Sit all day pissin' away my time
Lookin' into a crystal ball and I don't know why
I'm living too fast to live too long
And I don't wanna die but I don't know yet where I belong.
I've had it better than some and I know that I shouldn't complain.
My grandfather told me once that all pain hurts the same.
Your bottle is empty, you glass has been filled.
And I don't wanna break your heart but I probably will.
Some are born to be good, some are born to be bad.
Most of them did the best they could and others just wish they had
If I could return to when I was a child, I'd forget what I've learned and go back to the wild.
Saturday, July 16, 2011
Saturday, May 28, 2011
I got off of the plane OK, now I have the city to myself
The strangers and the coffee shops, the sidewalks and the way the evening smells
But none of it distracts me in the ways that I had planned, or brings me back my smile like I was hoping.
There's a distance between me and a world that's offering its hand and I have you to thank for that, thanks for nothing.
It's probably raining off in London if it's snowing here in Nashville, Tennessee.
I hope she's taking care of you and showing you you're where you need to be.
But I don't want you to leave her once she gives herself away,
The way a match looks after it's done glowing
You don't know how it feels to think you'll never be the same
And I have you to thank for that, thanks for nothing.
The only men I meet all look for hearts that they can fix
But mine is more like a kid who has gone missing.
There's a man in front of me that I know I won't let in
And I have you to thank for that, thanks for nothing.
The strangers and the coffee shops, the sidewalks and the way the evening smells
But none of it distracts me in the ways that I had planned, or brings me back my smile like I was hoping.
There's a distance between me and a world that's offering its hand and I have you to thank for that, thanks for nothing.
It's probably raining off in London if it's snowing here in Nashville, Tennessee.
I hope she's taking care of you and showing you you're where you need to be.
But I don't want you to leave her once she gives herself away,
The way a match looks after it's done glowing
You don't know how it feels to think you'll never be the same
And I have you to thank for that, thanks for nothing.
The only men I meet all look for hearts that they can fix
But mine is more like a kid who has gone missing.
There's a man in front of me that I know I won't let in
And I have you to thank for that, thanks for nothing.
Monday, August 2, 2010
I need an outlet
And here it is, in the blog that I haven't posted to in over two years.
But I just have to say how incredibly proud I am of some of the things I said tonight in a situation where I would have previously acted completely opposite. Here's the interesting thing: I live with three other 20-somethings, the oldest of which is 29, and in my opinion, entirely too old to be living with roommates and spending hours a day playing war video games (that's just my opinion though). I mean, I hope in four years I'm stable enough to at least have my own place. Anyway, said roomie said he would mow the lawn this last weekend. And he did. But only the front lawn and the strip by our front sidewalk. He then wrote on our community whiteboard, asking if someone else would please do the back yard. OK, to clarify, the yard itself is not very big at all, and mowing the back part as well would only have taken an extra ten minutes. Before this, my roommate Molly and I had each borne the burden of taking care of the yard, each of us mowing the lawn multiple times, me getting my dad to donate his old mower since the one our landlord had for us was broken...
So he writes this note, asking if someone would do the back lawn. And I like being outside and keeping the yard nice, so the morning after said note, I went ahead and mowed it. No big deal, but I had previously had a HUGE problem with passive aggressive notes written on this board by said roomie, which happened WAY too often. So Molly comes home, shocked that I actually mowed the yard instead of saying something to Lee, and she confronts him about it, asking him why he couldn't just finish the job. He acted like there was no problem... I pointed out the fact that last time I mowed the lawn I mowed the whole thing... And that was the last word I had in the conversation.
Long story short, on the way home from trivia tonight, Molly was still visibly and verbally upset about the whole situation and I said to her something to the effect of, "Ya know what? We can't control how people have grown up, how many siblings they've had, what kind of financial situation their family was in and what they expect of other people in their life. All we can do is live up to our own standards of what it means to us to be a good, respectable person and be glad that we're not as oblivious to other people's feelings as people like Lee are."
And I mean that too. Recently I've really grabbed onto the adage that you should "pick your battles." Some people are beyond convincing. Actually a lot of people are. And the sooner you accept that with those people, the more likely you are to avoid unnecessary stress. If you say to yourself, "Hey, that's a dick move but you know what? I'm OK with picking up the slack to avoid the potential hurtfulness it will bring me if I think about it too much."
I guess moral of this jumbled, not very well written story is that you just gotta hold yourself to your own standards. If there are people out there who don't value everyone's feelings as much as you do, then how sad for them, right? You will live a more fulfilled life having really tried to make others happy and be a generous person without expecting anything in return. I really believe that.
But I just have to say how incredibly proud I am of some of the things I said tonight in a situation where I would have previously acted completely opposite. Here's the interesting thing: I live with three other 20-somethings, the oldest of which is 29, and in my opinion, entirely too old to be living with roommates and spending hours a day playing war video games (that's just my opinion though). I mean, I hope in four years I'm stable enough to at least have my own place. Anyway, said roomie said he would mow the lawn this last weekend. And he did. But only the front lawn and the strip by our front sidewalk. He then wrote on our community whiteboard, asking if someone else would please do the back yard. OK, to clarify, the yard itself is not very big at all, and mowing the back part as well would only have taken an extra ten minutes. Before this, my roommate Molly and I had each borne the burden of taking care of the yard, each of us mowing the lawn multiple times, me getting my dad to donate his old mower since the one our landlord had for us was broken...
