It's that time of year. Time to think about my life (as though I don't spend all my time thinking (and writing) about me and my life.) Time to reflect on the past year, consider which New Year's Resolution I will be breaking in about six weeks, and start hunting for a dress to wear to Grandma's on Christmas that will NOT be deemed "sexy" by a creepy relative. Time to start making lists (again, as though my OCD doesn't compel me to do that all year long). Lists of things to do, things I want, things I will have to give other people so that they will give me things I want in return (Hey rich big brother! I'm getting you a fabulous-but-within-my-means Christmas gift this year! Please reciprocate with something that costs the same percentage of your yearly income, not the same dollar amount! Love you!)
So before all that starts, let me take a moment to let my inner good-person-ness make a brief appearance with a list of things I am thankful for this year.
My job: I know I whine and moan about it alot, and the fact of the matter is that my boss is capital C-razy, but all in all, a huge step up from last year. I loved being able to tell people where I worked last year, loved the name recognition and the status that came with a position in that organization, but never, at any time, did I truly enjoy the work I was doing. In fact, mostly it just made me miserable. I thought that I would be the kind of person who thrives on 80 hour work weeks, but they just became an excuse, a crutch, to both explain and avoid the mess that was the rest of my life. I ruined relationships, threatened my health, and came dangerously close to losing my fragile mental and emotional stability, and the more I blamed my job for my overall unhappiness, the more I took refuge in it. If I could only work a little harder, be a little more successful, everything else would take care of itself. It never happened, and I'm thankful that I finally woke up and saw what I was doing to myself. I'm thankful that once I decided to make a change, everything fell into place. The way the economy is going now, I'm glad I made this realization when I did, because waiting even just a few more months could have been disastrous.
My apartment: Good heavens, I love my apartment. Yes it's tiny, and rather dark, and has terrible public transport links. But the fact of the matter is, it's on a respectable, middle-class block, is safe and convenient to work, has responsible and conscientious landlords, and is in my price range. You can't ask for any more than that in the city. Sure, I dream of someday having Monica's apartment in the Village, but for now, I'm just happy to be free from wacko roommates and creepy Howard's management company.
My city: I'm thankful to have the chance to live in a great city while I'm young and independent. Yes, it's been harder than I'd anticipated (see above re: my job) and there have been times I've considered packing it all in and going back to the midwest. As I've grown up, I can even see myself doing that someday. But in so many ways it's what I've always dreamed of. Always the drama, the options, the entertainment, always something going on that is not happening anywhere else on earth. It's staggering, overwhelming, amazing. The city is a sensory overload but once its ingrained in your heart it's hard to get rid of. And why would you want to? This frenzied, pulsating beat of glitz and glamour and LIFE around every corner... it's exhilirating. It's mesmerizing. And I'm a part of that. And I'm glad.
My family: Yes, they drive me crazy. Yes, they have their quirks and their issues and their sometimes downright irritating nature. But they're also sweet, and generous, and I do believe that somewhere deep down, they care about me and I care about them, even though we will probably never really understand each other. And maybe that's okay.
My friends: I'm thankful for the widening circle of friends I'm building in the city. The few friends from home who've journeyed east along with me. The co-workers-turned-friends who helped me survive my old job and the new ones who make my current job much more fun. I'm excited to have reconnected with old friends from college who've moved to the city over the last year. My undying gratitude belongs to to my inner circle of college roommates who've seen me through a variety of physical and emotional trials this year, and have never give up. They still call, they still visit, they still care, no matter how bad things got. They are my rocks.
And I guess more than anything, as I reflect, I'm thankful for one important detail. I'm thankful that MY LIFE IS NOT A MOVIE. Because if it were, it would have to be nearing completion. Surely I've lived two hours worth of entertainment in the last few years. But, baby, believe me, the adventures have only just begun.
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
Tuesday, November 25, 2008
Vignettes from Visits (Part I Don't Know the French Word for 4): What's Cooler than Cool? Ice Cold!
My old college roommate A. came to visit last week. A. and I shared a 10 by 10 bedroom for 2 years, so I knew she wouldn't be fazed sharing my huge-by-comparison studio for 2 nights. She's a grad student these days and her program was having some kind of recruitment event here in the city. She was chosen to be a student representative, according to her, primarily because she convinced them that they wouldn't have to pay for a hotel for her. And I was so happy to have her!
She was only here for a few days but the best part of her visit was that she fixed my bathroom sink!!! See, a long time ago, I pushed the stopper down so I wouldn't drop my contact lenses down it, but then it was stuck and I couldn't get it back up and I feld dumb telling my landlord so I pried it up and propped it open just a little bit with a paper clip, and left it that way for 2 months. A. came to visit, noticed it right away, and fixed it in 3o seconds. Apparently, there is a little lever you can push up which I just never noticed (and thank GOD I didn't bother my landlord about it! They are super nice people and my rent is slightly under-market, and I want to keep it that way by being the best tenant ever and that includes not bothering them about things that directly result from the phenomenon best known as "I am a dumbass.") The worst part of her visit also involves the plumbing, namely, that I woke up on Thursday morning, stepped into the shower and discovered that there was no hot water again! This happened about a month ago and my awesome landlords got it fixed right way, but of course something else had to go wrong when I had someone visiting me on business, ie, there was no way that she could not take a shower (unlike me, who was like, "F this. It's not like my students don't stink (my students are crunchy hippies who appear to believe that showering is some bourgeouis phenomenon to be avoided at all costs. Frankly, I find my students' body odor to be something to be avoided at all costs. Especially since most of them have trust funds anyway and are just "rebellious.")) So basically, it was like a crash course in NYC living- "Welcome to my beautiful apartment. Enjoy your ice cold shower." But it was fixed by that afternoon because again, my landlords=wonderful people. The next morning A. and I had coffee and bagels at my bagel shop and then it was time for her to get a cab to the airport already! She was literally only here for 36 hours and we really only got to spend a little time together, but it great to have even just a short chance to catch up. I love when my friends come to stay!!!
