serinde: (determination)
Two and a half weeks after my return, I am finally writing up my trip before I forget completely...

Setup: A year or so ago, I had come to the conclusion that if I did not commit to travel every few years, I was never going to see anything I wanted to see in this world. As this was coalescing, [ profile] solomita was looking to plan a trip too, so we joined forces (which ended up as "Ethan did most of the legwork"--not my intent, but he is a master at it) and started drumming up trade. Final roster: us two; college friend Joe; Ethan's Californian friend Debbie; [ profile] nedlnthred; her mom; and Beth's old chums Cindy and Kevin. Final trip length: 1 week. Final venue: Florence, with one day of day trip to San Gimignano & Volterra. (But with personal flexibility; Ethan flew out a week earlier and went to Venice and Lake Como; Joe left us a day early to spend a few days in Lucca and Pisa, etc.)

Day 1: Saturday )
serinde: (bowtie)
There is much to say about this little swath of desert that has had its fantastic, luxurious habitat pastede on yay. Others have said most of it, so here's a laundry-list of impressions.

The Bellagio is not quite how it looks in the Oceans Eleven remake. )

We spent much of our days wandering through the other hotels (of which I have taken an infinite number of pictures). There's the obvious differences in theme, of course, but equally fascinating are the different vibes / markets aimed at...which may or may not seem incongruous with said theme. Excalibur looks like a kid's castle play set, but it's clearly aiming for the trashier, frat-tastic demographic. Treasure Island is trying to downplay the pirates thing and replace it with bQQbies. Monte Carlo looks as if it was built to be high-end, but based on the stores inside they're trying for the middlin' market. And then there's the newest places like Aria and Cosmopolitan, which are eschewing themes at all other than "sleek and modernistic".

I was surprised at how many older, skeevier-looking places are still interspersed with the mondo huge resorts. I'd just assumed they'd all been bulldozed in, but not so. Some have been borged by them--e.g., O'Shea's, at which outside bar I left my camera, is actually owned by the Flamingo next door; but you wouldn't know unless you happened to go on a merry backstage quest with a security guy to the Place of Lost And Found which leads you into the guts of the Flamingo--but I think some are still independent.

People watching. )

This is not a cocktail society. Nearly everything is a stupidtini with flavored vodka. Save your effort and just get cheap frozen daiquiris. Though I made a connection with a bartender, who used to live on 79th and Amsterdam, and I said "here, do me a solid. Make this French 75 you have here on your menu, but give it to me in a champagne flute not a wine glass, and DON'T PUT ICE IN IT." We got on famously. I do not blame him for his employer's weird-ass ideas of what a drink looks like as long as he'll fix it my way on request.

Coffee is weak like most of the US. But there are Starbucks in many of the hotels (though not ours), so you can get something that doesn't taste like brown crayon. Exception: the French bistro in Paris Las Vegas had nice strong coffee.

The Grand Canyon is everything it says on the box. You get a hell of a view flying in by helicopter, I can tell you. I would like to go visit on foot at some point, though. And Lake Mead looks incredibly inviting when it is 115 fucking degrees.

So even when it's well over 100, you jump in the pool, and you're cold when you get out because the wind is usually so strong. Then there's a period of an hour or so where you're staying cool through evaporation (unless you're in direct sunlight, in which case you fry in about 15 minutes). Then it's suddenly too hot to breathe and you jump back in the pool and start all over again. But what really drives you back inside? You get so dried out from the 11% humidity that you feel like your skin is cracking...even when it's still wet from the pool. Terribly odd feeling, this.

We have not visited Fremont St. and the old downtown. Could have today, but opted for a lazy day instead. That's okay.

I have not gambled yet. The games seem to fall into two categories: "for suckers" and "for big-time suckers". Tonight I may try Bond's method on the roulette wheel (back two of 1-12, 13-24, 25-36; they pay 2:1) or I may not. Do you know, the baccarat they play here, you do not get to choose whether to draw another card or not? What bullshit is this?

It's been a really fascinating and fun vacation, but I think I'm ready to come home and get back to my modest city mouse ways.
serinde: (bowtie)
Some several months ago, [ profile] nedlnthred were enticed to hitch our wagons to Ships and Dip, the fourth of that name. The concept, if you do not feel like making clicky, is that the Barenaked Ladies and a bunch of bands they like / are friends with get on a Caribbean cruise ship and invite you, yes, YOU along. So it's like a regular cruise, except that awesome music is constantly breaking out all over. And, as Tami (our Pied Piper) put it, wouldn't you rather go on a cruise with a pack of alt-rock fans than with blue-haired old ladies playing shuffleboard?