So he writes this note, asking if someone would do the back lawn. And I like being outside and keeping the yard nice, so the morning after said note, I went ahead and mowed it. No big deal, but I had previously had a HUGE problem with passive aggressive notes written on this board by said roomie, which happened WAY too often. So Molly comes home, shocked that I actually mowed the yard instead of saying something to Lee, and she confronts him about it, asking him why he couldn't just finish the job. He acted like there was no problem... I pointed out the fact that last time I mowed the lawn I mowed the whole thing... And that was the last word I had in the conversation.
Long story short, on the way home from trivia tonight, Molly was still visibly and verbally upset about the whole situation and I said to her something to the effect of, "Ya know what? We can't control how people have grown up, how many siblings they've had, what kind of financial situation their family was in and what they expect of other people in their life. All we can do is live up to our own standards of what it means to us to be a good, respectable person and be glad that we're not as oblivious to other people's feelings as people like Lee are."
And I mean that too. Recently I've really grabbed onto the adage that you should "pick your battles." Some people are beyond convincing. Actually a lot of people are. And the sooner you accept that with those people, the more likely you are to avoid unnecessary stress. If you say to yourself, "Hey, that's a dick move but you know what? I'm OK with picking up the slack to avoid the potential hurtfulness it will bring me if I think about it too much."
I guess moral of this jumbled, not very well written story is that you just gotta hold yourself to your own standards. If there are people out there who don't value everyone's feelings as much as you do, then how sad for them, right? You will live a more fulfilled life having really tried to make others happy and be a generous person without expecting anything in return. I really believe that.
Wednesday, July 2, 2008
Roadtrippin'
Mike and I left Connecticut Monday morning for our epic cross-country road trip, our escape from the stress of New York city, out onto the open road. Well.... this was after I spent a week at his mom's chilling out and playing with the new puppy while getting ready for the trip. Nothing is more entertaining to a puppy than bubbles:
Mike's mom had a going away party for him Saturday afternoon where I met a whole bunch of his extended family and hung out with a few I'd already met. Mike's uncle Bobby kinda looks like Chachi.
Monday we drove from Ansonia, CT to Pittsburgh, PA, and yesterday we drove from Pittsburgh to Chicago. From Pittsburgh through Ohio and Indiana I can tell you there's really not much to see. Though it's green, it's mostly flat farmland and not much else:
As flat and boring as it may have been, however, it has been incredibly relaxing and beneficial for us to have some quiet time away from the hustle and bustle of New York, especially with the mix CDs our friends sent us to keep us sane. Today we spent the day in Chicago. We took a boat tour of Lake Michigan with some great views of the skyline:
Then we headed for the Taste of Chicago for a sampling of eats. We ate literally all day long and then decided we had to have some deep dish before we leave early tomorrow. Luckily with have a great pizza place right down the street from our hotel.
Deep dish pizza is like a mozzarella stick pie. I'm pretty sure you'd have to be starving to eat more than one piece.Wish us luck tomorrow heading to South Dakota, which may be even flatter and more boring than Indiana. :) Look for more pics soon.
Sunday, June 15, 2008
Holy Samsquamch!
Last night I asked Mike if he'd ever contemplated the existence of Bigfoot or Sasquatch.
Being a wilderness type person and also who believes in evolution and the possibility of missing links, I told him that although I'd never seen one, it's possible such creatures do exist. I began scouring YouTube. A wealth of any kind of video you might want to see on any subject. And I found this:
The video itself is grainy, sideways and unrecognizable. The dialogue, however, is amazing. "Holy fuck, Ricky. I think it's a Samsquanch! *heavy scared breathing*"
I want to believe in them even more after seeing that video.
Meanwhile, I am leaving New York in exactly a week. Most of the time, it doesn't seem fair. I haven't ridden out my time here or seen everything I want to see. But, there is a lot to be proud of looking back on my time living in the big apple. Is it refreshing to live in a city where no one really looks out for anybody but themselves? Is it nice to be able to tune out crowds and drown out the mindless jabbering of those on the train on the way to work? Yes. But more than that, I am simply satisfied that I carry myself better, I have more confidence in myself as a human being and I can definitely say I am one tough chica based on what I have done and seen.
I, for the first time in a long while, am proud of me!
Being a wilderness type person and also who believes in evolution and the possibility of missing links, I told him that although I'd never seen one, it's possible such creatures do exist. I began scouring YouTube. A wealth of any kind of video you might want to see on any subject. And I found this:
The video itself is grainy, sideways and unrecognizable. The dialogue, however, is amazing. "Holy fuck, Ricky. I think it's a Samsquanch! *heavy scared breathing*"
I want to believe in them even more after seeing that video.
