Snow!

Hello, again.  I'm stuck at home, waiting for the building handyman to show up and re-caulk (or whatever one does... maybe it's re-grout) our shower, which is apparently leaking into the Chinese restaurant below.

So I'm sitting here at about 10:15 a.m., and the snow has begun.  The thrill of a great snowstorm is really gone by April, isn't it?  I remember being so excited about the Christmas blizzard, and even thinking that the Presidents Day blizzard was pretty cool, despite the fact that it trapped me inside on what was otherwise a work holiday.  But now the thrill is gone, the charm is lost on me, and the bloom, as they say, is off the fucking rose.

My poor waxy-toned body is longing for sunlight and gentle spring breezes.  I wouldn't even mind some spring thundershowers, as long as they were closely followed by sunshine and green buds.  But everything green keeps staying away because the sky stays gray, and the ground just can't thaw.

I'm beginning to seriously think I might be affected by Seasonal Affective Disorder!

I got sick of waiting for the handyguy, so the roommates and I all got together for a late breakfast at The Silver Spoon, a delightful little diner that's just a couple of blocks away from my house.  Of course, ever the intrepid explorer (can you detect the note of sarcasm?), I had no idea it was there.  I've been feeling a little guilty, 'cuz Matt's been dropping hints left and right about wanting to go out for dinner or something, and I haven't been terribly obliging.  So today, I figured what the hell.  Ol' Kenroy the Handyman was being slow about coming, so we went for a late breakfast.  Max the dog was kind enough to accompany us, and patiently wait outside on the sidewalk (in the blizzard) while we ate.

Matt was worried about what people would think of him leaving Max out in the cold like that, but the truth of the matter is that Max is an Alaskan native.  He's an Akida and Chow mix, and snow is no freakin' big deal to him.  Nevertheless, to soothe his conscience, Matt and I each donated part of our bacon orders to a treat for Max, who was duly appreciative.

That dog was so happy to see us when we came out of the diner, I'm not sure if it's 'cuz he missed us, or could smell the bacon.  Either way, he's a gentle, adorable soul, and he deserved a side order of bacon and more.

And then, of course, there's Truckstop.

So now it's about 8:45 p.m., and the day is nearing a close.  The snowstorm has mostly blown itself out and left us with a steady, very light drizzle, and the promise of more of the same for much of the week, I think.  Sucks to be us!

However, I'm not complaining.

I decided that I couldn't be cooped up in the apartment anymore, so I headed in to Manhattan and got myself a sandwich at The Grey Dog.  Boy, am I indebted to Kenny Bolden for turning me on to that place.  The picture to the left is of Downing Street, one block over from Carmine Street, where The Grey Dog is located.  Look at what our little one-day blizzard did; and that's just in the city!  I can't imagine what it must be like out in the suburbs right now.

While I was there, I did a load of journalizing (7½ pages!) in the paper journal.  I lost track of time and spent nearly two hours there.  It was good, I think, for my soul, but it was also kinda strange.

There was this couple sitting next to me - what I can only assume was a fairly well-off gay guy and his fag hag - who were discussing whether or not he wanted to buy the apartments on either side of his condo and join all three into one big apartment.  And it was a little surreal to me, sitting there being able to over hear what they were talking about, because the idea of buying up apartments to combine - hell, even the idea of buying one tiny apartment, let alone having the good credit required to rent a decent apartment - is so far outside my reality that it boggles the mind.  This is not to say that this can't change - since a reversal of fortunes and success could still very well lie down my pike, or that I'm especially upset over it (though in truth, I've recently reached a point in my life where I can wistfully look back at how blithe I was about never wanting to be a homeowner), but I think what unnerved me the most was just how far out of my reach it felt, and how wrong that fact felt, given that I'm about to be 39 years old.  It's a lesson in how hard it is to outgrow the value system beat into your head as a child.  I can't seem to shake the shadow feeling that I ought to have achieved certain things by now; a comfort level, a material yard stick.  Even though I know and believe with all of my heart that that value system is bullshit and so not the path to happiness, still it lingers, poisoning even one of the simple joys of my life:  Time spent in a coffee shop with a pen, a journal, really great music, and a lively and interesting crowd.