She was only here for a few days but the best part of her visit was that she fixed my bathroom sink!!! See, a long time ago, I pushed the stopper down so I wouldn't drop my contact lenses down it, but then it was stuck and I couldn't get it back up and I feld dumb telling my landlord so I pried it up and propped it open just a little bit with a paper clip, and left it that way for 2 months. A. came to visit, noticed it right away, and fixed it in 3o seconds. Apparently, there is a little lever you can push up which I just never noticed (and thank GOD I didn't bother my landlord about it! They are super nice people and my rent is slightly under-market, and I want to keep it that way by being the best tenant ever and that includes not bothering them about things that directly result from the phenomenon best known as "I am a dumbass.") The worst part of her visit also involves the plumbing, namely, that I woke up on Thursday morning, stepped into the shower and discovered that there was no hot water again! This happened about a month ago and my awesome landlords got it fixed right way, but of course something else had to go wrong when I had someone visiting me on business, ie, there was no way that she could not take a shower (unlike me, who was like, "F this. It's not like my students don't stink (my students are crunchy hippies who appear to believe that showering is some bourgeouis phenomenon to be avoided at all costs. Frankly, I find my students' body odor to be something to be avoided at all costs. Especially since most of them have trust funds anyway and are just "rebellious.")) So basically, it was like a crash course in NYC living- "Welcome to my beautiful apartment. Enjoy your ice cold shower." But it was fixed by that afternoon because again, my landlords=wonderful people. The next morning A. and I had coffee and bagels at my bagel shop and then it was time for her to get a cab to the airport already! She was literally only here for 36 hours and we really only got to spend a little time together, but it great to have even just a short chance to catch up. I love when my friends come to stay!!!
Sunday, November 23, 2008
Vignettes from Visits (Part Trois): Eastside, Westside, All Around the Town
Not even a week after JL left, who should arrive but the biggest possible test of my hospitality, graciousness, and overall sanity: my mother and sister. I love them both, truly I'm sure that deep down I even like them a little bit, but when my mother has always told me to whisper little prayers under my breath when I'm stressed out, I'm not sure that she was envisioning me sitting on the bus on my way to pick them up airport doing deep yoga breathing and muttering "Please, God, don't let me commit any homicides this week."
And I didn't! It wasn't the easiest or greatest five days of my life, but I've had harder and worse (yes, yes, that's what she said!) My sister has never been to the city and my mom only once, so we did a lot of the same tourist-y things that JL and I did the weekend before. We even went to the same restaurant (what can I say? I'm a total sucker for Lombardi's! Delish!) We rode the ferry again, and I was once again struck by my ingrained desire to take pictures of the Statue of Liberty every time, no matter how many times I've ridden the ferry by now. Someday I want to take the ferry and just be one of those bored-looking people who sits inside reading a newspaper and sighing at tourists. I love sighing at tourists. And muttering "damn tourists" under my breath while elbowing past them on the sidewalk. Actually, now that I think about it, am I becoming one of those crazy city folk who mumble to themselves all the time? Do people think I'm a crazy schizophrenic homeless lady, because they're the ones that you always used to see talking to themselves. Thank goodness for all those new-fangled inventions like Bluetooth, so now you can never tell who's actually crazy and who's just on the phone.
We saw two Broadway shows while they were here, which was nice because I never do things like that on my own or with my friends who live here. Every time I have a visitor and we go see a show, I say to myself, "I've got to do this more often" but I never do. I really love musicals and plays, but to be honest, I'm not too impressed with Broadway these days. There's just nothing that really interests me. Does everything either have to be positively depraved or written for the intelligence, attention span, and sense of humor of a special-needs eight year old? I do not need to see people brutally murdered and raped on stage, I don't care how "edgy" some critic says it is. I do not need to watch Harry Potter struggle with sexual attraction to a horse. I do not want to see anything that is supposed to show me the human side of freaking pedophiles, people! There are things in this world that are just flat out perverted, and they are not okay, and I will not, cannot, as a decent human being, support them, even in the name of art, expression, or free speech. If that makes me intolerant or conservative or fundamentalist, then fine, I will wear those labels proudly. Are there no standards of decency these days? I know that it is politically incorrect to raise issues about decency and standards but come on! All my life my dad has been quoting the Bible to me and one of his favorites is "I will set no worthless thing before my eyes." He usually brings this one out whenever I am visiting him and invite him to join me in watching a Trading Spaces marathon or something. I disagree with his take on interior decorating shows, but good lord if the man's point of view doesn't make sense in light of some of the "critically acclaimed" shows playing in theatres around the city. Okay, that was kind of a long tangent there, but let me also just briefly decry the other side of the coin and beg that the next generation of Rodgers and Hammerstein, or a Cole Porter for the new millenium, or heck, even a new Andrew Lloyd Webber rise up on Broadway and save us all from anything else ven resembling "Shrek: the Musical." Have we come so far from Anything Goes, or the Sound of Music, or West Side Story that we are doomed to watch musical adaptations of entertaining yet not spectacular movies for the rest of our days? I don't go to the theatre for fart jokes any more than I go for torture and terror. Sheesh, people.
So we saw Phantom and Legally Blonde, which for all my ranting about movie-based musicals in the preceding paragraph, was actually pretty cute and entertaining, which I suppose totally undermines my previous diatribe by proving that I'm really not the most cerebral or discerning of theatre-goers. We also went to a taping of a morning show (we couldn't get Regis and Kelly tickets, and so were forced to attend the poor man's version at Fox studios, but it was still fun. And there was free breakfast.) I took them to my favorite bagel shop around the corner from my apartment (well, I consider it around the corner. It's actually about 1/2 km, which to those who aren't used to city measurements ("oh, it's just a short walk!" from a city dweller means "we should be there in about 45 minutes if we power-walk") is not quite what they're expecting. But seriously, 1/2 km? I can cover that distance in 3 minutes while wearing 3 inch stilettos. No big.)
