Friday, February 1, 2008

Rainy NYC.

And better this way. More like we're achieving something. Eight or nine blocks south and two or three over this morning to Amy's Bread in Hell's Kitchen. Now that we've found the neighborhood around here — now that we've found the place that doesn't seem like the home game version of New York — all is well. A ten-dollar umbrella and the crappy boots and three or four layers and a keen eye to the crosswalk signs and all is well. Hey, sticky buns. Hey, coffee.

Cold, cold, cold, and hard rain — but a quick check of the relevant data shows much the same back home. I'll take it here and there. Good enough for me. Almost an inch in 27408, it looks like. If I had to guess, I'd say we're past that here, but I don't have to guess. Here— I'll guess anyway, and for free: We're past an inch. And still raining.

One problem with writers' conferences: all the writers. Not so much the competition that bothers me as the mass outbreak of overtly sincere nodding. Lots of black coats. Black scarves. Lots of people trying really, really hard.

To escape that then, in a fashion that screams You cannot escape that, then: Further south this afternoon towards The Strand. Maybe a little lunch. Surely a little more rain. Hey, books. Hey, weather. Hey, rain. Hey, no more Conversations With Someone Vaguely Famous in the Mercury Ballroom East at 1:30. It's the talking about the talking about that gets me about all this, eventually. Let's read books. Let's talk less about talking about reading books. Same same writing. OK? OK.

But it's raining. Here and there. So. Peace be with you. And also with you.

1 comment:

Kathryn Frances Walker said...

god bless you. i was thinking about that yesterday, how everybody i knows seems like is up there in nyc this weekend. everybody who's a writer. i was thinking how the majority of the world i live in, is not full of writers. even my friends who are i don't think of as writers first. i think of them mostly as goofballs or anxiety-ridden hilarious nice folks. that that's what doesn't appeal to me about a writer's conference, all the writers. the only thing i wish is that i was hanging out in nyc with the anxiety-ridden hilarious nice goofballs this weekend. that would be good fun. this is from kathryn. (from down here where it's raining raining raining...)