I got really into staying in the house this weekend. Cole and I took some time off from shooting and it felt so lovely to have free time with the knowledge that come Monday, I’d be returning to work like a real grown up. (Or rather, a grown up who spends his day making pee jokes and wearing wigs at his apartment)

Yesterday afternoon around 5PM, I finallllly pried myself off the sofa. I’d spent the majority of the day watching ‘The Fourth Floor’, a really odd movie starring Juliette Lewis and featuring Shelley fucking Duvall. From 1999. I’m not quite sure but I would venture to guess its one of Shelley’s last movie appearances. Juliette’s too? I dunno. I love both of those ladies very much. Oh. And Artie Lang was in it too.

Needless to say, I decided I needed some fresh air and I took a stroll uptown with my friend Doug. We wandered into the park. The sun had gone behind some pretty thick clouds that I can only assume have something to do with the aggressively apocalyptic volcanic ash drifting through our airwaves and offering the early demise of all air travel and what will likely become the return to our dependency on boats and waterways. That is until we’re immersed solely in water and we must resort to ‘Water World’-esque colonies and we turn to Kevin Costner as our official leader. Not Kevin Costner’s character in ‘Water World’…. I mean the actual Kevin Costner.

But I digress.

So I ended up in Central Park and we happened upon this paved section near Literary Way and Bethesda Fountain where every Sunday (I’m told) they rope it off and turn it into an impromptu full on skating party. There is music blaring. Disco! There are hundreds of people in roller skates going around and around the make shift rink and the city’s weirdest denizens all come out of the wood work to skate, to watch, to sing, to dance, to jump, to hold hands. Wacky ladies in red bob wigs and black leggings. The kind of women who carry six fairway bags up Amsterdam Avenue and talking to themselves in thick indistinguishable accents. That guy who dresses up like a drag pirate. Have you ever seen him? You’d know him if you saw him. Carries a poodle and parrot as well. Wacky character. Magical soul. Huge muscley men, little old ladies, moms, kids, tourists, everyone.

Doug and I stopped and watched, becoming transfixed by it all. The entire situation and enviroment seemed to emit positivity and joy, like those Icelandic volcanoes and their meddling apocalyptic ash. I was transported out of Central Park, out of Sunday, out of me to a level of unstoppable joy and just then…. the sun burst through the clouds in this intensely magical way. The skating rink basked in the golden glow and the music played on and on…. or rather, until 6:30 when they have to stop.

It’s amazing to me that something like that can transport you so vividly and powerfully.

Next Sunday. If its nice out. Or even if its not…. walk over to the park, its just Northwest of Literary Way before you get to the fountain. You will experience joy in the coolest of ways. And the sun might just come out.

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