Just for the sake of writing something.

There is this grocery store we all used to go to on 4th street and 2nd ave. We would go there after work. Sometimes we would go together before sharing a cab to brooklyn. Sometimes we would run into each other a few minutes after saying goodnight at the end of our shifts. Especially popular with the vegetarians. Sometimes I would stop there on my way to work as well and run into Josh buying goods for the day crew. The guy who wrapped the flowers was always happy to see Zach. I was never surprised to see coworkers in there. It was an extension of the workplace. I don't know the name of that store. I haven't been there in months.



I feel like I'm on the verge of a lot of things, but nowhere near reaching any of them. Lots of things I could do. Lots of people I could see. Not a chance to be had. I have 1/1/07 off, but that day limits my options to people who won't be too hung over.

A quote, and opening the floor to suggestions.

"An emblem of our city in concrete and steel." (Mayor Michael Bloomberg speaking about the Freedom Tower.)
I started writing all these alternative emblems, but they were all so trite and hippyish that I felt embarrassed and hit delete. I don't like being winnowed down to concrete and steel. I want to be more than that. I felt like we were more on that day. I felt we proved it wasn't a fluke when we held together again during the blackout. Anyone have any emblem suggestions? Serious or otherwise?

New thing.

This could be a new thing. It's 4am, and I just developed film. Got home from work, took a shower, developed film. I'll wake up and it will be dry.

They woke me up at 8am this morning with the loudest shit ever. They were cutting the 80 year old wall studs with a saws-all right up against my floor, then repositioning them with a hammer and level, and then nailing them into position with a nail gun. How do I know? Because I went down there to watch. I had to see it with my own two eyes. Then the demo crew next door broke through my wall. It's probably a good thing we didn't speak the same language.

Maybe I should get to bed. I don't know what they'll have in store for me tomorrow.

It's A Wonderful Life.

We had It's A Wonderful Life playing on one of the screens in the bar, and I couldn't help listening on headphones in the control room. I had to stop when he gets back to the bridge and begs for his life back because I didn't want to be caught crying when I should have been working. Gets me every time.

I'm listening to Joe Frank.

The asian boss of one of the crews tearing apart my building asked me if I didn't mind them installing the electrical conduits in the gutted apartments on a sunday. Maybe I misunderstood his broken english, but I thought he said it wouldn't be too loud. I said it was fine, and I just didn't want the building to collapse. He shook my hand with tremendous gratitude, like I was his favorite movie star, and I just gave him the only autograph he ever wanted.
8am sunday, the sounds of nails being pounded up into my floor from the apartment below disrupted some really strange, surreal dreaming. New York City flooded. Mainly just the subways were affected. Being stubborn, roll-with-the-punches New-Yorkers, commuters were still riding the submerged trains. They would hold their breath, get on the train, and hope they would make it to their destination before exhaling. I remember being in a station, and touching a wall of water, just shimmering there, taking up the area a passing train would rush through, and wondering how I could stand next to it in a dry waiting area. I remember thinking, knowing, that none of the hopeful, naive passengers I watched holding their breath as the doors closed between us would live to see their destination. "They're all gonna die," I said to someone on the damp street above. That asian boss was a liar.
By the afternoon, when I should have been leaving for Linda's studio (sorry Juline), I crashed out on my sun drenched couch. I felt like a cat, in some uncomfortable-looking position, half hanging, trying to keep my shoes off the cushions.
A few hours later, Alison called and came over to kill some time before having to meet the friend she's staying with. She forgot about my stairs.

Thank you all for coming out.

I got there a little before seven, and soon left to go find proper lighting. Got back in time to meet up with Arwen, and decided to join her for Thai food. (Very good Thai food. Wish I remembered the name of that place.) She walked me back, and we said goodbye, watching the party from across the street. Friends started to join us at our location of safe distance, and I didn't see the point of going back. I've never been much for parties, and when you add in the pretense of "Art Opening," it just causes frustration; all those people get in the way of the art. We talked for a while, then everyone went their separate ways, and I ducked in to see if any of my pictures got stolen. On my way out, a trumpeter and tubaist were making a joyous noise on the first floor. A total of about ten minutes inside for me. The only place I've ever seen Alex is at art openings, and that's usually the best part.

I skipped the after-party, and met up with the CB's crew, eventually going back to Drew and Jane's. I figured there'd be more picture opportunities with those guys, not to mention laughs, and I was probably right. Drew gave me a painting, and my art collection grows. A very shaky Bobby and I closed a few bars, and I had the privilege of sharing a cab with Meday, like the old days, but with less depressing things to talk about.

Seems most of my former coworkers have come out of the depths with better, more lucrative jobs. Except Young Josh. We must have raised him all wrong. At least he's getting unemployment.

It's the 6th anniversary of the day we lost Jenn, but it seems like decades. So much has happened. She missed so much. She's missed so much. Every day.