Last week, Sam and I flew to NYC for a little-mini vacation/anniversary/4th of July with friends/scouting trip. Unexpectedly, we spent Saturday night aboard this crazy DJ'd party-boat ride thing that went up and down the island of Manhattan. It was a fun time, but the ship didn't get back until 3:00. Sam and I are a bit old now for that sort of full-throttle partying, and paid the price the rest of the trip. Sam especially had just gotten a tattoo Saturday morning, and should not really have been drinking. She came down with a cold and was pretty much fucked up for the rest of the trip.

(The whole idea behind getting the tattoo was to meet and talk up this lady tattooist who owns a shop in the Village. Sam, quite reasonably, is feeling out the scene there to see what the likelihood of finding a place to work is. Obviously that is a whole other discussion, because the hard thing for me is that life in S.F. is pretty great for her right now. Things are really moving in terms of tattooing. Plus, she's hella NorCal, like all the way. Like, there's not a whole lot of surfing happening in Manhattan. She would never choose to move to NYC if it weren't for my wanting it so badly.)

The next day, the 4th, we took the train to Williamsburg -- the absolute epicenter of hip and cool according to friendster and other in-the-know sources -- where our friend Kara (who moved out there last year) is now living. We were invited to this fabulous rooftop party which was bascially the best view of the fire works, ever. Kara is doing great. It's really inspiring. She totally made the right decision in deciding to make the big leap. On the other hand, there's Amanda and Andrew -- yes, of Saffy the horrible dog notoriety -- who also moved out a little more than a year ago. They are not doing so well. Not sure if its because of unrealisitic expectations. Amanda dreams of being an actress; she is 5'0", on the chubby side, and getting chubbier every day. Andrew is an anti-social musician who would rather be fiddling with his computer and musical instrument than pretty much anthing else, including finding other musicians to play with. I think they feel very isolated and disconnected. Unfortunately, I think it's very hard for Amanda to let go of the dream of the stage. Apparently in NYC, the potential waiters (read: starving actors) are expected to submit HEAD SHOTS (!) with their applications, but faced with the hoardes of clear-skinned, lithsome, 6 ft. Amazons who are equally intent on making it in the business, I think she'll have to bow to reality soon. Amanda is a very enterprising and smart lady, so I think she'll figure something out. But anyway, these are the two directions that life in NYC can take you writ large. I strongly feel that if you don't have a plan, you will not/cannot make it there.

The next day (our 7th anniversary) we went to Coney Island; Ate Nathan's hotdogs, went rattling up and down the rickety Cyclone, kissed while spinning high up in the air on the oldest Ferris wheel in NY, marvelled at the harsh gutteral barkers exhorting one and all, witnessed a real Coney Island triumph -- Ron (Don's twin brother) won the "Skin the Wire" game he's been obssessed with for years. Sam was a trooper on Dayquil.

The next day we were coming back home, but we made the trek up to the good ol' J-School building, just to follow tradition, y'know. (Ron lives 3 blocks from the campus, so its not really a physical trek so much as a psychologically devastating one.)

Kathy was surprisingly kind and open to conversation in person this time. Again, I repeated my plea that she put me out of my misery, but she wouldn't. In fact she was strangely encouraging in a roundabout sort of manner. She said that no-one had been accepted off the list yet, but that there had been some "movement." Conversely, of course, they were going to wait until the week before classes before going to the list. She said there was no more housing available, either so I'd be on my own with that. (This might actually have been the case anyway, since Columbia housing has official no pet policies. Apparently most people flout these policies, but it depends on your neighbors' and super's kindness.)

Amanda and Andrew and Ron have offered their places as a crash point, if it comes down to that -- but Jesus. Moving out there on a few day's notice is not very appealing, clearly. Anyway, like I said, she was somewhat encouraging. Suggested I light some candles and hang in there. She also told me to call the Dean himself, to make it clear to him that I'd be willing to move out there on short notice. He was on vacation, naturally, when I was there so I was to wait until next week to call him.