And my favorite of all, we went skating at Rockefeller Center! I love the rink there. I know it's touristy, and Rockefeller often makes me want to stab myself in the eye, but it was early in the season (the rink had just opened that week), it was warm outside, and there were hardly any people for the lunchtime skate. It was probably the best skating I've ever done in the city. For what it's worth, it should be noted that I am also quite possibly the world's most heinously awful ice skater. I have no sense of balance, I can't master any sort of turning maneuver, and I generally find myself unable to stop without running into the wall at least once every five minutes (this is made even better by the fact that at Rock Center, there is a restaurant with big glass windows facing the skating rink where business people go to wine and dine, and I'm pretty sure I entertained a large crowd by repeatedly running into their window at various intervals. They even started waving at me. It was hot.) But how can you not have fun while ice-skating? It's like Phoebe Buffay running in Central Park (Didn't you ever run so hard you thought your legs would fall off? Like when you were running toward the swings or running away from Satan?... the neighbor's dog! Bwah! Pheebs is HI-larious!) It's so child-like and freeing... as long as you can laugh at yourself.
So, I had fun, I think they had fun, there weren't (too many) tears or fights, no one died, no one threatened to kill each other, so all in all, I'm calling it a success. At least, close enough.
And I didn't! It wasn't the easiest or greatest five days of my life, but I've had harder and worse (yes, yes, that's what she said!) My sister has never been to the city and my mom only once, so we did a lot of the same tourist-y things that JL and I did the weekend before. We even went to the same restaurant (what can I say? I'm a total sucker for Lombardi's! Delish!) We rode the ferry again, and I was once again struck by my ingrained desire to take pictures of the Statue of Liberty every time, no matter how many times I've ridden the ferry by now. Someday I want to take the ferry and just be one of those bored-looking people who sits inside reading a newspaper and sighing at tourists. I love sighing at tourists. And muttering "damn tourists" under my breath while elbowing past them on the sidewalk. Actually, now that I think about it, am I becoming one of those crazy city folk who mumble to themselves all the time? Do people think I'm a crazy schizophrenic homeless lady, because they're the ones that you always used to see talking to themselves. Thank goodness for all those new-fangled inventions like Bluetooth, so now you can never tell who's actually crazy and who's just on the phone.
We saw two Broadway shows while they were here, which was nice because I never do things like that on my own or with my friends who live here. Every time I have a visitor and we go see a show, I say to myself, "I've got to do this more often" but I never do. I really love musicals and plays, but to be honest, I'm not too impressed with Broadway these days. There's just nothing that really interests me. Does everything either have to be positively depraved or written for the intelligence, attention span, and sense of humor of a special-needs eight year old? I do not need to see people brutally murdered and raped on stage, I don't care how "edgy" some critic says it is. I do not need to watch Harry Potter struggle with sexual attraction to a horse. I do not want to see anything that is supposed to show me the human side of freaking pedophiles, people! There are things in this world that are just flat out perverted, and they are not okay, and I will not, cannot, as a decent human being, support them, even in the name of art, expression, or free speech. If that makes me intolerant or conservative or fundamentalist, then fine, I will wear those labels proudly. Are there no standards of decency these days? I know that it is politically incorrect to raise issues about decency and standards but come on! All my life my dad has been quoting the Bible to me and one of his favorites is "I will set no worthless thing before my eyes." He usually brings this one out whenever I am visiting him and invite him to join me in watching a Trading Spaces marathon or something. I disagree with his take on interior decorating shows, but good lord if the man's point of view doesn't make sense in light of some of the "critically acclaimed" shows playing in theatres around the city. Okay, that was kind of a long tangent there, but let me also just briefly decry the other side of the coin and beg that the next generation of Rodgers and Hammerstein, or a Cole Porter for the new millenium, or heck, even a new Andrew Lloyd Webber rise up on Broadway and save us all from anything else ven resembling "Shrek: the Musical." Have we come so far from Anything Goes, or the Sound of Music, or West Side Story that we are doomed to watch musical adaptations of entertaining yet not spectacular movies for the rest of our days? I don't go to the theatre for fart jokes any more than I go for torture and terror. Sheesh, people.
So we saw Phantom and Legally Blonde, which for all my ranting about movie-based musicals in the preceding paragraph, was actually pretty cute and entertaining, which I suppose totally undermines my previous diatribe by proving that I'm really not the most cerebral or discerning of theatre-goers. We also went to a taping of a morning show (we couldn't get Regis and Kelly tickets, and so were forced to attend the poor man's version at Fox studios, but it was still fun. And there was free breakfast.) I took them to my favorite bagel shop around the corner from my apartment (well, I consider it around the corner. It's actually about 1/2 km, which to those who aren't used to city measurements ("oh, it's just a short walk!" from a city dweller means "we should be there in about 45 minutes if we power-walk") is not quite what they're expecting. But seriously, 1/2 km? I can cover that distance in 3 minutes while wearing 3 inch stilettos. No big.)
