Things I’ll Miss About Windsor Terrace

Um…..uh. Oh, I have one. The proximity of the F train to my front door. And, uh, let’s see…Godfather sandwiches and the three people who make ‘em. My room. I’ll miss my room. Its mulatto-colored walls sucked in a lot of stuff and provided me with a haven. I became addicted to a lot of songs in here, the latest of which is Cole Porter’s “Too Darn Hot” from the musical Kiss Me, Kate. Go listen to it. And, well, that’s about it. What I think is really funny is the cafe on the corner that is owned and operated by lesbians. Just opened last week. It seems as though I’m ahead of the curve. Not good for any potential love life. But, according to the view from here, that’s more than ok. Geno will be over Saturday and will spend the night, so we can get an early start. And then I’m off the computer till at least Tuesday afternoon. May my wireless plans execute painlessly. I’m spent now. I’m either nowhere near finished packing or it just looks that way. Regardless, I’m done for the night with that. The Spurs start their second season on Sunday against the Nuggets. Jill’s from Denver. Hopefully she doesn’t like their team much. I always get a little on edge around this time, especially since they finished the season losing three of four games. I feel my heart palpitating already. And with that, I’m done writing for now. I’ll thankfully be doing it soon from another room in another ‘hood.

Thought I Might Be in Some Danger

I was taking a break this evening from enjoying Conan O’Brian’s, Bryan’s, Brien’s 10-year anniversary show (I read enough today) to go to the mailbox, which is just at the corner by the subway. As I was headed down the street, I noticed a short man walking across the street headed toward the same corner I was.

He then pulled up and stood behind the lamp post, and tried to make it look like he was doing something, like posting a flyer or something. But he wasn’t looking at the lamp post; he was looking beyond it, as if he was looking for something. Well, I didn’t want to stop and turn back to my place so I kept going.

I looked right in the guy’s face, because, by now, he had left the lamp post and was walking in the direction from which I was coming. He passed me to my right after looking me in the eye (looking up to me, because he was shorter than I) and then went and stood at the top of the subway stairs. I dropped my deal in the mailbox, heart beating just a little faster than normal, and turned to see what he was doing.

I So Love New York in the Summer

So this humidity isn’t too bad. Just a quick run through my hair with my fingers takes care of the sweat that accumulated in the previous 37 seconds.

If it manages to reach my neck, I just do a quick wipe and it is, once again, dry and will most definitely stay so for at least a minute or so. Of course, this depends on what stage of growth my hair is in. If it’s a little on the long side (read: thick), it tends to take a little longer to break free from the roots.

And it’s not so bad having to douse a t-shirt in the sink full of cold water and place it back on while walking calmly to the fan. And it’s not so bad that pouring cold water over my head, neck and face has become an hourly ritual. It’s the little things that make a difference. And it’s not so bad that, out of the four windows in my room, only one works. It lets sufficient amounts of cool night air through while I sleep. I couldn’t ask for anything more. And even the lack of an air conditioner is easy to deal with. It’s not that hot up here.

Isn’t This the First Day of Summer?

It’s pouring. This is beyond ridiculous. I hope it doesn’t rain next weekend. I think it’s rained every single weekend for the last two months.

Next weekend is gay pride and I haven’t participated in it for years because I overdid it by going three years in a row. Saturday is the dyke march and Sunday is the parade. The butch-femme group marches in the parade, which is something I’ve never done. “Step-off” is at 11. When she was talking like that, I told her it reminded me of being in the band in high school. That nice thick wool uniform and hat with a blue plume. Marching for three miles in Calgary’s heat at the Calgary Stampede, trying with all my might to play band tunes. I can’t believe I was in the band. I do miss playign the baritone, though. Or any instrument for that matter. I’m getting a mini drum lesson from Alia’s boyfriend when I go to California. He’s the drummer in The Knockoffs.

Moving, Rejection, Redemption and Babies

I’m outta the dorm. The move went smoothly.

Within five minutes, mover #1 who later told me he was 56 after asking my age, asked where I was from and said I had a Spanish face. The other two didn’t speak a whole lot of English — ok, none — but we managed. It was fun. Of course I wish I had that money back but it’s too late now. I got turned down for that shitty-ass office job. That’s pretty bad. So I’m on the lookout for other work.

I’m not quite sure what I want to do. My priority this summer is to research and write. But I have to eat and have fun so a job is what I need. I may try the temp route. We’ll see. But first things first.

The semester has to officially end. This means I need to complete my final paper. I’m on page 14 but I’m struggling with a section about Monique Wittig. She’s French. They’re hard to nail down. I’m at school right now so I can use the Internet. It’s hard not having it at home. I feel like I’m missing a limb. I’ll see what I can do. The good news is that when I hooked up my television, I discovered some channels. I’m not sure why but I’m not gonna tell anyone. Maybe the other people forgot to call. We’ll see how long I have them.

