"I copy that" is walkie-talkie talk for - I understand, will do, gotcha, ok, alright, yup, uh-huh, and much more depending on the inflection of the voice.
Friday, February 03, 2006
Tonight I had a very "New York" evening. There is only one city in the world and only one burg and really only one neighborhood that would have it.
It started with a friend's invite to see her perform in a play and see her band after the show. When I walked in I saw stuff... no, shit, no, art, no, shit - everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling, as pillars, as chair-things??? There are these secret "forts" about 15 feet in the air. I was told that people live in this "art space". I was also told that they were so messed up on drugs that they couldn't actually have a conversation, nor could they even form a proper sentence.
The play was about Michael Jackson, the war in Iraq, and gay sex. The first band had a toy piano and a saw. At this point I could only think of my parents... I was wondering what they would be thinking. My father is not the biggest modern art fan. He finds it all very silly. And musical saws? Yeah, that’s funny. I think after the cat running around and the cockroaches (I killed two) and the smoke in the air may have forced them out of the basement.
I thought I could handle it. I thought, "nah, I'm not like these people". I looked down at my purposely mismatched argyle socks in my green sneakers and realized that I was also wearing a wrinkled Brooks Brothers shirt, a camel hair blazer, and had my helmet for my “Daring Plum” Vespa sitting next to me. Whew.
My talented friends were the only things that kept me sane. Thank you. It was an experience.
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