Faithful and beloved reader, hello. In lieu of an attempt to fill you in on my long silence, I present you a collection of what are to me, Precious Moments:
A man steps onto the crowded 1 train, holding a fresh vanilla swirl ice cream cone with chocolate walnut toppings. He squeezes into the seat next to me, I open my new library book, and he steadily licks his cone. My curiosity in his decision to take a fresh swirl straight down into the subway is distracting. Instead of catching the words on the page in my lap, I wonder if he’s done this before, if he regrets this choice, or if this is something he does regularly, if his mind is somewhere else, or if he’s present, enjoying it, how could he be enjoying it? My mom always says, “People are funnier than anyone,” which she’s probably quoting from someone else.
Sadie DMS me a kitty rescue page, because some of the newly-trapped kittens look like they might be part Maine Coon, my dream breed of kitty. I fill out the online foster form, thinking…I don’t know what I’m thinking, that someone will reach out to me in a few months? Instead, days later, I have two kittens peering up at me from my bathroom floor.
I go out, I come home.
Peek in the bathroom, they’re half-sleeping, tangled together. I walk to the kitchen to fill up their water bowl and when I return, the kittens have disappeared. It is late at night, the kind of late when it feels easy to question your sanity. And so I ask myself, did I imagine this entire episode? Did these kittens ever exist in this bathroom? Or at all?
One day goes by, two. With Sadie’s help, I piece together that they’re hiding in the base of my toilet—I never would have guessed that its back was hollow. If I lay down on the floor and angle my arm just right, I can reach deeper into the toilet base, and I can brush my hand against soft fur, feel it purring, but I can’t see anything, and I can’t get them out. It feels bad and wrong to have my foster kittens hiding in a toilet. I wonder what it’s like to be inside of a toilet when it flushes.
My friend Val is visiting from Detroit, sleeping on my couch for the month. Whenever I mention to Greg how much I love Val, he comments that we’re the same person. It’s a big compliment.
Val and I walk back from the train after seeing May December at the IFC. We agree that it was the right decision to go out tonight, despite how tempting the weather made it to stay in. Being home always feels much better after leaving home. The neighborhood is quiet—nobody’s out now—and the streets are wet, black and glassy. The red from the stoplight reflects off the pavement, and it looks like a fresh painting.
I dart backstage at Union Pool to grab my wallet from my backpack. Tonight I filled in for Fantasy of a Broken Heart, one of my favorite bands. The songs are complicated, and I’m relieved that we’ve finished and that I didn’t fuck my parts up. In fact, the general feeling is we nailed it.
Behind the curtain it’s dark, too dark to see, and I brush up against smooth, soft flesh. Flesh in the dark when you’re not expecting it can be startling, and so I yelp as the figure says a friendly hello, reveals himself to be Joe. He’s hiding.
Ashley and I DJ a holiday shopping event at a diamond store in Midtown. It’s a private event, tonight the store is only open to its VIP customers. The international patrons walk around, accepting or not accepting tiny, beautiful treats off of silver trays. The catering staff is exclusively made up of male models with differing levels of flirtatiousness. It’s all pretty goofy.
We’re DJing in shifts. When it’s Ashley’s turn to take over I squeeze myself into the storage room to scarf down a snack. The only way I can fit with all the gear is if I compress my body and put my arms over a rack case. I think about how I’m eating a snack in the storage room of a diamond store in Midtown, but that’s where the thought ends.
My friend Madeleine invites me to a play she’s directing. I invite Erik, who lives near the play space. I’m on the F headed to Manhattan when I get a text from my friend Cory:
And I respond:
He has no plans really. I send him a link to the play, inviting him along, and he takes up my invitation. Buys a ticket, he’ll be there soon.
I meet Erik at the address listed on the ticket link, but there’s no theater people milling about, or anyone really? I call Madeleine to see where the entrance is, and when she picks up she answers my question with another question - “Did you mean to call me?” Holding the phone to my ear, I look at Erik with a smile that says, “So the play is next Friday,” and then I say it out loud.
But it’s all good! Jump to plan B. I try calling Cory, but he doesn’t answer. We’ll just wait on the steps for his arrival. A few minutes pass. A guy walks up with a familiar face, but it’s not Cory’s face. The face belongs to a guy that I went on a date with several months ago, and he says hello. “Hello!” I say. “Are you excited for the play?” he asks. “Yes!” I say. My eyes are growing bigger, darting back and forth between my two invitees. I look deranged, and they look uncomfortable.
“I—hey! It’s lovely to see you,” I begin, “but I just have to say this out loud.” I explain that this moment feels so deeply weird because for whatever reason, I can’t fathom how, his number has been saved in my phone under my friend Cory’s name. We piece together that for months we’ve been sending each other casual texts. He’s been texting me, and I’ve been texting—I thought I’ve been texting—Cory. When I would address him as Cory, he thought I was just doing a bit. When I had referenced a bar Cory had told me about, and he denied having told me about it, I thought he was just being stubborn.
Even with our putting the puzzle pieces in their place, I am stunned by the situation. Erik watches from two feet away, also stunned, and maybe a bit gleeful. He’s getting a show after all; we are the play.
I’m sure it sounds awkward and awful, but actually it’s fine. And in fact, the three of us proceed to have the longest marathon hang I’ve had in a while. When the drinks have been emptied at our fourth (?) stop of the night, we laugh about the tickets we still have for next Friday. An odd reunion.
Usually, Mickey wants me to chase him. But tonight he chases me, round we go in circles. I’m not even a cat person, but have you ever been chased by a kitten?
It’s time to let him win. I lean down to his level and he crashes into my face. His fur is long and soft. His paws are still big, but his legs look like they’ll stay short. He hasn’t figured out how to meow yet. Instead, he lets out chirps.
I look into his demon face. A few months ago my little king didn’t exist. Not just in my life, my apartment, but anywhere at all.
Izzy’s twice-baked potatoes inspire me: a veil has been lifted and I see clearly that everything should be twice-baked. Take something, scoop out its insides, and then replace them, but now they’re much better.
ION ~*~*~*
☆ Blaketheman1000 put out his long-awaited “Float On” featuring the Frost Children and Genny. Blake shaved off his goatee and sold it on eBay for I think $41
☆ 12/1 - Today is Bandcamp Friday. Pretty please: buy a vinyl, buy this hand-painted T-shirt, or buy this other T-shirt
☆ 12/4 - That’s right, it’s my birthday. Please wish me a happy birthday, and also buy a vinyl, buy this hand-painted T-shirt, or buy this other T-shirt
☆ 12/12 - Our last show of the year happening at TV Eye with Godcaster and Fantasy of a Broken Heart. Cop your tix here
☆ 12/15 - HARK at Sundown. It’s a variety show I think?
Stay precious, May
being home always feels much better after leaving home❤️