Presidents' Day. As much as I plan to run around and seize the day, whenever I overload myself I wind up just sleeping in. I spoke to B today and he said, "I'm just going to spend the day running around from thrift store to thrift store." I had pretty much done that the previous two days, so I stayed home. Did house work, watched soap operas, and I slept.
Yesterday Tony and I went to the Tower Records outlet store, and I bought the best of Ultravox and of Midge Ure. Oddly enough, I had these albums already, so I was forced to return them.
You would think that is easily done, having just bought them the night before and having my receipts.
Not so. This is New York City, after all. Nothing is easy.
The 17-year-old manager came over, took one look at the evidence, and concluded that I did not buy the album there. I nearly went into spasms. I gave a word-for-word account of my conversation with the woman who rang up my purchase, and then started to complain bitterly that there were many copies of the album right behind them on the shelves. He let em do the exchange.
Moral of the story: You can get your way if you imitate your Mother. Or better yet, imitate their mother. No one wants their mom around for too long.
I later met with B who showed me all of his fabulous purchases. We went to a diner on 23rd and Ninth. My souvlaki came with the world's Mos Colourful Salad. It was a thing of joy. I wish I had my camera. There were radish rosettes. There were underripe tomatoes. There were anchovies. I almost didn't eat it at all.
B and I went to see You've Got Mail in Times Square. We walked briskly up Seventh Avenue from Chelsea and we were an hour early, so we went to the humongous Virgin store to kill time. We agreed that Tony is extremely funny. I come in second.
Meanwhile, at the movie, B and I were among the only ones laughing at certain times, leading me to believe we were quite possibly the only gay people there. Meg Ryan tells the story of a butterfly on the subway that gets out at 59th Street toward the entrance to Bloomingdale's, and says, "It was probably going to buy a hat, which is almost always a mistake because they look good in the store and never seem to work out later." B and I howled, and no one else did.
I guess it's that pesky gay sensibility.
And that, as they say, was that. Another legal holiday shot to hell. But enjoyably.
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