Last night at around 2 a.m. I'd been up for 24 hours and still couldn't sleep. I decided to get on the train and go uptown to eat. My mood had been weird all evening. I got a new computer and when I opened the box and saw that it was similar in its technical specifications to my old computer, I felt a wave of hatred toward it that took a little while to overcome. Ned was sitting in my living room and finally I asked him what he thought of the computer, and he said, "It looks awesome," which was exactly the right answer and calmed me down enough that I was able to think clearly and be productive.
So by 2 a.m. I had written a bunch, both on Strangelets and the other project, and had watched part of an episode of Lost online and read some American Psycho, so I put on my massive sheepskin jacket and went out into the weirdly chilly night. As soon as I walked into the deserted 4/5 subway station, the train arrived. Amazing. Then the 6 was waiting for me at the transfer station. I went to San Loco tacos, which is open 24 hours. Astor Place and the streets around there were mostly deserted and I thought, Why am I not being killed? How is it possible I can walk around the streets of the Lower East Side at 2:30 a.m. and not feel any sense of danger?
At San Loco, there was a strange social scene going on. The cashier was this blond young guy, who had sort of all the features of being handsome without actually being handsome and was being very friendly. One of the customers was a tall, genuinely very handsome blond guy. Seated at the counter was an angry Rastafarian guy who kept yelling at everyone ("Yo I was here, okay man?? Not you! Me! I'm next!"). Blond Customer kept going up and talking to Blond Cashier amid interruptions from Rastafarian, and I overheard Cashier say, "Yeah, I was in this one band, and then I was in this boy band, not a big one, but you probably heard of us if you know about boy bands... so yeah, I just started here." Then this attractive woman came in and ordered and went to read the bulletin board while she waited for her order, and Blond Customer walked over and stood next to her very awkwardly for a moment, and she grinned, staring straight and not looking at him, and finally when he didn't say anything, she got her food and left.
A really good song was playing in San Loco, I'm not sure what it was, but they always have a good radio station on there and I enjoy my tacos more because of it. I almost always go there alone. Some girl named Ellen took me there for the first time last fall and every time since I've gone by myself, except maybe once. The only other place that almost always plays good music while you eat is Momofuku. (And they have a giant picture of The Band on the wall, so there's that.)
When I went back to Astor Place to catch the train, it came instantly. I was really happy by this point. I don't know why, I just felt pretty great. The music, the tacos, the instant trains, the night, the empty streets. A lot of endorphins came out of nowhere. Then I slept a little and this morning I was tired.
Tonight is Mike Edison's book party for I Have Fun Everywhere I Go. Mike used to edit High Times and Screw. I have done a couple readings with him. It will, as the title suggests, be fun.
Had lunch today with Richard Grayson, whose fatalism is contagious. Always a pleasure. But why is the weather so sick?