And my favorite of all, we went skating at Rockefeller Center! I love the rink there. I know it's touristy, and Rockefeller often makes me want to stab myself in the eye, but it was early in the season (the rink had just opened that week), it was warm outside, and there were hardly any people for the lunchtime skate. It was probably the best skating I've ever done in the city. For what it's worth, it should be noted that I am also quite possibly the world's most heinously awful ice skater. I have no sense of balance, I can't master any sort of turning maneuver, and I generally find myself unable to stop without running into the wall at least once every five minutes (this is made even better by the fact that at Rock Center, there is a restaurant with big glass windows facing the skating rink where business people go to wine and dine, and I'm pretty sure I entertained a large crowd by repeatedly running into their window at various intervals. They even started waving at me. It was hot.) But how can you not have fun while ice-skating? It's like Phoebe Buffay running in Central Park (Didn't you ever run so hard you thought your legs would fall off? Like when you were running toward the swings or running away from Satan?... the neighbor's dog! Bwah! Pheebs is HI-larious!) It's so child-like and freeing... as long as you can laugh at yourself.
So, I had fun, I think they had fun, there weren't (too many) tears or fights, no one died, no one threatened to kill each other, so all in all, I'm calling it a success. At least, close enough.
Tuesday, November 18, 2008
Good Morning, Baltimore!
I got to get out of the city last weekend, a lovely change! (Only when you live in New York does something like a trip to Baltimore count as "getting out of the city." It was so quaint and quiet and tiny by comparison!)
I took Friday afternoon off from work and caught a train from Penn Station to New Jersey, an experience fraught with peril due to me cutting it extremely close on time and there being a line of really, really, freaking slow people at the Jersey Transit ticket machines. Seriously, there should be a special line for people who are not MORONS and know how to find their destination and swipe a credit card. I mean, I've probably taken NJT twice in my life, and it only takes me a grand total of 30 seconds to purchase my tickets. What are the rest of you idiots doing??! Never fear, I made the train with seconds to spare and arrived safely in Jersey where I met up with my friends who live there. One of them drove us down to B-more and we made good time, arriving around 7 pm Friday night. We checked into the hotel on the waterfront and then ate at one of my favorite places and I wish that I were saying that ironically, but alas, I just truly do love the Hard Rock Cafe. It's a remnant of a childhood spent wishing I were cooler than I ever was (or am.) Our food took forever to arrive, so to compensate, the waiter gave me a free Hard Rock Cafe Baltimore double shot glass! How cool am I now?! (Wait. Just... don't answer that.)
The whole purpose behind the trip was attending our alma mater's football game at Ravens' stadium on Saturday afternoon. We headed out to tailgate on Saturday morning armed with umbrellas and that ever-classy beacon of outdoor entertainment... the poncho, worried about what sort of weather the day would bring. It was really warm (in the high sixties!) but rain was predicted all day and the air was humid and sticky. As soon as we went outside though, the sun came out and it was really gorgeous! I was the only one of our group who decided to stick my sunglasses in my purse as we were heading out the door, and boy was I glad I did! I wore those for much longer than I wore my poncho. But sadly, I did have to break out the poncho with about 8 minutes left in the 4th quarter, when the skies gave us about 15 seconds of warning and then just opened up with a torrential downpour. Yikes! But like any good fans, we stuck it out in the stands, cheering the Irish to a victory (not that they really deserved it, allowing 2 touchdowns in the final 5 minutes or so.)
A bunch of my other friends were down there for the game, so it was awesome to see them and tailgate with them for a little while, although it was disappointing that the kickoff was so early (at noon) and then the rain made it tough to meet up with people afterwards, because everyone was soaking wet and headed straight for hotel rooms or cars to change or go home or do something to otherwise dry themselves off. The after-party isn't as much fun when you look and feel like a drowned rat (and may I just say, being a seasoned rider of NYC public transit, that I have a much clearer sense of that imagery these days than I ever, ever would have wanted.)
Sunday morning we went to the National Aquarium, which was right by our hotel and it was awesome! I really hate zoos (I'm sorry, they make me sneeze and animals just don't interest me) but the aquarium was super cool! There were sharks! (Live every week like it's Shark Week!) And rays! And a one-legged turtle! And to top it all off, I got to see a dolphin show! Dolphins are so freaking cool! (Gosh, I really am stuck back in the 80's, aren't I? I'm Stacey McGill... I love dolphins and the Hard Rock Cafe... I've really got to grow up.) But seriously, is it really my fault? I've never been to an aquarium before! I was denied an essential part of childhood. I mean, DJ and Stephanie Tanner actually got to swim with the dolphins! Next time, I'm totally going to find a place where I can do that. Maybe in Hawaii like they did.
And after all of that, it was back into the car and back to Jersey, then back on the train and back to Manhattan, then back on the subway and back to Brooklyn, then back on the bus and back to the apartment. Whew! Quite the whirlwind trip, but so nice to see my friends and take a short break. Now it's the home stretch to the holidays! Bring on the Christmas music!
I took Friday afternoon off from work and caught a train from Penn Station to New Jersey, an experience fraught with peril due to me cutting it extremely close on time and there being a line of really, really, freaking slow people at the Jersey Transit ticket machines. Seriously, there should be a special line for people who are not MORONS and know how to find their destination and swipe a credit card. I mean, I've probably taken NJT twice in my life, and it only takes me a grand total of 30 seconds to purchase my tickets. What are the rest of you idiots doing??! Never fear, I made the train with seconds to spare and arrived safely in Jersey where I met up with my friends who live there. One of them drove us down to B-more and we made good time, arriving around 7 pm Friday night. We checked into the hotel on the waterfront and then ate at one of my favorite places and I wish that I were saying that ironically, but alas, I just truly do love the Hard Rock Cafe. It's a remnant of a childhood spent wishing I were cooler than I ever was (or am.) Our food took forever to arrive, so to compensate, the waiter gave me a free Hard Rock Cafe Baltimore double shot glass! How cool am I now?! (Wait. Just... don't answer that.)
