Yet another subway post

Hilarious

Fun ads

Hello. Two posts in one day, I know, scary!

I always said when I was in school that I don't know why anyone would want to be involved in advertising or writing copy for ads. But lately, with some of the campaigns I've seen, it wouldn't be the worst job in the world. These are just two that I really find funny lately

Jameson whiskey has these awesome ads on the subway that may only be understood by someone who has ridden the train in NYC. That being said, they are very basic with pictures of a bottle of Jameson and the question is, why Jameson (I regret that I do not have photos and couldn't find any online)?

"Maybe because it won't pull away right when you show up."
"Maybe because reading this label is more polite than reading your neighbor's newspaper."
"Maybe because 'next round on me' is easier to understand thank 'stanclearclosindoor.'"
"Maybe because these ads give you something to stare at when you don't know where to look."
"Maybe because there are nine wrong ways to swipe your card, but no wrong way to enjoy Jameson."
"Maybe the ads give tourists something to look at so the guy in the map seat can get a break."

That last one makes me laugh every time.

Next... I saw this commercial and now I totally want a Sven.

this is my life.

I'm sitting here at the kitchen table, preparing for yet another day of work.

Yesterday, on my day off (the only day off I have each week), I cleaned the kitchen, unclogged the shower and cleaned the bathroom, and did laundry-- all of which desperately needed to be done but took most of the day to do.

And now I'm eating my bagel, trying not to listen to my least favorite roommate having loud sex to "All You Need is Love" by the Beatles.

I think I'm going to finish my coffee and go loathe myself a little bit more.

So very tired and longing for the west

Wednesday I went to see the premiere of "Grand Canyon Adventure," a 3D IMAX film starring Robert F. Kennedy Jr., among others, for a review for the magazine. The movie was a story of RFK Jr., an anthropologist and a Native American river guide and their three daughters traveling down the Colorado River in rafts. The imagery was amazing. The soundtrack consisted of Dave Matthews Band and not much else. The opening scenes took viewers through the canyons and into the freshwater lagoons as Dave Matthews' "Stay or Leave" played. I was sitting right next to the Native guide Shana and her daughter Cree in this humongous theater with a bunch of other journalists. I had my glasses on and on top of them, 3D glasses. I must have looked like such a nerd. And then the amazing footage of the outdoors around the Grand Canyon came on the screen, accompanied with this music I relate so well to, and I just... cried.

"... you and I kissing whiskey by the fire with the snow outside. And the summer comes, the river swims so cold. Touch the bottom, you and I, with muddy toes. Stay or leave. I want you not to go, but you should. It was good as good goes. Stay or leave, I want you not to go, but you did. Wake up naked, drinking coffee, making plans to change the world while the world is changing us. Was good good enough?"

While that song lyric may not seem a complete fit, it struck me... hard. As decision time nears, I feel as though I never used my youth to its potential. I am frequently told I don't "seem" to be 22, rather much older because of my attitude: serious and mature. I have bypassed any kind of meandering in indecision. Or you might say I skipped that step where you're supposed to "get your kicks" before delving into real world bullshit and work. The thing is, I still have the opportunity to do that because at the end of May, Audubon is kicking me out. I could potentially go back to Washington, buy a beater car and tour the country's national parks. And this is exactly what I wanted to do after viewing the Grand Canyon movie. Afterward, I met Robert F. Kennedy Jr. at a roundtable for the press. He has a squeaky voice, lots of political things to say and a stellar smile and humor about him. But in meeting this legend of conservation I had only on my mind the mountains, the coasts and the hikes of the west.

I can honestly say that at this point I do not know at all what is best for me to do in terms of staying in New York or moving home and figuring it all out from the comfort of my home state. I don't know. I'm uncertain. And I'm never, ever in a state of indecision, so you can see where I might be a bit distraught. I hate to use the cliche of "at a crossroads," but that is exactly how it feels.

Sometimes there's nowhere I'd rather be than out in the wilderness on some kind of adventure. Getting dirty, cooking on a camp stove, playing some cribbage with my dad and slugging back a few beers around a fire. I cannot even count off how many of my favorite things are impossible to do here.

I know that realistically every person goes through this exact feeling. As Dad frequently says when I complain about work, "Yep, working for a living isn't what it's cracked up to be." And I know eventually I will be in that unhappy state that most working Americans are but I'm not ready to be there yet. The worst thing is... it's probably too late to go back.

Week for the books

So, since my last post:

Mike and I stopped in at the Broadway Panhandler, a very cute, fabulous kitchen store that he and I both love but can't really afford. He encouraged me to pick up an application (after the Organic Avenue fiasco which I STILL haven't been paid for), and I did. The next Thursday I turned in the application. I got a call to interview on a Friday. I started work that Saturday. I am officially a weekend cashier at the mom and pop shop, at ten bucks an hour which isn't too bad. The people there are, each of them, charmingly unique. Please read because each one could literally be a character in a play:

Kim: African American, grew up in the South without indoor plumbing, watching Jackson 5 cartoons when she came home from school each day, now living in New York and manager at the Panhandler. On my first day she brought in a large box delivered from Fresh Direct (an online grocer a lot of people around here use), that contained one head of garlic. She brought it in just to show the excess in packaging. I like her.

