Living in The Material World
September 19, 2006
My friends are like planets. Some shine brightly, circle closely, and I see them all the time. Others, while in a deeper orbit, are so dramatic that when they do come around, they're impossible to ignore. Still others are more like Pluto: in such a deep and misshapen orbit that it's pure sentimentalism to call them friends at all.
When Pluto was demoted from its planetary status recently, it was also given a new name: asteroid number 134340 , but I doubt anyone will call it that. It's still a planet for old time's sake.
In any case, my friends are drifting both further and farther away. It's partly my own fault. I haven't been spinning the way I used to, so my gravitational pull is weak. Then again, no one else is spinning fast enough to pull me into their orbit, either. Regardless of the hows or whys, lately my night sky has been dim.
But suddenly, on Sunday, Jupiter aligned with Mars. After spending an hour on the phone with Robie, an old friend from college whom I haven't seen in years, I then made coffee plans with TRUE, whom I haven't seen in months. "There's a used bookstore on 80th and Broadway," she said. "Wanna meet there? I'm looking for a few books."
"Sure," I said, "But it'll have to be later on. My friend Sarah wants to shoot some footage for her documentary from my roof, and I need to stick around the house until then."
"No problem," said TRUE. "I have some errands to do this morning, anyway."
While waiting for Sarah and her cameraman, Brian called.
"Brian?!"
Brian's orbit is elliptical; there's no doubt about it. I'll see him constantly for months, until he flings to the outer reaches of who knows where, and disappears for at least as long. I hadn't seen or heard from him all summer.
"Where are you?" I asked.
"Brooklyn."
" Brooklyn? Why didn't you tell me you were coming to town?"
"I'm telling you now."
"What are you up to? Wanna meet up? What's your schedule?"
"No schedule, really. Just hanging out. I've already seen everyone I need to see."
"I'm last on the list, eh?"
"Sorry, dude."
"Whatever. I have plans to meet my friend TRUE this afternoon, but how about this evening? Dinner. maybe?"
"Sounds good."
I edged through Sunday traffic, past what looked like another parade, or maybe a street fair, and met TRUE at the bookstore.
"Wow," I said, staring at the rickety shelves of dusty books. "This place kinda reminds me of the Shakespeare & Company in Paris. Ever been there?"
I cringed at how pretentious I sounded, but was relieved when TRUE agreed.
"Yeah, I have, actually. I love that place," she said, "This store definitely has that same vibe."
"I get lost in places like this and don't know where to start. I can't look at the books because I'm too busy looking at the books."
Can't see the trees for the forest.
As a result, I wandered in an aimless daze while TRUE searched the Philosophy section, trying to find books to replace those given to an ex-girlfriend. She found a few, though not in the condition of the ones they were replacing.
"Replacing something you used to have is always a tricky proposition," I said.
I stood crammed in the narrow aisle near the entrance as TRUE paid for the books.
"Look at this bag they gave me," she said, holding up a babyshit-brown plastic garbage bag. "It looks like, "Here are your books. And would you mind taking out the trash on your way out?"
Because of my plans to meet Brian, I had to cut short my visit with TRUE. I apologized and explained. "I haven't seen Brian in a long time, and he's going to India and Nepal for a few months this fall. I'm not sure if I'll get a chance to see him again before he does."
"No problem, I understand. How are you doing, though? Is everything okay? I've been worried about you."
"Worried?"
"Yeah, I don't know. The way you've been writing, maybe. I've been worried."
"Bah. Don't be. I've been in a bit of a funk lately, I guess, but everything's fine. How about you? Everything good?"
"Yeah, everything is really good," she said, almost embarrassed to admit it. "I have to fight the urge to find something wrong. When things are going well, it's my nature to be apprehensive. But, like my grandmother used to say, 'Don't throw apples at the apple cart."
I don't understand what that means, but throwing apples at an apple cart sounds fun. Maybe that's my problem.
