Like’s Labors Lived
Wow. It’s September! It’s the beginning of four months ending in -ember! Except for October. Okay, it’s the beginning of three-syllable months ending in -ber!
And I haven’t blogged in five days! I think that’s a record for me. So much to fill you in on. Er, so much in on which to fill you. A preposition is a horrible thing to end a sentence with. As they say.
My Labor Day weekend consisted of short pleasant trips to the outer boroughs of the city as well as the New Jersey suburbs.
Friday night I met up with Masculine Showtunes Guy for dinner.
Here’s a tangent. I think I’m going to have to make up a name for him. The problem with descriptive nicknames is that they boil a person down to one or two defining elements, which isn’t always accurate. My friend Nick (not his real name) had this person he used to refer to as “Efficacious Boy” because the guy was pretentious and always used unusual words when he spoke. I love that name. But Showtunes Guy isn’t a random one-dimensional person. And yet I don’t want to use his real name, because I feel like that would violate his privacy, even though he doesn’t even know I have a blog. Speaking of which, I feel kind of guilty writing about him here since he doesn’t even know that people are reading about him.
I’m going to call him Wes.
Wes (not his real name) and I went out to dinner in Tribeca. It was our first meal out together, actually. We had a nice time. Afterwards we took a cab to the East Village and went to Starlight and had a few drinks and made out in public. That’s always fun. After we left, we waited for the subway and then sat on the subway and stealthily touched each other’s hands.
I spent Saturday afternoon in Queens with Nick and an out-of-town friend of his. We went to the Isamu Noguchi Museum and then we walked across the Queensboro Bridge back to Manhattan. While in Queens we walked right past Silvercup Studios, where “The Sopranos” and “Sex and the City” are filmed. They’re filmed in Queens. Go figure!
Saturday night I hung out with Wes again. My parents had gone up to Maine with the puppy for the long weekend and they said I was free to stay there. So I invited Wes to spend the night there with me. We drove out to the New Jersey suburbs (drove — he has a car!) and did some grilling on my parents’ deck. It was so nice: crickets, the cool night air, the quiet, the privacy of my parents’ shrub-enclosed backyard. We grilled and kissed and held each other underneath the stars, and we ate outside.
Afterwards — inside — we cuddled up on the couch and watched “American Beauty,” which happened to be on cable. After it ended, we continued to lay there.
“This is really nice,” I said.
“Yeah, it is,” he said.
And then he said:
“You know, this is kinda like what boyfriends do…”
I didn’t say anything.
I don’t know what I want here. You know what? If he’d described himself in a personal ad, I might have passed him up. When I imagine my ideal boyfriend, he’s not what I would imagine. I was picturing someone intellectual, someone who likes to read and explore cultural things and so forth. Wes is bright, but he’s not intellectual. And he’s into cars and apparently he’s really into NASCAR and he watches football in the fall. And yet he loves showtunes and he’s taking singing lessons and he likes to cook.
Dammit, this is so weird, but it comes down to very simple qualities. He’s nice. He’s sweet. He’s cute. I can’t think of any other reasons. Is he my soulmate? I have no idea. It’s just that we have a nice time together. Chemistry. Yeah, chemistry.
I don’t want to make a decision on him yet. And yet I think he does. He’s used the phrase “when you meet my parents.” Not if. When.
Right now I want things to keep going how they’re going.
Anyway.
Sunday morning we went out for bagels, and then he drove back to Jersey City. I spent that day and that night alone at my parents’ house. I went to this wonderful independent bookstore in town — unfinished wooden shelves, a huge collection of new and used books, all discounted. In the evening I went for a long suburban walk, and at night I had leftovers. It was great to have my parents’ house to myself.
I spent yesterday by myself as well. I went to Wave Hill, a 19th-century estate in the Bronx, on the Hudson River, overlooking the Palisades. I always forget how big New York City is — I didn’t even feel like I was in the city. On the other hand, I was practically in Westchester. It was a great trip, and I definitely recommend it to any NYC dwellers. You take the 1/9 train up to 231st Street and then you take a bus to 252nd Street. The bus was filled with old Jewish people — I didn’t know there were any of them left in the city! I felt like I was back in Jackson Heights in the 1980s, visiting my grandparents and all their friends. It was comforting. The bus even stopped at the Hebrew Home for the Aged.
After a couple of hours at Wave Hill I got back to the subway and spontaneously got off on the Upper West Side. I browsed around Barnes and Noble. I was starting to feel lonely. I think I’m going to get a cellphone so people can get hold of me when I’m tooling around Manhattan by myself and wishing someone were with me.
From there I took the subway down to Union Square and saw “All Over the Guy,” a new gay movie. That’s the great thing about New York — we get all the new gay movies. It was a cute film — it didn’t redefine the art form, but it was a nice way to pass a couple of hours.
This weekend felt really long, really varied. It was nice. And now Labor Day has passed, and the fall begins. Or does fall begin when Rosh Hashannah happens? Or on the autumnal equinox? Or when you start seeing schoolbuses in the streets? Or when all the TV shows come back? I don’t know.
Happy September, everyone.
—–