the lights fly

November 19. 2000

midtown Manhattan, Saturday night:


going east on 43rd






FAO schwartz


feelin' groovy

going across the 59th street bridge






more colors


I'm amazed by how fast my body heals itself. My burn is already all scabbed over and almost disappeared. The blister popped while I was driving to New York. It was strangely fascinating in a really disgusting way. I really hope it scars, because I love scars. I wish I had more of them, but I only have a few, and the stories that come with them aren't that interesting: one is from removing a mole on my neck when I was in 8th grade, and the other is on the heel of my left hand, very faint and white, from falling down on the street when I was in kindergarden.

I wish I had interesting scars. There's just something so wonderful to me about having history written all over your body like that, and all the memories that are contained in them. That's the same reason I want a tattoo. So when I look at it, it will remind me of who I was when I got it. So naturally, it's not something I'm going to choose lightly. I've been thinking about it for years now, and I'm planning to get it when I graduate from college, as a present to myself.

Of what? And where? The ideas that are appealing to me now is the Auran (from The Neverending Story, it's two snakes intertwined and biting their tails) on my sternum. I know, it's bone, major ouch. I do, however, want a tattoo where I can see it. None of this on the back of the neck or your shoulder blades. To me, Tattoos aren't voyeuristic. They're not for other people to see, they're for me, almost like a talisman or a good luck charm.


Going to see John on Saturday night, I decided to take the 59th street bridge to Queens, instead of the Midtown tunnel. Partly because I wanted a change of scenery (34th street isn't that interesting) and mostly because I was sick of paying the toll for the tunnel (going to from Philadelphia to New York costs me about $15 in tolls each way).

It was a nice ride, I managed not to get lost, and even take some fab pictures while I was waiting in traffic. If it's one thing I hate, it's gridlock. As long as I am moving, even if it's 2 miles an hour, I'm okay. If I sit still for more than a few minutes I get cagey.

As I was checking my email at John's, I mentioned my quest to find Rebekah. He suggested I try 555-1212.com, and I typed in her name. And there it was. She lives on St. Mark's Place. It even gave her phone number. I was dumbfounded about how ridiculously easy it had been. John urged me to call her, right then and there, and say hello, a notion that completely terrified me. Nevermind that she might not have the slightest idea who I was, but I am not a telephone person as it is. I'm going to call her someday, eventually, when I get my courage up. I do want to see her. I want to know what she's doing, and I want to update her on my life. I really should call her. I will. Soon.


John and I didn't do much on Saturday night. We went to a Italian restaurant near the Port Authority that we went to last spring and really liked. We were seated near the back right above an overzealous ceiling fan. After dinner, we were going to ride some subways (I really want to take the 2), but we were both tired, so we went home. We ended up falling asleep a little before 10. Such exciting lives we lead.

One Year Ago:
"I realize now that for every decision you say yes to, there are three or four you have to say no to."