New York is exhausting, but incredible. I have no money left, but finding it hard to care. It's been about 10 days now. Spent the first week in hefty agent/editor meetings, which were extremely useful for the most part,, and terrifying occasionally. Sometimes I manage to forget how much publishing is about knowing the right people and (probably the reason why I forget this) how few of the right people I know. Worse than that even, sometimes I know the right people but don't know they're the right people. My favourite editor, the wonderful CZ, turns out to be horribly senior. I know that's sort of good, but then I become aware that it's good and it somehow turns our friendship a bit sour. I will sum up the meetings but now I am very tired, in my amazing tree/time themed room at the Carlton Arms Hotel (google it immediately, anyone reading, then book a flight to NY and come and ogle all the artwork. Until about five minutes ago, a cat was also sharing my bedroom with me. I love this place. Today I have...
- Gone for brunch in Park Slope, Brooklyn - I had pastrami salmon (I know - weird in conception and if I'm honest, underwhelming in execution - there's probably a reason pastrami seasoning is used on beef not fish) and some excellent filter coffee.
- Taken a load of books to the salon where I had my nails done a couple of days ago (I know, how Legally Blonde am I? Still fail to bend and snap though). Turned out my nail lady was a psychology student, and I was reading one of the books various agents had given me. Finished it while I was there and offered it around - I couldn't carry it home and it's quite a good book (SE Phillips being moving and funny as usual). The first lady was visibly confused, but the student got incredibly, gloriously excited - books are apparently very expensive in NY and she was overwhelmed to have an HB for free. I said I had lots of others (more agent submissions that I've now read) and that I'd bring them to her if she'd like - it was very nice to see somebody get so incredibly happy over books again - it's sometimes very easy to forget that books can still do that to people.
- Bought a beautiful vintage scarf and got M&M a boardgame as thanks
- Got the subway to Carlton Arms and claimed my room (they let you pick from whatever they've got so you can choose your favourite artwork)
- Went to the MoMath (I know! It was a MATHS MUSEUM!!) So cool, very sadly only got there for the last half an hour so missed loads, but basically loads of really cool exhibits and games. Did rather miss the ex as he'd have loved it so, so much and been able to actually do the games, but it was still really fun.
- Went to a scary bar, was about to pay 16 dollars for a cocktail in a place that charged 15 for 'carrot tartare' and called salt 'saline' when thankfully Maisie texted and I left the bar of overly-priced-shit for an abortive attempt to get to yoga
- Ended up (somehow) in the Museum of Sex instead. Very enlightening. Not sexy, sadly. Did you know there's a slug that has a penis larger than its own body? After sex, the female eats the penis of the male. Sometime the male eats its own penis, just for fun. The penis does not grow back. I didn't know that until now either, and I was ok with my ignorance. There was, however, a rather fascinating, if grimily titillating exhibit on Linda Lovelace. Rather infuriating to watch the smug male pornstar glowing with life and satisfaction (short of wearing a massive billboard announcing 'I have hit the male jackpot!! I get paid for sex! Yes! You understand me, my massive 70's moustache and my shouty billboard correctly! We actually get PAID for people to touch our penis' there was nothing he could have done to make the matter clearer) talking gleefully about Linda's difficulties and watching her downfall and general victimisation. Why must women (generally) feel so soiled and men so triumphant after having sex with many people? Bees indeed, hush The King and I.
- Decided to go on a mini-Japanese trek - tried three different restaurants - highlights were white tuna (no idea, didn't think it existed), some amazing salmon roe, some tuna sashimi, and the crispy bits of a grilled squid. Nothing completely brilliant, though which was a shame. Lowlights were the tuna I'm sure had been frozen then defrosted and Tom, the rather-too-hands-on 57yr old drunk Italian man, who apparently is 'haunted' by Jewish women and who asked my age and length of holiday time twice, with different reactions each time.
Had intended jazz or comedy, but after probably a bit too much sake, realised I basically wanted to come back, lie on my bed and watch the third episode of Broadchurch. If anyone asks, I'm enjoying the awesome jazz quartet I'd looked up at Smalls jazz club. The thing is, going to things on your own in the evening is oddly tiring - think you have to really be in the mood. Everything's loud and the attention you most easily get isn't usually the kind you want.