The whole purpose behind the trip was attending our alma mater's football game at Ravens' stadium on Saturday afternoon. We headed out to tailgate on Saturday morning armed with umbrellas and that ever-classy beacon of outdoor entertainment... the poncho, worried about what sort of weather the day would bring. It was really warm (in the high sixties!) but rain was predicted all day and the air was humid and sticky. As soon as we went outside though, the sun came out and it was really gorgeous! I was the only one of our group who decided to stick my sunglasses in my purse as we were heading out the door, and boy was I glad I did! I wore those for much longer than I wore my poncho. But sadly, I did have to break out the poncho with about 8 minutes left in the 4th quarter, when the skies gave us about 15 seconds of warning and then just opened up with a torrential downpour. Yikes! But like any good fans, we stuck it out in the stands, cheering the Irish to a victory (not that they really deserved it, allowing 2 touchdowns in the final 5 minutes or so.)
A bunch of my other friends were down there for the game, so it was awesome to see them and tailgate with them for a little while, although it was disappointing that the kickoff was so early (at noon) and then the rain made it tough to meet up with people afterwards, because everyone was soaking wet and headed straight for hotel rooms or cars to change or go home or do something to otherwise dry themselves off. The after-party isn't as much fun when you look and feel like a drowned rat (and may I just say, being a seasoned rider of NYC public transit, that I have a much clearer sense of that imagery these days than I ever, ever would have wanted.)
Sunday morning we went to the National Aquarium, which was right by our hotel and it was awesome! I really hate zoos (I'm sorry, they make me sneeze and animals just don't interest me) but the aquarium was super cool! There were sharks! (Live every week like it's Shark Week!) And rays! And a one-legged turtle! And to top it all off, I got to see a dolphin show! Dolphins are so freaking cool! (Gosh, I really am stuck back in the 80's, aren't I? I'm Stacey McGill... I love dolphins and the Hard Rock Cafe... I've really got to grow up.) But seriously, is it really my fault? I've never been to an aquarium before! I was denied an essential part of childhood. I mean, DJ and Stephanie Tanner actually got to swim with the dolphins! Next time, I'm totally going to find a place where I can do that. Maybe in Hawaii like they did.
And after all of that, it was back into the car and back to Jersey, then back on the train and back to Manhattan, then back on the subway and back to Brooklyn, then back on the bus and back to the apartment. Whew! Quite the whirlwind trip, but so nice to see my friends and take a short break. Now it's the home stretch to the holidays! Bring on the Christmas music!
Thursday, November 13, 2008
Vignettes from Visits (Part Duex): Just like London, except for Funner!
So, about a month after my delightful visit from N, I had another fabulous visit, this time from a very dear college friend. I know vaguely that JL and I met during Freshman Orientation at our beloved alma mater, but my first real memory is of her coming to my dorm room one night in November to study for a psychology test with my crazy freshman roommate. Unfortunately for them, it was also election night, so I refused to be dislodged from my station in front of our 13 inch TV, holding the rabbit eared antenna out the window so I could get a fuzzy NBC and excitedly watch election results to learn the new composition of the US Congress. Somehow, my bizarro-ness didn't scare her away. We went on to become close friends, roommates, traveling buddies, and general partners-in-crime. JL is probably the only person I was friends with freshman year who I am still close with today. She's seen me at my absolute worst, and yet is still willing to come visit me.
We had so much fun being tourists in the city! We ate fro-yo, strolled the UWS, explored Central Park, rode the Staten Island ferry, went out in the East Village, walked through Chinatown, ate pizza at Lombardi's in Soho, drank wine in Little Italy, went to the Met, and finished the weekend with Tasti D-lite and a mad dash to Penn Station praying that she would be able to catch her bus back to DC.
It was so great to have a long weekend to catch up (She had that Monday off, and I took a day off of work) and to feel like we were traveling through Europe again (JL had the pleasure of accompanying me all around the continent, making sure I never walked in front of a bus or was put in charge of reading the map. I firmly believe that it is thanks to her diligent tutelage that I have so far been able to survive living in the city on my own without succumbing to my severe lack of common sense and any sense of direction.)
I love, love, love having my own studio so people can come to visit me. No worrying about roommates, or bathroom schedules, or whether an air mattress in the common space is an inconvenience. Yes, JL had to sleep on the air mattress in the kitchen area, but that is just one of those delightful eccentricities of the NYC studio. She said she didn't mind. The great thing is, I've known her long enough to know that she's telling the truth.
We had so much fun being tourists in the city! We ate fro-yo, strolled the UWS, explored Central Park, rode the Staten Island ferry, went out in the East Village, walked through Chinatown, ate pizza at Lombardi's in Soho, drank wine in Little Italy, went to the Met, and finished the weekend with Tasti D-lite and a mad dash to Penn Station praying that she would be able to catch her bus back to DC.
It was so great to have a long weekend to catch up (She had that Monday off, and I took a day off of work) and to feel like we were traveling through Europe again (JL had the pleasure of accompanying me all around the continent, making sure I never walked in front of a bus or was put in charge of reading the map. I firmly believe that it is thanks to her diligent tutelage that I have so far been able to survive living in the city on my own without succumbing to my severe lack of common sense and any sense of direction.)
I love, love, love having my own studio so people can come to visit me. No worrying about roommates, or bathroom schedules, or whether an air mattress in the common space is an inconvenience. Yes, JL had to sleep on the air mattress in the kitchen area, but that is just one of those delightful eccentricities of the NYC studio. She said she didn't mind. The great thing is, I've known her long enough to know that she's telling the truth.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
Vignettes from Visits (Part Une): Breakfast at Tiffany's, Martinis Everywhere Else
I can't even begin to explain how long overdue this post is. Actually, that's a lie. I can. In this particular instance, it is approximately 2 months overdue. But in some ways, it's a lifetime.
