means cleavage, cleavage, cleavage,
and I start to miss you, baby,
sometimes.
So, I'm in New York for the next couple days after an amazing, painful, exhausting, inspiring week as part of COLAGE's staff during Family Week in Provincetown. The differences between Cape Cod and the East Village, where
whittles and I are staying with my friend Marat are striking--I'm seeing heterosexual couples with kids for the first time in days, and the children are often even the same race as their parents. How novel! Yes, there will be a LOT more on this and other P-Town phenomena later, when I'm home and have more fully processed the week.We got in Saturday evening, and I was too exhausted to make it out for
cirrhopetalink's birthday swing dancing extravaganza. (I'd had about 5 1/2 hours of sleep in the prior two days.) Today we went to McCarren Park in Williamsburg for a free Blonde Redhead concert; came back to Manhattan and hung out with Doug, one of the P-Town staff, on his roof deck (read: the roof of the abandoned building next door to his); chased an Italian greyhound for several blocks after it ran away from its owner (said Doug on behalf of the dog: "That's it! I'm sick of living in a purse and wearing little sweaters. Everything you do to me is unnatural. I'm going to the East River to drown myself.")Tomorrow, Whits and I are hoping for some mellow park time to write our warm and fuzzy love notes to the other people who were on staff with us, and I'll hopefully meet up with some of my friends here (hint, hint), and then Lauryn Hill's playing in a different park in Brooklyn at 7.
I miss home, I miss my mom, I miss my dog. There are a lot of things and people I miss, actually. I guess that's what summer in the city will do.
