8/30/24

    I am always in disbelief at how loud H’s alarm is. We woke promptly at 6:30 am. H got motivated, I lingered in bed a bit longer. I had been dreaming about something I could barely remember now, but I felt it had left an impression on me. When H opens the blinds we were greeted by a grey sky threatening rain or maybe the rain had just passed. 

    As I straightened my hair, H and I listened to a few songs by Cocteau Twins and a song by Ride. H thinks there’s a better Ride song from the same album, which I pulled up and we listened to though it wasn’t nearly as good. Ride doesn’t have many good songs to begin with. This had me thinking about other artists we mutually listen to where our favorite songs differ. I go through a few with him:

The Smiths: H’s favorite song is Still Ill from their self titled debut album. Mine is Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me which, funny enough, is from their final album.

Led Zeppelin: H teetered between Traveling Riverside Blues and In the time of dying. Without a doubt I chose Since I’ve Been Loving You but specifically the recording from the Live at MSG 1973 album.

The Beach Boys: The Warmth Of The Sun recently became my top song from them. H has a genuinely surprising choice of Wouldn’t It Be Nice.

    I put on a navy blue v-neck sweater from Uniqlo, brown Max Mara trousers, and Dries Van Noten sneakers later regretting the choice as the pants are about half an inch too long and I hate the caramel color of the shoes with the chocolate brown color of the pants.

    At Penn Station I took my headphones out to listen to the ambient sounds of the terminal while I continued my reading of Martin Gayford’s Man with a Blue Scarf. I was nearing the end so I packed another book to start later, probably tomorrow. A man arrived and sat at a nearby table disrupting the current background noises I could easily tune out with exceptionally loud hiccuping that became impossible to ignore. A moment later our track was announced so we went down.

    On the train I was trying to remember my dream and why it had set a certain mood to my morning but it was gone, only a lingering feeling of what I wanted to say was contentment and the feeling of a chill in the air.

    The train ride went smoothly. We bought our tickets too late and could only get one as far as Saratoga Springs. R picked us up at the station and from there we drove a ways and stopped at a grocery store in some small town off the highway. This is something I enjoy when leaving the city: small-town grocery stores. After nearly a decade of living in NYC and shopping at New York City grocery stores, the likes of which need to be experienced to know the difference, walking up to and into a suburban grocery store becomes a bizarre experience. 

    In February, on a trip upstate for G’s birthday, we stopped into the only grocery store around the cabin we were staying at to stock up for the night. We looked exceptionally out of place—but most likely to no one but myself. I distinctly remember walking the aisles under green-tinged florescent lighting feeling absolutely outside of myself. The lighting of this grocery store had a happier florescent tone and an orange and white color-scheme. The layout looked nearly identical to every grocery store in my hometown. I felt like I was in the 90’s.

    Inching closer to the lake, I rolled down my window and stuck my head out letting the wind batter my face a bit. The combination of sun and refreshing breeze made me think that it was a perfect day and I realize that it actually doesn’t take much for me to have a perfect day or rather, it doesn’t take much for a day to be considered perfect in my eyes. 

    When it’s cool enough that I don’t sweat but not so cold as to make me sleepy, that’s a perfect day. When I have no plans but spontaneously go out or do something on a whim and have fun, that’s a perfect day. Sometimes, I could be having a bad day that turns around at a point and becomes beautiful. That’s also a perfect day.

2:59 pm

    Driving up to the house the weather had significantly cleared up since the morning. It was incredible—a robust breeze, sun shining, and I could comfortably wear a light sweater and jeans. Without a second thought I took my book and walked down to the big lawn, picked a partially shaded patch of grass, and laid down.

4:06 pm

    I opened my eyes again to see I had fallen asleep exactly where I had sat and an hour has passed, In my head I thought I was still awake. I hadn’t touched my book and was instead using it as a very uncomfortable pillow. I walked back up to the house slightly itchy and totally zonked. 

    In the living room no one was around. Sammy gave me a meow. I sat at the counter to finish my half-eaten sandwich from the ride and picked up a copy of The New Yorker that was lying on the table. I have never read The New Yorker, never cared to, but flipped through nonetheless. First, a quick blurb about a bar in Bushwick that’s supposed to be an ‘artist haven’ but is overrun with finance losers. I let out a noise of disgust, mostly at how I just don’t care. A disturbing piece by Lena Dunham on what constitutes ‘Brat’ nearly made me sick up. I got pretty into the excerpt of Al Pacino’s memoir but ultimately dropped the magazine to look at the ceiling while lying on the couch. 

    There’s a pure air in the house now. Lying on the fish-printed couch, I'm listening closely to the sounds of cicadas outside. H is in the arm chair by the window presumably listening to a book on tape. B and L arrived but we didn't get up to greet them. We continued like that for another hour or so before dinner. 

    Around 8, we dimmed the lights and sat for what I have always seen as a beautiful three-act play in which the dining table is  the stage, as it is the only illuminated spot in the space. Act 1: Setting the table. Act 2: The Feast. Act 3: Dishes and Dessert. Tonights show was a comedy. I was in the audience. I got my moneys worth by laughing till I cried.

Playlist

Dreams Burn Down - Ride

Pink Orange Red - Cocteau Twins

Desire Lines - Lush

Yes I’m Changing - Tame Impala

War & Peace - Ryuichi Sakamoto

ABCDC - indigo la End

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