See, I come from one of those families that might lovingly be called "charmingly eccentric." They might not-so-lovingly be called "batshit crazy." But I've got one cousin who never lets me down. She introduced me to Beverly Hills 90210 at the ripe old age of 9. She slipped me a few rum and cokes to keep me sane at family parties when I was 16. She has always wholeheartedly supported me in my quest to leave our one-horse hometown. I guess we could call her my fairy god-cousin, but she probably prefers if we just call her N.
So if we're ranking family members by coolness quotient, it goes N: 98341212457, Everyone Else: 0. You can imagine then, how excited I was to see her! She came to the city for work, but we got a few chances to hang out along the way. I love, love, love hanging out with her because she loves all the things I love, like martinis, sushi, and Fifth Avenue, but see, she can actually pull it off. I'm a poseur, a poor (semi)-recent college grad ekeing out a living in an outer borough. But when I have her by my side, I can walk confidently into the bar at the Ritz Carlton and drink the best martini ever, made for me by Norman, the head bartender. (Who, by the way, is absolutely adorable and so quintessentially Manhattan. He should be in a Woody Allen movie or something, except that Woody Allen really freaks me out.)
So N. came into the city on a Sunday morning, and the weather was picture perfect for early fall, which provided the perfect backdrop for a quick lunch in the Peninsula hotel and an afternoon of window shopping on Fifth. We have an inside joke regarding someone who doesn't know what Tiffany's is (seriously, who doesn't know what Tiffany's is? It's like an American institution!), so we took photos of ourselves outside Tiffany's looking quizzical and perplexed. Why yes, I do think we're hilarious. I never understand why people don't realize how funny we are... we certainly entertain me! Then, Nobu! Oh my gosh, it's sooooooo delicious! I mean, I know its place in the sun is fading and it's not the trendy it-spot anymore, but holy smokes is it good! We had martinis and they were amazing and then we ordered like 10 courses and I cannot believe how much I ate but it was fabulous!
The next night we had drinks and dinner at the Ritz Carlton and it was perfect. Like I said, Norman is amazing (and he used to live in Brooklyn, like me!) After the Ritz we went back to the Peninsula and had another martini on the rooftop. I absolutely adore rooftop bars. I love city views on a clear warm night, and there's nothing better than sipping a martini and looking over the railing to watch Manhattan swirl below you. It's one of those moments, like walking across the Brooklyn Bridge or an early morning on Central Park West that remind me why I moved here and what I love about it.
So with Thanksgiving quickly approaching, let me give thanks where thanks are due. I raise my martini glass (except that tonight it's just me and the meager contents of my fridge, so it's a decidedly NOT-classy glass of vodka and Cherry Coke Zero) to my cousin, for being just flat-out amazing and letting me tag along for the ride.
See, I come from one of those families that might lovingly be called "charmingly eccentric." They might not-so-lovingly be called "batshit crazy." But I've got one cousin who never lets me down. She introduced me to Beverly Hills 90210 at the ripe old age of 9. She slipped me a few rum and cokes to keep me sane at family parties when I was 16. She has always wholeheartedly supported me in my quest to leave our one-horse hometown. I guess we could call her my fairy god-cousin, but she probably prefers if we just call her N.
So if we're ranking family members by coolness quotient, it goes N: 98341212457, Everyone Else: 0. You can imagine then, how excited I was to see her! She came to the city for work, but we got a few chances to hang out along the way. I love, love, love hanging out with her because she loves all the things I love, like martinis, sushi, and Fifth Avenue, but see, she can actually pull it off. I'm a poseur, a poor (semi)-recent college grad ekeing out a living in an outer borough. But when I have her by my side, I can walk confidently into the bar at the Ritz Carlton and drink the best martini ever, made for me by Norman, the head bartender. (Who, by the way, is absolutely adorable and so quintessentially Manhattan. He should be in a Woody Allen movie or something, except that Woody Allen really freaks me out.)
So N. came into the city on a Sunday morning, and the weather was picture perfect for early fall, which provided the perfect backdrop for a quick lunch in the Peninsula hotel and an afternoon of window shopping on Fifth. We have an inside joke regarding someone who doesn't know what Tiffany's is (seriously, who doesn't know what Tiffany's is? It's like an American institution!), so we took photos of ourselves outside Tiffany's looking quizzical and perplexed. Why yes, I do think we're hilarious. I never understand why people don't realize how funny we are... we certainly entertain me! Then, Nobu! Oh my gosh, it's sooooooo delicious! I mean, I know its place in the sun is fading and it's not the trendy it-spot anymore, but holy smokes is it good! We had martinis and they were amazing and then we ordered like 10 courses and I cannot believe how much I ate but it was fabulous!
The next night we had drinks and dinner at the Ritz Carlton and it was perfect. Like I said, Norman is amazing (and he used to live in Brooklyn, like me!) After the Ritz we went back to the Peninsula and had another martini on the rooftop. I absolutely adore rooftop bars. I love city views on a clear warm night, and there's nothing better than sipping a martini and looking over the railing to watch Manhattan swirl below you. It's one of those moments, like walking across the Brooklyn Bridge or an early morning on Central Park West that remind me why I moved here and what I love about it.
So with Thanksgiving quickly approaching, let me give thanks where thanks are due. I raise my martini glass (except that tonight it's just me and the meager contents of my fridge, so it's a decidedly NOT-classy glass of vodka and Cherry Coke Zero) to my cousin, for being just flat-out amazing and letting me tag along for the ride.
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
I Wear my Rose-colored Glasses at Night...
It never fails that just when I think I've got my life together, I lose it.
It's not that anything extraordinary has happened recently. In fact, I've been on a pretty even keel for a few months now. No grandiose highs, but no excruciating lows either. Sure, I've still got my melodramatic neuroses and frequent life-crises, but nothing too shamble-riffic. For the most part, I like my job, I like my apartment, I have a few friends and a bit of spending money, and I should be set.
