What is it with me? What is my motivation, or more precisely, where is my motivation? Up in smoke perhaps? But I’ve been good, just lazy. Content to sit around and do nothing most of the time, then logging online and writing about how my friends are never around to do anything, meaning I’m not calling anyone to do anything either. This morning, Bill mentioned going to see a play that his friend, Rome Neal directed at the Nuyorican Poets Cafe and I expressed very little enthusiasm. I didn’t say no, but at that moment I wasn’t up for anything, I was frustrated by the New York magazine compilation of crossword puzzles in an effort to increase my word power and boy am I rusty.
But I thought about going out to meet up with Bill, since we hardly ever do anything together lately, Thanksgiving dinner was a family thing, and this would be a date of sorts. I actually got motivated, listened to music instead of watching Robert Morse in How to Succeed in Business Without Really Trying, and got bundled up for my trek into the city. And once again waited until 4:20, well actually 4:14 as I was pressed for time. The iPod was all charged up and decided to listen to Sparks, Lil Beethoven which I still have to burn for Annemarie.
I figured on taking the bus to the city then walking over to catch the train to Union Square, stopping in on Farfetched and seeing Harpy perhaps and Lois or Susan or whomever might be working. As I approached Washington Street, my phone rang and it was Bill. They were moving his mother to a different floor, I think to a cardiac unit, or at least from a cardiac unit obviously I’m not too sure. (She’s out of the cardiac ward) He wanted me to call him when I got into the city. I could tell by the sound of his voice he was worried and I suggested just calling off the evening, rather than having him sitting in the Cafe worried about his mother. He reluctantly agreed and I was ok with it, since it was my idea anyway. So the best laid plans fell by the wayside. I actually got it together and left the apartment, ready to head into the big bad city only to trip on the plug, and yanking it from the wall, effectively killing that idea.
So now I’m making some dinner, listening to Steely Dan right now, just playing the role of a DJ, Primal Scream cued up for the next track. No plans for the evening, it’s even colder than it was yesterday. Staying in once again, the best option. At least right now it is. Tomorrow could be a good day to go out and do something besides walking the radius of Washington Street and to Clinton Street. A major adventure perhaps. I’ll let you know in any event. Not much on TV tonight.
I did watch Smoke Signals, starring Adam Beach. The first Native American film written, directed and produced by Native Americans. It was written by Sherman Alexie, who wrote the Lone anger and Tonto Fist Fight In Heaven which Annemarie gave me for my birthday. I tried getting into it, but now after seeing the movie, I have a renewed interest in the book again, so I’ll give it another shot.
Dinner was good. Ravioli again. The end.