Just saw a perfectly beautiful woman whose body is marred by tattoos. And by marred I don’t mean a couple of hearts and Tai Chi quotes over her butt. I mean everyfuckingwhere. Not my problem of course but these tats happen to be awful. They look like magic marker scribblings. Maybe they are just an outline for future filling in but it doesn’t actually look like that. More of a Matisse thing.
Spent the afternoon getting to and wandering around College Point. It’s a swath of Queens that has interested me for a long time, but evidently not enough for me to actually make the trek. I went park hopping. I made it to MacNeil Park, Powell’s Cove, and Frank Golden, which was partly fenced off for some reason. Buses in those parts, and in Flushing, are pretty awesome. Yesterday I hopped on the Q26, which must have one of the shortest routes in town. It only runs during rush hours on weekdays. Today’s bus routes included Q66, Q25, and Q20B. That’s my first bus ride on a line with a lettered suffix appendage. Yay! I want to ride every single bus line at least once, if not in its entirety than for a substantive length.
Actually I may have ridden an M34 Select Bus that had a letter appendage. Or maybe not.
The view from MacNeil Park was interesting. Manhattan is seen behind Rikers Island, which sports an amazingly green lawn. I didn’t even think it was Rikers at first, I thought it was a golf course. To the left is the antique LaGuardia command center. Do they even use that any more? There is a very lengthy pier extending from the LaGuardia landing strip out into the East River. I thought it was a death march plank for Rikers inmates but it has something to do with the airport.
MacNeil also had a scruffy looking 9/11 grove which features trees relocated from the area around the Twin Towers. A lot of trees. On that basis MacNeil was a cool park. A sidewalk which abuts the waterway is closed to the public, though.
Powell’s Cove is like a marsh land. I felt like I was in Florida, or a Thailand rice paddy. Paddie? I was actually worried about mosquitos, since I’d heard on the radio that there are swarms of them around certain waterfronts in Queens. No zika or anything (do men even care about that?) but a lot of other contagion possibilities.
Frank Golden Park was like a swimming pool. Baseball diamonds were mosquito-ready lakes.
I feel good these days. I told the therapist I had been feeling “tranquil”. She beamed with approval. I think our work is done. I might actually look her up on the Internet now, to see who the hell she is, or was. I know she was a dancer, and I now know that she remembers me from my Tower Records days. I wonder if she knew the dancer girl I dated at Tower? Probably not, though for what little I do know of the therapist she has the same degree and credentials as that aformentioned ex. I wonder if dancers routinely gravitate to becoming therapists after their career inevitably ends.
Wouldn’t that be nuts if my insuror had assigned me to my ex as a therapist? Hah.
She said one that she only ever looked herself up once on the Internet. There was a one star review on Yelp which she said was hurtful and made absolutely no sense. I tried to make her feel better by saying what I know from my friends in the service industry: “Yelp is where the assholes go.”
We’ve become too much like friends. She sees me for what I am: crazy smart, tormented and confused, nervous and scared, and too vulnerable a soul to have made it this far in New York for this long without going farther still. I am nowhere now. But that will change. It has to. I am too smart to fail. Haha, yeah right.
I’ve taken to attacking the LinkNYC dorks directly. I’ve got nothing to lose, and one contact within the payphone biz seems to think I’ve got something going on. Others seem to hate my ass.
