I had been trying to pin the elusive C down for a catch-up meal and discussion about my NCOD idea for a few months now. He suggested I go to a meeting of Publishing Triangle; it's something I want to do anyway, and it is necessary to strike while the iron is hot.
The meeting took place in a conference room of a publishing company on the 17th floor of the Flatiron. It you don't know what the Flatiron Building looks like, well, look it up. It's only the most glamourous, enigmatic, most-photographed building in New York City. Is it a coincidence they chose not to destroy it in the recent Godzilla movie?
I have always wanted to go inside the building. Outside it is like a giant carved stella. Tons of detail work. It's amazing.
So it is a severe disappointment to discover that like most other skyscrapers, it is just a dumpy office building inside. Just as dumpy as the Empire State Building. It shouldn't surprise me anymore, the shabby interiors behind glamourour facades. I guess there is always the wanting. Hoping that things are what they actually seem to be.
The meeting also involved a mass mailing. C had not told me about that, although he will swear he did (I have the email as proof, though). Well, I did the stamping. When you do mailings, there's folding, stuffing, sealing, and stamping. I am extremely unfond of sealing. It's a messy business. Thanks to self-adhesion, stamping is a delight.
During the new business section of the meeting, I was suddenly on the agenda with my NCOD idea. I am still uncertain about what to do, what sort of an event it would be, what kind of turnout we could possibly have.
After the meeting, I noticed just how shabby the interiors were. Th only evidence of the original 1901 work was the staircase and the mail chute.
C and I went to dinner afterward. He is a Chelsea resident, and consequently, his boyfriend, a friend, another friend, and that person's boyfriend. Six in all. I had the turkey sausage burrito, which I am still regretting five days later. A lot of attention is paid to Chelsea as the epicenter of the gay universe (it's not). The epicenter of the gay universe, you see, is inside. It's hard to see that, but it's true. The gay universe is not centered in a place but in people.
Being in Chelsea is sort of like being in the Flatiron Buidling. It's not all that glamourous, the more time you spend there. Glamour, you see, is something we attach to things, places, and people.
Glamour, you see, is all in our imagination. Dumpiness is omnipresent; glamour helps us get over it.
Next entry... Well, Whaddya Know!
Previous entry... Ye Olde Something Or Other