Wintry Mix

Yeah, one of those nights. It's been one of those weeks, and one of those months, and they've been adding up. A lot of longer, harder, drearier than I'd like days and weeks, cut by small, good moments (a lot thanks to ED). I got out of work early, for once, at my own discretion. Walked up town in the rain, the sleet, the snow, yeah, the wintry mix, to the record store, for some retail therapy. Bought a few things I need (Magnetic Fields, Dylan, Kinks), and a few things more, that I don't need (INXS).

Took the Q train home, it was crowded.

Thought ER would be by at the apartment, slowly reclaiming his things, leaving me in desolation, so when I got back to Brooklyn, I wandered out again into the wintry mix. Wandered up Vanderbilt, which is always a little more desolate than you'd expect, on which minivans drive a little faster than you'd think. Headed over to Soda Bar, for a burger and a couple of beers. I sat near the window, so I could watch the snow fall down. It looked cold and beautiful.

Brooklyn is a funny place. To my right were a couple of new-to-Brooklyn and not-with-it gay men. Unattractive for straight men, but fine enough for gay men, I suppose. They said things like, "I live near Bushwick. There's a lot of hipsters!" and "Where is DUMBO?" and "You really should go to Prospect Park, it's pretty big." They were new. New to town. On my right were two guys in their shirtsleeves. Truth be told, I was in my shirtsleeves, too. But they had their Blackberries out and were talking about 54th and Lex., and seemed to be concerned that somebody had posted losses of $9.8 BILLION the other day. They asked where Jeremy was, and speculated that he was at dinner, on Flatbush, with her. Jeremy showed up, and she turned out to be like magic, ensconced in quiet and a hood and Japanese. Jeremy said a lot and she didn't say much and you could tell who had a lot to say.

A girl at the bar wore a sweater-dress, tight and white, and she was a little heavy set and a it looked off. A couple at the bar sucked face all night, which was a little out of place, because we're Brooklyn, yo, hipsters and yuppies, and we keep our shit in check. There was another woman at the bar, the sort of woman who I don't physically match up well with, but whom I love. Like a mouse-brown haired Neko Case, tall, a little tawdry, but smart in the mouth and hips -- that sort of girl. Pale white skin above the belt, below the sweater, on a cold, cold night. Not my type, and not my style, but the sort of woman who has the sort of dad that I'd love to meet.

I asked the waiter for a pen, to take down some notes, for my 2007/2008 notes, to friends far flung and near. (It's coming, give me a day or two to doctor some photos). The bartender had a good shirt on, and played good music. Matthew Dear, and then the White Rabbits. The most under-appreciated band of 2007, unless this Angels of Light record is as good as JW/JP/ER say it is. I'll soon find out. And then I came home and put on Sigur Ros, which I've been happy to re-discover. Yeah, have a listen...