Another New York Trip

The last trip I made to New York was a little different than my usual trip of getting drinks with friends followed by a wholesome day with insert-relative-here. I had a primary goal in mind: to find Hubbard a good time. My entertainment, my drunkeness wasn't of top priority. I wanted to personally help my best friend find some lovin and happiness. This was a guy who, in a matter of weeks, broke off his engagement, almost died from a ruptured appendix, heard his father had melanoma, and lived with a roommate who would giggle in the bathtub with his boyfriend through all hours of the night. That last part has been going on for a year, but it also set up the perfect greeting you'd want when you're just getting out of the hospital.

I sat around the apartment with Hubbard's non-tubbing roommates waiting for him to get back from acting school. Laying in plain view under the sofa was a magazine of movie stills of topless actresses. I knew this was Hubbard's because when he was recovering from surgery he constantly called me with one of two questions: 1) Hey, what's the name of the song that goes nah nah nah nah nah? or 2) Hey, I can get you any naked scene an actress has done. Who do you want?

I think they used a booby double for Jessica Alba. Anytime they don't show face and boob in the same shot I raise an eyebrow, among other things.

Rockhard and Mike had warned me about what to expect with Hubbard, and after a few minutes of us hanging out, I knew the weekend would not go as I had idealized. I wouldn't say that Hubbard was milking his scar and pain for everything it was worth, but he still seemed shellshocked from the past month. Combined with being a bit of a primadonna, he clearly wasn't ready for the things I had set for him. It also didn't help that the girl I had coming from Florida to "visit" cancelled at the last minute. Just as well, he wouldn't have been able to handle her in his condition, and I guess she would/should have a say in the matter too.

A very surreal hour passed by where Hubbard was ranting to me about various topics such as clashes with his father and searching for the meaning of life. He said everything you would expect from a introspective, drunk, high actor... only Hubbard was completely substance-free and wasn't trying to sound smart. After Hubbard said he had to get up early the next morning (dick), Mike and I met Rockhard at a jazz club 8 blocks from the apartment (another reason for me to move to New York). Rockhard was mildly drunk, having just paced the streets of New York with ale in hand after his show that night failed to be picked up. Considering he's already been in 3 shows-- this latest one on Broadway-- since moving to Manhattan 3 months ago, I'm afraid of how he'd react if he had the luck of the 99% of other actors out there.

A cute Czechoslovokian woman was tending to our table. She had one of those constant smiles where you almost think she's shit-faced drunk, until you just realize it's a personality thing. That can either be alluring or excrutiating. In this case, attached to her accent, it was alluring. I freely allowed Rockhard to work his charm after she clearly expressed an interest in him. She was mocking his non-alcoholic pepsi and leaning into his arm like a slutty eigth grader. The rest of the night was non-eventful other than that the music was awesome, the calamari was a bit overcooked, and Rockhard got some Czechoslovokian digits.

The next night my cousin Maria called me about a party at this bar called Jake's Dilemma, $25 all-you-can-drink. While this sounded like my kind of deal, I wondered how I would talk Hubbard into going. Considering that he didn't want to drink, had little money, and was being a total diva, I expected I would need to use those talents I supposedly should have brought to law school to get Hubbard out there. I got him to make one of those deals where it seems like I'm compromising, but I get my full way because I know how the night will turn out. One of those classic "we'll go, check it out for an hour, and if you're still feeling shitty, we'll leave" deals that never ends that way.

We arrive at Jake's, soaked from the rain, and scope out the scene. Rockhard and I complain about the lack of cute girls and head off to pre-break the seal. When we return from the bathroom, it's as though all the cute girls had followed us in (we weren't even wearing Axe). Mike and Rockhard point out a cute blonde. They look for consensus, we declare her cute, and don't do a damn thing about it. I look over and spot a very attractive girl, don't give a shit about consensus, and don't do a damn thing. This is standard routine.

A few gin and tonics later, we're hanging out with Maria, who's definitely cool enough to keep my friends entertained. She's also very New York Italian, very loud. When I got off the phone with her hours before, I was about to tell Mike where Jake's was, only for him to go, "Oh I know. I heard the directions your cousin gave you." I was 15 feet away from him at the time.

I'm figuring Hubbard now has enough incentive to stay the rest of the night and consider trying to find him a girl. I'm a total giver when it comes to these situations. I'd rather see my friends find a girl than succeed with one of my own. It's part genuine selflessness, part insecurity from fear of rejection. Either way, I knew I'd feel great if I helped Hubbard find some lovin. Before I can ponder the situation any further, though, I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around, and I like what I see.

Very attractive girl from before is asking me if I realize that my coat has been rubbing against her for the past minute. Honestly, I had no clue she was behind me, and I'm no voyeur. Initially I'm not sure if very attractive girl is pleasantly telling me to scoot or if she likes me, so I continue talking with her to evaluate the scene. It becomes very clear we have a mutual attraction here. A hip hop song I can't recall plays over the system, and she asks me if my friends and I dance. Rather than answering, I take very attractive girl's hand, leave my white rhythmless friends, and invite my latin hips to the party. My "total giver" reputation takes a slight hit.

