It’s 4:46 in the morning and I just read an article about how three nuns broke into a nuclear power plant that processes uranium (the same one in which the Hiroshima and Nagasaki bombs were created) and sprayed the walls with baby bottles full of blood, among other things that caused $8,500 in damages. Most striking is how they are unashamed. Sister Megan says she has waited 70 years to do this. I like them.
My friend Zsolt came over with a bottle of rosé last night and we surprised ourselves (/I surprised myself) and drank the whole bottle. He’s from Hungary and has the appropriate Eastern European enzymes to break down alcohol; I don’t. We went up to my rooftop, which ALMOST had a perfect view of the Manhattan skyline, if not for a taller, new development building that comically blocks the view right where the Empire Building is supposed to be. I do have an excellent view of what various people in that building are watching on TV, though. And I found out there’s a 16 Handles on my street.
While we were up there, we smelled the most delicious food cooking, like meat being grilled on a fire. We went down to Bedford Ave and literally sniffed around to see where that smell was coming from. But not before drunkenly—almost miraculously—setting up the WiFi in my apartment. We decided to get food (a very, very difficult task for two Libras - one solar and one lunar) at the proximal Mexican food truck, close to the corner of North 7th and Bedford, and ordered giant burritos. Holy freaking crap these burritos were delicious. I might never eat Chipotle again. I got it with chorizo, no lettuce, extra hot sauce. The rice they put in is seasoned with something that makes it an orangey-red color. We took them to a nearby coffee shop and ate them on the shop’s outdoor benches and talked about boys, but only after we acknowledged it was OK to stop dedicating 100% of our attention to our food. Zsolt went into a nearby deli to get us mini-cartons of orange juice (“orange-pineapple or orange-calcium?”), and we walked up to Greenpoint, passing the automotive (?) high school, with its frontal gardens charged with that scent of fertilizer. On my way back, I saw two European men approach the girls who were sitting near us while we were eating earlier. “We are in a-New York for the first time.”
By the time I got home, I only had the energy to find 3 instead of 5 headlines for The Morning News, because my arms for some reason were so dang sore. I blame the weight of the burrito. My headlines are due at 5 AM, so I set the alarm for 3 AM (you never know when news will be worthy of reportage or not, so it could take you anywhere from 10 minutes to 3 hours to find and coin a succinct, synopsized headline), snoozed until 4 AM, and am now staying up reading about how Minocycline - an antibiotic used to fight acne (which I take regularly, actually) also helps men be less trusting of attractive women. I haven’t found myself to be less blindly trusting, regardless of sex or attractiveness, but then again, I’m not a man. And the nuns.
My bed is half filled with boxes that used to contain all my WiFi gear, my gym bag, raincoat, camera, book, and is an overall territorial mess that barely leaves any room for my body. And that’s how I know I’ve finally settled into a new home.
Good morning, Brooklyn.