I'm not really a daylog person, I keep a diary, or at least I had been untill the reecent death of my grandmother, at that point writing memories became too painfull for a while and my diary (paper and electronic) sit waiting for me to reminice.
But Saturday, things that happened, noteworthy enough to record, entertaining in their way, enough to let others read about.
The day began with Ed Spiegel's birthday conference,
no thats a lie, the very first hours of the morning, before I had to leave for the conference, they were spent making an unbirthday card for a friend that I would meet later.
So the conference was held in the {courant Instittute]
at NYU. Ed is a professor at Columbia and he turned 70 a week ago. He works on cahos in astrophysics, has has been for a long time. The head of the mathematical physics institute from Cabridge England was giving a talk. Turns out the guy was Ed's first postdoc! That talk was on turning around a singularity, a pretty neat talk, but most entertaing was the banter between Ed and the other participants. After the conference I had to go to Carnegie hall, I had free tickets and a friend to meet. I ask Ed
how to get to Carnegie hall. He looks at me in all seriousness and says "Practice Ian, you need to practice".
So i'm on the subway, meet some other friends who are heading the same way and then I find myself in the foyer
cutting up some sheet music that I printed off the web. My bank account is in credit to the tune of $0.20 ! so I had to make my own card and envelopes. I now have a much greater appreciation for the engineeing that goes into an envelope, after trying to make one myself.
The card I made using the gimp , a clarinet overlayed on a fantasy background. The girl, allways a girl eh! Carol, she plays the clarinet, rather well too. I wrote music girl for her, inspired by her playing, if you ever get a
chance to hear her take it, Carol Mcgonnel the clarinetist.
We met, rushed out for burnt coffee before the prefoemace, she buys me the coffe, we share a giant cake-biscuit thing, sitting watching her from my chair as she pays, and all of the little questions that had been plaguing me, all the uncertantie, and they are gone and it stikes me, wow, I really like this girl, I mean, a lot, it just feels right, comfotable, and perhaps now I'll be able to tell her without the aid of distance, answering machines alcohol and a late hour.
But the concert begins and we go in, and the next few hours, sitting in the front row, watching the preformers,
Orpheus Chamber Orchestra play Hayden, Pergolesi and Resphigi.
On the way back the, uptown on the train and she tells me she has to go home now, has to attend the ball with HR, her
septeginarian friend. He is very close to her and so I accept this. We do the crossword as the train rattles us back an forth, freshly printed from the irish times.
I get off a few stops before her, she forgets to give me my hat, perhaps later today I'll see her, and recalim it. I'm wandering now, convert the seven dollars in my wallet into a full stomach and then head to a party that I had been hoing to brin Carol to. In my briefcase is the remnants of the poiteen that I brought back from Ireland. It's a carnaval party.
Within a quater of an hour my face is painted and I am wearing beads. I finish the poiteen. It's pretty strong, much stronger than the alcohol you can by over the counter. Thats not the proble, the problem is that one I have consumed this I have no fear of the other drinks that are avialble, tequila, rum beer for a break.
Randall arrives in a dress. I demand it from him, we swap cloths. Suddenly I'm on the roof of the building in a dress, back to the party and I'm dancing with some girl. I've not danced with a girl for such a long time, so close. It's almost embarassing, our legs are interleaved and are bellies are pushed against one another. I'm thinking about the erection that she can defnitly feel, but she seems less than concerned, almost encouraging. We turn and her hair is brushing my face and we chatter, about history, the universe,
our past lives. I ask her "you're proabaly going to think that physcicists are terribly rude, but would you mind if I kissed you?" She says I don't think you're rude at all but the answer would probably have to be no". It dosen't matter, were still dancing.
Four comes around, the people thin out, I don't remember her name, or her face, but printed on my memory is the feel of her against me and printed on my shoulder is her email adress.
I walk home in the dress, climb a bit on the way, find that I am stonger than I hvae been in the past, pass out and sleep on my bed.
After notes:
So I mailed carley today, and I got it right. I'm not getting my clothes back, it was a fair swap.
Someone told me where she works, another person told me that there were going to give my clothes to
Julia Styles.
I don't believe that this will happen, but that it was said ,
of that I'm certain. The shirt was aquired whilst drunk
and climbing through somewhere, it was exchanged whilst drunk and the only way I can see it being given to an actress is again with the involvement of some
inebreation.
The dress I have aquired is nice.
Carley will live in my memory for a night or two longer,
Carol for a good while longer yet, she has my
hat,
I'll get it back tonight.
last,up,next.