Monday, 11 February 2008
Thanks For Sharing
I've started a new blog: www.thanksforsharing-lukas.blogspot.com. Not travel notes--not anything in particular, really! Perhaps you'll enjoy.
Sunday, 10 February 2008
One Year Later, or Why I'm Bothering With This Right Now
Hi!
My friend Ronckytonk inadvertently inspired me to return to my blog. But more on that later.
Yes, my Dogsitting In London trip came to an end a year ago and I look back so fondly on that trip and I'm now in the throes of a Toxic Grind and the number of exciting things happening to me right now is probably a lot less than yours, but all that this means is that I've got more time to sit here and pontificate than I ever thought possible and it is making me antsy. My long-held mantra, "Just because you have an opinion doesn't mean you get to share it," has often discouraged me from writing anything for public consumption, however narrow a slice of the public that may be. But in the interest of my blossoming boredom and the fact that it is cold and windy outside and I'm feeling the urge to share, I think I'll dust off my keyboard, flex my fingers, and just dig in.
This dumb blog caused me a lot of anguish last year: I was writing out of a sense of obligation, for a pretty vast cross section of my friends and family, and it's hard to write something that will be interesting and true (enough) to self for everyone in your audience, even if that audience is only eight people. There was no end to the snarky comments I'd have made if I were reading it. Thus I mostly wrote posts after I got drunk.
So I'm going to come out from the start here to state that this blog, "Thanks for Sharing, née Dogsitting in London," should I ever again write another post, will not in any way be a focused one. There will be a lot of unsolicited opinion sharing, posts about food, books, Rickie Lee Jones, gay things, stuff I like and stuff I hate, and other random events that give me pause.
Because that's what my friend Ronckytonk (minus the food and RLJ and gay things part) has been doing on her blog, which is so fun to read. Clearly, one reason it's so good is because of the writing (she's FUNNY!!!), but it's also unfiltered and true and not even for a fingernail clipping is it posing. And THAT is refreshing to me. Because she likes stuff and she likes her friends and she likes herself, and how often do I read about happy things on blogs? Not very often. And you probably won't see a lot here. I like vitriol, too, and I'm admittedly not as full of goodness as Ronckytonk. But I'm going to copy some of that goodness and will be sure to include more things that I do like than things I don't. For instance, I vow, here and now, that if I keep up this blog, I will write profiles of my friends. Because I like them all a lot and they should know that.
But for now, while we're on the topic of Ronckytonk, I saw her last night. OK, first I should say that in a couple days I'll be 26 years old and that I live in New York and that though I consider myself pretty active out in the city and I like to drink and I like to socialize, I have never been much for "going out" on the weekends. There was a time when gay bars seemed fresh and exciting. I don't think I ever did a ton of gaying, but if I were to go out on a weekend to a bar it would most likely be to a gay bar. With straight friends, I just don't stay out late unless they're having me over for dinner or something. Who am i kidding, I never stay out late. Anyway, Ronkytonk is in town and after she saw an embarrassing show, we were going to meet up for a drink. For some idiotic reason I understood this to be a challenge to find something fun to do in New York on a Saturday night, and I actually anguished over it for about fourteen minutes--it made me feel really old! I couldn't remember the last time that I "went out" on a weekend, and particularly into Manhattan, and I don't even know what's supposed to be fun, because I never had any fun myself so I always took other people's word for what was "good" and what was not, and plus I'm not a fun person so I shouldn't be saddled with this responsibility--and finally settled on a bar I knew. I got to the bar early to find it packed solid with lots of people my age but who looked a lot younger: lots of blond hair and cumbersome heels, flipped up collars and those goddamn fedoras, and then outside there was some very involved hailing of cabs and bumming of cigarettes and the disinterested yet intimidating bouncer presided over it all, and I stood inside for about ten seconds before realizing that I'd die if I had to stay, so I waited out in the rain for them to show up instead. It's not that I condone these types of bars--not just because they're not gay, because Holy Jesus there are annoying gay bars out there--but they are for a certain segment of New York that is of a certain age and has a certain notion of what is fun and what is not and they all also have a certain (not gay) agenda that doesn't prefigure me, and so it's best for me to just leave these folks alone. (Though for the record I continue to be baffled that anyone enjoys standing around in a claustrophobic space that is so loud you can't carry on a conversation. I'm old at heart, I guess. Middle-aged women love me.)
So it's funny that I forgot I was dealing with people five to ten years older than me. Everyone dismissed that bar immediately and we went to a nice, roomy restaurant on Bleeker Street, where we had space to lay out our wet coats, a waitress to play messenger to the bar, a line-free restroom, no loud music to battle with, snacks, and good margaritas. Ronckytonk and I reenacted moves we learned in pilates, capoeira, and West African dance classes (basically it was all one move because we spent each session laughing too much to pay attention. We always thought we'd be split up). It's kind of ridiculous that I found this night to be such a novel thing, but it was really fun! I guess I do the same thing with friends who I see on a regular basis all the time, but it was supremely fun to do it with a friend I hadn't seen in forever and to also meet new people.
