Higher Highs, Lower Lows

Oh what a friend can do for the soul.  It’s no secret I have a wonderful set of friends; the problem is most of them are three thousand miles away.  And while Skype and other social mediums have made moving away from them infinitely more bearable, it just doesn’t replace the simple warmth of an embrace or the smile two people can exchange not with their mouths, but in the depth of their eyes.

In the last two months, I forgot what that connection was like.  I’ve walked around this crowded city never alone, yet still lonely.  I know people here, I like people here, but I’m missing those who know what I’m thinking.  Those who know what tricks I have up my sleeve before I even think to use them.  Those people who I don’t mind when they laugh with me or at me, as long as I get to see them smile.

Don’t get me wrong, things are good here, but as I was talking to Shauna (someone I see far too little of) we discussed the City’s ability to play with emotions.  The best way to describe it is… the highs are higher, but the lows are even lower.  When something good happens to you, you feel like you have 8 million of your closest friends to share it with.  But when you’re just the slightest bit down, the city kicks you in the face.

Think about it; if you have a down turn in a relationship, you don’t necessarily want to be around happy couples.  If you just lost your job, you don’t want to celebrate someone else’s promotion.  This doesn’t mean you’re mad at the fortunate ones, it just means you want some time to wallow –alone.  Not gonna happen in New York my friend; remember I said, “lonely, but not alone”… never alone.  Subways are filled with loving couples stealing kisses.  Restaurants have their seats reserved with people celebrating success.  And bars are overflowing with friends laughing the day’s events away.  Everywhere you look will send you into a deeper pit than you ever intended on descending.

Thankfully, yesterday marked the start of The Great Friend Migration of 2010.  Over the next few days, Kev and I have 8 friends coming into town to see us and celebrate Halloween in the city.  First to arrive was Geoff and Breezer, who are actually going to be houseguests for two of the nights they are in town.  Last night I was so anxious to see them, I walked to the subway stop to greet them.  When I found them, I got my embrace, and I got my deep smile.  It wasn’t until that moment that I realized I had been missing a close connection.  How can a friend make you feel better than you are?  I’m not quite sure, but I think it happened just when I needed it to.  We spent the night catching up, eating greasy Chinese delivery, and sightseeing.  But, most importantly laughing.  Sometimes laughing when nothing was said because our bonds exceeded the confinements of language.

I spent last night sharing my joy with 8 million of my closest friends.  Friendship is a powerful bond.  I can only hope I return the joy others give to me.

Dumb Ass... Use The Rail

Last night I washed a load of whites.  Not really a big deal, but since my whites were cleaned yesterday, today I was allowed to put on my white thermal top to wear to Starbucks.  It didn’t look like it was too cold out so all I would need was the white thermal top, paired with my light gray jeans, and of course white shoes to tie it all together.   Gathering my laptop, audition folder, and side bag I left the house with a certain enthusiasm; a spring in my step if you will. Well that spring, sprung right out seconds later when I found myself flat on my ass in the middle of the sidewalk. 

You see Chazo (pronounced Chah-zo), one of Mickey’s henchmen, is in charge of keeping my building up to standards.  Up to standards includes mopping all the hallways, stairways, sidewalk, and stoop.  Now when I opened the door of my apartment, the strong smell of bleach alerted me to Chazo’s presence.  Knowing Chazo had recently been through with the mop meant caution was in order.  I even grabbed the rail as I descended down the flight of stairs to get to the first floor.  Safe on the first floor, I continued to spring through the bleach soaked hallway towards the doors that lead outside.  I made it through both doors almost arrogantly with a confidence that exudes… “I know how to walk.”  But it was the stoop that got me.

I decided to conquer the recently sprayed and mopped stoop with no help from the rail at all; rails are for old people.  My god it’s only a stoop.  Just four little steps that have decades of paint on them.  Decades of regular (I would say high gloss) paint, no “non-skid” paint here, just good ole high gloss paint that has created a wonderfully smooth surface---for a stoop.

My right foot led the way.  I went from threshold to sidewalk in record time.  Luckily time slows for the individual who is going through embarrassment.  In this nanosecond I felt my right foot touch the top stair then ever so gracefully rise into the air to reach my left foot (which was already in the air because it had confidence in the right foots ability to stay on the ground).  I remember thinking, “Shit, this isn’t good.”  Next, my ass decided to land on the top stair.  I believe its thought process was… hell if the feet aren’t gonna be grounded, I guess I should.  So good at being grounded was my ass that it decided to be the one part of my body that hit every single stair on the way down.  My arms flailed, my legs kicked, but my rump held steady.

