The grand life

Sorry for the long absence. I'm in New York for one more night and then I'll go home and write something here almost every single day. Promise to god.

I used to say that as a kid. "Promise to god." Not that I knew what the hell I was talking about, and my family wasn't religious in the least, but I'd constantly promise god stuff anyway. The idea was that I would die if I promised to do something (step on every paving stone in the backyard, hit all the posters in my room with one hand, et cetera) and didn't follow through. Because god, you know, totally kills people if they try to back out of promises. When it comes to the O.C.D. kids out there, he is very much wrathful.

Anyway. It's hot here, today especially, and I thought I was getting a taste of real Manhattan summer before about fifteen New Yorkers mentioned how perfect the weather is. As in, not hot. But whatever, guys, whatever. I know sweltering when I swelters.

I never wrote about San Diego, which turned out to be exhausting and stressful and well worth the trip, all in all. I met a lot of people I'm glad to know, and spent more time with people I'm damn pleased to know better. Plus there were comics and stuff.

This trip is a different matter all together. I'm here to meet my dad mid-publicity tour, as tradition (in my opinion) absolutely requires. All is going very well for him and that's nice, and in the meantime I get to run around and suck up as much Manhattan as possible in a ridiculously short time period. But not literally. Ew. I stepped on an (already) pancaked pigeon today in the street, and then blundered into a store that sells genuine stuffed puppies and kittens. BECAUSE WE ALL WANT SOME OF THOSE.

That was my sarcasm. Those capitals.

I'm writing this on my dad's laptop. One of the many benefits of being in the city with him is his laptop. Also his minibar, which is paid for by Nameless Faceless Corporation. So I clean it out every day and take it to my room on the floor above, no doubt puzzling the hotel maids. It must seem to them as if I have a magical minibar that never runs out of glass-bottled Cokes, no matter how many I drink. Which is all I've ever dreamed of, really.

Another benefit is that he buys me weird stuff, my dad, on impulse. Like a stuffed elephant (toy, it's now necessary to clarify) from Paul Smith. It's made of camouflage fabric from Sri Lanka. Utter nonsense. I'm going to name him Elby.

I don't have much money of my own after San Diego, so I only plan to buy one thing for myself, and that's an item of clothing not yet located. Possibly a shirt of some kind. They have shirts here, right? I'm going to go look and see as soon as I publish this and finish my Coke.

Tonight I'm doing something, no idea what, with a childhood friend who moved here last year. I used to assume that I'd live here too, at some point. Mainly because I wanted to. But now I don't know. I mean not only is it impossibly expensive, not only that, but I don't know how I'd deal with missing the stuff I take for granted at home. Grass and trees everywhere, places for my dog to run, clean air, people dressed as lazily as I am, and everything else that almost anywhere else has to offer.

It's not really a call I have to make right now though, is it. One way or the other. It's not like I promised to god.