But like I said, I just don't really go out anymore. I've spent most of the past few Saturday nights making vegetable stock.
My friend Ronckytonk inadvertently inspired me to return to my blog. But more on that later.
Yes, my Dogsitting In London trip came to an end a year ago and I look back so fondly on that trip and I'm now in the throes of a Toxic Grind and the number of exciting things happening to me right now is probably a lot less than yours, but all that this means is that I've got more time to sit here and pontificate than I ever thought possible and it is making me antsy. My long-held mantra, "Just because you have an opinion doesn't mean you get to share it," has often discouraged me from writing anything for public consumption, however narrow a slice of the public that may be. But in the interest of my blossoming boredom and the fact that it is cold and windy outside and I'm feeling the urge to share, I think I'll dust off my keyboard, flex my fingers, and just dig in.
This dumb blog caused me a lot of anguish last year: I was writing out of a sense of obligation, for a pretty vast cross section of my friends and family, and it's hard to write something that will be interesting and true (enough) to self for everyone in your audience, even if that audience is only eight people. There was no end to the snarky comments I'd have made if I were reading it. Thus I mostly wrote posts after I got drunk.
So I'm going to come out from the start here to state that this blog, "Thanks for Sharing, née Dogsitting in London," should I ever again write another post, will not in any way be a focused one. There will be a lot of unsolicited opinion sharing, posts about food, books, Rickie Lee Jones, gay things, stuff I like and stuff I hate, and other random events that give me pause.
Because that's what my friend Ronckytonk (minus the food and RLJ and gay things part) has been doing on her blog, which is so fun to read. Clearly, one reason it's so good is because of the writing (she's FUNNY!!!), but it's also unfiltered and true and not even for a fingernail clipping is it posing. And THAT is refreshing to me. Because she likes stuff and she likes her friends and she likes herself, and how often do I read about happy things on blogs? Not very often. And you probably won't see a lot here. I like vitriol, too, and I'm admittedly not as full of goodness as Ronckytonk. But I'm going to copy some of that goodness and will be sure to include more things that I do like than things I don't. For instance, I vow, here and now, that if I keep up this blog, I will write profiles of my friends. Because I like them all a lot and they should know that.
But for now, while we're on the topic of Ronckytonk, I saw her last night. OK, first I should say that in a couple days I'll be 26 years old and that I live in New York and that though I consider myself pretty active out in the city and I like to drink and I like to socialize, I have never been much for "going out" on the weekends. There was a time when gay bars seemed fresh and exciting. I don't think I ever did a ton of gaying, but if I were to go out on a weekend to a bar it would most likely be to a gay bar. With straight friends, I just don't stay out late unless they're having me over for dinner or something. Who am i kidding, I never stay out late. Anyway, Ronkytonk is in town and after she saw an embarrassing show, we were going to meet up for a drink. For some idiotic reason I understood this to be a challenge to find something fun to do in New York on a Saturday night, and I actually anguished over it for about fourteen minutes--it made me feel really old! I couldn't remember the last time that I "went out" on a weekend, and particularly into Manhattan, and I don't even know what's supposed to be fun, because I never had any fun myself so I always took other people's word for what was "good" and what was not, and plus I'm not a fun person so I shouldn't be saddled with this responsibility--and finally settled on a bar I knew. I got to the bar early to find it packed solid with lots of people my age but who looked a lot younger: lots of blond hair and cumbersome heels, flipped up collars and those goddamn fedoras, and then outside there was some very involved hailing of cabs and bumming of cigarettes and the disinterested yet intimidating bouncer presided over it all, and I stood inside for about ten seconds before realizing that I'd die if I had to stay, so I waited out in the rain for them to show up instead. It's not that I condone these types of bars--not just because they're not gay, because Holy Jesus there are annoying gay bars out there--but they are for a certain segment of New York that is of a certain age and has a certain notion of what is fun and what is not and they all also have a certain (not gay) agenda that doesn't prefigure me, and so it's best for me to just leave these folks alone. (Though for the record I continue to be baffled that anyone enjoys standing around in a claustrophobic space that is so loud you can't carry on a conversation. I'm old at heart, I guess. Middle-aged women love me.)
So it's funny that I forgot I was dealing with people five to ten years older than me. Everyone dismissed that bar immediately and we went to a nice, roomy restaurant on Bleeker Street, where we had space to lay out our wet coats, a waitress to play messenger to the bar, a line-free restroom, no loud music to battle with, snacks, and good margaritas. Ronckytonk and I reenacted moves we learned in pilates, capoeira, and West African dance classes (basically it was all one move because we spent each session laughing too much to pay attention. We always thought we'd be split up). It's kind of ridiculous that I found this night to be such a novel thing, but it was really fun! I guess I do the same thing with friends who I see on a regular basis all the time, but it was supremely fun to do it with a friend I hadn't seen in forever and to also meet new people.
But like I said, I just don't really go out anymore. I've spent most of the past few Saturday nights making vegetable stock.
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