October 13th 2009

I do my vata oil massage before my bath.
I juice. Vitamins and eat.

I sit down at my desk for several hours and open mail.

I order a pillow-top mattress from Land's End.
My legs and hips have thinned out. It's difficult and painful to turn in bed.
I love my mattress. I require a very firm mattress and it took me years to find this one, the right one.
Now, this mattress isn't working for me.

I get out my bike.
The wind is so strong behind my building on West 41st that I'm frozen in the street. I straddle the bike, stuck (the battery can't defeat the wind). Traffic is coming. I can't move.  I scan the street. I call for help from a near by deliveryman.

"Hey!"

"HEY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

The delivery-man ignores me or thinks I'm nuts.  I manage to turn the bike around and use the wind to propel me towards midtown.  I'll go to the Cup Cake.

At the Cup Cake, Andy (my barista of ten years) brings my green tea to my table because I'm too unsteady to carry it myself.  He looks nervous and shy about my present condition but doesn't ask any questions.

Andy is my age. He has a rock band. It's Andy and three younger women.

Andy has curly hair and a kind folksy disposition like maybe he grew up around hippies in the South.
Andy is anchored in ways that I'm not.  I feel like a shallow, money grabbing, suburbanite (around Andy).

He gave up a cheap floor through apartment in Chelsea to move to Brooklyn because he can't stand the way Chelsea has changed.  "Too many people shopping, you don't recognize anyone anymore."

(This floored me).

He loves his new Brooklyn apartment and doesn't mind the commute.

Andy has no cell phone or health insurance. Andy doesn't have cable TV.

Last year, he married his longtime girlfriend but they didn't make a big  deal about it. I think they did it for legal reasons (taxes or something?).  But I saw him the day after he got married and he looked different, calmer, handsomer.  Like he saw something he wasn't prepared for and was pleasantly surprised.  I was jealous.

I pay for my tea. He always charges me less. I then always tip what he saves me. This is our ritual.

"Ahhh...  thanks Charlie." As if he never expected it.

I sit with my tea at the front table that is just one large white marble slab. I read pamphlets about the Vata Oil I massage into my skin every night (Ayurveda), the glutathione spray, and my (top of the line) juicer.  I like this juicer, something I should have acquired years ago.

And... I pull sheets from various catalogs for looks that I might like for the apartment.
(This new look may never happen).

Before going home, I stop at LONGO Brothers Liqours at 36th and 9th and buy red wine. I like that place. I choose the Chillean Cabernet "DUO".  I hate it.  Don't buy it.  (I'm sipping it now).

At home, I put away my delivery from Urban Organics.
And I e-mail Taliah Lambert, the artist is going to do a portrait of my bike!
She will come by tomorrow and ride my old Schwinn back to her Brooklyn loft.

__________________________________

Taliah!

I checked out the bike. The tires are a bit soft, but ridable.
There's a pump in the bike room and we can fill the tires before you go.

I really have a love for this bike.
It's served me well in the city.

It's a good bike too. Better made than newer Schwinns (I think).

There is one thing. The seat is a bit frankenstein-y.
It fell apart years ago and I taped it up with black gaffers tape.
Maybe I should cheat and but a new seat for the bike's sitting.
I don't want my bike to look ghetto-ish (I guess).
We can talk about it when you get here tomorrow.

Charlie (Yay)