‘Another Lonely Day’ — Ben Harper
You begin your days alone. Every morning, some of you are faced with a choice (those of you [us] who don't have jobs, that is): You can either stay home alone all day and wonder why life throws bad things at wonderfully innocent and beautiful people. You can be angry at this reality and how those things have affected the innocent and beautiful.
And you can sit in the rainy-day darkness of your room, fighting the suffocating effect of feeling like your hands are tied behind your back, knowing you can do nothing to comfort the innocent and beautiful. And you hope that your mind will please find something else to consider. Or you can leave the house, perhaps in search of answers to your questions, hoping that there is something out there that reminds you that things happen just because they do.
And no matter how much you want to turn back the clock and ease the pain that the innocent and beautiful feel, you can't. And that's it. I left the house.
I met with Elzbieta's friend Tomek. He's a great guy and was patient/kind enough to sit with me over coffee and discuss my "thesis" with me. He said that what I have is good and that I should continue work on it. And the best thing of all is that he encouraged me to use Hedwig and the Angry Inch as support for "my theory." It was a good discussion and I found myself articulating my ideas in ways that I hadn't before today. After this, we went back to the GF and I hung out with Renata in the TCDS (Transregional Center for Democratic Studies) office. Tomek needed a book from the 11-story red mass of claustrophobia and angst -- NYU's Bobst library -- so I accompanied him south down 5th Ave. to help him out.
On the way, we were passed on either side by people (foolish ones at that) in groups of three running with bright backpacks in tow. It was interesting and they were everywhere, one after another in methodical succession: two men and one woman, jogging down 5th Ave. looking for a mountain perhaps to hike. When we returned to the GF, I spotted a man with white hair talking to a woman who was holding a bunch of papers.
I'd seen this man before, the first time coming not more than two months ago. He's usually reading at a table on which sets a sign that says: $10 for 50 minutes: Psych experiment. I stopped dead in my tracks. $10. One can do a lot with that: Purchase six rides on NYC's glorious subway system; donate it to various homeless individuals on any number of corners along 5th Ave.; or buy a six-pack of Rolling Rock to take to a friend's house to watch the Spurs. But first, I took the experiment.I followed him out of the cafeteria to the elevator. He asked me what division I was in and, when I responded, said in kind "what exactly are liberal studies?" With a patient smile on my face, I told him that it simply allows the students to widen their scopes without worrying about being confined to one discipline.
Anyway, we went to the fourth floor and he prepared the computer for my experiment. I signed the waiver and moved the $10 he placed before aside. I had to put my chin in one of those chin-rest things. I don't even want to think of those I've shared that with. There were two keys marked "S" and "D" on the keyboard in front of me. On the screen before me would appear in a horizontal line five figures. They would be either line shapes, faces (of not very attractive people if you ask me), or Old English letters. My task was to determine whether the two items inside, (i.e. the second and fourth items) were the same or different. An easy task.
It's interesting how stupid you can be when your chin is resting in a bacteria-filled chin rest and your fingers haven't quite acclimated to the keys yet. Your brain tells you one thing but your fingers do something else. Despite this, I managed to surprise the guy. After each set of figures, the experiment was paused and he did a few things on the keyboard.
During these little intermissions, he asked me what my concentration was. Since I always like to talk about myself and what I'm doing, I went into my spiel, although not as in-depthly as I did with Tomek only hours earlier. He seemed to follow what I was saying, which is just more affirmation for me. I completed my first perfect test finally. The competitor in me let out a small "yes!"
Determined to achieve the same result, I followed the directions again and did it -- perfect . After the third one in a row(!), he asked, "was that another perfect round." I responded "why yes it was." It turns out people don't usually do more than one. I ultimately did four. It should have been seven easily. We talked at the end about the purpose of the test. It was interesting. And I made $10. After this, I waited out front of the GF with Renata for Marcela and her friend Janell who's visiting from Mexico. Renata left and we decided we wanted beer. So we went and got some and chilled.
Then we went to midtown to Marcela's to watch the game. Most of the minutes were excruciating, but I never left my seat while the game was on. I am a little concerned now, though, because Marcela's friend is a Spurs fan. We watched the game together. She's leaving early Sunday morning. Because the Spurs won tonight, I believe that Stephanie (Paige) is no longer has to fulfill the role of my good-luck charm. I'm thinking that if Janell is back home on Sunday, she can just watch the game there, I'll watch it here, and that'll be that. They'll win.
Another thing I did, which I believe took care of any of Paige's responsibility was flipping off New Jersey. I didn't just look west and raise my hand in frustration. I took a beautiful walk from NYU to the Hudson River on Tuesday. I knew that was New Jersey I was looking directly at. So I just flipped it off. It felt good. But it was hard for me to know that the Spurs were just across the river. So that's that. It was a great game. Everyone participated (eventually) and they will now return to San Antonio for the Sunday evening championship game -- I mean, for Game 6 (8 EST; ABC).
I will be in front of my television, without my hat on because I think they lost the other night because I was wearing it. After the game, the three of us (me, et. al) went into Marcela's room and just talked. We sang a little too. By now I was on beer #2 but still feeling ok. As the night went on and we discussed going out for 45 minutes, I continued to consume beer. When I got to #5, I was done. Satisfied. I was laughing my ass off over stupid things but that's what I needed. And then it happened. I developed a comic. More details on that as I hash them out more.
I finally left Marcela's at about three. As they live up in midtown, they live close to Times Square. I didn't want to go on a walk like I did last night, but I could not resist the lure of the Broadway signs. I headed east down 45th I think it was and came across Master Harold and the Boys and A Long Day's Journey Into Night. I read some of the reviews that were posted by the doors, wishing that I could see them both. I continued east to Shubert Alley. I like looking at the Broadway posters that have been hanging there for probably decades. They switch them, of course. I continued down the alley until I hit the theatre where Gypsy is playing. I would love to see that, too. But unfortunately it's too expensive. There is so much I want to see and it was almost painful to be around there. But it was also really great. To know what came before, what is now, and what will come across those stages is quite a thought. Theatre certainly soothes: the mulling of the crowd before the house opens in the lobby, discussing the reviews they read (why do they do that?); the rush to the seats, eager to see just how close they actually are; a quick but thorough look at the set design hoping you're not ruining it for when the show actually starts; the darkening of the house; the silence. And then the beginning. I miss theatre. After looking at the pictures of Gypsy, I headed west to the A train, which came just three minutes after I arrived -- not bad for 3:25 am. The discussions of the day, the screaming and jumping and cussing and screaming again of the early evening, and the laughter of the late night/early morning was wonderful. I needed to get out of the house. I didn't find any answers, though. Only more questions. And sadness. And here I sit, listening to the birds at 5:50 am. Watching the cloud-covered night sky turn to day. If I'm still up in about an hour and a half, I will have been up for 24 hours. This is not something I want. So I am going to click the button and get this show on the road. "Another Lonely Day" is beginning. My choices are before me. But I choose now only to sleep. Perhaps the answers will meet me in my dreams.
