October 14th, 2008
When we lived in Washington, DC. I took pottery classes at a studio in Adam’s Morgan. I studied with Jill Hinckley and threw pottery like this, this and this. I wasn’t great at it, but I loved doing it and while there I met some of the greatest people.
One of the people I met was an organic farmer named Mike. He was a sweetheart. I adored this man. He and I became close friends. He had a great big heart. I loved spending time with him.
Right before we moved to San Francisco, Mike gave us the most spectacular going away gift. It was a small vase he threw at Hinckely. It was fired out back during one of our Raku sessions. If I remember correctly, he used horse hair (taken from a local farmer) to create the most intriguing affect on its smooth sides. The piece was amazing—all of his pieces were amazing—but this one was particularly special, I think.
It was probably one of the nicest items we owned. I was so proud of that vase, whenever we moved cross-country, I wrapped it up and took it with us in the car instead of packing it away with everything else. I showed it off at home. It was always on display, albeit, at higher heights for all reasons feline.
(Trying to guess where this story ends is probably a no brainer.)
On Sunday, Murray simply had to get to the very top of the bookshelf like Tucker had. In doing so, his fat ass knocked the vase to the floor, shattering it into a million pieces. I was in the shower and heard the smash occur.
“WHAT WAS THAT!?” I yelled.
Tobyjoe came in to tell me what had happened. We were a little heartbroken.
I don’t like to get attached to non-living things because of this very reason. With cats around, you’re kind of a fool to. And now that we have a toddler, that notion became twofold. It’s better to just assume everything intangible will eventually die. It’s just a matter of when and how that end should occur.
But saying goodbye to this item stung. I’d be lying if I said otherwise.
I did not raise a hand at Murray (I don’t do that to any of my cats), nor did I yell at him (I do yell at them sometimes). He knows nothing of his mistake. And I think the noise it made was punishment enough for a creature with such intense hearing.
But I’m sharing this with you today (on Murray’s day of all days) because as I watched Tobyjoe sweep the remaining pieces into the trash can, something became very clear to me: I must really love this cat because I was unbelievably attached to that vase.
I didn’t even yell at him.
(And Mike, should you ever read this, I am so very sorry. Both Toby and I have actually mourned the loss of your gift. I thought about glueing it back together, I even thought about trying to make a mosaic out of it, but to no avail. We miss it, Mike. And would love to buy a replacement.)
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September 9th, 2008
The year was 1998. I was living in Washington, D.C. in a small, one bedroom apartment on 16th Street. I had just broken up with my boyfriend of 2 years. In less than 24 hours, our apartment was nearly emptied. I was living alone for the first time in my life.
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November 18th, 2007
I understand why people move to New York. I moved here at age 27 because I always loved it. I decided to move to New York when I was a kid and my father took us to our first ever Yankee game. He drove us right through Harlem so he could teach us a lesson and show us just how good we had it. “Not everyone lives as comfortably as you do, kids.” In reality I think he was lost. I remember riding the subway convinced that I looked more like a New Yorker if I didn’t hold onto the bars. Only tourists need to hold onto the subway bars. I actually believed that. I believed that after living in New York for a while, you figured out how to ride the subways without having to hold on.
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August 6th, 2006
Tobyjoe and I met up with Heather and Derek yesterday for brunch at the Coffee Shop on Union Square. What was supposed to be just a brunch ended up with a visit to the Beard Papa, the Leica gallery, and a ride on both the Cyclone and the Wonder Wheel at Coney Island. Coney Island is the only place I can think of where a guy can make money by allowing babes to wear his pet snake. I felt a little bad for the snake, actually.
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May 15th, 2006
I woke up at 3:30 AM to the distant sound of cats fighting. We have three cats. And although one might immediately assume that the sound was coming from inside the apartment, I can assure you, the sound was not.
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March 8th, 2006
This time last year I went on the South Beach Diet. We had just returned from vacationing down in Florida. When I put on my bathing suit, I looked like a big, mid-baked, fluffy ball of cookie dough. If that cookie dough had been tied up and then stuffed in an oven, that would have been me. I couldn’t very well avoid the pool. Not only was it 90 degrees and humid, but I love to swim. I borrowed my mother’s bathing suit. And even that one was tight not that my mother is overweight or anything. It was a rough week. I realized I was putting on weight faster than ever before and the Half Iron Man contest was taking place on the grounds where we were staying. I ate like a champ that week, stuffing myself full of pancakes, waffle, and anything beige and fluffy. I’ll take Foods That Look Like Michele for 1000.
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February 17th, 2006
I stood in the closet next to Soung. We looked around at her clothing. They hung from hangers, sighing. The great contrast between aged skin and aged clothing became painfully clear: One becomes wrinkled over time, and the other becomes smoother. There were shoes tucked away and a few hair ties draped around the door handle. She once walked through there, figuring out what to wear before heading out for the night. The carpeting below our feet held indentations of previous footprints. I wondered if any of them were still hers. I thought about cutting out a square of it and taking it with me as one might a fossil.
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December 16th, 2005
Well, the MTA didn’t go on strike. Yet. That’s a very good thing for the city. Last night, as we watched the news people salivate over any possible new breaks, I couldn’t help but wonder. What if the MTA was owned by the public? What if the money I spent to use it meant I owned a miniscule part of it? Do you think people would care more for the system? Do you think we’d have an input on the hiring? Would we have an input in management? I really wonder what would happen.
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December 6th, 2005
When Toby Joe and I lived in San Francisco, I worked for Gay.com. I wasn’t there long, but I was there long enough to discover how important it is to have such a site for men and women who are gay, bisexual or transgender. I also realized how tightly knit that community is. It’s reassuring knowing there are groups out there willing to take a stand to see change.
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