Yes. Yes I would.

Saturday: Miami )

Sunday: Getting on board, settling in, music! )
serinde: (determination)
So I am back from Pennsic, and quite a war it was--if not in the sense that most people mean it, because I did not see a single battle, and had absolutely no notion on how the tally was going. The entire first half of the week was chiefly swallowed by last-minute sweatshops to finish up a sideless surcoat for a sewing buddy who was being elevated to the Order of the Laurel at court on Wed. evening, which we accomplished, with just enough time to clean up and change and sneak into the back before the ceremony. (There are several disparate rants which are attached to all of that, but I won't get into it now.) It did look fucking awesome, I'm here to tell you. But it is not what I want to spend my vacation doing, so our mantra for next year is Read My Lips, No New Peerages.

The weather was hot and sticky for just about the whole time, except the first night, which was ass-freezing cold (and due to a certain amount of bed jumping, I ended up with insufficient blanketry). This drained my energy and my will to live considerable-like, especially since with other commitments in play I couldn't spend the nasty hours planted in the swimming hole. I'm stuck facing the fact that my chosen century in conjunction with my natural endowment dooms me to unhappiness in hot weather. (LITTLE ICE AGE, PEOPLE!) I was reasonably comfortable in my lighter gamurra, but, I mean, wah. I also kept stealing Beth's bog dress, and was surprised to learn I could wear it without a bra and not be utterly miserable, at least as long as I was just lounging and walking--trying to perform tasks in it (even just washing the dishes or picking up around camp) led to bQQbie issues.

I did, however, exhibit in the A&S display for the first time. I had been dithering about it but, upon receipt of a double-barrelled blast from Beth and Greta, I was all "aaaaaaaaaaa yes yes please don't hurt me", and bodged together some docco on Friday. The display was two dresses, my older green GFD top layer (which I was wearing) and my new checked wool one (on the table), with comments on the differences and learnings gathered therefrom. Mine did not garner a lot of attention from the punters, because it is not ZOMG SHINY, but I was prepared for that; and almost without exception, the people who did stop to take note of it were the serious cats. And I believe I handled the questions they threw at me in a competent fashion. So, I think that can be considered a win. And at least I finished the eyelets on my other new dress in the six fucking hours I was sitting in the sun.

However, about 3 or 4 people either asked if, or assumed that, I had woven the fabric myself. O_O If that's the level we're dealing with, I am so fucking going back to wench-wear. (A propos of which, Real Clothes are too hard to get into and out of, so for Slutty Party Wear I am going to research period prostitute clothing, if indeed it was much different, and see if I can come up with something entertaining. Oh look, more excuses to watch Dangerous Beauty.)

I got a shiny! I have been awarded the Bronze Tower for service to the Barony of Settmour Swamp, chiefly for my helping-out on Troll shifts for Swamp events, and other instances of being my usual domovoi self. I even have a scroll.

Um. Also. There was this boy.
I feel like me again for the first time in years, and by that I mean "long before the breakup".
To [ profile] mangosteen: That "GLAH" business you used to bust my chops about? That.
serinde: (glamour)
[ profile] nedlnthred has the congenial July 4th custom of drumming up a group to go watch the NYC fireworks display, which gatherings I've usually missed in the past. This year, being as how the display was over the Hudson, the obvious viewing location was the Frying Pan, which is an old rusty boat with a bar in it. The problem is, that particular venue has been Discovered this season (to the point I heard some Joisey Boyz talking about it on the train), and we learned that they were charging a C-note just to step on board, let alone the food and booze cost.

I took to the intarwubs to find an alternative, and came across the Liberty Belle Spectacular, at the rooftop bar of the Empire Hotel. Jazz Age party, cocktails, dancing, burlesque, and only $20 to get in; yes, that will do nicely. The more so as the word was that there would be only 25 at-the-door tickets, so it seemed likely that it would not be a goddamn crush.

[We pause while the audience laughs uproariously at my charming naïveté.]