September 24, 2006
I sat in the same subway car as a woman who sang the first verse of The Sound of Music's Do-Re-Me song over and over for the entire twenty-minute ride to work. I leaned forward to see what she looked like, but there were too many people in the way. The girl sitting to my left, who smelled like smoke and hairspray, leaned forward and strained to look, too, intent on giving the singer the evil eye. But realizing her efforts had no effect, she moved to another car at the next stop. Everyone around me shared smiles, smirks, and rolled eyes as the singing continued, except for the guy seated to my right, who was either hard of hearing or too engrossed in his Paul Auster book to care. I was surprised. He stank so much of boozy sweat that I assumed he was hungover, and the slightly out-of-tune, repetitive, top-of-the-lung singing was precisely the sort of thing a person might do to intentionally annoy someone recovering from a bender.
As we got closer to my stop, the car became more crowded, and the bodies around me muffled the singing, but I could still hear it. "Do a deer, a female deer. Re, a drop of golden sun—"
Needless to say, that song was in my head for the rest of the day.
And part of the next.
As I was riding my motorcycle from the Upper West Side, where I met TRUE, to the Lower East Side to meet Brian. I got stuck in traffic.
Even though the chute where the cement falls out was pointed to the side, when I pulled behind a monster cement truck stopped at a light, I still imagined getting buried in a landslide of cement. The way the traffic pinned me in at every turn made me feel like I already was. As it was, my zig-zag from the Upper West Side to the Lower East Side took me about a half hour longer than I predicted.
"Weekend traffic," Brian said, after I apologized for being late.
"Even on the motorcycle, the traffic gets so congested, there's no way around it. I kept trying to second-guess the patterns, pull off to a quieter street, keep moving, but there was traffic everywhere ."
"No worries, dude. I didn't know how long you'd be, and I didn't have anywhere else to go, so I came to the restaurant early and had a cup of tea. Just relaxing, people watching."
The waitress brought me a menu, took my drink order, and walked away. Brian raised his eyes and smiled. "She's a cutie," he said.
I nodded.
"So man, tell me. Any big news?"
"Big news? nah."
"No marriage plans?"
"Marriage plans?"
Brian has been living in a Connecticut valley with spotty cell phone service. (At least that's his excuse for why he never calls me back.) The last message I left was about needing advice. He assumed it concerned marriage.
"No. I wanted to ask your advice about anti-depressants."
"They saved my life," he said.
"Are you still taking them?"
"No. Not anymore. But they seriously saved my life. It was like someone turned on a light, and I said to myself, 'Ah, I see. So this is how people feel. This is how they function."
"Yeah, I know. I've been getting all sorts of advice, pro and con, but something happened since I left you that message. My sister is going through some shit, and decided to give antidepressants a try. They put her on one — I can't remember which, some new flavor — and she got a huge rash. One of those one-in-a-thousand allergic reactions. They took her off that one and tried another. The second one gave her uncontrollable muscle spasms. Another one-in-a-thousand reaction. She had a four-hour seizure and had to go to the emergency room. Her eyes were twitching, arms and legs flailing. Apparently, even though they took her off the pills, there's a chance that the seizures won't ever go away. I spoke to her the other day and she said, 'The thing is, they worked.' Mentally, she felt the best she's felt in a long time. But, y'know, I mean, is it worth it? She said the seizures have been less severe, fewer and further between, but still—"
Brian asked how things were going with Deborah. I said things were great, and then he told me about an old friend of ours who is getting divorced.
"Wow," I said. "That's rough."
We discussed both the positive and negative aspects of relationships: the contentment and the compromise.
"There's something to be said for your adage about doing 'what you want, when you want,'" I said.
"You can't put a price on it," he said. "But you know what? If I don't find someone that I'm really into within the next year or so, I'm seriously considering the monastery thing. Just drop out of this material world."
"I hear you," I said. "Where would you go? Somewhere like India?"
"Yeah, I don't know, maybe. Or maybe upstate."
"Seems to me that dropping out of the material world would be a lot easier if New York weren't just a bus ride away."
"Good point."
