Yoga and Gerbil Costumes

September 21, 2007

Like most New Yorkers, I do a fair amount of walking. I also ride my bicycle here to there from time to time, but it took sitting still for half an hour for me to realize how out of shape I am. Inflexible, in any case. Here’s what happened:

After several rounds of phone tag, Virgo and I managed to align our schedules and meet for dinner. It all started several weeks ago when I called Virgo shortly before her trip to Costa Rica. It was a last-minute trip, apparently. She found out a girlfriend of hers was going, and going alone, and Virgo decided to tag along. "I'll call you when I get back," she said. But when she got back, I was in Florida on a last-minute trip of my own. "I'll call you when I get back," I said.

We finally spoke early last week. Considering how long it had been, neither of us said much, just "I'll tell you about it when I see you," but Virgo did mention a few places she'd wanted to try out for dinner.

"Anywhere you want," I said. "It all sounds good to me."

Yesterday afternoon, in a flurry of text messages designed to nail down the precise details, I asked Virgo where she was working, what time she got out, and where the restaurants were so we could decide which one made the most sense.

"What restaurants?" she said.

"The ones you said you wanted to try."

"When?"

"Last week."

"I don't remember."

I figured we'd probably meet on a street corner, stand around for twenty minutes saying, "I dunno, where do you wanna go?" and then settle on one of our usual places. But despite not remembering mentioning anywhere previously, Virgo came through with a couple of other ideas.

"Someone at work recommended two places," she said. "A kitschy trailer park Americana restaurant on 42nd Street or an Afghan place on 27th.

"I vote for the Afghan place," I said. "I don't know anything about Afghan food, but I sure as hell don't feel like going to Times Square."

The restaurant was busy but not totally jammed, and the hostess offered us a nice booth at the front window. It was a low table with futons and pillows to sit on. "Please, take your shoes off," the hostess said, trying to sound polite, as I began to sit.

"Oops. Sure, of course."

Virgo was embarrassed about her sock situation, as people often are, but I lucked out with a brand new pair pulled fresh that morning from a package I'd bought in Florida. My trip to Florida had been so last-minute that I didn't have any clean clothes to pack, and I wound up supplementing my wardrobe at Target. I was wearing the last new pair.

"Holy shit, I'm stiff," I said as I tried to nestle cross-legged in my seat. I rearranged myself several times, putting my legs to the side, straight out in front of me, cross-legged again. None of them prevented my hips from burning.

"You need to do Yoga," Virgo said.

"I'm doing it right now," I said through a grimace. "All I need to do is eat at this table three times a week and I'll be golden."

I said that before the food came, but even after finishing the disappointingly bland meal, I still imagined eating at the restaurant three times a week was a more realistic alternative than a Yoga class.

Sitting so low at a window facing the street made us feel like we were sitting on the curb, exposed and surrounded by the people who passed. Some were on their way home from work, some were walking dogs, quite a few were all dolled up for a night on the town, teetering on high heels, tugging at the hems of their short skirts, and punching numbers into their phones. An Asian guy from the restaurant next door — a host, or a doorman of some kind— stood on the street directly in front of us, alternately checking out the women and looking through our window, sizing up his restaurant's competition.

We finished our entrees and declined dessert. "I don't necessarily want to go home yet," I said, "but I can't sit here any longer. My hips are killing me."

"You need acupuncture," said Virgo.

"I need to do a lot of things."

We wandered into a bar for a nightcap and sat in a booth, scribbling designs for a gerbil costume on a cocktail napkin.

Virgo wants to be a gerbil for Halloween, surrounded by a giant exercise wheel. I tried to convince her how impractical that was and how difficult it would be to get around. "You won't be able to go up or down any stairs."

I drew a human gerbil head and then drew a wheel hat/helmet type contraption that was smaller and could rest on her shoulders. "With a gerbil face, people will totally get it."

"That's an idea," she said. "It might look funny with a full furry costume, though."

"You don’t have to wear a total fur costume. It'd be too hot, anyway. Just have a gerbil face with the gerbil wheel around it, and then wear a business suit and carry a briefcase."

"Hmm. Maybe. But I really want to try to figure out the full-sized wheel idea. I really want to dress like a gerbil, climb inside a giant wheel and and roll down the street in Sunset Park."

"Don't we all?"