My weekend

Hot on the heels of the discovery that Michele has linked me, I think it's high time I actually post something useful here.

Well, not useful, but you know what I mean. Stop looking at me like that. You used to come here for the stories, now you just come for the nude sign girls. I know you. But still, here's the story. (Although that reminds me I ought to take the sign out of retirement, if any of you ladies are looking for a few seconds of your fifteen minutes of fame...)

This past Sunday it was a beautiful day in New York. The birds were chirping, the temperature hit 60 degrees, President Bush was hanging out in the Azores contemplating deposing an actual evil tyrant, and I was rollerblading.

But before all that, well, before the rollerblading part, my iCal program popped up a little note telling me that yet another of my campers was going to be nearby, and that I was supposed to call him about a month ago. Oops.

Jeff Noller, he of the mighty Color War stories, he of the being-my-camper back in the day, was coming through town to interview with MTV and some radio station representative(s) and the like. Big time. Apparently, since he moved to Miami, he's been doing incredibly well for himself and is on his way to the big time.

Like all good camp counselors, as this was seven years since I'd seen him last, I knew none of this.

He was in high fettle, with the interviews behind him, and so I managed to sit with him at Stuyvesant Park and talk about how he was growing up, girls, career, and his inevitable move here to New York. He was a good way to spend an hour, and an excellent flashback to a past that I'd walked away from. It's too bad I walked away from that whole past, as there were many great people from those days. But, bygones being what they are, and my patience being what it is, I spent the time with him happily, put him in a cab, and rolled on towards uptown.

Jeff Noller

With the weather what it was, my legs demanded a long rollerblade, preferably up to Central Park, around it, and back down again. My body agreed, complaining that I hadn't had much exercise at all since the snow started falling, and so I rolled up through the twenties until another friend called.

My coworker Jeremy was on first ave and 30th when he called, and I was on Third and 20th. A new target destination in mind, I sped on, disregarding the danger, and chuckling to myself that I still like to play in traffic.

I reached him, only to discover that I was nearly too late, he had to meet me and nearly immediately move on.

Jeremy

From there I just rolled uptown until I reached the Park. I stopped briefly in Tudor City to stare at the UN and contemplate the geopolitical mess that France has gotten us into. I rolled on into Central Park, where I promptly deposited myself on the track that rings it around and paced the other rollerbladers.

I couldn't tell if it was a competitive or flirty atmosphere among the other bladers, but there was a certain cameraderie - that we'd all just shed our winter skin, and oh-my-god-thank-fuck we can finally do this again. Smiles met between perfect strangers and people raced in that ad hoc fashion that rollerbladers will. Thoughts of "you won't pass me" rolled through my head, until I remembered that I was on a leisure trip.

When I reached 110th street, the going got a bit tough.

Central Park North West

There's a hill that I've nicknamed Widowmaker. I'm sure other people have, too. It's approximately straight up, and it's deadly on your legs. When I was in really good blading shape last summer, I still had trouble with it. Sunday? It was a no-way proposition. I ended up blading three quarters of it, and walking the rest, blades into mud. Unpleasant.

After Widowmaker, the rest of the trip was easy - the next 90 or so blocks home only took me about an hour, including stops. I did some yoga to unwind when I got home, and noticed that by Monday morning, my body wasn't at all sore. Apparently, there's something to that stretching thing.

Once I reached home, I IM'd Jeremy, and suggested we get a drink, which we did. I feel like this should have some pithy ending, but I'm so out of practice writing to this site, that I simply don't have one.

Posted by Swerdloff at March 18, 2003 11:31 PM