Bars about bars

"I been thinking I been drinking..." - Beyoncé

Dear Friends and Family, I appreciate your returning to my blog. Thank you! I have been having a very decent time here in New York, though I'd lie if I said I didn't miss you all, all the time. My first few weeks here were non-stop action and excitement and meeting new people and exploring all places, but, as I slowly find my routine and some things become just a bit less novel, I become much more aware of the huge home-shaped hole in my larval new life. But still, lucky me to have you guys at all and luckier me that you care enough about what I am up to, to (kindly, quickly) read.

I've been going to bar a lot, and have a lot amount to say about them too. The main thing is I miss going to the pub. Dive bars (which is the obvious cross-atlantic substitute) has a lot of things going for them. They are cheap and chill and strangers are more than happy to share a story whether I want it or not. The price is actually suprisingly right out here, the other day I found a spot where 24oz of beer (A uk pint is 20oz) was 5 dollars!! even with tax & tip it doesn't reach 7 bucks for the biggest beer bucket Iv'e seen in a while. However, they are also so much louder than they ever need to be, and it is likely they will be playing some horrible rock music or obnoxious club beats.

I miss a cozy quiet corner pubs with my friends, sat in a booth chatting about music & laughing our perfect little heads off. I'd say you don't know you love something till you let it go, but obviously I loved every second I have spent in the pub with you guys; we knew it then, and I know it now.

A bar I am particularly keen on, however, is banks bar, so named for being on the banks of the east river - which cuts between Manhattan and Brooklyn. Banks is on the brooklyn side, in greenpoint, wandering distance from Chez and Ivy's flat. I love it for a rather unique construction in its garden: a sort of plastic shed which houses a pool table. It is about half indoor, half outdoor, and lets in all the good elements (light, fresh air) and none of the bad ones (wind, rain, (snow?)). Tate – a close friend in these early new york days – and I are become very keen pool players.

Also recently: Chez Ma Tante staff party.

In a pleasant turn of events, there was a staff party soon after I joined the restaurant, we ordered pizza. Ivy mastered a quiz. We played party games, and then we had a slightly awkward but definitely very fun boogie.

All my friends who have moved to a new place in this fashion will agree that it is pretty much always very tiring and very exciting. I am particularly aware that (almost) every interaction I have with (almost) everyone I meet could be in some way socially significant; I never know who might possibly become a new dear friend, and who am only sharing a polite conversation with, and I might not see again. I also find myself in cycles of repetition with these people: I am a finitely interesting person, and as such, I only have so many stories to tell. When you sort of have no close friends somewhere, you spend a lot more time trying to figure out who you might become close friends with. Tiring and Exciting.

I have done (a few) other things that don't involve late night drinking drinking.

Tate and I saw a totally special quilting exhibition at one of THE Downtown spots: The American Folk Art Museum. Exciting because quilting is truly an American art form, and one which straddles that line between craft and art so excellently. The exhibition focussed on what they call "the ecology of quilts". Quilts historically were made out of scrap fabrics, a way to use up old sheets, curtains and clothes, as well as a pasttime and artistic endevour, the simpler a quilt, the more wealthy one can assumer the owner was, as they had more, large spare peices of fabric. The more complicated the design, the more likely that the quilter had only tiny scraps to work with.

No doubt the lucky owner of the artefact below slept particularly well and dreamt of flowers and bright red people and woke up perfectly rested.

My life at the moment feels slightly like the former quilt, complicated and sort of dense. Exciting and mad. I assume slowly (very slowly), life in New York City will flatten and spread out and become filled with my own dreams of flowers and people and I will wake up well rested everyday. Until then I will keep playing pool and eating pizza and drinking bear out of funny red cups.