Monday, August 12, 2013

Gem Spa & 7-Eleven

August 12, 2013

Last night I dreamed I was walking down Second Avenue at St. Mark's. I looked up and saw a sign over Gem Spa announcing it was closed and "thank you for 98 years of business" (in reality, not quite 98). The place was already empty. I stood there in shock for a minute, then flew into a rage. I stormed into the 7-Eleven across the street and demanded of the cashier, "Are you the owner? Are you the fucking owner?" I screamed at him about how the closing of Gem Spa was his fault and told him, "I hope you fucking die. I hope you die a thousand deaths. I hope you get cancer!" I considered trashing the place, but didn't want to get arrested, so I walked out.

I picked up the Village Voice and the Gem Spa closing was on their cover. Inside was a 5-page story about it, citing 7-Eleven as the cause. I felt powerless to do anything.


Sunday, August 4, 2013

Manganaro's Fedora

Last night I dreamed that I was walking through the Village and saw that the Fedora restaurant had been reopened--by the Manganaro's ladies. How perfect! My two favorite vanished places reunited into one!

I went inside and looked at the menu. Seline, true to form, asked me, "Whaddaya want?" I told her I just wanted a snack and she suggested prosciutto on bread (she pronounced it "prosciutt," without the "o"), and said, "This prosciutt' won't rip," as if toughness were a virtue. I ordered it.

While waiting for my order I watched people dancing in the restaurant. In the back, three young women danced on a table. They were all nerdy, wearing interesting hats and dancing in a marching, military style. On the side of the room was an upright piano. A man was playing out a pounding rhythm while a group of svelte men of color danced all over it. The men were half naked, in thongs, and they ate each other's asses while they danced.

Then the real show was about to begin on a stage at the back of the restaurant. All the dancers went up, and I joined them. We got into a line and were going to tap, but I did not know how. I watched one dancer and caught on as best I could, counting out the steps. We each did our own dance, playing different characters, and I improvised playing a lonely, depressed woman waiting for the bus while she looks for a job.

I did alright, but I soon got bored with being onstage and my prosciutto snack was ready. I wanted to quit the show, but didn't want to abandon the other players. I couldn't decide what to do.