This is going to be a bit of a weird post for me. Then again, yesterday was a pretty weird day. And I can’t really put my finger on why. Nothing wild happened. It was just odd–as in, something significant, however small, happened in each step of the afternoon. So I’m going to write about it. Because I have a blog, and in theory I could put a daily picture of a cat riding a skateboard and no one could tell me not to.
Oh and it’s a tad long. Grab some tea.
The day started out normally–the weirdness really started out with a cat sitting on the railroad tracks. I was crossing over the street and reading that sign that tells you not to walk on the tracks, when I saw what I thought was a rabbit. Turns out it was a big white cat, totally chilling out, just being a cat that enjoys laying on warm things. So now I’m ignoring all the signs , and I’m running along the tracks like a crazy person at a cat that just keeps transferring where it’s napping–usually a few feet down the track each time I yell at it. This is like a suburban railroad station, not like the subway or anything. In other words, I was in no immediate danger. Anyway, the cat finally books it under the fence and across the neighborhood, but the people at the end of the station clearly had not seen said cat, and think that I am a wacko. Good good.
The next funny part was running into an old friend on my train, but being too spastic of a social being to find a way to say, “Hey friend! You’re on my train!” You know what’s great about NYC? You could live/work in a city for 6 years and never ever run into that stinky ex of yours but somehow you continuously run into the people you do enjoy. I always think it’s a way of NYC saying that it’s secretly not all that bad. Anyway, we get off the train and he’s just far enough away that I can’t scream his name without scaring everyone on the platform. So I decide that the least socially-awkward thing to do is to run up behind and lightly body check him. Nailed it. We walk for a few blocks, part ways, and as usual, assume that NYC will probably send us bumping into each other in the obligatory two months or so. He comments on how, in the good old days, when you just move to NYC, you wander around NYC, amazed by everything– and this sticks in my head for the rest of the day.
Wine. And Lunch with my Dad.
This, as usual, is where the day takes a turn toward tipsy-land. Because my dad and I always order wine with lunch when we go out, and since I’ve cut back on my drinking, I can get accidentally drunk on very little wine. I always seem to forget this. Anyway, toward the end of the meal, we get talking about the stories from the beginning of his career which involve working at the Fernald State School in the 70’s–a then-terrifying, unregulated home for the mentally disabled. He and his coworkers were part of a movement that turned around the state regulations required to protect those with developmental disabilities. I only learned that he was a part of this a few years ago, and am still amazed by it. I kind of think it needs to be turned into a movie (if anyone would like to give me a whole bunch of money to produce a movie…). But anyway, we get rolling on the topic and he directs me toward a book that was written by another coworker who worked at Willowbrook Hospital, a similar home with similar, terrible issues. We part ways and I go on a drunk hunt for this book that I am going to apparently start adapting into a movie on a Friday afternoon in midtown.