The doors were to open at 7pm, so we (a party of six) rolled up about 7:20; whereupon we were taken aback to see a line of people extending around the corner and down the block. Was this for non-ticket-holders, we inquired? No, it's for everyone, and the line would split further up. ...Well OK then. We got on line, and chatted, and waited, and slowly shuffled forward, and waited some more, and... [Time passes.] Some 40 minutes later, we made it to where the line split, where they checked for printed receipts/confirmation numbers. Those which had same got blue tickets and went left; those who did not, got red tickets and went right. At which point both types of guest were passed through the velvet rope in equal numbers--or indeed with a stronger preference for the non-advanced ticketed, much to the chagrin of those of us who had planned ahead[1]. Indeed, after the third batch of hoi polloi were permitted up to the exclusion of ticket holders, a lady behind us confronted the gatekeeper to ask, in essence, What The Fuck, Dude. He claimed that he was letting people in equally. We all stared at him with the "you're lying, we know it, and you know it", but it was left at that and in the next batch he did let equal numbers in. (Lord knows what he did subsequently.)

At length we made it up top. The bar is a big space, with a terrace on either end (though of course only the western-facing one was going to be immediately relevant), and a decent amount of lounge seating, though not nearly enough for the mob of people. The band was excellent, playing jazz and swing tunes, and in old-style Navy uniforms, which I thought was a nice touch. As we rolled in, they were having an impromptu fashion show of ladies who had come in period rig[2], and there were many fine-looking outfits indeed, though the biggest hit was a Rosie the Riveter look-alike. The drinks were $14, which is a bit high, but they were at least good and unusual; in-house creations, not "here's your vodka and cranberry juice in a Dixie cup". If you managed to stab someone and get a seat, you could order food (and bottle service if you're that kind of idiot). Anyways, it being twenty to nine[3], we got drinks and immediately fought our way onto the terrace to try and get a decent view for the fireworks, which would start around 9:20.

And we stood. And stood. and stood. And were crushed by people. And couldn't see anything but an admittedly gorgeous sunset. There was burlesque and dancing where the bar let onto the terrace, which we could only perceive by the cheering and flashbulb popping. I was particularly woeful because I was wearing shoes that are not for standing in--I can wear them all night, but not for hours of nothing but standing on concrete--and I was hitting the agony point; and we were crushed in behind a group who had a table and seats (those stupid square hassock things that bar/lounges like), and the party in question weren't even sitting half the time. Indeed, one of them was having words with Beth because our party was maneuvering in the gap between their table and the next one and I guess he felt we were harshing their mellow or something.

At length, the fireworks started. Upon which we realized a few things:
1) Fordham Law School was in the way.
2) A really tall fingerlike apartment building was in the way.
3) The tasteful palm fronds along the edge of the terrace were in the way.

We could still see a good portion of the show (except [ profile] elibalin, who was directly in line of the palms), but it was not the unimpeded front-row view implied on the tin, as it were. At one point "This Land Is Your Land" broke out, and the whole crowd was singing, and that was kinda cool. Later, the band and one of the singers was striking up "God Bless America", which I am regrettably far less fond of[4], but eh.

As anticipated, the instant the fireworks were over there was a mass exodus, and many of the remaining guests surged indoors to the air conditioning and the entertainment; and thus, after about ten minutes of vulching I managed to land us a table on the patio. Which was good, because I was reaching the end of my little fraying rope... A half hour of sitting, drinking, excellent conversation, and a snack restored comity and joy. We decided to move back inside to check out (and perhaps partake of) the dancing, but upon standing up again I realized that I was quite, quite Done. I really would have liked to have stayed and seen the actual party we were here for, but a dispassionate assessment made it clear that misery was right around the corner, so I took myself unto the crosstown bus, and thus home.

So, Lessons Were Learned:
* Do not, do not, believe that any event that looks cool and claims exclusivity will not be mobbed to alt.hell and back. Wear comfortable shoes. Get there early. Stake out turf.
* Investigate the exact barge locations of the fireworks well in advance.
* If you want to take a Night on the Town, and actually be up to all of it, don't start drinking Pimm's cup at noon (unless you're arranging a disco nap in between).

As I explore the nightlife world, I am more and more getting the sense of that classic Yogi Berra line, "No one goes there, it's too crowded". I really don't like forking out the brass for the privilege of being crushed like a sardine in a noisy environment where you can't see or talk to anyone but who's standing directly beside you. Beth reports that, after I left, the party reached the sweet spot of good music, good dancing, and enough space to actually enjoy all of these things, so that's good to know; but, I mean, argh.

