Sammy the Seal

Old times

In celluloid, experience, vinyl, words, words, words on Saturday, 21 February, 2009 at 7:52

What a weird set of coincidences. I mean, of all the thoughts to run through my head, and all the things that remind me of other things. And they just happened. I wasn’t in a nostalgic mood or anything. First of all I started watching “The Wire” again, which is why I’m up so late— four episodes, I told myself I’d stop there. Granted, it was only a year a half ago, and it was memories of a freaking show, but just the idea of “remember when?” with something that was memorable for any number of reasons, and yes, I’ve said elsewhere that “The Wire” is one of the most draining, impressive, special works of art I’ve ever experiences. Like reading a incredibly long, but commensurately satifsying novel. Still, it was only a few months after I had moved back to Texas after leaving New York City.

Speaking of which, I logged on to myspace just now, and I have my “top friends” on shuffle because I don’t believe in ordering people, and one of the people who came up was my roommate in New York, Katrina, profile photo standing on an outdoor subway platform with her new baby. Ah, memories. I remember standing on an outdoor platform in Queens with Manhattan behind me and someone from the guesthouse came out to take photos with me, except I screwed up and lost the roll, probably to exposure, stupid me. It didn’t help that earlier in the day, due to some completely unknown trigger, I found myself thinking about walking along Prince and Spring Streets, passing the innumerable shops and finding some cafe or little diner to eat in, or buy pastries in. Like the diner in Boerum or Cobble Hill, a little south of downtown Brooklyn where I saw a movie and had a bite with the only classmate I’ve seen since I’ve graduated high school over 12.5 years ago. Movie, diner food, late night on a weekend, old classmate— breaks my heart thinking about it. Even though I bitched about the crazy girl I briefly dated, and I was the one who had to make plans every single time we went anywhere (FYI I hate that “the man’s supposed to makes all the moves, decisions, and plans” bullshit, equal opportunity ladies, show some imagination, it gets tiring, for chrissakes), at least we went places. It’s New York, so it’s awfully easy to do, but here so far, or back in Texas (with what few people I knew), just going out and doing shit, you know? Coffee, drink, sit on a fucking park bench, stay in and watch a movie and cook dinner. When did doing something, anything become obsolete? (Don’t blame the economy neither. I think technology, laziness, and isolation/insulation have something to do with it.) Like I said, one of the people I stayed in the guesthouse with in Queens before getting an apartment, didn’t know me all that well, but came out and saw a movie with me because I wanted to get out. Same girl who took picture of me around the city because I didn’t have any new photos to show people of my time in the city. (Makes me feel bad I lost those photos, they were good. The one on the platform, for instance.) Someone I barely fucking knew couldn’t stand being in there either and came out with me. Same thing happened with the crazy girl I ended up dating, it was 8 or 9 at night and I had to get out, and she said yes.  There does come a time though, when your calls and voice or text messages don’t get responded to,  or you get nothing but two-sentence reply emails, and you figure why bother. Which is why I actually stopped complaining and worrying a long time ago. If I don’t register in someone’s mind, fine. I guess my flaw is I gave people too much friend credit when it wasn’t deserved. I’m too idealistic for my own good, I give at least as good as I get, even if I get very little. I try not to expect the same from others that I do from myself, but at least for people to understand that I’m being sincere about it— that’s my personality, I have no choice. People matter to me as long as I matter to them. I kind of am still selfish and idealistic that way. Friendship and love are of the utmost importance to me (more than my own self) and yet I’m finding things aren’t what I thought they were. It’s frustrating, and things do get a bit empty sometimes. Fucking Christ, going out doing shit, that’s all. This the type of thing that makes someone fly off the handle and blog. And that can’t be good for anyone.

But anyway, back to New York… It’s actually where I caught my first glimpse of “The Wire” before I even knew what it was about. The two girls I roomed with for two weeks in Park Slope were fans, and later when I was watching the fourth season on my own, I thought “hey, that’s the scene I remember walking in on when they were watching it!” It’s all connected, wow. (That’s actually one of the slogans or pieces of dialogue from the show.) The fact that the apartment we were in was in a brownstone-type building too, that makes me smile. Going down to Battery Park to do nothing but smell the sea air, look over at downtown Brooklyn, the Verrazano, the Statue, Jersey, even. Then again, I’d be happy with anything. Coffee, tea, hot cocoa, some sweet, some convo, and a big fucking hug. What with all my high-falutin’ pontificating, I’m rather simple and easy to please at heart. So far, one fucking person. (Ouch, how you doing there, self-esteem?)

And the last thing goes even further back. For some mysterious reason, I woke up this morning and immediately began humming “Legend” by Nelly Furtado, first album. I remember the days, when I was so eager to satisfy you, and few people knew who she was so you could see her at a venue like the Showbox. Even the Paramount isn’t so big for a musical act. What’s that, 2001, 2002? Haven’t felt the urge to listen to her in a long time, and for some reason, I listened to her all the way to work this morning. Nothing special was going on then, living here, still in school, in the first year or so of my then-relationship, Bush had only begun to fuck up. I still remember going to those show though, seeing tiny little Nelly on that stage, mere feet away from us, doing the whole album because she only had one, doing some 80s covers too, the next year waiting 45 minutes to meet her after the Paramount show (and realizing on the way to the show I forgot my damn camera, but at least she signed my album and drew a flower on it, yay). Another reason to be in a relationship, you always have at least one person to go out with, hey? And yes, she’s on tour, she was hungry, she just did a fucking show, and she gracious enough to come out and see some of us. That’s a stand-up person, right there. And she’s busier than all of us! Grace. Not a big, big fan of hers, but I liked the music, liked the shows. Back when she had one single, and a smidge of airplay on VH1, MTV2. Now those are some old times, man.

There you have it— “The Wire”, dreams of a cafes and restaurants in New York, and an eight-year-old Nelly Furtado song, joining forces for the noble cause of making me into a reminiscent fusspot.

P.S. You should see what Diona had to say a couple weeks back.


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