We have a great time dancing, checking each other out, and discovering that we're both totally awesome. Eventually a Britney Spears tune comes on. She says, "Sorry, I can't dance to this. Want to come over to my table?" I obviously do. We walk back to her old table, and she has one friend sitting there. I recognize her. It's the cute blonde, and there's a guy sitting next to her: my buddy Mike. Here we were, two friends with two friends, both with girls we had pointed out earlier, oblivious to the fact that they had come together. No role of wingman was necessary, as we were both genuinely interested in the girl beside us. Mike would later tell me, "The funny thing is, I was completely soaked, hadn't shaved for three days, and was just standing there holding my friend's coat. I looked like ass. I was just relieved they weren't psychos."

The rest of the night was incredible. My first outing with my cousin since she turned 21 was a smashing success, and I'm sure she took note that I managed to live up to the reputation my other cousins had unfairly set for me. He ain't just the quiet one, kids! Hubbard had agreed to stay for an hour, but we didn't leave until some time after 3. He wasn't even being a primadonna about it. I was proud. As we went to sleep that night, Rockhard complained about how Mike and I found some girls and he didn't.

"Whatever man, you've got the Czechoslovokian waitress waiting for you," I bitched.

"Oh yeah, I forgot. Hey this weekend was pretty cool."

May Flowers

It must be the end of April, the end of spring semesters at universities nationwide, because that season has come where I have lots to say but little time to speak. I know we're getting close to summer because I just wrapped up my spring courses, and my friends back and Florida are talking about graduating. They're in a position I felt a year ago, wondering how bittersweet the commencement will feel, what they will do next, if life will slow down outside of Gainesville, who will prove to be long-lasting friends.

A year later, I can say that all those questions get answered, but new questions develop. I wonder what things about my former life I took for granted, if I'm happier now than I was then, how my friends have changed, how I've changed. These in turn lead to new questions I tend to ask myself at this point. How will it be when I stop questioning where my life is going? When will it truly hit me that I've slowed down? When will I stop caring about my appearance? Will I be more depressed, relieved, or happy when I find the answers?

I usually ask these questions around this time, don't figure out the answers, and put them into storage for a year while I return to my routine of burning my palate by eating the food as I cook it. I'm so damn impatient.

Doorstep Notes

Two years ago I had a surprise at my apartment doorstep when hot sorority chicks had chalked across my sidewalk things like "I love my men from the Panhandle!" and "U Rock my World!"

Tonight I had a surprise at my apartment doorstep when in a small tupperware bowl were baked goodies with a note: "From Tom and Ethel, Thank you for helping with the microwave."

How things have changed.

In Low Places

I had gone up to New York knowing my best friend Hubbard would not be there, leaving me and the other guys to entertain ourselves. On previous occasions I had hung out with them. I met Rockhard and Mike back in Pensacola, and Avery was always around whenever I'd make the 3-hour trek to the greatest city on Earth, but our times together were always with Hubbard. Hubbard was not only the mutual friend, but also the connection. I didn't know these guys outside the Hubbard context, and I knew this weekend would give me a better idea of who these guys are to me.

... by the time I awoke at noon to Rockhard still coming up with ways to stick the word "bukkake" into everyday vernacular, I knew I enjoyed these guys with or without Hubbard. It only took one night of booze, music, and talks of bukkake. Hubbard was no longer the connection. We had our own.

On each drive back from New York I'm planning my next trip up. At first it was for the family and the city. Now it's also for the friends. Many of my favorite people in the world now live in that city, people I would be proud to introduce to my family, though my family already has blood relations to many of them. They're people I can show all my sides to. Everyone from Emotional Anthony to Obnoxious Asshole Anthony can come out uncensored to these friends.

It's something I feel missing in Harrisburg.

My ultimate prediacament in Harrisburg is meeting people like those in New York, people I can be myself around while also getting a lot in return. With my schedule and unfamiliarity to the area, the only people I've tended to meet are the people in my program. With a small program, you're supposed to create a tight-knit group. You can relate to each other, have some preestablished common interests, and can provide support for each other, because you've been there (or rather, you are there).

However, when I step outside the classroom, the last thing I want to talk about and surround myself with is the subject matter that encompasses my every aching study hour. My academics and my work are not my life, and I never want them to be. I love too many things on this Earth to have my life summed up in a single subject. But the easy way to make conversation with people you know little about is to talk about the little that you actually know about each other; in this case, we all relate to each other's experiences in clinical psychology.

The problem is, if you rely on a single crutch to guide conversation with someone you barely know, you never get off, and in the end, you still know very little about the person.

I'm not saying that I don't use the crutch; I talk about clinical psychology every day too. I'm not saying that my complexity is unique; I'm sure 99% of these people have substantial lives our studies can't come close to simplifying. What I'm saying is that I spend most of my time with these people, but they're not seeing the true me. They're giving me only one side of them, and I give them only one side of me. The setting we're in promotes that, and the setting is most of what I know in Harrisburg.

I'd say there's only one person in Pennsylvania who sees the real Anthony. I'd like there to be more. I'd like to figure out a way to change that. In the meantime, my next trip to New York is in 3 weeks.