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Thursday, February 20, 2003
Back in New York, where the snow drifts are higher than the cars, than me. It's 43 degrees, which means you need an umbrella to avoid the snow melting off of every building. Under the scaffolding, it actually looks like it's pouring down rain
I picked up my bike from Emey's, who insisted on giving me two more vintage jerseys while I was there. I raced to the subway, in hopes of getting home soon enough to take my bike around Prospect Park, but I missed all of the daylight. Tomorrow promises to be 45 degrees, so my new bike- I can't tel yet if it's a him or a her- and I have a hot date with the Park. My bike belongs to the race of dark Elves.
I was up until 3 AM last night, still on California time, and had to get up by 9 for work. I'm hoping to get some sleep tonight, but I'm going to see an friend from my EMT class (http://slate.msn.com/id/2062978/entry/2063154/) that I haven't seen in months. I think it is necessary and good to keep company other than servers and actors.
You know what I really wish, though? That citibank and the others would quit sending me letters about transferring my balance to one of their cards. I mean, really. All they are doing is making me mad and killing trees.
I picked up my bike from Emey's, who insisted on giving me two more vintage jerseys while I was there. I raced to the subway, in hopes of getting home soon enough to take my bike around Prospect Park, but I missed all of the daylight. Tomorrow promises to be 45 degrees, so my new bike- I can't tel yet if it's a him or a her- and I have a hot date with the Park. My bike belongs to the race of dark Elves.
I was up until 3 AM last night, still on California time, and had to get up by 9 for work. I'm hoping to get some sleep tonight, but I'm going to see an friend from my EMT class (http://slate.msn.com/id/2062978/entry/2063154/) that I haven't seen in months. I think it is necessary and good to keep company other than servers and actors.
You know what I really wish, though? That citibank and the others would quit sending me letters about transferring my balance to one of their cards. I mean, really. All they are doing is making me mad and killing trees.
Tuesday, February 18, 2003
It's my last day in California. I'm sad because my dad is sick, and because I have to return to freezing weather. Today was stunning. Sunny, warm, filled with Spring. I don't feel entirely ready to get home, although I am dying to get back to lay eyes on my new bike.
My new bike. The three best words of the new year. My friend Christopher, who is an avid road biker, took me shopping. We started at a store on 33rd, where there were two huge and beautiful mutt dogs lying between the jerseys and the frames. I learned rather quickly that Christopher is terrifed of dogs. I need to ask him why. We were helped by a really great guy named Patrick, who steered us toward the perfect bike- sort of an entry-level steel road bike with good components. But... with tax and shoes it would have cost $1500, and I struggled with going over my $1200 to $1300 ceiling.
Next we went to Emey's Bike shop on 17th, just a block or two off of Union Square. Emey's is, I think, entirely used, and Christopher had bought bikes there before. We walked in the door and were hailed by a big guy with chain grease on his shirt, who I immediately liked. He asked what we wanted, and Christopher said that we were shopping for me. Emey looked at me and said, "What do you want to spend?" and I said, "Under $1500". He giggled and said, "It's you lucky day. I wanted $1500, but that's too close to your ceiling. How about $1300?" He lifted a sleek black bike from one of his racks and Christopher immediately said, "Buy this bike". It was a black Casati, a seven-year-old handmade Italian bike. He pointed out several features that were remarkable, although not to my untrained eye, and miraculously, the bike fit me perfectly. Emey (or at least, I think it was Emey) then brought out a brand-new pair of road shoes, that came with the bike, and he said, "There are worth about $250 but if they fit you, I'll throw them in. They fit. I was still not entirely sure, trying not to make an impulsive decision when Christopher said, "Roll up your pants and take it around the block." It was freezing, and I was wearing a long wool coat, but I did it anyway. I carried it outside, climbed on, and started to fly. I'd never felt anything like it. I could feel the road but feel my wings all at the same time. It stopped on a dime, sailed around corners, and when I got back to the shop, I told Emey that I would go take every penny out of my bank account if only he would hold it for me.
When I got back to the store, after a chilly trip to the bank, Emey took what little money I had and then said, "Do you have a second? I have a present for you and your friend!" He went to the back of his shop and rummaged around in stacks of what looked like pressed shirts. He came over to me, bearing vintage Italian handmade jerseys, still in their plastic wrappings. "Pick one for you and your friend!" he said. He then told me that he would keep the bike, clean it up, take off the clip pedals and put on regular ones with foot baskets. He warned me that I needed to get used to a bike like this before I started riding with clips.
