Saturday, October 20
Monday 15 October
I ate a bialy in the morning, and in the evening I picked up a book about bialys to read in the Barnes and Noble bathroom, although it took me a while to find the bathroom; Matt misdirected me. I wouldn't have characterised the break up to this point as stress-free; making lots of phone calls to mobilize activities is stressful. After reading the first twenty or so pages of the New York Times Magazine's issue on the status of American couplehood, I walked three blocks to 15 Whig. The house is terrifically open and lavish, wonderful wood floors and Al Green on the phonograph, although the computer is slow and small, but I got one sentence out at least. Mother Rubin sat kitten-like in the kitchen or the bedroom; she shares much of her appearance, demeanor, speaking manner, and attitude towards Matt with Sarah Hilding, as Matt heartily concurred later. I don't think he likes her very much, which I guess I understand, although I found her very warm and congenial. Jess strode in (I had met her before, in Boston this summer) and we headed North.
It felt very right, very American, to driving the Parkways of Westchester as the Hudson River valley foliage was at magnificent peak, listening to Ryan Adams, my Bruce Springsteen of now. As with all Rubin expeditions, there was a heightened pitch of conspiratorial excitement, even though we were just going to visit my grandparents. I found George in his office, and he gladly consented to give the winery tour. Again, I found myself learning new things because of my companions' questions: they wanted to know about the chemistry, the history, the ethics. George somewhat surprisingly refused to let us take any wine - he couldn't sell it because he hadn't gotten authorization labels from the government for the new batches, but we're underage anyway, and he didn't offer us any. Once we were up at the house, though, Matt persuaded him to serve us some Doc's Own - the blend that allegedly began as a soda pop - which Michelle brought out with some tasty little cracker-cheese nibblets. I enjoyed the wine more than I have in a while; it's not a great beverage, but it's fun to drink, and although Matt later remarked about it being weak, I felt a little heady after two glasses (but then I hadn't had anything substantial to eat.) The living room was resplendant in the streaming afternoon sun, although several oversize pooches had taken over the table. Conversation flowed freely from family history and career advice similar to the previous night to politics (Matt's summer in Washington) to Broadway (they raved about "Mamma Mia!") to music (Matt to Michelle: "Don't even front about not liking Michael Jackson.") Matt said "awesome" a lot, and Michelle quoted him on it. It's no surprise to me that people get along with my family so well, or that anyone gets along with Matt so well, but it's very satisfying to make introductions like that.
"Your grandfather is awesome!" Matt of course said as we headed back, stopping on the way at Outhouse Orchards for some scrumptious fudge, mini-pies, Mutsu apples for pie, and a bag of candy corn that was to last me for the next three days or so. They had just stopped making fresh donuts, but we made do with some banana nut bread that served as an appetizer before Matt and I patronised the Hartsdale Pizzeria for the evening meal. He called it some of the best pizza in the world, but I was decidedly unimpressed with my slice of white or my slice of pepperoni. I popped in the Raust2K mix that I had just recovered from Myron that morning. Waiting in the kitchen for Jessica to return, I started to explain the Liza scenario to Matt, and the conversation continued as we drove down to the city. Jess was especially interested in my thoughts about "type", and though at first she seemed to think it was a plausible, workable situation as long as everyone was cool, she and Matt later agreed that it was rather more tenuous. "You can do all the right things and still be an asshole," was how Matt put it (interesting, since he doesn't do all the right things, but Jess and Ester are divided on his assholeness.) I still hadn't reached a decision at this point, except that I need to talk to Alyssa before this goes any further. I'll go into it more later.
Driving through Manhattan was decidedly creepy, at times quite unsettling, but we found solace in Barnes and Noble as we killed time before the show. Interesting items: a companion to "Lot 49," "Chronicle of a Death Foretold." Jess wanted "Cholera," which they didn't have (she bought Agaetis instead), but when we stepped onto the sidewalk we found ourselves faced with a trove of a used-book cart. "Cholera" was there, along with a stack of Dostoevski, Bukowski's "Women," and DeLillo's "Americana" (right next to "Amerika," which Matt bought). I was tempted by all of these, but ended up with just the DeLillo, for $3.50 after an absurd group bargaining session. That left me with only three dollars left in cash, enough for three-fifths of the ticket price at the Upright Citizens Brigade theatre (I owe Jess two, to be paid back in goods or services as she sees fit.) NMH played as we walked in and skimmed a photocopy of a kid's comic book (the lower-case alphabet borrows "On the Road" from the upper-case alphabet), which was promising, but we sat through some pretty lackluster sketch by "Squirrel" (I think I laughed once.) It got better after that; the second group (Little Man - five guys in their twenties) handed out ice cream sandwiches and apples, jammed to Weezer, and improvised a half-hour skit about back-to-school shopping. The best parts were the bookending segments, where they hilariously mimed riding bikes and conversed as "themselves."
We sat in the living room of Ben's dad's house with Ester and Ben (exhausted after a day of relaxation) and talked about the sexual culture at Wesleyan, especially the predominance of queer culture. It sounds like Jess's experience there has been nearly the opposite of mine at Swat - lots of meaningless casual sex and little interest in SLTRs (is that the acronym?) - which she finds understandably frustrating. Ester remarked after they left that I was acting smitten. I object to that assessment; after all, I'm allowed to be friendly. Actually, I found being with Jessica and Matt all day a bit trying, not because I didn't enjoy their company, but it was difficult to really relax with them; I felt a bit on edge much of the time, even defensive. It was fun though.
