Turkducken

Yesterday was grey and foggy and i decided to don my headphones and take a walk in Fort Greene Park. It’s really nice this time of year. The ground was covered with red and yellow leaves, and just a little mushy from the morning rains. There weren’t any dogs or kids or any people really. I lingered around the big Prison Ships Martyrs Monument, which houses the bones (twice moved) of American POWs from the Revolutionary War. Pretty creepy i guess. But it seems ok when it’s gloomy and wet out. I was listening to the new Missy Elliott which i seriously dig. I’ve been listening to it for three days straight. Luckily i don’t have roommates or they’d have killed me by now.

I treated myself to a chocolate ice cream too. I love eating ice cream outside in the winter. There’s something decadent about it. And also forbidden. It’s something you’d never be allowed to do as a kid. I still delight in those small advantages that come with being an adult, cause, as we all know, the lion’s share of this adult business suzucks. I walked by the wet tennis courts and my spirits were dashed a bit. Soggy tennis courts make me sad. Especially when i haven’t played in almost a month. I haven’t had any exercise in that time actually. Naturally it’s bumming me out. I was talking to a friend of mine who is a bike fanatic, and i was wondering to him what exactly it was about the bike that was so great. Is it the freedom, the danger, the communing with smog? Me, i know exactly what it is about tennis. It makes me feel really powerful. Especially when i’m playing well, it’s like i’m the absolute master of my little green half of the court. I hit really hard, and sometimes and i’m loud, and i just feel like the queen of the universe. Lately i’m in dire need of that power feeling.

Today is cold and sunny, and i’ve got a strange melange of a day ahead of me. Firstly, i *think* i’m going to go see The Deer Hunter at BAM. I’ve never seen the three-hour tear-fest. But i want to. I remember my roommate in college borrowing the double VHS cassette from one of our friends and locking herself in her room for the evening. She would come out in her pyjamas, tear-stained, sniffling, clutching snotty tissue, shuffle into the bathroom, do her business, and sniffly walk back into her room and close the door. “I gotta see that” i said to myself. There have already been a couple failed attempts. When it comes right down to it, it doesn’t take much to bail on a three hour descent into depression: “These dishes really do need to be washed..” I may bail on this one too. But you never know.

Then there’s a something at my friend at Eric’s called a turkducken. It’s a chicken stuffed into a duck stuffed into a turkey. I know, irresistible. Except that then there’s this party which i am still undecided on an outfit for. I’m being a greeter for an hour so i can get out of the door charge. Anyone who knows me, knows i so don’t have the personality to be a greeter. I’d have to exclaim (yes exclaim) things like ‘Welcome Home!” with spunk and enthusiasm. (Is there a pill for that? I think there is.) But i’m a touch too shy and cynical to welcome the masses to a brooklyn warehouse party as if it’s the inebriated version of heaven. Even if it really is, which it’s not. But i think it’ll be a good party. Point is, my outfit is slow in coming together, and the turkducken might have to fall by the wayside. Maybe three hours of Vietnam will inspire me.

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