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writing "birthday birthday birthday" in my last entry was the most involved thing i did for it—it just felt a little early this year. i think i'm gonna try to get my shit together for thursday or so. on friday i was surprised by the peeps i work with as i was finishing a meeting. they came in with much-appreciated cupcake cafe treats, and then i was off to northwest chelsea to meet jami for art and iced tea. we started at gagosian, and like she said, the exquisite rafters are better than anything that ends up on the walls. i wanna get married there. we went to a few other places, like luhring augustine, which i usually like (and a lovely website to boot), but a lot of the art passed by in a blur because i was cracking up at her story of fiftysomething korean chicks in matching lingerie giving her a nekkid full body scrub followed by walk on her back. our conclusion: not a massage parlor, but something is going on there. i was also diverted by news of a new friend that sounds like good stuff, so i'm happy for her.
my homeboy took me to one of my favorite low-maintenance restaurants for dinner: max, conveniently a block from my house. there aren't many perfect italian places around here where you get a warm bowl of pasta whose every strand twirls neatly around your fork (without aid of a spoon, which real italians don't use anyway) and leaves no more sauce behind than can be wiped up with a bread slice. the little things. then we got home for present opening and sumthin' sumthin'. i sang happy birthday to my nephew's parents' answering machine since he's turning nine in hawaii right now. saturday was spent tooling around the neighborhood (not too fast so we wouldn't sweat too much), then hitting an art opening, "point & shoot," not far from razorfish that was much better than i expected—i love seeing urban/hiphop/stussy/whatever art where the artist seemed to really finish and follow through with and attend to the piece. y'know? like a lot of times i feel like it's not done yet when i see it. anyway, i felt strangely tattooed and was horrified to find that the leafy greens i bought in chinatown on the way there were the putrid garbage smell that was following me through the gallery. we ditched dactyl and ditched the greens in the trashcan in front of de la espada on wooster and grand.
why do i buy the sunday new york times when i can barely make it through the magazine before the day's over? at least i got to read about that bratty writer from my alma mater, gary shteyngart, who, even though i wasn't into his disrespect for his upbringing, i need to read about people with my education and around my age writing books to kick me in the ass.
tonight i did like i've been doing a lot, which is job searching online and sending resume after cover letter after email. i dunno why, when my day job is alright, but something kinda like when nas says all i need is one mic ... to spread my voice to the whole world, except without all the gangsta posturing and bitches this 'n that, because please, if nas is a gangsta then so am i. it's a powerful video, though—that south african shantytown with the black local people going up against the black police with him in between them is some ponderous shit.
posted June 02, 2002 in delivery. 2001