This last weekend Mike, his sister, her boyfriend, and Mike's mom and stepdad and I (Whew!) had brunch and went to Rockefeller to witness the infamous tree. This year it is decorate with LED lights, making it at least 70 percent more energy efficient. This is the first time I'd actually seen the tree up close and although the size of it did not impress, I thought the LED lights were beautiful. Hooray for a smaller ecological footprint! Anyway, here are photos:
Mikey and I in front of the tree:
Scott, Jay, me and Mike across from Radio City:
It's fun to be in the city during the holiday season, surprisingly. Well, aside from wanting to punch slow-walking tourists in the back of the head... I've actually had fun doing my shopping in an outdoor market in Union Square with original artists who sell perfect gifts without ever having to set foot in a department store or feel like you're being an American consumer.
This morning I awoke to the classical music station playing Waltz of the Flowers. The Nutcracker has always been a staple for the holidays. I remember when I actually attended the ballet, wearing my too-small purple velvet dress that was reserved only for special occasions and eating my first ever hot fudge sundae (the things that really stick with us, eh?). I still have the ornaments to commemorate.
The Jan/Feb issue of the magazine came in the mail at the office today. I looked for my name in the staff box, expecting it to be under an "interns" heading. But instead, it said, "Reporters: Kristin E. Phillips, Shawn Query." Ecstatic. Even though I only have two blurbs and a book review, the title of "reporter" as opposed to "intern" just makes me feel like two-thirds of a person as opposed to half.
Mike met me for lunch today and I brought him a copy. He said, "Where are you?" wanting me to point out my articles and he read it as he walked, almost running into passersby on the sidewalk. "I'm so proud of you," he said as he gave me a peck. Wow. He has no idea how much those five little words can mean. He's proud. He's proud that I made it in this magazine, that I am his girlfriend, that I do things worthy of that phrase. I could cry.
On the way home on the subway tonight, trying to avoid a woman's butt pressed against my right arm, I thought about how accomplished I feel. If you look at my recent accomplishments in sum, it is hard to refute that I pretty much rock... I have never claimed to be modest. But then, on the MP3 player that I've had for about five years, the song "Invention for Guitar and Trumpet" arranged by Stan Kenton emerged. It made me wish I still played trumpet regularly and that I had a group to practice with. In fact, it made me sad that I am no longer active in this mode of expressing myself... music that is. So... maybe if I find a job here (god willing) and move into a normal household with some nice roommates (pretty please), I can find a community group to play with. That, I think, would make me an increasingly happy person, as I miss the opportunity to be creative through the nuances of lip buzzing, finger coordination and swing. That may sound very sexual. That's because it is.
Just watch Chet Baker or Maynard Ferguson and you'll instantly understand.
Edit: here's a video for reference
Counting down the days until my cross-country trip home,
Shawno
2 comments:
I'm excited to see you back out here. If you're staying for New Years, Amy and I have a party going. Hope you can come.
Are you going to be here today?!? :)
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