Mets

Another week and weekend has passed for us in the City. Last Saturday I did head down to SoHo to check out the open book fair while Craig worked. In theory it should have been right up my alley, but when I got to Crosby Street, it appeared to be a bit more cluttered than I prefer. Boxes of books, in no particular sorted order, on tables, on the street, beneath tents while clusters of readers hovered around the boxes, pawing through the stacks and stacks and boxes. I gave up pretty immediately and went inside the Housingwares store itself, which was cool. I found a White Stripes book for Craig and a Francine Prose novel for myself. I started reading the novel already and it's darkly comedic - a take on one writing professor's struggle to teach an intro fiction class while dealing with his own mental happenings. I am reminded what a tricky experience writing profs must have, more than likely teaching primarily to put food on their tables while penning out their own work on the side, and dealing with manuscript after manuscript of less than admirable work. I'm speaking from direct experience: from being a part of that group of hopefuls, in all of my undergraduate poetry workshops, and now as a writing student once again, I know that instructors of any art or writing are dealt the rotten task of avoiding offending students while at the same time avoiding presenting students with the false sense of hope that their work is actually going to lead to eventual publication. I'm generalizing, obviously, because there are always exceptions to the rule - the talented writer here or there in an undergrad class who stands out from the rest of the group. Anyway, the book I'm reading evidently is about that exceptional writer and her relationship with her prof. I'm not that far along, but it seems like a pretty decent read, especially given my interest in these classes I'm in and so forth. Anyway, after Housingwares, I took the subway to Union Square to go to a couple of stationery stores near school. My walk led me inadvertently right to Strand Bookstore, which boasts 18 miles of books, used, new and rare. I wandered around in absolute awe of the books. I didn't even buy one - it was too overwhelming! But, I was happy that I found it on my own, and I think that after that, the stationery stores seemed to have less power over me than they usually do. Usually I'm left thinking, what is it about so many pens and so much blank paper that is utterly profound, to me? I know it's common for writers and artists to like paper and pens, but I wonder if it isn't just the sea of possibility that makes pens and paper so sensual. Still, it was like going from one extreme to the other: Strand, with its infinite number of words in one building, to the paper stores, where everything is blank and void.*We spent the rest of the weekend unwinding, of course. Then the week began, and flew by in a flurry of playoff baseball (the Yankees are out, but the Mets have swept the Dodgers which means my old friend Roger will be ordering up a subscription of fine cooking magazine in my name - that was our wager!) and here it is, Sunday already. Friday we went out with co-workers for a few beers in Queens, then returned to the Upper East Side for dinner (just the two of us). Yesterday morning we had our weekly bagel sandwiches and coffee and watched all of the shows we recorded from Thursday night (a guy that was in Lauren's play had a small part in Six Degrees!) Then we suited up and left the apartment, walked in search of an Oktoberfest a co-worker had mentioned, but never found it - so we ducked into Jack Russell's for appetizers and beer and Yankees baseball. This morning we showered and left the apartment pretty early - it was a gorgeous day with an irresistibly blue sky, and we ate breakfast at a diner at 70th and Lex. The morning walk was perfect and peaceful. I love walking in New York City with Craig. It feels like the safest thing in the world. He holds my hand while we walk, which makes me feel protected. And just the stretches of New York all around us - it's more like being home than anywhere I've ever lived. I love being here with him. The remainder of the afternoon I need to attempt a few writing exercises (class tomorrow) and tonight I'm making us penne with vodka and a side of asparagus (I'm an asparagus enthusiast, which is so funny because before Craig, I had never eaten one stalk of it and now I can never get enough of it!) I discovered this penne with vodka recipe a week or so again, and it's got fantastic flavor - garlic and basil and crushed red pepper and creamy tomato - it's a nice Sunday dinner. Tomorrow, another week to tackle head on. But in New York City, every new day is loaded with promise.*