Two Thousand And Nine

By January 8, 2009Blog

I’m getting better at twittering than I am at keeping up this blog.

But I’m trying! I am!

Random highlights of the last eleven days:

– touched ground in four countries in two days

– went to Holland and Belgium for the first time

– knowing I’m in Amsterdam because the airport is filled with clouds of beautiful smoke

– eating my only meal in Belgium at Buffalo Bill’s, a faux American restaurant with tacky totem poles adorning the entrance out by the Brussels airport

– nearly got deported in Ireland by the friendly immigration officers

– arrived in New York City to brilliant snow

– opened up the new year surrounded by beautiful artists in a beautiful apartment full of art

– followed by, a few hours later, standing on a stage with Beth Hommel and Amanda Palmer and the Danger Ensemble, due to the sheer hubris of Miss Beth. (She took me by the hand, with no backstage passes of any kind, and hurried us past the bouncers with such a fierce look of intensity that of COURSE we belonged there.)

– am crashing with said Beth and her mom, happily surrounded by keys of all kinds, and art, and the streets of Brooklyn, and bodegas, and the J train, and, and, and

– happiness.

I think I don’t say much here because how much to say? My mood swings overcome me, I don’t want to get too personal, I wait, and I wait, and then weeks and months pass. And that’s okay.
It’s a New Year. I spent New Year’s Day, my birthday, bundled and scarved and gloved wandering the freezing pavement through Central park alone, past the ice skaters in Rockefeller Center, the giant Christmas tree, the sheer glowing warmth of the people on the street, the tourists, the fifteen vendors selling the same five winter hats, the hot dog sellers, the tourists, the families… being lost in the crowd of strangers and feeling so happy just to be next to these people in the middle of winter, wherever they were from, wherever they were going.

It was a good birthday. I’m thirty.

Really? Thirty? You look so young.

Yes. Thirty.

Kind of amazing.

I think I’m living my life backwards. At twenty my life was much more sort of “together” than it is now– and now I am a vagabond gypsy, flitting about the world and making music and art and, and, and…

I think my twenty year old self would admire me. I think my ten year old self would cling to me in equal parts infatuation and amazement.

I think these are good signs.

Onwards. Upwards.

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