Everything just sounds better when you talk it

I was busted for talking to myself last night, an activity I've always been a big proponent of, but is increasingly difficult in a neighborhood like mine, where there are people out at all times of day and night, often lounging, smoking, peeing in recessed nooks where you just stumble upon them, mid-sentence, and then shut your mouth, grimace, and stare at the ground while hurrying by. And don't get me started about the people sitting in parked cars and staring out their windows, sitting on their fire escape, who appear out of nowhere, if you see them at all.
So, last night, I was muttering and laughing to myself after work, swinging my new bag around, thinking about what a difficult loon my co-worker is, when this girl smoking by herself in front of a pub, said, "Excuse me, can I ask you a question?"
"Sure."
"Why did you cover your smile with you bag?"
"I didn't think I did. What do you mean?"
"You like, lifted your bag in front of your face when you were laughing."
"[big smile]Oh, I think it was just because I was twirling it around. It wasn't on purpose anyway."
That was all true. Except that it may be instinct at this point to cover my mouth while muttering and hysterically laughing at my own jokes. After all there was that guy in his SUV that I couldn't see and, oh yeah, this girl sitting 20 feet in front of me.
What was most weird/ aggravating about her question is that what she was really asking me was, "Why do you, insecure girl, feel the need to hide you're smile? Smiles are beautiful. And isn't it so like girls to feel constrained about them? Don't hide it, embrace it, because smiles are great." I know that's what she was really asking because she asked me with a knowing half smile intended to convey understanding while eliciting confession. Her eyes had that, I'm a little buzzed, sitting out on the street alone, feeling deep feelings about how the world isn't that small after all. And I know that's what she meant because there's no other reason to ask the question. She assumed that I was purposely covering my smile, and the reasons for doing that all lead to the above train of thought.
Maybe I should take this as a sign to talk more openly on the street. I think I'll take it as a sign to do a better job covering it up. Or, I'll learn sign language. In the subway station yesterday this girl was blatantly signing to herself while racing from the A to the L. And that's way quieter.

Celebrity Sightings

Apparently, only second rate celebs ('cept the D-O-Double-G) walk around the same streets that I do, but this is what I've learned from seeing them in person.
Ryder Strong: Huge Head. HUUUUUUUUGGGGGGEEEEE Head. Tiny body.
Justin from Queer as Folk, or the annoying blond one we're supposed to think is hot but isn't, but you still don't know who I'm talking about because you never watch that show as it's alternately bad or porn: floppy, blond, faux-hawk.
Gideon Yago: Only realized it was him because I was staring at the weirdo hiding behind his hoodie and saw the glint of his spectacles.
Snoop Dogg: So Tall. Like 7 feet. Or at least 6'5".
Jesse Eisenberg: I had no idea who this was. I saw him in the library and was like, "Did I go to camp with that kid? Nursery school?" I went through all the possibilities and couldn't place him got frustrated that my brain doesn't work as well as it used to, and then I realized I recognized him from "Get Real," the TV show which launched Anne Hathaway and that I never watched (and neither did anyone else) but once read an article about in some Sunday section of the Times in which there was a picture of this Jesse. He was also apparently in Roger Dodger which I've been meaning to rent from the video store. And his younger sister was the brown haired Pepsi spokesgirl who always made me change the channel. Anyway. Then I got upset that I can no longer distinguish between people I know and people on TV. And then I saw him on the street somewhere. And then I saw him playing Tennis in the middle of the day in the park at the East River and Delancey Street, which also freaked me out because who the hell is at that park in the middle of a weekday?
Tate Donovan: Reading a script in Tompkins Square Park. Are the other people out in the middle of the day all actors? I'm starting to think most of them are. Maybe I'll say I am too. The whole time I was staring/ not staring at him all I could think was, "You've had sex with Jennifer Aniston."

Elevators

I was driven around NYC city today returning cloths for the magazine's fashion department. I took a lot of elevator rides. On my way up to some 12th floor I managed to turn away from the riveting floor buttons to glance at an anxious passenger who was getting noticeably sweaty and quietly performing lamaze-like breathing. I think he must have been claustrophobic. Thank god I'm not claustrophobic. Really, can you imagine having to gear up for elevator rides? He could never live in my building. Our elevator is terrifying: dark, rickety, old, and taken to spitting you out on whatever floor it feels like. I spend almost every second of the ride imagining what I would do if it got stuck: evaluating if I need to use the bathroom anytime soon, if I have anything that would make a nice pillow. I spend the rest of the seconds wondering if it's possible to survive in an elevator that has snapped its cables if you jump at the exact moment of impact and whether I'm physically fit enough to pull off such a feat.
On another elevator trip I met the guy who sits next to you on the bus/airplane and then never stops talking even after you give really mean one word answers, put on headphones, start sleeping, or turn and scream in his face to "please, shut-the-fuck-up." Except this guy was probably crazy too. He got on carrying a huge messenger bag resting on his back like it were a table and went on with minimal nods and smiles from me: "Whew it's hot. It's not that it's so heavy, you just got to get the balance right. Getting too old for this. Used to be just fine, I was like 200 pounds and now got a six pack, and whew just can't quite do it anymore. My cat looks at me and says, "old man you too old." And I say, scram cat, and then he just sits on the counter and stares, and says, "you're too old." And then he coughs up a hairball. But, you know, what you going to do? They give you these damn heavy packages and you just have to do your best, cat or no. Have a nice day."

The secret ingredient

"But coca has been seen as dangerous since a 1912 convention in The Hague, which established that cocaine could be derived from the leaf. Now, the only company in the United States legally allowed to handle coca is the Stepan Company in Maywood, N.J., which buys from Enaco.
Using leaves imported under a special permit from Peru, Stefan [sic] makes medicinal products and also a cocaine-free extract that is used by Coca-Cola. The company does not comment on the recipe of its flagship beverage."

-From an article about Kdrink, a new beverage made with Coca leaf, in the Times Business Section last Thursday

The city teaches you new things everyday

A recent change in the quality of New York City heat, mostly that it has ceased disappearing, confirms that it's no longer spring, but hot summer in the city, almost a whole three weeks before the 21st.
Difficult though it was, I've already come up with one complaint about the lovely weather, and that is the emergence of a very strange biological smell making random and frequent appearances between my apartment and the Grand Street subway station. It's definitely organic and definitely nasty and unlike anything I've ever smelled before. A friend of mine described it as smelling like "someone had been sliced open" which is totally wrong, but captures it's nastiness nicely. It smells kind of like shit, were shit mustier, less pungent, all encompassing, and in some state of decomposition. Part of the trouble with not being able to identify it is that I can't quite ignore it, i.e hold my breath, as I'm too troubled that there exists some oft repeated smell with a discrete origin that I can't identify.