A Sampling of Weeknights in NYC

Now it's true, most of my weeknights consist of going back to my dumpy apartment, "cooking" a really terrible dinner, pretending to apply for jobs and working out to my Isreali DVD, led by a very svelt man named Gilad. But every once in awhile I have to mix it up and do something relatively exciting. Luckily my friend GF is there to coerce me into this. On this particular night he wanted to get drinks on a fairly new hotel's rooftop bar. Because my apartment was roughly 110 degrees and I was wearing a decent outfit I agreed. I headed over to Flatiron, to place called 230 Fifth and met GF...aaand his boss. Apparently GF had given him a courtesy invite, which to his dismay was accepted. The guy wasn't bad, aside from his tacky suit. He was good-looking and had some decent stories. But he would not hesitate to talk about the old days, 20 years ago--his times partying in Miami, the models he had dated, etc. But GF and I played along, partly because the stories were interesting and partly because he paid for all our drinks. It was a good time, boozing on a rooftop with a view of the Empire State Building directly behind us.

After a couple hours Boss dipped out and GF and I decided to continue our night in Meatpacking. I hadn't been able to get in to any of the rooftop bars there yet and since it was a Wednesday we decided to head to the Gansevoort Hotel's rooftop. We were let right in and this time enjoyed a drink with views of the river. We tired quickly though, as it was roughly 95 degrees. I decided it would be a wise decision to stay on GF's couch in the AC, since my apartment had none and I would probably die from a heatstroke in the night if I went back there. We cabbed it back to the Lower East Side, fed our faces with some McDonald's, watched some Chelsea Lately and passed out.

In the morning I woke up and showered. I figured I was fine in my sweaty outfit from the previous day because I was going to a different job and the day's temperature was supposed to be even hotter than the day before. When I walked out of the bathroom, with a towel around my head I ran into GF's roommate, who didn't recognize me and obviously thought I was the victim of a one-night stand. This was clarified awhile later on the subway-his roommate and I were headed in the same direction. I really wonder what the people on the subway around us were thinking when they heard us talking.

I went to work and spent the day insanely tired. My day was not over at 5 though like it normally would have been. I had plans with a coworker to go to an art show at a random warehouse space in downtown Brooklyn later that night. I walked the 10 blocks to the subway I needed to take but about halfway through I decided that this was one of the sweatiest experiences I had ever had, due to the ungodly temp. I then remembered the Victoria's Secret coupon I had in my wallet for a free pair of underwear. How convenient. I went in, chose a pair, and when I got to the other office to meet my coworker I changed into them in the bathroom. This made me feel a little better, even though I knew my coworker recognized my outfit from the day before. We headed to Brooklyn and when we emerged from the subway we were greeted by one of the most intense rainstorms I have ever witnessed. I did not have an umbrella, not that it would have done me any good, so we waited it out. When it finally subsided we walked around dtown Brooklyn looking for some food. What a dump. It was like the nastiest part of downtown Syracuse, made bigger and with more people. I wanted nothing more than to be out of there. Luckily a dollar slice of pizza distracted me and by the time I had finished eating it it was about time to head to the art show.

This show was a performance piece in which the audience was expected to participate. I was wary of this, but figured anything would be better than dying in my brick oven apartment. We showed up to the space which very closely resembled an old hospital from a Communist Bloc country. There were people in white jackets walking around, clearly supposed to resemble nurses and doctors. Before we were allowed to enter they asked us about any symptoms we were having and then assigned us to different performances. The first was a "group therapy" session in which everyone present participated all at once. It was led by the artist himself, a short weird little man from Mexico City. We were led into the basement and directed to put on a pair of chemistry goggles and lie on the ground in a circle with a balloon between our knees. Never mind, the skirt I was wearing. At least I now had on clean underwear. He then directed us to think of a special place while thrusting our pelvises into the air. I immediately vetoed the latter direction. There was no way I was thrusting anything in a skirt, in a room full of strangers, especially with the Celibacy Campaign I was involved in (2 months in!). I was indirectly scolded by the artist at one point but did not give a shit. I did however think of this special place, which was the beach last summer in Croatia. It had been on my mind a lot lately and was a pretty fantastic story, which had led to some more fantastic stories. After this activity we had to go around and tell the circle where we had gone with some deets about it. The best was courtesy of the monstrous European girl next to me--she was at the top of a mountain she had hiked with her lover, who had gone into a jealously attack and started shaking. Yes she really said this.

After that, to let off some steam, the artist instructed us to lay on our backs on the floor with our heads on someone else's belly and laugh for what seemed like an eternity. I laid there constructing my grocery list in my head. My next activities were a role-playing session that reminded me of summer camp and one where I was blindfolded and rolled around in a chair with different color lights in my face, to compare my reaction with those that undergo color therapy and drop acid.

From this I determined that though I have a general interest in art, participating in performance art just isn't my dealio. It did however make for a good story and was definite NYC-only experience....