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Dancing with the stars

October 3, 2011

My internet gravy train has ended. It seems that my benefactor moved out on Saturday. Friday was the last day I could get on line in my apartment. So today I bit the bullet and paid an extra $20/month to turn my iPhone into a modem. I hate turning over my hard earned cash to the phone company, but I have to say, it’s pretty cool that this is even possible. I fought this device for a very long time, but I am now wondering how I ever lived without it (I know how I never lived without it: I never left the house).

Not only is there no internet, but there also seems to be no heat. This wasn’t a problem last time I was in town when it was 80 degrees, but now that it’s in the 40s at night, it’s a little chilly. I bought a big-ass comforter on my way home today and lugged it through Chelsea in the rain, which elicited some entertaining remarks from a couple of drag queens huddled under some scafolding on 14th street, which I will refrain from repeating here. But at least I’ll be warm when sleeping.

I can’t ask the apartment’s lease-owner about the heat because he has just left on his honeymoon. His wedding this weekend was quite the event. Allow me to recap. Or actually, allow me to post what I recapped a couple of days ago.


Mr. Spy and I are adventuring on the isle of Manhattan this weekend. The occasion is the wedding of his oldest friend, who is also the artist whose apartment I stay in. In addition to being an artist, he is also a writer and editor and his wife-to-be (just a few hours hence) is in the fashion industry, so there are many literary and fashionable types who are constantly trying to one-up each other with tales of their accomplishments and their real estate. I’m finding it supremely entertaining.

Last night’s rehearsal dinner provided me my first real New York brush with fame when I literally bumped into @nders0n C00per, who was dining with a small entourage in the overcrowded restaurant. Rumor had it that Ki3fer 5uth3rl@nd was there as well, but in the nearly pitch dark of the underground dining room, I don’t think I would have been able to find him. @nders0n C00per’s hair, however, shines like a beacon. I ran into his arm as I was exiting the dining room. Judging from the sound that followed, I fear I may have knocked over his drink. I was afraid to look back and skulked out of the restaurant.

Technically, I suppose, it was the second brush with fame of the evening, as there is a well-known television personality in the wedding party and he was sitting at my table at dinner. But I’d met him once before – he’s the bride’s best friend – so the novelty has worn off. Also, he’s kind of irritating.

The best part of the wedding so far has been meeting a novelist (who is also the son of a very famous novelist) that I’ve been hearing about for years from Mr. Spy. Mr. Spy is actually a character in this novelist’s first book, which, embarrassingly, I have still not read. We had a beer with him before the dinner at a dive Irish bar a couple of blocks from the apartment, during which the novelist became so convinced Mr. Spy knew the song “Walking in Memphis” that he sang it for us at the two top we were crowded around. I ended up sitting across from his smart and hilarious wife at dinner and it was lovely, and not just because it was the first time all evening that someone wasn’t trying to give me advice about real estate I can’t afford.

Currently I am sprawled across the air mattress on my stomach typing while Mr. Spy is out prowling the streets of the Village with the groom and his buddies. This apartment is astoundingly quiet and it’s nice to have a little alone time before venturing to the fancy French restaurant where we’ll be for the evening. I’m actually looking forward to it. I know just enough people to feel comfortable and I have an anthropological fascination with the rest of them.

This whole weekend is making me feel like I’ve wandered into the set of a Woody Allen movie. I’m sure there will be more stories to come.


Sunday morning.

I spent a good part of last night staring at N0ra 3phr0n’s neck and thinking it looked just fine.

She was sitting at the table across from me with a bunch of the groom’s colleagues and former colleagues. The story we heard is that they met when she was having dinner with T0m H@nks, whom the groom had previously interviewed. When the groom went to say hello, he and Ms. 3phr0n apparently hit it off.

It was that kind of New York wedding.

But the vows were heartfelt. The food was excellent. The cake was amazing. The music was a little odd. They had rented out La Grenouille, a fancy old school French restaurant, which I swear may have been the inspiration for Hello Dolly’s Harmonia Gardens. When you got up to go to the bathroom, there was already someone pulling out your chair and picking up the napkin you dropped. And six white-jacketed waiters were holding out their arms to show you the way. Everything they did was done with choreographed precision. The guests included a lot of literary luminaries, like the aforementiond Ms. 3phr0n. I felt like an anthropologist the whole evening. Mr. Spy and I didn’t stay too late, just late enough not to be rude.

Sunday morning, we went back uptown to meet friends for breakfast. I saw them off in a cab to the airport. Mr. Spy went with them. I walked 45 blocks back downtown. It was a beautiful sunny fall day. Back in the Village, I met up with a friend and former yoga teacher who now lives in New Mexico. We had tea and pastries in a tea parlor inspired by Oscar Wilde, where all the servers wore fancy hats and the bill came inside a copy of E.B. White’s This is New York, which I had just read for the first time a few weeks ago. Afterwards I headed out to Brooklyn for dinner with Cranky and Baby J, who was extra entertaining. I got to hear her version of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star and see her shake her finger at “No More Monkeys Jumping on the Bed!” It was raining when I headed home, a nice light drizzle that made the streets shine. It was cozy to be back in the apartment.

Tonight I’m sitting down to work. I need to cut 6 pages from my conference paper and write a conclusion. My least favorite kind of editorial work. But still, it must be done. The glamorous weekend is definitely over.

8 Comments leave one →
  1. October 3, 2011 7:30 pm

    The landlord doesn’t have to turn on the heat unless it’s below 55 degrees during the day, and/or 40 at night. This is the kind of weather when it gets cold indoors in NYC.

  2. October 3, 2011 7:31 pm

    It’s like that in Chicago too. I just haven’t rented in a while, so I’ve forgotten. There may be a sweatshirt shopping trip in my future.

  3. October 4, 2011 8:29 am

    I laughed out loud that you think Nora’s neck looks okay.
    What is this novel? I think I want to read it.
    An iphone can work as a modem? What does that even mean? Do you plug something into it, or does it gather the invisible wireless rays and beam them at your computer?

  4. October 4, 2011 1:30 pm

    “An anthropological fascination with the rest of them.” Oh yeah! I’m one who never needs a book at an airport. I just look and listen. The wedding sounded fascinating- and if you knew enough people to have fun, even better.

  5. October 4, 2011 5:54 pm

    Love all of the cultural references – know exactly what you mean with the Dolly bit.

  6. freshhell permalink
    October 4, 2011 6:58 pm

    Sounds very exciting. Mr. Cooper once called my sister on the phone and wished her a happy birthday. I’m still waiting for my call from Mr. Bowie. SIGH.

  7. October 4, 2011 8:37 pm



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