same thing.

At that point it was after 9:00, so I decided to walk over to Wonderbar. When I got there, around 9:45, it was practically empty. So I left and went over to Phoenix and had just a Coke for some reason. I sat there with my drink and flipped through a pamphlet for the New York Gay Film Festival, and then I left and went back to Wonderbar. It still wasn’t too crowded, but I decided I’d stay anyway. I got another Coke and found a seat, and after 11:00 the place finally started to fill up. There was this group of friends. One of them was a guy with a moppish Beatles haircut, horn-rimmed glasses, a wool sportscoat, and a skateboard. He put the skateboard on the ledge behind me, and at one point he started dancing strangely to the music. He was doing these really weird things with his legs and pelvis, and his friends were laughing their heads off. He was doing this on purpose, sort of as a joke, I guess. I think he was being ironic. Is that the correct word for the situation? I don’t think I’ve ever really gotten a hang of what should be called ironic and what shouldn’t. I do know that the things mentioned in Alanis Morisette’s song “Ironic” really aren’t ironic at all — they’re just great misfortunes — which actually makes “Ironic” pretty ironic.

Anyway, I wound up having a couple of beers. I didn’t really talk to many people, which was fine, because I wasn’t feeling very social. I was kind of tired and my lip was still bothering me. I wound up leaving the bar at about 12:15 and coming home.

Today

This afternoon I went on a little excursion with a group from 20something, a gay social organization in the city for people in their 20’s that I’ve mentioned before. We went up to The Cloisters, a branch of the Metropolitan Museum of Art devoted to medieval European art. It’s in Fort Tryon Park, which is all the way up at 200th Street and Broadway. You take the A Train to get there, just like Duke Ellington did, but a lot farther north than Harlem; I’d never been that far north in Manhattan, at least not that I can remember. It was like another world.

There were only about ten of us, which was a great number. I’d met only one of them before, so I got to have some good conversations with some intelligent gay guys who obviously were interested enough in art and culture to make the trip up there. It turned out that one of them lives just a few blocks away from me in Jersey City, so afterwards we rode the PATH back to Jersey City together. He was a nice guy — not a dating prospect, but someone new to know, you know?

And two or three of these guys are going to the Limelight tonight. The Limelight is a club that’s located in an old gothic church. (Does that count as ironic? Would it be ironic if the congregation used to burn gay people at the stake? Not that they did. I’m just trying to grasp the concept here.) Sunday night is Limelight’s gay night, and I’ve never been there, so I figure why not. I thought that I didn’t quite fit the mold — me not being a big smooth beefy muscular guy — but these guys don’t really fit it either, which makes me feel better. It’ll cost fifteen bucks, not including drinks, but I gotta live a little, right? One of them told me to give him a call if I’m going to go, so I think I will. I love three-day weekends.

As for now, I need a nap.