Friends don't let friends blog drunk
On Monday night I trotted home after a long day of work, including last minute execution of a freelance project with unfamiliar materials. Ali was generous enough to invite me to dinner with her boyfriend. While she was preparing some amazing bacon-wrapped shrimp, I concentrated on peeling Catskill apples in rotary fashion without letting the skin break, for a seasonal crisp. We opened a bottle of wine.
An hour later we opened another bottle, and I sat down to catch up on my blog since I'd received a few emails checking that I was alive in my absence of publishing. Below is the evidence of that evening's decision. I am not going to delete my entry in order to persuade others not to blog while drunk—like those smashed up cars displayed in front of public high schools by MADD.
I am not sure what I was trying to communicate below except that I think I've been living in my own head for the last month or so and I feel like I've started having conversations with myself. This is not an attractive social trait. Yet, despite the fact that I've felt like a bit of a social mutant I've been having some nice nights with friends lately, talking about creative process, or about Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise, whatever seems appropriate.
Two weeks ago I went to see "Falstaff" at the Metropolitan Opera with David and I met a very nice boy. This may seem like an unusual place to meet someone, but I assure you it is actually an excellent venue as the ratio of people under 40 years to over 60 is approximately 1 to 10. The opera was amazing, the set in the third act actually convinced me of a depth of about 40 feet, there was a unicorn involved and each and every voice was so full of personality. I'm pretty much a philistine when it comes to choosing words about opera or theatre, so there you have it.
I usually opt out of writing about dating in my little corner of the internets here, but I'm becoming more and more aware, that that means leaving out a lot of the good stuff. After all it's often the most relatable if not comical. I'm realizing after my disastrous diarrhea of thought below, I'd like to say that in the thick of what feels like a creative-mid-life crisis I am really happy that I live in this city and get to spend the time I find with friends, seeing opera, or painting watercolor postcards, or cooking after too many glasses of wine. I am happy at the thought of stumbling on new people along the way even in endless rain and looming deadlines.
An hour later we opened another bottle, and I sat down to catch up on my blog since I'd received a few emails checking that I was alive in my absence of publishing. Below is the evidence of that evening's decision. I am not going to delete my entry in order to persuade others not to blog while drunk—like those smashed up cars displayed in front of public high schools by MADD.
I am not sure what I was trying to communicate below except that I think I've been living in my own head for the last month or so and I feel like I've started having conversations with myself. This is not an attractive social trait. Yet, despite the fact that I've felt like a bit of a social mutant I've been having some nice nights with friends lately, talking about creative process, or about Katie Holmes and Tom Cruise, whatever seems appropriate.
Two weeks ago I went to see "Falstaff" at the Metropolitan Opera with David and I met a very nice boy. This may seem like an unusual place to meet someone, but I assure you it is actually an excellent venue as the ratio of people under 40 years to over 60 is approximately 1 to 10. The opera was amazing, the set in the third act actually convinced me of a depth of about 40 feet, there was a unicorn involved and each and every voice was so full of personality. I'm pretty much a philistine when it comes to choosing words about opera or theatre, so there you have it.
I usually opt out of writing about dating in my little corner of the internets here, but I'm becoming more and more aware, that that means leaving out a lot of the good stuff. After all it's often the most relatable if not comical. I'm realizing after my disastrous diarrhea of thought below, I'd like to say that in the thick of what feels like a creative-mid-life crisis I am really happy that I live in this city and get to spend the time I find with friends, seeing opera, or painting watercolor postcards, or cooking after too many glasses of wine. I am happy at the thought of stumbling on new people along the way even in endless rain and looming deadlines.
posted by Rebecca at 12:10 PM
3 Comments:
yes, your other didn't seem quite a finely wrought as your usual posts. glad to hear you're doing well.
I blog and drink, drink and blog. Nasty habits they are, feeding off each other like sordid lovers. You're a lucky lady, I want to live in New York.
I am going to close my eyes now, and when I open them, maybe I will be there.
If only it were that simple. There is nothing more enjoyable than cracking open a bottle of liquid poison (preferably Whiskey), blowing your speakers with the sounds of Niel Young (Like a Hurricane), sipping away and hammering your fingers on the tiny keys which seem to shrink the more you drink. Aaah the sweet taste of liquid fire simmering down your throat...http://www.mleviblog.blogspot.com/
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