Needless to say, I love this man and his shop, and I cannot wait until my first flight with my new bike.
But now, it's my last night in California, and I have to deal with idea of returning to frigid climes, to work, to stress, to the life I have yet to realize. I'm going to go see if my dad and I can pop a bottle of Brunello and chat about "lyfe in genrul".
My new bike. The three best words of the new year. My friend Christopher, who is an avid road biker, took me shopping. We started at a store on 33rd, where there were two huge and beautiful mutt dogs lying between the jerseys and the frames. I learned rather quickly that Christopher is terrifed of dogs. I need to ask him why. We were helped by a really great guy named Patrick, who steered us toward the perfect bike- sort of an entry-level steel road bike with good components. But... with tax and shoes it would have cost $1500, and I struggled with going over my $1200 to $1300 ceiling.
Next we went to Emey's Bike shop on 17th, just a block or two off of Union Square. Emey's is, I think, entirely used, and Christopher had bought bikes there before. We walked in the door and were hailed by a big guy with chain grease on his shirt, who I immediately liked. He asked what we wanted, and Christopher said that we were shopping for me. Emey looked at me and said, "What do you want to spend?" and I said, "Under $1500". He giggled and said, "It's you lucky day. I wanted $1500, but that's too close to your ceiling. How about $1300?" He lifted a sleek black bike from one of his racks and Christopher immediately said, "Buy this bike". It was a black Casati, a seven-year-old handmade Italian bike. He pointed out several features that were remarkable, although not to my untrained eye, and miraculously, the bike fit me perfectly. Emey (or at least, I think it was Emey) then brought out a brand-new pair of road shoes, that came with the bike, and he said, "There are worth about $250 but if they fit you, I'll throw them in. They fit. I was still not entirely sure, trying not to make an impulsive decision when Christopher said, "Roll up your pants and take it around the block." It was freezing, and I was wearing a long wool coat, but I did it anyway. I carried it outside, climbed on, and started to fly. I'd never felt anything like it. I could feel the road but feel my wings all at the same time. It stopped on a dime, sailed around corners, and when I got back to the shop, I told Emey that I would go take every penny out of my bank account if only he would hold it for me.
When I got back to the store, after a chilly trip to the bank, Emey took what little money I had and then said, "Do you have a second? I have a present for you and your friend!" He went to the back of his shop and rummaged around in stacks of what looked like pressed shirts. He came over to me, bearing vintage Italian handmade jerseys, still in their plastic wrappings. "Pick one for you and your friend!" he said. He then told me that he would keep the bike, clean it up, take off the clip pedals and put on regular ones with foot baskets. He warned me that I needed to get used to a bike like this before I started riding with clips.
Needless to say, I love this man and his shop, and I cannot wait until my first flight with my new bike.
But now, it's my last night in California, and I have to deal with idea of returning to frigid climes, to work, to stress, to the life I have yet to realize. I'm going to go see if my dad and I can pop a bottle of Brunello and chat about "lyfe in genrul".
Sunday, February 16, 2003
Today started with a drive from Napa, down to Caneros, through Sonoma Valley to the Golden Gate Bridge into San Francisco. It rained on the way, but the city was warm and sunny. Sailboats on the Marina, folks out in flocks on the streets. Of course, today was the anti-war rally, and I was so filled with longing that I couldn’t even bear to see the gathered crowds. Instead, my stepmom and I did some shopping, picked up my step brother and headed to my dad’s concert at the Bohemian Club.
The club itself, at least, their San Francisco building, is elegant beyond description. I’m too looped on the German Riesling to describe the building or the club but I’ll do it as soon as sobriety permits. Suffice to say that I got to witness some great music sandwiched between a half brother and a step brother, neither of whom need such qualifications. Followed by an amazing dinner and lovely words with said brothers. Now, off to bed for another twelve hours sleep. Things could be worse.
The club itself, at least, their San Francisco building, is elegant beyond description. I’m too looped on the German Riesling to describe the building or the club but I’ll do it as soon as sobriety permits. Suffice to say that I got to witness some great music sandwiched between a half brother and a step brother, neither of whom need such qualifications. Followed by an amazing dinner and lovely words with said brothers. Now, off to bed for another twelve hours sleep. Things could be worse.