Roots and frames
I bought a frame for a poster I brought back with me from Berlin back in 2013. It's too big but it's the only non-custom option that was reasonably priced. I can be cheap, I know. But listen: moving is expensive.
I also bought a plant, a small peace lily that will thrive in the low light of my ground floor apartment (the Americans call this the first floor, which is a mistake, bless them). I inherited another plant for the other window sill from my friend O, who just completed an MBA upstate at Cornell. O is deeply impressive in many ways. She is one of my oldest friends – we went to boarding school together in the 90s when life was simpler and we both had that perma-hungry look – and she brought other things with her: a blender, a KitchenAid mixer, an iron and an ironing board, and spices.
Last weekend O took me to Mott Street, where I had one of the best massages of my life. An impossibly glamorous-looking (her loose white blouse was The Blouse I Have Always Wanted) Chinese woman applied almost painful pressure to my whole body for 30 minutes. She didn't touch my skin directly once. Did you know that's how it's done? I didn't. I climbed, naked, under a thin brown blanket and she pressed her hands all over my back so that I thought she'd drive my body through the table. But then my winces became sighs. With my face n the little hole at the head of the table, I had the clear thought, what if I just paid for another three half-hours so she could keep doing this? I was tempted. But I am not Daddy Warbucks. I paid for my half-hour and when I met O again at reception, we smiled goofily at one another, feeling lazy and limbless.
On the way out I saw a sign outside the door: "Legitimate Massage ONLY (no Sexual Services)".
It's summer in New York, and everyone is beautiful and smiling.
I went on Tinder when I first arrived in the city and was exceedingly underwhelmed by what was on offer. If I sound snobbish, please understand that is because I am, but also because Tinder in New York is like Tinder in London, except people are a lot freer with their Super Likes here. I am still single but I think I'm kind of OK with it.
Having said that, if you look like John Cho, Aldis Hodge or Bryan Greenberg, and enjoy Frasier, The Walking Dead, the poetry of Derek Walcott, and carbs... Listen. You should probably email me.
I am no longer tearful about Brexit. But I am still sad. And angry. Hamilton is helping.