Now laid out on the sidewalk, in a puddle of water, that contained all the dirt from the now clean stoop-- I had time to evaluate.  Not paralyzed, nothing broken (except my pride), I started to look around to see who witnessed this spectacle.  Immediately a car drove by and the driver saw the look of horror on my face.  Then I made eye contact with an old lady about 20 feet away.  The look on her face was slightly confusing.  On one hand, I felt she was looking at me and thinking, “dumb-ass…should have used the rail.”  But then her look also could have meant, “Been there… hope his hip is alright.”  I guess I should just be happy she didn’t offer me her cane.

I got up and realized my very white outfit was now very dirty.  I could have gone up stairs and changed but I wasn’t about to risk going up the stoop.  I wore my dirty white outfit for the rest of the day and took pride in my tumble down the stoop.

Dumb ass…use the rail.

Good Bye Belly Lint... Hello Chilled Towels

God knows I love to exercise at the gym, but in the past few years, I have to say it's been getting less and less appealing.  The gym I had in California was a well known gym with many locations.  When I first started, it was rather nice, but then they started to build a few super premium gyms and in the process, they let their others go to shit.

I mean really... why was it hard to find a working treadmill that didn't have gum in the cup holder.  When your water bottle and towel have to compete for space with gum, hair, and probably belly button lint as well, you get a little grossed out.  Sure you can blame the guests and call them pigs, but I kind of look at it like this... when I go into a gas station bathroom and there is shit on the toilet seat, I don't worry about cleaning up the piss I left behind.  However, if it was clean in the first place, I would have done my job to keep it clean by wiping up my urine spillage.  Or at the very least, if I pissed on the seat, I would have strategically, with my foot, lifted the seat into the upright position as to appear to not be the one who actually pissed on the seat to those patrons using the bathroom after me.  

Oh and don't even think about using the locker room restrooms to take a dump; it is far too dirty to drop a bomb in there.  I couldn't possibly subject my poop to that sort of torture.  And then there’s the showers; when you take a shower only to feel dirtier than you were right after the workout (but now with a slight tickle of athletes foot and jock itch), you know something is wrong. 

Though these were my general workout conditions, I knew I was moving to New York so I stuck it out with them rather than deal with a new membership.  When I got to New York, I knew I wanted to go with a higher end gym that I had tried out before, but logic made me try out a more economical gym that was closer to the apartment.  This economical gym was exactly what I expected; slightly trashy, over crowded, and lacking any ambiance or style.  But, I was there to workout, not hangout so none if that mattered.  Yep... none of that mattered until I went back to the high-end gym for another free trial.

My god what a difference money makes. Clean showers, in which one (being me) can walk around sandal-less with no chance of catching the foot or the jock itch.  So clean, so stylish, plus designer products from Kiehl's to use at leisure, as well as complimentary (if complimentary means only paying the extra hundred bucks in monthly dues) mouth wash, hairspray, hair gel, deodorant razors, cotton swabs and more.  One could feasibly save on rent and forgo the apartment bathroom and just use the gym's amenities.

Past the locker room, the equipment is all state of the art, or at least that’s what I’m told.  All I know is they all work very smoothly and are gum/ belly button lint free.  I'm almost appalled at myself for having the audacity to sweat in facility such as this.  It really is dreadful, but at least they have staff to wipe up after me if I miss a spot.

The studio rooms are all immaculate, which means I won't be blowing some chicks hair wad away from my hands as I'm in Downward Dog.  Each mat is cleaned and sanitized so I don't have to worry about getting ringworm, or having to schlepp around my mat throughout the city.  In addition, there are designated studios for various classes, which means I no longer have to splash in sweat puddles left behind from the 9 o'clock spin class during my 10 o'clock yoga class.

Now if all this wasn't enough to turn me, let me tell you what did turn me... Cold Eucalyptus Towels.  At the end of every workout, I drag my sweaty ass over to the towel fridge---yep, a fridge dedicated to the storage of towels, soaked in water touched with the essence of eucalyptus, and chilled to 39 degrees fahrenheit.  Heaven!   As stupid and self-indulgent as this may sound, it was the reason that sent me over the edge.  Sign me up baby; I want the chilled towels.  Plus they supply all of your towels for everything else like bathing, swimming, and sweating, which makes a difference when you are carrying these extra items throughout the city in a backpack.  Especially after a workout when they are all wet and ripe.

No I didn't get a job as a membership salesman as you might be thinking, but I did sign up for a membership and I plan on getting my money's worth.  Hell, I might even stop in when I’m not working out—did I mention the Cold Eucalyptus Towels???