As long as I get through the finales tonight, I’ll be good. Now for redemption. I got a message yesterday from Timo (the asst. director of the Transregional Center for Democratic Studies [TCDS from here on out]) yesterday congratulating me for being awarded a federal work study grant. He asked me if I was still interested in the editing position. I said, “of course.” So it’s mine. I’ll be an editor next year, which is awesome.

I’ll also be working with Elzbieta. It should be interesting because I’m considering her for my thesis advisor; I’m not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Anyway, I spoke with Erica last night (the one who suggested I talk to Elzbieta about the job) and asked her why she approached me. “To be perfectly honest,” she began, “you were standing outside when I was out there and it popped into my head to ask you.”

She didn’t know I edited for six years. I like how things work out like that. I’m going to sit with her on Monday for a bit to watch her do the final issue of the year. My issue is due in November. I think I’m destined to be an editor for life. Only time will tell. Ok, I’m gonna go do something else.

Brooklyn Bound For Good

I walked my ass all over Brooklyn yesterday with Cornelia but we are now the proud renters of the top floor of a house on the southwest side of Prospect Park. We are just a four-minute walk from the park, and I can spit at the F train station. It’s pretty much expensive, but I’m just glad I was able to save some money.

The bad news is that I may have to stay in New York all summer in order to work. I was looking forward to a 30th birthday party, too, but sometimes ya just gotta do what ya gotta do. Anyway, we have a lot of windows; a full kitchen in which to microwave my mac and cheese; there is a sliding-glass door that leads to basically the roof of the owners’ livingroom. So we have a place to bake this summer. I’m taking the big room because Cornelia is basically a poor foreigner and so I’m paying $100 more. But it’s still about $150 cheaper than this pit I’m in now.

Yes, I now just despise it here and can’t wait for three weeks when I move out. What else? The walls are painted different colors. There’s a built-in shelf for me television, which is nice. All in all, we’re both really excited and we’re gonna make it work. It actually feels like a home, so this’ll be fun. And the best thing is I’ll have a huge-ass room in NYC. I’ll take pictures.

It’s nice because the guy had an appointment to show the place today and still negotiated with us. We — actually Cornelia — talked him into having us pay the second security deposit in September. We each basically have to pay one full month’s rent security so now we have to just pay half. It helps. So he likes us.

And he likes that we devote our time to studying and he’s not doing a credit check. So he’s actually crazy but we’ll prove in no time to be financially trustworthy young women. We looked at another place yesterday but the woman was a bit strange. Cornelia believes she was a drug addict at one point in her life. I have no basis on which to judge such things so I couldn’t concur. And the fact that it was across the street from the projects wasn’t cool, either. The neighborhood is Crown Heights. Speaking of neighborhoods, my new one is called Windsor Terrace. Fancy schmancy.

I haven’t been much into talking about school this semester. I’m not sure why. It could be that I really wasn’t too into my classes. I’m more into the fact that I decided what I have a passion for academically, which is a scary thought. I find myself engaged in conversations on a daily basis about obliterating identity categories and the hierarchy inherent in their existence. For my gender class, I’m writing a paper on the historical development of transgenderism. I’m at the end of page four right now. I’m establishing the gender binary and from there will take parts of my conference paper to set up the move away generally from a hierarchical model of gender existence. At this point, I will bring in those individuals — transgendered — who challenge the binary by failing to fall into the strict categories of “masculine” and “feminine.”

This will give me a chance to spend some more time on the gender issue, which is something I didn’t get to do in my conference paper. Speaking of which, that paper is what I’m turning in for my culture class. Of course I’ll expand on it; I’ll probably be able to use some of my research for my gender paper in it. Also, I’ll spend more time establishing what I just mentioned: the hierarchies inherent in identity categories.  Let’s see, what else?

My feminist political theory paper will be the hardest because I’ve decided, with the encouragement of the professor, to do a close reading of Butler’s Gender Trouble. She’s up there with Hegel in terms of difficulty, although I’m sure some will scoff at the comparison. She’s the butt of many criticisms for her “bad” writing, as she is notorious for her unnecessarily complex sentences and useless repetitions of the same idea. My hero. I saw Erin on Friday. Sac dwellers will be happy to know that she will be brandishing an apron once again and working full time at Cafe Bernardo’s (at least that’s what she said Friday) and living somewhere in midtown. So I encourage you to seek her out and have a fun summer.

This will most likely be her last summer in the area because she’s about to break out. I’m going to her play next Friday night. It’s opening night. And best of all, I get to go to the cast party. Once again, I will be around young actors and alcohol. I will try to be better at updating. Something strange is going on with Blogger but hopefully it will calm down soon. It’s getting crunch time with school. We have I think four weeks left. But soon, I will have completed one year of grad school. I’m not quite sure how I feel about that. I miss a regular paycheck. But I think this may have been a good move for me. Will I go on immediately to a doctorate — if at all. I sure as hell hope not. But there’s something in me that’s curious about the programs out there. I don’t know. I’ve got some time.