What bothers me about Saturdays is the juxtaposition between finally having some time to do all of the things I’ve been meaning to do and, inevitably, not actually doing anything. In the real world this is an irritating factor of the weekend, in New York it’s downright unforgivable.
Everywhere else, Saturday marks a day of tasks to be done: go to the store, pick up dry cleaning, hair appointment, root canal, investigate government conspiracies via Wikipedia. In New York it’s all that plus the nagging guilt that not only are you avoiding doing any of those tasks, you’re also Not Taking Advantage of the City. And the guilt isn’t entirely internal. When a friend gives the name of a bar, an exhibit opening in a museum you’ve never been to, a two-block radius in Queens that just might have the best falafel in the city or a homeless guy that strips naked every Saturday and Sunday between 2 and 6 P.M. at the corner of Broadway and Prince and then asks, “Have you been to see it?” as though asking “Have you saved any African orphans lately?”, it’s a pain to say no. And then there’s the line: you’re ‘Not Taking Advantage of the City’ said with the same zeal as you’re Not Taking Advantage of the Woman in the Bar Who Came Up To You and Said, “I’m not wearing any underwear and I’m bored.”
Oh, sorry, I was busy sitting on the couch in my pajamas and picking my nose all day.
This morning I read a review in the Times of a new book from a guy who read the entire Oxford English Dictionary. Why am I not spending my Saturdays reading from the OED and then getting a fat check to write a book about it? Oh, because I was too busy not reading the OED to have time to do that.
Even a blog posting on a Saturday is a milestone of Saturday achievements for me. I put it on my list of things to do today, which, of course, means that it wasn’t supposed to get done at all. And yet, here I sit typing away. Of course, now I’ll spend the rest of the day feeling so “accomplished” that I won’t be bothered by doing anything else the rest of the day until someone asks me on Monday, “What did you do this weekend?”
“Oh, I updated my blog.”
“Oh yeah? What else?”
“What do you mean?”
My Saturday now consists of twenty minutes writing my blog and 23 hours and 40 minutes of not writing my blog.
So imagine me next, in the grand splendor of ‘the greatest city on earth’, lying in bed in my boxers and there you’ll see an accurate picture of life in the fast lane.
Love your weekends. Hope they get more exciting than this.
Love,
Memommy
You are my heart, Drew Henry.
It’s your right to lie in your bed, in your apartment, in New York City on a Saturday. Just like it’d be my right to fly up there and haul your ass out of bed and make you go do something touristy. (Oh, please. Like I’d do that…)
Anyway, I understand what you’re saying. And the way you said it is so gosh darn entertaining. I’m going to read this blog three times because I like it so much.
I think Steinbeck and Hemingway spent their Saturdays the same way, and look what happened to them! Besides, your adoring fans expect some witty column from you on Saturdays. Naked people on the street?? Bored, pantyless women in bars? Better stay home, Drew, and just pass the cornbread. Love, Weezer
drew, drew, drew…
when will thou comest home???? i miss thee.
In your words,
Up.
Date.
A month of Saturdays has come and gone. Things must have gotten more exciting since your last post. Maybe you should share some of the excitement with the rest of us.
Time for a new post, I have read this over and over.
Memommy
Please do a new post. I have read this one over
and over.Enjoyed it very much. But, now, what else
is new? memommy
dear drew henry,
how am i supposed to stalk you while i am at work and be impressed with your wonderful new york lifestyle if you do not update your blog. i am a religious blog follower and i would like to be that way with yours. however, i cannot. i am sad. please take care of this so that i can be reminded of how cute you are on a more regular basis. thanks.
your number (insert number here) fan,
stacey