The Tyranny of Something Fun
Graham has been working weekend evenings as a catering waiter. It's mostly for weddings, although he recently worked a sweet sixteen party that was so over the top that it resembled a 1970's variety show in scope and SCALE. Because we don't see each other on Fridays at all or in the evenings on Saturdays, Sundays seem to have this looming importance. Yesterday Graham said the dreaded words, "I want to do something FUN with you." Oh, the tyranny of "SOMETHING FUN"!
The words made me immediately grumpy because I am just shit out of fun lately. I've discovered that summertime in New York is worse than any winter I've ever experienced. This includes winters in Vermont, which starts in October and lasts until May and sometimes reaches as low as 14 below zero. I feel trapped by the discomfort and the crowds. I can't do much artwork, because my studio is about the right temperature to singe the meringue of a BAKED ALASKA. Ditto for the rest of my apartment, except the bedroom, which is where the AC resides. Unfortunately, the bedroom (which I am beginning to think of as our home, within our home)is starting to resemble a campground after Labor Day weekend. There are scraps of existence like a mote around the bed: Empty water glasses, books, the torn off flaps of Netflix envelopes, DVDs, notebooks, pieces of paper shredded by the cats, etc. It's like the bed of a mono patient, only we are quite well (at least physically).
You can see why Graham wanted to do something fun, but when you proclaim an intention of fun, I think it's best to have an idea for said desired fun. Of course, he had no ideas and neither did I and so we went for the readily accessible: We decided on the Metropolitan Museum of Art, because it was air-conditioned and it was SOMETHING READILY TO DO on a BUDGET.
Upon entering the Met, a security guard pushed his way through the line muttering angrily, "Get the F%$K out of my way." Which made me feel so welcomed and glad to be there. Then there was the realization--the TRUE realization--that it was Sunday at noon and we were in one of the largest tourist traps in town. Not only that, we didn't really have a plan and when visiting the Met, it's best to have a plan because it is big and confusing and you have to do a lot map searching and navigating through LARGE CROWDS. These days, navigating through large crowds is my absolute FAVORITE thing to do (insert sarcasm here).
We didn't last forever. We saw van Gogh and Degas and all the greatest hits of art. I knew that I wasn't in a good space, when the art seemed as flat to me as a poster on a wall. I kept thinking: It's ART! It's YOUR THING! Dang it, WHY CAN'T YOU FEEL SOMETHING? It's FUN! When I saw the Georgia O'Keeffe's--something that usually moves me to no end--and all I wanted to do was take a nap on the padded benches, I knew it was time to call it a day. I think Graham was feeling similarly, because he usually outpaces me, given that his legs are a good foot longer than mine, but he kept DRAGGING.
We went to Central Park, found some shade, and lay down. It was the best idea we've had in a month. It wasn't necessarily FUN, but it was quiet, and outside, two things we've been missing. And when the wind picked up, and we felt a SOFT BREEZE, you could feel the whole city just breathe a big sigh of collective relief.
The words made me immediately grumpy because I am just shit out of fun lately. I've discovered that summertime in New York is worse than any winter I've ever experienced. This includes winters in Vermont, which starts in October and lasts until May and sometimes reaches as low as 14 below zero. I feel trapped by the discomfort and the crowds. I can't do much artwork, because my studio is about the right temperature to singe the meringue of a BAKED ALASKA. Ditto for the rest of my apartment, except the bedroom, which is where the AC resides. Unfortunately, the bedroom (which I am beginning to think of as our home, within our home)is starting to resemble a campground after Labor Day weekend. There are scraps of existence like a mote around the bed: Empty water glasses, books, the torn off flaps of Netflix envelopes, DVDs, notebooks, pieces of paper shredded by the cats, etc. It's like the bed of a mono patient, only we are quite well (at least physically).
You can see why Graham wanted to do something fun, but when you proclaim an intention of fun, I think it's best to have an idea for said desired fun. Of course, he had no ideas and neither did I and so we went for the readily accessible: We decided on the Metropolitan Museum of Art, because it was air-conditioned and it was SOMETHING READILY TO DO on a BUDGET.
Upon entering the Met, a security guard pushed his way through the line muttering angrily, "Get the F%$K out of my way." Which made me feel so welcomed and glad to be there. Then there was the realization--the TRUE realization--that it was Sunday at noon and we were in one of the largest tourist traps in town. Not only that, we didn't really have a plan and when visiting the Met, it's best to have a plan because it is big and confusing and you have to do a lot map searching and navigating through LARGE CROWDS. These days, navigating through large crowds is my absolute FAVORITE thing to do (insert sarcasm here).
We didn't last forever. We saw van Gogh and Degas and all the greatest hits of art. I knew that I wasn't in a good space, when the art seemed as flat to me as a poster on a wall. I kept thinking: It's ART! It's YOUR THING! Dang it, WHY CAN'T YOU FEEL SOMETHING? It's FUN! When I saw the Georgia O'Keeffe's--something that usually moves me to no end--and all I wanted to do was take a nap on the padded benches, I knew it was time to call it a day. I think Graham was feeling similarly, because he usually outpaces me, given that his legs are a good foot longer than mine, but he kept DRAGGING.
We went to Central Park, found some shade, and lay down. It was the best idea we've had in a month. It wasn't necessarily FUN, but it was quiet, and outside, two things we've been missing. And when the wind picked up, and we felt a SOFT BREEZE, you could feel the whole city just breathe a big sigh of collective relief.
posted by Summer Pierre at
12:15 PM
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