tales of a girl in the city

février 24, 2004

So, it's like this.

I don't know what I'm doing. I have just absolutely no fucking clue.

And when you've got nowhere else to go, and you don't know what to do, the perfect place to head, apparently, is Rehab.

Rehab is a club here in NYC. Interestingly enough, by day it is a fairly tame restaurant that I've been to several times. Long tables and chairs and waiters that move efficiently through the plastic and the metal to serve lots of things that contain arugula. No big deal.

By night, different story. Or so I discovered. The line--of course the line, always the line--of people trying to get in at the front door. The smokers puffing away in spite of the cold. Not a woman in a long-sleeve shirt in sight: cut-outs, slits, tank tops, tiny straps, sequins, chandelier earrings, short-short-short skirts and eyeshadow up to there. Greeted by two half-naked aqua colored dancers atop glowing platforms that are obviously never there at the same time as the arugula. (Wouldn't be proper.) Music pounding. And away we go.

Into the arms of the crowd. Into the legs and jumbling. Eyes are slashed out by shadows. No room in the noise for a voice or a word.

I have no idea what I am doing there. I am twenty-five years old, and this is what twenty-five-year-old people do. It's what they enjoy, and they launch themselves at each other and collide and smash. They don't speak or touch. But they fuck.

Have fun. Dance.

Am I the only one who is thinking that this is all ridiculous? I am the only one who is thinking that this is all ridiculous. My friend Chris has his tongue already wound down some girl's throat, and his friend Isaac would love to have his down mine. Which would have to be a secret, of course. So his girlfriend in DC doesn't find out. They're in love, you see. And moving in together soon. So shhhhhh. Shhhhh. But, come here.

If I wanted an answer about why M happened, I found it in Rehab. What you learn there is that people are replaceable. Flat and mechanical and as faceless as the music; if she won't do, the next one will. Always another choice. There will be something better at the next table.

People always celebrate this city, and it deserves its fair share of praise. But I am tired of it tonight. Very much so.

I think there are these moments that happen, sometimes, where you're standing at the beginning of something. Or maybe at the end. And everything all of a sudden seems large and important.

I think I'm at one of those.