Victor: Puerto Rican. Came here 8 years ago not speaking a word of English. Think Agador Sparticus from The Birdcage. That's all you have to do because he's exactly like Hank Azaria's character (and he is fabulously gay). He calls me "Mami" and "Baby" and frequently asks me "Whass up, Mami?" when he sees me. He is hilarious in everything he says and wears a baseball cap to work every day. And he is always smiling. He grabbed my thumb one day to examine my ring. Something about people who are so soon to be that comfortable with you without being creepy is really endearing.

Joe: He was the man who let me in to the locked store doors on my first day. "I saw you yesterday interviewing with Arnel!" He said as he let me in. And then he said, "Thank god you're not a murderer." What (you just wait, he promptly explained)? Joe had seen, on the news that morning, a picture of a man he used to work with at Key Foods (a chain grocery) named James. He said to himself, "Oh, I know him, that's James!" As he listened further, he found out that his old coworker had apparently entered that same Key Foods and slashed two people with a machete, one James' girlfriend, and the other her friend. The girlfriend died and the friend was in critical condition at the time. "I remember feeling bad for this guy and telling him I'd go out for beers!" Joe also wears an apron, which no one else does in the store, and is also good-smelling and fabulously gay. "And I actually gave him my phone number," he said.

Chase: He is from either Virginia or one of the Carolinas (leave it to me to not listen to the details), got a degree in psychology and found out that was a bust, so came to New York to live for a few years and see if he could make it. "That's how I ended up working retail," he said to me, as if to say, "I'm smart, just like you, but everybody's got to make a buck." He constantly makes me laugh in a really nerdy way and he is genuinely nice to each customer which I really admire.

Tom: missing a tooth on the bottom, looks like Santa Claus because he has a big fat belly and he wears red suspenders. He's a slow-moving old guy with an endless supply of corny jokes. Example: After hearing "Fools Rush In" sung by Elvis on the stereo today he said to Chase, "You know this is Miss Piggy's favorite song? 'Take.... my.... ham!'"

Bridgett: She honestly looks like the type who goes out and gets wasted every night, based on the circles below her eyes and her constant disheveled look, but I think that is completely awesome. She's an assistant manager, helps me with everything I screw up on... wears a lot of black and actually asked me about my favorite books yesterday. She lives in Astoria as well so we might actually "hang" because she's staked out all the cheap, strong drinks and good live music bars.

Antonio: He's from Dubai. Yes, that weird country in the Middle East that they're trying to turn into the Las Vegas of the Middle East, creating islands and such. He is black, has a substantial beard but his hair is short except for two well-maintained dreadlocks behind each ear. He has a slight stutter which he powers through quite well and I often catch him dancing to the music overhead. He once came over with a price gun and without me knowing, priced me as "24.95" on my arm. At the time, he lunged, and I asked, "What?" and he said, "Nothing, I think you're pretty." Not until later did another associate let me know I had been "priced."

I do believe those are the only people worth mentioning because of their exceptional demeanors or personalities but I will update you if any of them present themselves to be more interesting.

On another note, I got word yesterday that my chief at Audubon approved a 3 dollar an hour raise, "To deter any real pan handling you might think of doing,'" said my associate editor. So, really, I wouldn't need this other job so much but I'm going to keep it and save up. There's a looming move of some kind at the end of June, no matter where I end up, and feeling productive for once is a good thing. BTW, the new issue of Audubon has a shit ton of my stuff in it. Please see: http://audubonmagazine.org/fieldnotes/fieldnotes0803.html
And others from the issue. And the photo essay rocks this time around.

I've worked 6 days this week and I work every day next week. My heels are killing me.

It's alright. It's gonna be alright for the first time in awhile. And I really like that feeling.

From here forward known as "The Squirrel Incident of '08"

Much to Mom's dismay, because she likes to be the one to tell all the great stories, I called Sunday and talked to Dad about their interesting Friday night.

They came home from a dinner date, expecting our 20-pound cat Cisco to be occupying his normal spot on the carpet, ready for a belly rub. And he was there, waiting for them to walk in the door like he always does but as they walked in, another uninvited guest darted by. It was a squirrel! Mom freaked out, Dad started to chase it down and they both frantically tried to shoo it out open doors. Then it went downstairs and after shutting all the bedroom and bathroom doors, they'd lost it. They both figured it probably found its way outside somehow, put the cat in his "room" (he sleeps in the laundry room at night), and went to bed.

The next morning, Mom got up to let the cat out and feed him and the squirrel rushed by once again. She starts yelling, and Dad, who was still sleeping, gets up to see what's going on. Apparently Cisco and the squirrel were in close quarters the whole night. They finally got the rodent outside after chasing it around the house again but the bigger question was how did it get in the house in the first place?

Apparently it had climbed down the chimney of a no-longer-there woodstove in the basement, chewed its way through the covering and plopped down in the house like some sort of Mission Impossible secret squirrel. Along with the squirrel fell an old bird nest with some "crusty," as Dad described them, dead baby birds and a 20-year-old crumpled newspaper.

Squirrel poop, dead baby birds and frazzled nerves abounded. I only wish I would have been there to witness it all.