So why do I feel kind of empty? Not empty, like all this is meaningless. And not empty, like there's nothing to live for and I'm going to off myself. Just sort of superficially hollow.
Is it the pull of the quickly approaching holidays, long my favorite time of year? Am I getting sentimental in the midst of my ongoing quarter-life crisis (I think it says something about me that I perpetually start out in a state of crisis. For me, generic crisis is the resting point. It's tare.) Whatever it is, I've got to get over it, and FAST. I mean, I've lately even found myself craving the midwest. I know! The midwest! And it's only been 3 months since I was last there. 3 months is not long enought to miss the midwest, especially when one is being fabulous and fun in the big city. 3 years is barely long enough to start missing the midwest. If only family-visit-required holidays only occurred every 3 years. I think I might enjoy them a lot more.
But for some reason, now I'm reflecting sentimentally, like I'm 75 years old and have 6 months left to live, that it's not so bad. And that, to me, is what really is so bad.
Though my life is currently quite pleasant, I'm not content, in a good way. I'm a striver and I'll always be working towards another goal, solving another problem, thinking ahead to the next obstacle that I can beat down with my own bare hands, raw talent, and superior intellect (no sense in false modesty.) This discontent, its existence, is not what's unsettling. It's that always before, I've been looking forward, and suddenly I've come full circle. I've started missing the past.
There are a lot of ways of thought, ways of life that I've left behind. I found them constricting, narrow-minded, and unimaginative. I was, perhaps I am, better than that. But I've started to miss some of the people I left behind. Not my family, who I can't seem to shake no matter what I do, but the friends and peers I walked away from. Sometimes I feel a bittersweet twinge that I don't have any idea what's going on in their lives. I see pictures on Facebook or hear third-hand accounts of people I used to know, even people I used to love, I see their parties, their weddings, their babies, and I'm sad that I'm not a part of any of it anymore. I didn't think I liked these people, didn't think I cared about them, didn't think I'd miss them. And for years I haven't. But like a kid on the playground, sometimes I still feel left out.
I'm not regretting my choices in terms of where my life has taken me. I deserve this life, I've worked hard for it, and I'm overall pleased with it. But I severed a lot of ties in my hurry to get where I am today, and sometimes I wonder if it couldn't have been done with more grace and style and fewer burned bridges.
I share a past with these people, but if we passed each other on the street today, we'd not hardly recognize each other. I can think of one person outside my family who I regularly talk to who I've known for more than 6 years. Everybody I interact with on a day-to-day basis only knows the new me, the (arguably) better me. But I've swung to two extremes over the last decade, from the old me to the new me, and now I'd like to settle somewhere in between. But I've no mirror left, no one who knew me in the old days and knows me in the new, who can help me pick the best pieces of each to find the real me. So like always, I'm going it alone!
Ok, so this is reaaaaaaallly maudlin. I mean, I'm not even a people person. Most of the time, people do nothing but annoy the bejeebus out of me. There's a reason I didn't bring most of these people with me into my future, but something lately has brought out the rose-colored glasses. Remind me to leave those sentimental glasses somewhere I can be certain to step on them or accidentally throw them across the room or leave them at a sushi restaurant and then realize it when I'm halfway back to the office but then not be able to go back and get them because I'm already late for a meeting with my supervisor (all of which have recently happened with 3 different pairs of sunglasses. This is why I never, ever, spend real money on sunglasses. In fact, for a long time, I refused to spend more than $2 for a pair. Thinking myself more mature and responsible, I recently upped the limit to $15. I then promptly destroyed both $15 pairs and am now only allowed to buy sunglasses for $5 from street vendors. End of story.)
It's not that anything extraordinary has happened recently. In fact, I've been on a pretty even keel for a few months now. No grandiose highs, but no excruciating lows either. Sure, I've still got my melodramatic neuroses and frequent life-crises, but nothing too shamble-riffic. For the most part, I like my job, I like my apartment, I have a few friends and a bit of spending money, and I should be set.
So why do I feel kind of empty? Not empty, like all this is meaningless. And not empty, like there's nothing to live for and I'm going to off myself. Just sort of superficially hollow.
Is it the pull of the quickly approaching holidays, long my favorite time of year? Am I getting sentimental in the midst of my ongoing quarter-life crisis (I think it says something about me that I perpetually start out in a state of crisis. For me, generic crisis is the resting point. It's tare.) Whatever it is, I've got to get over it, and FAST. I mean, I've lately even found myself craving the midwest. I know! The midwest! And it's only been 3 months since I was last there. 3 months is not long enought to miss the midwest, especially when one is being fabulous and fun in the big city. 3 years is barely long enough to start missing the midwest. If only family-visit-required holidays only occurred every 3 years. I think I might enjoy them a lot more.
But for some reason, now I'm reflecting sentimentally, like I'm 75 years old and have 6 months left to live, that it's not so bad. And that, to me, is what really is so bad.
Though my life is currently quite pleasant, I'm not content, in a good way. I'm a striver and I'll always be working towards another goal, solving another problem, thinking ahead to the next obstacle that I can beat down with my own bare hands, raw talent, and superior intellect (no sense in false modesty.) This discontent, its existence, is not what's unsettling. It's that always before, I've been looking forward, and suddenly I've come full circle. I've started missing the past.
There are a lot of ways of thought, ways of life that I've left behind. I found them constricting, narrow-minded, and unimaginative. I was, perhaps I am, better than that. But I've started to miss some of the people I left behind. Not my family, who I can't seem to shake no matter what I do, but the friends and peers I walked away from. Sometimes I feel a bittersweet twinge that I don't have any idea what's going on in their lives. I see pictures on Facebook or hear third-hand accounts of people I used to know, even people I used to love, I see their parties, their weddings, their babies, and I'm sad that I'm not a part of any of it anymore. I didn't think I liked these people, didn't think I cared about them, didn't think I'd miss them. And for years I haven't. But like a kid on the playground, sometimes I still feel left out.