[begin footnotes]
[1] Beth spoke to the organizers upstairs on this head, and was told that yes, they'd had a lot of complaints about it. I notice that this is not the same as "...and we'll do something about it next time we hold an event".

[2] We had plenty of time to observe a lot of these outfits while on line and then once upstairs; we noticed that, first, many weren't actually Jazz Age at all, but were much more 40s or 50s, which is okay with us, because there's only one body type that looks good in flapper gear; and second, most were more theatrical/passing-the-squint-test than true period outfits. Now, many still looked very, very awesome...but not to the knowing eye. (I'm not the knowing eye, but I was in company with several.)

[3] And there was still a huge line behind us waiting to get in. I can only imagine what the reaction of the ticket-holders who were still on the street when the fireworks started was.

[4] I may be unjust to the song, simply because its sentiments and chorus have been appropriated by assclowns.
serinde: (determination)
[ profile] elibalin and I had A Plan for today: meet downtown, cruise around Nieuw Amsterdam Village, and then take the ferry to Governor's Island, where there is art, sculpture, bike rentals, and apparently a wacky cool minigolf course. The first section went off okay (except that they were out of stroopwafels, can you believe it?!), but we arrived at the ferry terminal to discover that the island is closed for Labor Day.

A PUBLIC PARK CLOSED ON A PUBLIC HOLIDAY. That's the kind of smarts we've come to expect from the Parks Department of late. So: new plan. We ended up walking the greenway along the Hudson from Battery Park up to the High Line, then turned off at 14th St. to try and find refreshment, something we utterly failed at. My foot was by this time screaming imprecations at me, so I just came home and fell down.

I really, really like what they're doing with the Hudson River Park. It's beautifully done (a different aesthetic in each section, but they're all good), and people clearly sat down and thought about things like seating and potties and refreshments and traffic flow and (etc). It gives me a large happy to know that my city is doing something this well-executed.

The High Line, on the other hand, is a classic case of "No one comes here, it's too crowded". I can see and appreciate (and even applaud) what they've done with it, but since it's become the Next Big Thing, it ends up being an endless shuffling promenade of gawkers. Avoid until the hype dies down.
serinde: (Syringa vulgaris)
In defiance of the current mental desire to duck and cover, I met [ profile] elibalin at MoMA yesterday, an institution I had never previously set foot in. The chief objective was an exhibit on the punk movement and its pollination across music, art, design, and writing (and an excellent exhibit it is, too), but the sleeper hit of the visit was the Ron Arad exhibit. I had never heard of this man, but his shit be awesome. I only reserve judgment because you cannot actually sit on any of his chairs or other furniture on display, so I can't say whether they are useful as well as nifty, and I am insufficiently post-modern to accept a chair that cannot be comfortably sat upon. That exhibit is on until mid-October, and you should go see it.

Also on 'til mid-October was the exhibit on design which is Good but Un-Pretty, which had some interesting things in it (we both highly approve of the...London? firm making star-shaped razor wire and huge security chains of heart links with a teddy-bear-faced padlock). We saw some good photography, too, and took a quick dip at the trot through the Ensor exhibit but by that time my foot was killing me, in spite of wearing correct shoes, so we repaired to Aquavit for a restorative, and thence home.

I am favorably impressed by the in-house cafe. It isn't any cheaper than you're used to paying at a museum, but the food quality is actually commensurate. And the museum shop kicks the Met's ass up one side of the field and down the other.
serinde: (determination)
I met [ profile] sweh at our usual pub for a quick drink after work yesterday; the quicker because as usual in a holiday week I had an off-by-one error, forgetting it was Tuesday, which is their open mic night. So as soon as the mic opened, we departed. As I walked him to the PATH, we saw a mob of people in the middle of Sixth Ave with signs that we couldn't see; so after he descended into the depths, I noodled down to have a look.

It was, of course, people protesting the upholding of Prop 8, which seems obvious in retrospect. And so I stood for a minute as they started to surge uptown, and took the obligatory few blurred cellphone pics, and saw a couple of girls dashing from the crowd to join the march; and I thought to myself, "Self, I support this product and/or service, why do I not join the march too?" Self replied with a nebulous megrim, which was the usual combination of Not Putting Myself Forward and Who Am I, Anyways, To Stick My Oar In? and then I looked at Self and smacked it with a metaphorical fish, because of course the point of a public protest is for everyone who thinks that the protested item is Wrong can, should, and is welcome to participate. Therefore I too dashed from the crowd and joined the march, which went from there up to Union Square. I peeled off at the end of the march and took the subway home, not sticking around for the rally--there were plenty and enough people to fill the park, but more particularly I desperately needed to pee.

