One of the funny things about living in New York is the way the smallest apartments can accommodate tons and tons of shit personal belongings.
Other funny things include angry bums, happy drunks, vegan chicken nuggets on restaurant menus, wind tunnels, $14 six packs, $1 shots, incognito celebrities, cats in bars, 9% sales tax, taxi drivers who disregard red lights, PORK ROLL VOID (more like tragic), the facility of spying on your neighbors, the fact that your neighbors (and you) are shameless… I could keep going, but let’s go back to the apartment thing.
It never looks like that much stuff — until you pack it all up to move. Which is yet another funny thing about New York: everyone moves all the time. Anyway, I spent the day packing. I have maybe 150 square feet of space in this apartment, but I somehow have about 20 boxes to move out tomorrow morning. I’m actually worried that it may not all fit into my parents’ pick up truck.
I’m going home to Jersey for a few weeks, and a wedding, and then out to California for the summer. In catching up on the magazines I neglected during this wild semester, I read SURFING’s California issue, which upped my stoke level (didn’t know it was possible). I’m not really going to L.A. but Chas Smith’s “Tail In The City” was brilliant. I wish I could find it online to share with EVERYONE I KNOW. Old-school, New Journalism awesomeness. Also, Stuart Cornuelle’s story about the towns (I’m sorry, I don’t have the exact title because I packed it already) kind of made me wish I was heading to San Clemente tomorrow, instead of in a few weeks, but… patience is some sort of virtue, right?