Well, it is Thursday night again. It seems it was JUST Thursday night.
I just took a pause and recalibrated my brain because it turns out I was over-multi-tasking. I was just updating this blog, reading a live blogging event of mayoral candidates in my town, helping with a reference query, thumbing through a magazine, playing Words with Friends, telling my coworker about what I was doing, emailing a friend making fun of the live blogging event and thinking about all the other things I need to do this weekend. That is too much going on. When I get home, I think a good idea would be to watch my cats chase a fake mouse around the apartment for awhile. I'll call it "sobering up." Well, maybe I'll call it "sobering up with a glass of port wine", more poetic that way.
Here's a random snapshot of a random Tuesday night that I randomly had off. I'll call it: Last Tuesday Evening: The Randoming.
Last Tuesday evening, all I wanted was conversation. I wanted to sit over cups of coffee or cocktails and just make eye contact with someone and talk to them about I didn't care what. I wanted to people watch with live commentary, to hear the sounds of giggling, to see someone react to something I said and to be surprised by something I heard from them. I wanted to remember the days when I would sit in a coffee shop for hours upon hours upon hours just talking. I have a wonderful, group of friends. But they are scattered. I guess I'm just missing spontaneous conversation, something that is so lacking in my life. So on Tuesday I texted people. This is what spontaneity has become. Texting. Gary Shteyngart's Super Sad True Love Story, realized in my neck of the woods on a random Tuesday. From brain to thumb to phone to ether to dead silence in seconds flat.
So I went home, dejected. I ate veggie meatballs. Maybe I did a little transference and made my dejection about something else entirely. (Only a handful of my friends will understand what that means, but that's ok.) Then I went online and argued in the comments section of a local blog. Then I fell asleep to Conan. And then Tuesday was over and I was back at work, digitizing my thoughts as I do now on Thursday, again.
The moral of this tale, dear reader is that you all need to come live with me in my small Long Island town and be here for random weeknight ramblings with me. I'll buy you coffee or tea or cocktails in exchange for your giggles and observations and your pliant faces filled with recognition and surprise and all of that good stuff.
Back to the present: The live blogging mayoral debates have predictably become a laundry list of why what's going on now in town sucks and all the perfection that, if elected, would be brought in. I think if aliens observed us, they would be confounded by politics. And clapping. Go ahead, try making the act of clapping logical.