and now i know, spanish harlem are not just pretty words to say...

indeed, sir elton john. indeed.

spanish harlem is my new home, and boy, do i love it. here's a view of first avenue from our fire escape. full disclosure: it's not normally that packed with traffic, even at rush hour...there was probably some backup on the triborough, but we were happy for the photo op. sorry, drivers!



















below you will find the first posted pics of the living quarters. the living room gets first view because it has grown up so fast... there is so much more to do, but now we can actually live in it, and that is fucking awesome.



















here's charles, no doubt searching for some law and order: criminal intent for our minds. vincent d'onfrio rocks. oh, and sorry baby, i know you hate showing up on the internet. at least it's not myspace...


what else? well, i got to take in the nyc marathon last weekend, from the aforementioned fire escape...







(remember?)







it was one of the more amazing things i have been lucky enough to witness firsthand. i got to watch the leaders of all three categories(wheelchairs etc, women and men) go by, and that was really cool. and so was the two hours or so of wall to wall marathoners, all shapes and sizes doing this crazy thing...running 26.7 miles through all five boroughs of new york.

oh, and lance armstrong ran right past me, with forty-seven of his closest running buddies and a camera crew, but it was still cool.

living on first avenue is great.

what else. oh, i finished the dave eggers book, a heartbreaking work of staggering genius. the thing i liked most about it was the way he was able to translate that crazy, freaked out, tenuous, uncomfortable feeling that takes over every running system in your body when you brush up against untimely death. someone elses. i think it is the opposite, almost, of the feeling that comes from narrowly avoiding some version of your own: in that scenario, there is that incredible sense of relief and amazement to accompany the weirdness of a close call. and more importantly, the idea that it is ridiculously improbable that it would actually happen, when it just almost did. so there is a false comfort in that. when it happens right next to you, it makes you feel like it is just moments away from popping up again, like one of those things at the carnival where little heads would pop up at you and you would have to smack them with a rubber mallet. any second, it's going to happen again. and this time, maybe to you, or worse, to another person you love.


anyhow, he did well with that. i liked the book a lot. but i guess i'm a bit late to that party, so i will leave it at that.

thanksgiving is upon us, and i am crazy excited, not only because ab and sarah will be in nyc at OUR VERY OWN APARTMENT, but also because charles williams iii is going to cook his ass off, and the glimmer he has had in his eye since we decided he would cook has me riled into a thanksgiving eating frenzy. and though there probably won't be any t-shirts again this year, there will be new york fucking city and three football games. THREE!

finally, i have inspiration to write, and i am going to start work on something tomorrow, and i am really excited, for a variety of reasons that would be super hard to explain on something like a blog, and maybe could only be explained while extremely intoxicated to someone equally intoxicated and then forgotten because it won't make sense anywhere else, so therefore, i'll just keep it to myself. and hopefully there will be fruits of this labor at some point...