Huggin' necks, shakin' hands.

What do we want?
NYCADS!
When do we want it?
NOWCADS!

Mmmm....right. NYCADS is the New York City All-Day Singing (as certain readers of this blog already know, I have a fondness for acronym-izing anything that I can, including but not limited to WTTAN).

Anyway, the singing extravaganza was this weekend, and what a good time it was. Never a dull moment. The singers started rolling into town on Friday, and come Friday afternoon, my apartment was hosting a plain-dressing woman (part of the River Brethren...sect? Faith? I don't know. They're sort of like Mennonites. I hope no one googles River Brethren and gets directed here and leaves me nasty comments) and Matt, the maker of a documentary on Sacred Harp. Aldo and I rounded out this odd quartet and spent a few hours sort of entertaining... I went to work until midnight and then slept at Emma's in E. Wburg, as my bed was being slept in by an out-of-town guest (and kickass lady), Judy. I miss what was apparently a really exciting and good singing school taught by Richard DeLong and Judy Caudle. Whatever.

Saturday morning: I was supposed to get to the singing at 9, as I was head of the 'welcoming committee' (I AM very welcoming) and had to set up nametags and registration cards and such. Ryan was going to be my second, so we made plans the night before to coordinate our travel so neither would have to endure the long G-train ride alone; we took matters into our own hands and decided to ride bikes. We met at the Graham stop at 8.20 am and took off. I was a little apprehensive because I'm so out of shape and didn't really trust that I could get there unscathed, but Ryan was confident in our combined ability. Let it be said that he has an actual bike that he rides all over-- as opposed to mine, which is thirty years old and weighs about fifty pounds and is constantly falling apart in different ways. Things went just fine until we got to Fort Greene and I got a FLAT TIRE. That's never ever ever ever happened to me, in all my years of riding bikes, ever. Fuck you, Fort Greene! After three minutes of ranting, we took notice of the time, renewed our vigor by thinking of all the singing that awaited us, and started trudging towards Hicks Street. After five minutes, Ryan gently suggested that it might be faster if he carried my dead bike and I rolled his. Sadly, he was right. I am, in the words of Sven Ugendugen, a 'puny weakling.' We made several wrong turns, sweated and cursed a lot, but got to the church only fifteen minutes after our desired time of arrival...dirty and sweaty and discombobulated. It was a very unexpected 'adventure,' to say the least.

The singing was really great. Dinner was lovely, with more than enough food. Ollie Stokes was honored that I made a coconut cake with him in mind, and ate about six pieces. Greg was given a farewell card, at which point I got teary-eyed and had to think about something other than him moving, or now, the fact that as I write this, he's halfway across the country. I don't like that one bit. Afterwards there was a lot of cleanup, then a listening party for Matt's new CD, and a little composium, at which I was starting to get a little post-singing hysterical and was of no use to anyone. Then we spent half an hour tying my dead bike onto the roof of Greg's car so I wouldn't have to take it on the subway, which was amazing. So much chivalry in one day; I should have bike disasters more often. (I can't neglect to mention a previous Herculean effort when another gallant maneuvered the cumbrous Schwinn up the narrow tenement staircase of my building. It proves my point again!)

More jollity followed later-- eating street food/trying to keep up with Matt Hinton's hilarious sense of humor with Justin, Ben, and Ryan; playing stupid games and putting on wigs; lots and lots of geeking out; Sacred Harps dorks drinking. Blah blah blah. Slept at Emma's again, and managed to see her for all of five minutes.

Sunday was the monthly singing at St. Bart's, which, like last year, was populated by a lot of holdovers from the All-Day, which was terrific. Justin and I led "Sweet Affliction," which contains the words "In the floods of tribulation/While the billows o'er me roll..." Lauren maintains that I said "While the 'dillos o'er me roll" and the (cutest ever) image of armadillos curling up and rolling over me while I'm sleeping was born. Things wrapped up, and as Hugh McGraw says, we were all huggin' necks and shakin' hands. Greg left for good. Lauren, Ryan and I went to drink our sorrows away at Jimmy's Corner, and then at her house with Jesse and Judy. Sacred Harp gossip, geeking out, drinking, until midnight. Sometimes I am slightly overwhelmed by how weird and wonderful my life gets when I'm Sacred Harp singing.

But now, the party's over; Greg's in Oregon, Jesse and Lauren are back in Troy, the Boston gang is long-gone.

I guess I had other stuff to talk about, but this is pushing it. I'll stop here, with this admonition from the hallways of St. Bart's.

This is a Formica tabletop.

Oh lord. Well, it's futile to hope that I will be able to put down everything that I've been doing lately-- slacker alertttttt. I'll do my best.

So the night after darts and margaritas, I went out with my friend Matt and some of his friends. This is the Matt that I staged managed for back in November, and he is supposed to be going to South Africa at some point this summer to work on a movie. There've been a lot of holdups and now I'm not sure what's happening, but this was a goodbye-for-the-summer party. I worked until ten, then went to meet him at a schmancy uptown lounge where my drink was more than I want to spend on food for a whole day. But I got to hobnob with funny people and feel vaguely special, and hear hilarious stories to be used as blackmail fodder when Matt gets famous and his current become his detractors out of jealousy or bitterness. From there we took a harrowing cab ride to a trashy bar on St. Marks that is owned and presided over by a terrifying person who Michael Peterson and I refer to as Johnny Cage-- this because we spent a scary long ride on the subway sitting across from him, frightened that he was going to kill us. JOhnny Cage seemed appropriate. And then we come to find out that he owns this bar. Of course. Annnyway, at the bar we met up with a whole bunch of Matt's friends from school that I had never met, so there was a lot of "Hi, what do you do? Oh, and where is that?" talk going on, but it was exhausting bc it was hellishly loud in there and I was just yelling and yelling. BU! YEAH, BOSTON! Right. And then it was home again, home again, jiggity jig, to go to sleep around 3 for the second night in a row.