(No Tasering, no police shenanigans of any kind. I think they know better than to mess with the pride crowd by now and save it for the bicyclists instead.)
serinde: (maneki neko)
[ profile] nedlnthred and I had a scientifically-generated plan to go down to Asbury Park the day after the local Springsteen show, poke around, see what it was like. (And maybe, if we were super super lucky, he would drop in to play at one of the local clubs, as he is occasionally known to do...) So we did this thing yesterday. We got a late-ish start, were further delayed by major accidents, etc. etc., but finally rolled into town around 1:30pm.

I should back up to note that I have been to Asbury Park once before. It was, hm, maybe 7 years ago; we were invited to a party of a particular kind, so the redheads and I tootled down, and lordy, were we appalled. The hotel the party was in was clearly a classic establishment from the shore glory days, but the room we entered into had indelible marker on the walls, a used condom in the sheets, and a dead mouse under the bed. (And that was before the party started.) The beachfront was all run-down and almost entirely closed. We survived, we escaped, and the experience passed into legend. Although I had vaguely heard that, in the interim, the town had become something of a gay mecca, my expectations were for an entertainingly trashy kind of day.

Thus, I was pretty surprised to find that the place (well, at least the boardwalk portion) is entirely under a makeover. The beautiful old arcades on either end are being refurbished and cleaned up without being torn down and replaced with something appalling; the burnt-out abandoned buildings have been torn down, and new shops are being built; and the vendors they've rounded up are artisans, not the Usual Beach Crap. We had a long chat with a fellow who runs a pottery shop, and he was telling us that the corporation masterminding the whole affair figures this way: every town along the Jersey Shore, nearly, is aimed at families and emphasizes quantity/low cost over quality. They aren't going to be able to drag that demographic away from whatever its normal vacation spot is, so instead, they're aiming at the singles or dual-income with disposable income. So: fine dining, good cocktails, cute or quaint or artsy shops, and an emphasis on classy. It's clearly still very much a work in progress, but I quite like what they've done so far. (And I'm happy to say they do not seem to have meddled with the music venues at all. So, not your usual mode of gentrification which gets rid of anything that does not conform.)

I do wonder what the locals think of all this.

We also stumbled upon an event at the Stone Pony, being thrown in cooperation with the only non-shitty commercial radio station in NYC. It wasn't a big whoop--there was cheap bad beer (but at least you could get decent bottles, if for $5) and chili dogs and a giant inflatable King Kong--but they had local bands playing, and the one we stuck around for was not bad. I understand it was supposed to get much more lively around 7 or 8 (and if we were going to see The Bruce, that probably would have been when)--but Beth needed to get further down shore to meet her family and I needed to embark on the 1 hour 45 minute train pilgrimage back to the city, so we missed all that. But, anyways, a lovely day all around.
serinde: (brew-up) I hope to expand on some or all of these items later.

1. [ profile] nedlnthred and I went to see Springsteen last night. It was a show of extreme awesomeness and energy, with the Encore that Never Ended, a thing we were just fine with. (I am here to tell you, though, that the new and probably exceedingly expensive parking arrangements at the Continental Airlines Arena^W^W^W IZOD Center are the worst I have ever seen at a venue, bar none.)

2. Therefore, today, we drove down to Asbury Park for the day, and what a beautiful day. It is not the howling wasteland of skank that it was when we attended a party there some years ago; it is being niced up, and in the good way, not the generic-corporate-chain way.

3. The buyers of the house have backed out, which is maybe not such a loss since they were major fucking pains in the ass, but it's awfully annoying to not be able to sit back and say "the fucker's sorted". Certain other vast irritants have cropped up in this arena, too, chiefly because we trusted people we were paying to tell us of things that in theory they should have been expert in when we were buying the place. Feh.

4. Tomorrow: Improv Everywhere MP3 experiment.
serinde: (Default)
I'm sort of feeling anti-"fleshy things with their mouth noises" at the moment (I guess I have for awhile, at that; but it's marked tonight) so this will consist chiefly of unadorned information.

