Hurricane Irene has yet to arrive, it is getting breezy outside my apartment’s window, but most people seem to have gotten the memo – streets are quiet and roads are empty. My core group of dearest friends and I are predominantly safe (for now).
Even though we all share a degree of cynicism about Irene taking on Gotham City and the tristate area, no one seems too inclined to do anything too ridiculous. This excludes my cabin fever suffering Friend From Jersey, Martini Max, who has already made an impulse purchase, specifically this poster of Theda Bara circa 1915.
He intends to hang it over his TV. Did I mention that Max is divorced?
Milton is nestled in his Upper East Side apartment with plenty of staples and some massive dessert he waxed about poetically. While waiting for Irene we discussed our New York Film Festival ticket buying strategy for an hour. We’re very dull that way.
My sidekick, Greg, is housebound in Brooklyn. From his texts I’m under the impression that he’s feeling a tad grumpy.
Lola, who also resides in Brooklyn, was evacuated, but she’s made the best of a bad situation. She’s with her boyfriend in Manhattan, taking it easy. When I last spoke to her she said he was cooking. What a guy.
Albee has extended his visit to California until Tuesday.
Ling texted me that she is about three hours away from the city. On Friday Coco asked me:
Coco: Where’s Ling?
Me: At a wedding in Toronto.
Coco: Oh! Who got married?
Me: Lowell’s [editorial comment: Ling’s guy] parents next-door neighbors’ brother’s son.
In response to that response Coco’s eyes glazed over. Hopefully, Ling will make it back before the heavy rain starts to fall and the wind picks up.
A Guy About My Age (GAMA or JERK) with the physique of a noodle tossed an out of body fit at the burly-direct-descendant-of-Thor-bouncer standing guard outside Fairway’s closed doors.
GAMA or JERK: Why close the store? This is ridiculous! The subways are running until noon!
Note: It’s after 11 am.
Burly Bouncer: You should have gotten here earlier. The store’s closed.
GAMA or JERK sneers at the Bouncer, a sneer about as threatening as a Chihuahua’s sneeze. The Bouncer returns the gaze that I translated as:
Bouncer’s Gaze: Sucks to be you fool.
I took these other pictures in my neighborhood.
My sister, Dovima, has texted me that our 84-year-old father out on the West Coast would rather talk to me on Sunday, during the heart of Irene possibly pummeling Manhattan into oblivion and knocking out my cell phone service. He is busy watching sports on TV tonight. I texted her back to tell him to call me next week.
I was supposed to usher an off-Broadway play today, but all theaters on and off-Broadway are dark.
Coco lives in the meatpacking district in lower Manhattan, near, but not in an evacuation zone. The intrepid type, in lieu of a flashlight, she has glow sticks.
Donning her Lame Adventures journey(wo)man photographer hat Coco has also emailed me these pictures from downtown.