I am off to the Rockaways to stand out in the frigid air with my dear intern, Buddhist Jesse. Who else would join me on my yearly voyage out to Rockaway Park for the holidays?
He is ready to meet Tara, Bryan, Michelle and anyone else who comes down our path, as it always seems to be. I learned the hard way that making plans out there is something akin to waiting 5 hours in Albania for the bus to finally show up and then when it doesn't, hiring some random driver to take you halfway to your destination.
After the Big C. day, Jesse is off to the hills of a state that will remain sacrosanct. Yes, he is off for a week-long retreat with fellow meditators to purge all wordly distractions and malaise. My first destination choice-- two week full body massage, facial, and herbal wrap complete at McClean.
This time, I actually might get use out of a tripod that I bought almost 2 years ago. This might be the time to try out those long exposures at night. Where is Todd Hido when you need him? And yes, I've been avoiding recording interviews because with a camera nearby, the decision is always clear cut. This time...all those great conversations will be conjured up once again.
I'm off to breathe in lots of second hand smoke and sit in the Kerry Hill and go to homes of friends whom I haven't seen since the summer. It's not my favorite time of year out there or anywhere in the Northeast, but in someways, the most honest time since the tourists are long gone. The streets are deserted and the bars begin to fill early morning. Jesse and I will be there just in time, at 11am, right before the last cantankerous drunk has had enough to settle the shakes and the crankies.
They will all say "Happy Hanukkah!" when I walk through the door, even though I never celebrate the holiday. You might think that Jews in NYC don't exist with the kind of dazzling salutations I will receive out here this week. In the end, I feel like I just don't fit in. But, this might be as good as it get's.
I got lucky and found another place to sleep. Unfortunately, I screwed up the last home stay. On the second night I moved in the apartment, I changed rooms in order to sleep with my host's new roommate who had also moved in the same night I did. We had met in the kitchen standing over a pot of crusty black bean remains.
I now hear on a never ending loop, a report on Fox 5 News that a fervent Christian who stays awake to all hours of night and day, looking for lost numbers scrolled on pieces of paper, is still praying for my lost soul. I'm thankful for that. Anything, can help a lost soul.
The next three nights, for better or worse, I'll be sharing a king size bed with my friend, Phil. He has a boxer's broken nose and the heart that comes with it. His studio is neater than my apartment and he loves to bake! Yellow lace falling from a balustrade veil secrets from a past tragedy he shared with me one afternoon over the past summer. He lay on the bed and peeked his face out of an opening in the transparent material, recounting the story of a lost love, a lost child.
It's getting late. I'll be up early. Moishe and Howard are being picked up by the doggie stay n' play bus at 7am. I have to prepare food baggies, medication, toys, and cushions for them and for me one change of undies, film, camera, flash, makeup, medication, etc , etc ....no credit cards.