I'm not regretting my choices in terms of where my life has taken me. I deserve this life, I've worked hard for it, and I'm overall pleased with it. But I severed a lot of ties in my hurry to get where I am today, and sometimes I wonder if it couldn't have been done with more grace and style and fewer burned bridges.
I share a past with these people, but if we passed each other on the street today, we'd not hardly recognize each other. I can think of one person outside my family who I regularly talk to who I've known for more than 6 years. Everybody I interact with on a day-to-day basis only knows the new me, the (arguably) better me. But I've swung to two extremes over the last decade, from the old me to the new me, and now I'd like to settle somewhere in between. But I've no mirror left, no one who knew me in the old days and knows me in the new, who can help me pick the best pieces of each to find the real me. So like always, I'm going it alone!
Ok, so this is reaaaaaaallly maudlin. I mean, I'm not even a people person. Most of the time, people do nothing but annoy the bejeebus out of me. There's a reason I didn't bring most of these people with me into my future, but something lately has brought out the rose-colored glasses. Remind me to leave those sentimental glasses somewhere I can be certain to step on them or accidentally throw them across the room or leave them at a sushi restaurant and then realize it when I'm halfway back to the office but then not be able to go back and get them because I'm already late for a meeting with my supervisor (all of which have recently happened with 3 different pairs of sunglasses. This is why I never, ever, spend real money on sunglasses. In fact, for a long time, I refused to spend more than $2 for a pair. Thinking myself more mature and responsible, I recently upped the limit to $15. I then promptly destroyed both $15 pairs and am now only allowed to buy sunglasses for $5 from street vendors. End of story.)
Saturday, November 1, 2008
Halloween: Night of the Living Weirdos
You know, I am a holiday buff. I love to decorate, I love to celebrate, I love to remember special days passed and special days to come. But there is one holiday I've never really managed to embrace, and that is Halloween. (For my previous musings on the subject, see last year's "Halloween: A Horror Story.")
There could be a lot at play here. I'm not much of a horror fan. I'm easily grossed out by special effects and easily terrified into having to leave the lights on at night. I'm uncomfortable with things considered "evil" and don't understand why I'd want to celebrate them. Perhaps most of all, it's that I simply can't deal with bizarre people, and Halloween is when the freaks come out. Especially here in the city.
Last night I ventured to the Halloween parade downtown. It was one of those things that I agree to do knowing full well that I'll hate it, but feeling like it's a cultural experience I must complete, like ticking things off of a list. In fact, I once read that attendance at this particular parade is one of "100 things to do before you die." Having now attended, I can't really imagine why. The crowds, the outfits, the weirdos... and yet, why did I have to come to a special parade to see this? It didn't seem all that different from any Saturday night on the L train or the Lower East Side.
Is it that I'm too traditional? Too conventional? Too corporate? Is it wrong that I cannot embrace this carefree bohemian spirit? That when someone observed my black sheath dress, tights, and flats and asked what my costume was, I icily replied that I was dressed as "Girl who actually has a job and pays her taxes"? That when my friend Jo and I stopped in to a bar after the parade for a drink, I had to make a quick escape when it began filling up with law students in gorilla suits?
Whatever it is, it was another day that consisted of me shaking my head at the rest of the world and wondering, "Where are my people?" I can't be the only one out here whose idea of an excellent Halloween involves attending a cocktail party in a fabulous 1920's flapper dress a la Zelda Fitzgerald, or a delightfully perky pink suit and pearls a la Jackie Kennedy, drinking martinis with men in suits, rather than being hit on in an East Village bar by a guy in a Viking headdress a la Flava Flav (oh, my feelings on VH1 programming are a topic for another day.)
Someday maybe I'll figure this holiday out. In the meantime, excuse me while I start looking forward to Thanksgiving.
There could be a lot at play here. I'm not much of a horror fan. I'm easily grossed out by special effects and easily terrified into having to leave the lights on at night. I'm uncomfortable with things considered "evil" and don't understand why I'd want to celebrate them. Perhaps most of all, it's that I simply can't deal with bizarre people, and Halloween is when the freaks come out. Especially here in the city.
Last night I ventured to the Halloween parade downtown. It was one of those things that I agree to do knowing full well that I'll hate it, but feeling like it's a cultural experience I must complete, like ticking things off of a list. In fact, I once read that attendance at this particular parade is one of "100 things to do before you die." Having now attended, I can't really imagine why. The crowds, the outfits, the weirdos... and yet, why did I have to come to a special parade to see this? It didn't seem all that different from any Saturday night on the L train or the Lower East Side.
Is it that I'm too traditional? Too conventional? Too corporate? Is it wrong that I cannot embrace this carefree bohemian spirit? That when someone observed my black sheath dress, tights, and flats and asked what my costume was, I icily replied that I was dressed as "Girl who actually has a job and pays her taxes"? That when my friend Jo and I stopped in to a bar after the parade for a drink, I had to make a quick escape when it began filling up with law students in gorilla suits?
Whatever it is, it was another day that consisted of me shaking my head at the rest of the world and wondering, "Where are my people?" I can't be the only one out here whose idea of an excellent Halloween involves attending a cocktail party in a fabulous 1920's flapper dress a la Zelda Fitzgerald, or a delightfully perky pink suit and pearls a la Jackie Kennedy, drinking martinis with men in suits, rather than being hit on in an East Village bar by a guy in a Viking headdress a la Flava Flav (oh, my feelings on VH1 programming are a topic for another day.)
Someday maybe I'll figure this holiday out. In the meantime, excuse me while I start looking forward to Thanksgiving.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
