date night

Last night was date night. We don't really have a date night, because mostly we just do lots of stuff together, but we've been busy and tired and sick a lot and I've been working too much, so I decided we should have a date night.

We went to the Met to sip cocktails and nibble on cheese before looking at some stuff. We ran into magnetgirl and her partner doing some murder mystery thing right as we were going in, but they had to dash on a scavenger hunt or some such.

As ever, being gluten-free was slightly trying, but more spectacularly hilarious was the waiter trying to be helpful when I couldn't decide on a cocktail. He suggested a cosmopolitan.

Among other things, I was in cargo pants. Tucked into boots. Wearing a big ol' brown belt. And I had my hair pulled back in a ponytail and while I looked like a woman, I did NOT look like a woman who would be drinking a cosmo.

"No," I said, laughing, reverting, reflexively to those rich, 'isn't that delightful' and 'you couldn't be more wrong' tones. "Definitely not."

And then, despite explaining to Patty why some shit involving vodka and fruit in a martini glass is not in fact any sort of martini at all no matter what people may tell you, I ordered a pomegranate martini, because at least it would be bitter.

And strong.

So then we toddled around the museum sort of trashed, me insisting (predictably) that we go see prints from Britain from between the Wars, and falling in love (of course) with one of a car (can't remember the type of car or the artist, can remember it was called "Speed Test" and was from 1931) and one that was from a series of WWI propaganda prints of a plane. I'd tell you you could feel the tilt, the image was so fabulously composed, but I was trashed, and it might have just been the martini. Neither, of course is available as a postcard or anything else, which is beyond irksome, because I would happily advocate for either to go on the walls at home.

Anyway, then we stumbled about to the Palm Leaf Manuscripts she wanted to see ("I want to wield a sword against ignorance!"), wandering through the little Chinese garden thing first and then through some of the baroque rooms they have set up too.

She remarked how weird it would be to live inside such little gilded boxes, and I remarked she'd be used to it, and thought that maybe everyone felt safer then, like cats hiding in a paper bag. Maybe we all did better when we knew where the walls were.

ah NYC subways

On the subway coming home from a day that did not go as planned (so glad we had date night last night, since the weather totally scuppered our plans for today), and man got on the train and announced that he'd be singing some of the songs of Sam Cooke and if we could spare a bit of change that would be appreciated.

Now, living in NYC, this happens all the time. Sometimes it's more pleasant than others. There's the guy who won't stop playing his sax badly unless you give him money and there are people that play bongoes at 8am, which might work for someone, but it sure isn't me. And of course there are the preachers.

Now, I'll definitely grouse about this stuff, which yes, is illegal, but it's part of living here and not really a huge issue to me. I just turn up my iPod most times (although I've been known to take gay-hate flyers out of teh hands of people and trash them publically).

So this guy gets on the train and this woman across from me who is reading some Buddhist book or other starts screaming.

"What you're doing is illegal. You're why we had a fascist mayor, because you people couldn't control yourselves. You're why we had Rudy Giuliani. He was almost president because you people couldn't ontrol yourselves."

Okay, "you people" WHUT?

For starts, racist much?

Next. Yes, Giuliani was all about legislating random quality of life issues of this ilk, but I'm pretty sure guys with lovely voices on the train weren't what got the fucker elected and they certainly weren't what propelled him onto the national stage.

So I turn off my walkman, give the guy a buck.

The woman starts screaming at me. I ignore her. She starts ranting to the man next to her as everyone stares agape and he pointedly gives the guy money too (this bit of crazy probably made his day financially).

As the singing man passes her he stops and says, "I am sorry you are filled with so much evil," very politely.

She totally flips out.

Finally, it's my stop.

"Be bigger," I say to her.

Be bigger.