The next day, Erin and Molly and I went to the Brooklyn Flea market in Clinton Hill (um, my new favorite neighborhood....does someone want to give me a cool million so I can set up shop there? Thanks!) and bought various and sundry junk. I bought something amazing. I post a picture later-- that's all I am at liberty to say right now. It was really cool-- lots of good vendors of different varieties, mostly really good stuff. I'll definitely go back. After this, we hit some stoop sales, walked in a very roundabout way to Fort Greene, and then I went over to Chelsea to see Lauren. We gossipped, further worried about how we're going to get kicked out of a camp (now less than a week away!) and ate tacos. Free chips at Burritoville? Satan. Then we went back to my apartment and wrote notes on the flyers for the NYC Sacred Harp All-Day Singing...the issue is that though I know who a lot of people are, they have no idea who I am. Or, as in some cases, I remember them for a very specific, small reason which they have no doubt forgotten-- for example, one guy will live forever in my mind because he publicly declared a song I led a "train wreck." I'm sure he forgot it right after it happened, but....let's just say there might be a horse head in the envelope holding his flyer.

After lots of flyering, I met up with my family that was up from Florida at Spice Market in the meatpacking district. Ooh la la! (Incidentally, Spice Market is where Molly filmed her episode of Gossip Girl [as an extra]. Hilarious.) I can't even think of the last time that I saw my aunt, my uncle, and my cousins-- so it was really great to see them for a little while. My cousin Leah joined, too...I have no excuse for seeing her as infrequently as I do except that I'm lazy. There's a big family party happening this weekend which I can't go to because I'll be en route to Alabama-- so they'll get to see each other more...but I had to do a lot of catching up over one dinner. Our food was funky and good, and the place was really beautiful. My cousins are so grownuppppp, it's really strange. It was a lovely dinner. Afterwards, Leah and I went down to the East Village for a drink. It's nice to hang out with her. Also, I can't stay away from East 4th street if I try, apparently!

On the way home, I had a little bit of a conniption fit/seemingly mysterious emotional incident. I think I was staying up too late too many nights in a row and drinking too much and that it caught up with me. I am not impervious to these forces. Sometimes I forget that if I don't take care of myself, I won't feel good. I mean, duh. But when I'm doing it, that thought doesn't occur to me. But I got home and forced myself to watch Arrested Development until I crashed, and the next morning I forced myself to call Nitz so I wouldn't lay around moping all day. I went to Fort Greene and we lounged in the heat, Craig appeared out of nowhere and Julie gave me an exploding chocolate bar. Big doings, big doings! Then I went back to the burg, rented Fire Walk With Me, and went to Queens to watch it with Erin.

That movie. Is. INSANE.

GIVE ME ALL MY GARMONBOZIA!

Really, it was insane. It was like every terrifying and gross thing from all the episodes of Twin Peaks put together into two hours of nonsensical, maddening, and sometimes anger-inducing footage. Some of it was wonderful, either in the way that the show was great or in a different way. Some of it was awful. Some of it was ridiculous. For some reason, I had it in my head that some of my questions would be answered. Obviously, I was on crack thinking that David Lynch was going to help me out in any way with this movie. I should have known better! It was a lot of Ray Wise, so that was good-- lord knows I love Leland Palmer a lot. But I missed all of my other favorite characters, and it just frustrated me and made me watch the show. Super weird.

And yesterday, I tried to start cleaning/packing/all that shit that I haven't even thought about. I am starting to get nervous about my trip, going to camp, and the attendant logistics. Which I haven't figured out at all. So instead of actually relieving some stress by taking care of things, I shunted it to the side by getting sushi with Craig, lounging in the Sheep's Meadow in Central Park, and then going up up up to 107th street to the million dollar apartment of two New Year's Eve's ago for a birthday party for Therese. It was AMAZING and so many people from school, from a bunch of different years, were there. I haven't seen such a big group of school people since graduation. It was terrific.

And finally....this week, you can see me as an extra in The All-For-Nots! Watch episode 15A and keep your eyes peeled for the disaffected, vaguely lesbian hipster dressed like a sailor...it'll be me. And while we're on the subject of the AFN-- they're playing on Jimmy Kimmel tonight. Amazing! Check it out. (The bad news being that you'll have to endure Mike Meyers before they play, so...be ready.)

I think that's it.

Maybe I Just Don't See The Reason.

But...


Well, I'm certifiably intoxicated. Let's see how many (if any) typographical errors I make. Tonight, I "worked" by seeing a show, then went out for Mexican and margaritas with Emma and Matt afterwards. Delicious and way, way too much. There was a brief downpour; service was bad; Kurt Vonnegut says that semicolons are "transvestite hermaphrodites that do nothing except prove you've been to college." Sue me, Kurt. I've been to college.


Craig met up with us and we eventually extricated ourselves from the morass that is Mary Ann's on Second Avenue. We then took a detour into Alphabet City, Emma got her ass groped, and we wound up back on Second Avenue at a nondescript "Irish" bar, playing darts. I am a very, very bad darts player. I had several beers, and now my fingertips are refusing to cooperate.


In the words of the Raconteurs-- should we call it a day? Yeah? Would that be okay?