truckin.

I appreciate the thought, but the preceding post does not mean today is my birthday–it is may 16 and i will be sure to let everyone know when it goes down. I will be hoarding mas ganj and killing mucho bad guys on the ’90s sony playstation console Mo brought back from home, that’s how you will know I am 30.
Last night was Ebenezer’s birthday party, held at Hotel QT, a concept swimming bar in Times Square. The pool is elevated on one side of the bar and there is a little window you can swim up to and order drinks, a swim-up window. They were playing the Slits and ESG over the speakers even tho it is a Moby/Playgroup kind of place, as identified by the STEEL N CONCRETE, lo-rent W decor. I can’t imagine who thought it was a good idea to mix midtown after-work drinks and a steam room but we swam despite the potential debauchery, in bathing suits, Alex and Christine and Eben all floating around with wine glasses of margaritas for Cinco de Mayo. Fortuitously, I made a new friend, Caroline, who is a microbiologist. She is my first scientist friend since I left Keith, the Mitochondria Guy, behind in Portland.
Eben’s friends from Rio were there, too, and we had long, satisfying conversations about funk carioca, class, and Bonde do Role (and its correctly accented pronunciation: “Bahnda doo hRholay”). They taught me what it means to have a Carousel, what it means to the woman who became pregnant from Carousel participation and unsuccessfully sued the party promoters because she didn’t know which dude’s the dad, and more importantly the social conditions (and which substances) that lead to making one’s involvement in a carousel seem like “a good idea.” Drugs and oil run this bluish planet. More after the jog.