I ate a bialy in the morning, and in the evening I picked up a book about bialys to read in the Barnes and Noble bathroom, although it took me a while to find the bathroom; Matt misdirected me. I wouldn't have characterised the break up to this point as stress-free; making lots of phone calls to mobilize activities is stressful. After reading the first twenty or so pages of the New York Times Magazine's issue on the status of American couplehood, I walked three blocks to 15 Whig. The house is terrifically open and lavish, wonderful wood floors and Al Green on the phonograph, although the computer is slow and small, but I got one sentence out at least. Mother Rubin sat kitten-like in the kitchen or the bedroom; she shares much of her appearance, demeanor, speaking manner, and attitude towards Matt with Sarah Hilding, as Matt heartily concurred later. I don't think he likes her very much, which I guess I understand, although I found her very warm and congenial. Jess strode in (I had met her before, in Boston this summer) and we headed North.
It felt very right, very American, to driving the Parkways of Westchester as the Hudson River valley foliage was at magnificent peak, listening to Ryan Adams, my Bruce Springsteen of now. As with all Rubin expeditions, there was a heightened pitch of conspiratorial excitement, even though we were just going to visit my grandparents. I found George in his office, and he gladly consented to give the winery tour. Again, I found myself learning new things because of my companions' questions: they wanted to know about the chemistry, the history, the ethics. George somewhat surprisingly refused to let us take any wine - he couldn't sell it because he hadn't gotten authorization labels from the government for the new batches, but we're underage anyway, and he didn't offer us any. Once we were up at the house, though, Matt persuaded him to serve us some Doc's Own - the blend that allegedly began as a soda pop - which Michelle brought out with some tasty little cracker-cheese nibblets. I enjoyed the wine more than I have in a while; it's not a great beverage, but it's fun to drink, and although Matt later remarked about it being weak, I felt a little heady after two glasses (but then I hadn't had anything substantial to eat.) The living room was resplendant in the streaming afternoon sun, although several oversize pooches had taken over the table. Conversation flowed freely from family history and career advice similar to the previous night to politics (Matt's summer in Washington) to Broadway (they raved about "Mamma Mia!") to music (Matt to Michelle: "Don't even front about not liking Michael Jackson.") Matt said "awesome" a lot, and Michelle quoted him on it. It's no surprise to me that people get along with my family so well, or that anyone gets along with Matt so well, but it's very satisfying to make introductions like that.
"Your grandfather is awesome!" Matt of course said as we headed back, stopping on the way at Outhouse Orchards for some scrumptious fudge, mini-pies, Mutsu apples for pie, and a bag of candy corn that was to last me for the next three days or so. They had just stopped making fresh donuts, but we made do with some banana nut bread that served as an appetizer before Matt and I patronised the Hartsdale Pizzeria for the evening meal. He called it some of the best pizza in the world, but I was decidedly unimpressed with my slice of white or my slice of pepperoni. I popped in the Raust2K mix that I had just recovered from Myron that morning. Waiting in the kitchen for Jessica to return, I started to explain the Liza scenario to Matt, and the conversation continued as we drove down to the city. Jess was especially interested in my thoughts about "type", and though at first she seemed to think it was a plausible, workable situation as long as everyone was cool, she and Matt later agreed that it was rather more tenuous. "You can do all the right things and still be an asshole," was how Matt put it (interesting, since he doesn't do all the right things, but Jess and Ester are divided on his assholeness.) I still hadn't reached a decision at this point, except that I need to talk to Alyssa before this goes any further. I'll go into it more later.
Driving through Manhattan was decidedly creepy, at times quite unsettling, but we found solace in Barnes and Noble as we killed time before the show. Interesting items: a companion to "Lot 49," "Chronicle of a Death Foretold." Jess wanted "Cholera," which they didn't have (she bought Agaetis instead), but when we stepped onto the sidewalk we found ourselves faced with a trove of a used-book cart. "Cholera" was there, along with a stack of Dostoevski, Bukowski's "Women," and DeLillo's "Americana" (right next to "Amerika," which Matt bought). I was tempted by all of these, but ended up with just the DeLillo, for $3.50 after an absurd group bargaining session. That left me with only three dollars left in cash, enough for three-fifths of the ticket price at the Upright Citizens Brigade theatre (I owe Jess two, to be paid back in goods or services as she sees fit.) NMH played as we walked in and skimmed a photocopy of a kid's comic book (the lower-case alphabet borrows "On the Road" from the upper-case alphabet), which was promising, but we sat through some pretty lackluster sketch by "Squirrel" (I think I laughed once.) It got better after that; the second group (Little Man - five guys in their twenties) handed out ice cream sandwiches and apples, jammed to Weezer, and improvised a half-hour skit about back-to-school shopping. The best parts were the bookending segments, where they hilariously mimed riding bikes and conversed as "themselves."
We sat in the living room of Ben's dad's house with Ester and Ben (exhausted after a day of relaxation) and talked about the sexual culture at Wesleyan, especially the predominance of queer culture. It sounds like Jess's experience there has been nearly the opposite of mine at Swat - lots of meaningless casual sex and little interest in SLTRs (is that the acronym?) - which she finds understandably frustrating. Ester remarked after they left that I was acting smitten. I object to that assessment; after all, I'm allowed to be friendly. Actually, I found being with Jessica and Matt all day a bit trying, not because I didn't enjoy their company, but it was difficult to really relax with them; I felt a bit on edge much of the time, even defensive. It was fun though.