1. Yes, I signed on Apartment #12. I will, barring extreme WTFery, be moving the first weekend in April. Various, but mostly high, levels of psycho-emotional ulaeulaeulaeulae are being generated from these small, bare facts.

2. I was in London this past weekend, as some knew, some intuited, and some had no idea on. I went to [ profile] sbp's birthday party, which was groovy; missed [ profile] simonb's birthday party, which I deeply regret; went down t'pub with [ profile] pir, which was most pleasant; and missed connections with [ profile] reddragdiva, which I also deeply regret. I also got mired in a bog, discovered an 18th c. house in Hampstead Heath, and continued my trend of walking into pubs frozen to the core (and then got stared at like I had three heads when I asked for tea with whisky--did not you people invent this shit?). Ostensibly the purpose of this adventure was to see a number of the members of Hawkwind recreate the legendary 1972 Space Ritual tour, which is literally a once-in-a-lifetime chance, but Nik Turner fucked up his back using a chainsaw last week (!?!?) and so it's postponed til June. Because of the nature of the exceedingly cheap ticket I got, trying to change my travel time or even cashing it in for a credit would have been a giant lose, so I just bloody well went, and why not? Also, I really like Camden. And I feel slightly lame for not heading down to Brixton on Sat. night to see Alabama 3's all-night dance party: on the one hand, yes I'd been up for nigh 40 hours at that point, but on the other, when would I have a chance to do that again either?. Anyways. Returned last night, am still awfully flat.

3. I need to re-dye the teal in my hair but I just don't have the energy or will. I find this mildly distressing, but hope and trust that a few days' sleep will set me up right.
serinde: (glamour)
It was warmer today, but of course by the time I swimsuited up and sauntered to the pool, it was partly-cloudy (the part in front of the sun) and exceedingly windy. Which is fine as long as you are in the water, but upon exiting for some serious lolling around and maybe reading, it was insanely chilly. So I swam for awhile and then came back to the room and, oh dear, played Ultima IV which there is a Mac OS X port for. But that's relaxing! So it's okay. NYAH

I was not going to spend the whole evening doing that, however. So I have installed myself in the patio bar (which is empty, mua ha ha ha; there is some kind of convention or gathering here at present but it is all oldsters so they are not so much with the night life) with a fruity drink and a jerked chicken snack and am alternately intarwubbing and working on the D&D character class Dr. Nick and I have been giving painful breech birth to for the past N months; something that I love to do, but never have a block of time at home that I am not urgently doing something else.

It is a very nice fruity drink. The weather is chilly and windy, but I have a jacket and I am wearing pants now, so that is okay.

Tomorrow: Happy World Land!
serinde: (ze fiber arts)
[ profile] nedlnthred, [ profile] briony530, [ profile] caelfinn, [ profile] nancaurelia, and I went to the Sheep and Wool Festival this weekend. Since I have an enormous sack of yarn that I haven't done anything with yet, I restrained myself from the shiny pretty things, and made but two purchases: 1) A large skein of undyed soft Falklands wool to make a baby blanket for some friends who have one in the oven, and 2) some seriously loud softness to make fingerless gloves to wear at work, for which I have a direful need. Happily, those shouldn't take long, even at my glacial pace of construction.

I intend to do the blanket in a set of mixed cables reminiscent of the Irish fisherman sweater, the happy couple being very much of that persuasion, though [ profile] caelfinn tells me that those sweaters actually originate in the '50s. Not so much with the cultural heritage. Oh well, I think it'll still look nifty; [ profile] briony530 has a full-size blanket in that idea and it's quite handsome.

We met [ profile] ilaine_dcmrn and her two girls at lunchtime, and trysted for dinner & good conversation with [ profile] hlinspjalda and[ profile] alistrina, fiber luminaries of the faraway north. All in all, a good weekend, if ass-freezing cold. (Because why? I DIDN'T WEAR WOOL. I win the moron hat.)
serinde: (ze fiber arts)
The Sheep and Wool Festival is in a couple weeks. Who's going, and which day, and who needs a ride or a pick-up from the train?

I think [ profile] nedlnthred and I were intending to go Saturday.
serinde: (determination)
This Saturday morning, we are going to the Whitney Museum of American Art to see the Buckminster Fuller exhibit that's about to go away. I anticipate being there around 11am, transit willing.

