Tuesday, December 29, 2009

afternoon, new york

Today was one of those rare December days in NYC that began balmy and sunny, but got gradually colder as the day deepened—as if Winter forgot herself for a second, but managed to sneak back onstage by dusk.

I spent my glorious day off doing glorious day off things. I slept late, I made juice, I did an hour of rock n' roll yoga to the immortal noise of Bob Dylan (again, yes) and then I took myself on a Met date to catch the Robert Frank exhibit. Life altering. Holy crap. Wow.

(Kerouac said it up best when he introduced The Americans as "the grey film that caught the pink juice of human kind.")

On my way home, I was inspired to walk the intestines of Astoria, from Broadway to Ditmars on the backstreets, to reconnect to the quotidia of borough life at other subway stops, on other avenues. This is how I noticed the back swish of the temperature whip, schlepping home under the newly christened RFK bridge as the sun sucked up the last of the lingering warmth. But still it was one of those afternoons: the light hit the taller buildings like a beacon and everything seemed to sparkle just before the sun set. Love those.

I came home to heat and cooking gas for the first time since we moved in (on September fricken fifteenth). Joy to the world.

Add a [home cookied!] dinner with Em and a little late-night dancing and that's a day off well done, goddammit.

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