I teach 3-year olds. One of my students, Sinclaire, drew me the picture on the left, representing her favorite sculpture at MoMA- an untitled piece by Lee Bontecou. I clearly had no idea who that was, so not only was I out-cultured by a 3-year old, but when I looked up the piece, I saw that indeed, Sinclaire’s rendition is near impeccable, and certainly better than anything I could have drawn.
Notice the details: the center has that circular dark bit. She even included the hanger for the mobile. Sinclaire actually even wrote Lee Bontecou’s name on her picture. Yeah, her E’s have like, ten cross bars, but that’s why 3-year olds are adorable. The magnet holding the picture up is also a Sinclaire original. I love that kid.
urban dictionary defines “homophilia” as a straight person who is attracted to a gay person- as in you have a philia for homos. that is not what i think it means. back in intro psych, we were taught that people are attracted to others who are similar to themselves. hence, homo-as in “same”- philia.
i think about this whenever i brush my teeth. how else could four roommates have 5 of the same toothbrush? it was not fate that brought us together: we picked each other because we were already all alike.
Inspired to do good works by my day off, I woke up and did the laundry. Laundry is by far my favorite chore because i love the smell of detergent. I like bleach even more, but i didn’t have any whites, unfortunately.
I had lunch with a cute boy, and recouped my lost monthly metrocard. I visited Chelsea Market and Myxyplyzk, I figured out where Tea & Sympathy is (across the street from Myxyplyzk), and got to kiss the aforementioned cute boy.
I went to the Metropolitan Museum with Teeny, where we were surrounded by beautiful things, like the 360 panoramic mural of Versailles, a preposterous collection of antique silver spoons, and a giant bust of Lincoln. Then we went downtown and got a delicious new tea creation at starbucks: earl grey with vanilla syrup and milk. It’s called a “London Fog”. We drank our tea and ate my favorite cookies, which Teeny had brought with her from Greenpoint just for me. The cookies: two capuccino meringue domes sandwiching a slather of the smoothest coffee butter cream frosting ever whipped by mortal man.
Teeny and I had our fancy cocktails comped at En, a swanky West Village Japanese restaurant, where she is a hostess. After two of those, we went to a strange improv jazz performance on Greene Street, where I ran into my crazy upstairs neighbor, affectionately known as “Wolf Pack” amongst my housemates. Wolf Pack has 3 large, rancid dogs, kept off-leash and unmuzzled, in spite of Wolf Pack’s insistence that they are vicious and will attack anyone if provoked by even a gentle pat on the head. Although I’ve met her many times (in the elevator, fearing for my life), Wolf Pack was still surprised that I could possibly be her neighbor, though I think I nailed it when I asked her if she lived on the 6th floor of 482 Fort Washington. Eventually she admitted that she could see into our apartment, and that she watches us play darts. She also said that our Slovakian Super is no longer ‘murderous’ since being exorcised by a Tibetan nun. She offered to share a cab home with me; I politely declined. That lady is bat shit crazy.
Despite the A running express, Wolf Pack had beaten me home, as evidenced by the light on in her bathroom, across the courtyard and up one floor. I was just happy to came home to the roommates that I love, and decided that I needed to document this day, so that I can remember it always.