After that, and for a complete change of scene, we're meeting sundry others at Coney Island at 2pm. We have, as usual, missed the boat on seeing Astroland again before it closed forevermore; but we will ride the Cyclone and the Wonder Wheel, and eat hot dogs from Nathan's, and amble along the boardwalk.

Per usual, contact me if you want to join the fnu.
serinde: (brew-up)
Yesterday I took the day off and, with massive amounts of help from [ profile] caelfinn and Husband-of-[ profile] sedai for which I am eternally grateful, moved a bunch of STUF over to [ profile] nedlnthred's (if I think I'll need it in the next N months) and [ profile] sweh's (if I don't). Most of it was not so very bad, but my dresser is about 5x heavier than I thought, particularly when moving up Beth's narrow, U-turning, 1880s-era staircase. Yerg.

However, the job was completed, and we rested, ate, and refreshed ourselves before I came back into town to attend the first iteration of this year's Midsummer Night Swing with [ profile] elibalin. This was fun, but with many "but"s. The dance floor was insanely crowded, so that one could barely move, and so we kept getting stepped on and kicked and what not. This is bad enough by itself, but I was also feeling extremely out-of-my-element, having never swing-danced before, and uncoordinated as I am, I was pretty nervous and high-strung about the whole thing. Also, I wore very wrong shoes: I selected for "slidey soles for dance floor", but they are not long-term comfortable at all, and the dance floor was not very slidey anyways, so I would have done better to gone for comfort instead. Finally, I would like to express my disapprobation at the bunch of people who were standing on the dance floor, not dancing, in the middle of the stage, just to listen to the music. NOT A CONCERT, JERKS. Anyways: after while, I was feeling tired, and my leg and knee and feet were aching, and I was starting to get a headache, so we packed it in early with an intent to come better prepared for our next attempt. This proved wise, because by the time I got on the train home, I felt like my head was clamped in a vise with extra spikes stuck through my eyeballs, interspersed with flashes of nausea. Would this be a migraine? Whether or no, it was really unpleasant and I'd like to not have any more of that--but I don't know what caused it so I don't know how to avoid it. Bah. Got home, took Vitamin I, went to bed with a damp cloth over my eyes. (Thankfully, I seem fine today, if exhausted.)
serinde: (determination)
I've just calendared in the Midsummer Night Swing and the Bryant Park movies schedules. Even though I've no intention of going to every iteration of either of these events, nor anything like it, it's still a sudden mass of STUF breaking out all over. And I'm not sure which way my psyche is going to jump: desire to throw myself into interesting, engrossing things, or need to be quietly withdrawn. OR BOTH SIMULTANEOUSLY YAY.

I also want to get back to the monthly Doing Stuff plan, particularly since the weather finally nice enough so that things like walking around looking at architecture are now a reasonable option.
serinde: (determination)
[ profile] elibalin and I are going to the comics con today. Will probably be there in the 10-5 range if you want to meet up; text me. And I can tell that I am utterly damaged because I am fretting about what to wear. As [ profile] dariodevil put it yesterday, "the neckbeards won't notice anything but your breasts anyways". (He is not going, as some sort of masochistic exercise.)

...I just discovered that feeding "Nerd Prom" into Wikipedia does, in fact, take you to the San Diego Comic-Con page. <3

Edit: For those with a deep emotional involvement in my quandary--I think I've gotta wear my Suicide Squid t-shirt. OBSCURER THAN THOU, motherfuckers!
serinde: (determination)
We've paid a lot more to have a far worse time at many a New York club. The main floor is Electro-Techno Dance Whatever, which I don't have much stake in, but I'm content to dance to it so that's okay. The basement, which contains the goth room, did not open until about an hour after it was supposed to (someone who works at a club was late? No!) but when it did, it was exactly what we were looking for. Also: good cooling systems. On the main floor it was starting to get a bit overmatched by 1:30 or so, but how could it not, really?

Downside: it is in Uckblech, Newark and there's no parking, so you have to park on the street. Not that I perceive anyone wanting to break into our car, but there's always that worry in the back of my head.

There was a small adventure getting home, as the ramp back onto 280 was closed, and the detour signs led you into the middle of nowhere and then vanished. Oh Newark, you so wacky. But by that point in the night, we all found it hilarious rather than tiresome, annoying, or scary.

We shall be returning! Probably often.


serinde: (Default)

September 2013

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