Meanwhile, I am leaving New York in exactly a week. Most of the time, it doesn't seem fair. I haven't ridden out my time here or seen everything I want to see. But, there is a lot to be proud of looking back on my time living in the big apple. Is it refreshing to live in a city where no one really looks out for anybody but themselves? Is it nice to be able to tune out crowds and drown out the mindless jabbering of those on the train on the way to work? Yes. But more than that, I am simply satisfied that I carry myself better, I have more confidence in myself as a human being and I can definitely say I am one tough chica based on what I have done and seen.
I, for the first time in a long while, am proud of me!
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Getting ready to 'head out'
Blogging somehow become less of a priority when you work for two weeks straight, while at the same time getting ready for a cross-country road trip.
This is my last issue at Audubon, and yes, it is pretty sad. I've only ever felt like a real journalist while I've been working there, despite all the bullshit I had to go through as an intern. I've gotten my best clips there, met some amazing people in the process and I'm glad I spent the better part of 8 months there. I am going to continue to freelance with Audubon, as well as contribute to their flowering blog. Please check out my first blog for them:
http://magblog.audubon.org/node/69
This is only the first of many ranting posts about half-assed environmentalism I hope to make. It may be elitist, but at least it's honest. The normal Joe can do so much more for the environment than he thinks. And the high paid people are definitely not doing enough. I hope to reach both groups.
Meanwhile, Mike and I are planning our epic cross country trip.
View Larger Map
This is our trip (roughly). We're heartily planning it.
Meanwhile... just as you are so happy to leave somewhere, you are so aware of the good things about where you live. Going to open-air brunch on Saturdays... Randomly finding Farmers' Markets... When I came home and walked around my Astoria neighborhood, I saw a wedding, shining in the sun. All the guests waited for the couple to come out. They were 50 feet from the elevated subway. I choked back tears as I watched that couple triumphant, emerging from the sun-glazed stone of the orthodox Greek church. So many things you might hate about this place... in the context of all that is good, you never notice how much everything around you is truly beautiful in its own way.
Despite that, we are ready to go. Both of us are eager to find jobs where we will be happier, and moving in together ain't so bad either. I love this kid.
This is my last issue at Audubon, and yes, it is pretty sad. I've only ever felt like a real journalist while I've been working there, despite all the bullshit I had to go through as an intern. I've gotten my best clips there, met some amazing people in the process and I'm glad I spent the better part of 8 months there. I am going to continue to freelance with Audubon, as well as contribute to their flowering blog. Please check out my first blog for them:
http://magblog.audubon.org/node/69
This is only the first of many ranting posts about half-assed environmentalism I hope to make. It may be elitist, but at least it's honest. The normal Joe can do so much more for the environment than he thinks. And the high paid people are definitely not doing enough. I hope to reach both groups.
Meanwhile, Mike and I are planning our epic cross country trip.
View Larger Map
This is our trip (roughly). We're heartily planning it.
Meanwhile... just as you are so happy to leave somewhere, you are so aware of the good things about where you live. Going to open-air brunch on Saturdays... Randomly finding Farmers' Markets... When I came home and walked around my Astoria neighborhood, I saw a wedding, shining in the sun. All the guests waited for the couple to come out. They were 50 feet from the elevated subway. I choked back tears as I watched that couple triumphant, emerging from the sun-glazed stone of the orthodox Greek church. So many things you might hate about this place... in the context of all that is good, you never notice how much everything around you is truly beautiful in its own way.
Despite that, we are ready to go. Both of us are eager to find jobs where we will be happier, and moving in together ain't so bad either. I love this kid.
Wednesday, May 7, 2008
Slowly becoming a responsible adult
As I prepare both for my departure from my internship at Audubon, and my roadtrip across country with Mike, I've started taking baby steps toward being ready to job search hardcore-like once we get there. One of these steps was getting a decent business card. I went on overnightprints.com, and on a whim designed and ordered my own business cards. I read in a book my mom bought me about getting from college to career that if you can't get rid of 250 business cards pretty quickly, you aren't networking nearly hard enough. And seeing how it's about "who you know," I figured it was a good step.
They do include my phone number, BTW but I don't want thousands of blog fans calling me up ;)
So yeah your basic hippie journalist card, equipped with green text and tree. They actually turned out much better than I expected. Can't wait to give them out at the next Greendrinks NY, a group of people involved in the environmental industry somehow that meets every month. I've been on their list for a few months now but haven't had the guts to go because (I know this is silly) I didn't have a card to give out. It's so embarrassing when people give you their card and you have none to give back. Problem solved! Inebriation with other like-minded green people, here I come. Please also see this hilarious "American Psycho" clip that inspired me to make a kick-ass card
Last Thursday my Macbook's hard drive died. Literally. It was about ten minutes before I was going to leave for work and I turned it back on to quickly check my bank balance and all I got was this flashing folder with a question mark. I went to the Apple store and they said there was nothing they could do except give me a new hard drive. Then I went to a place that does data recovery, paid $650 up front for them to get any files they could off the old drive (this was after my editor said they could reimburse me for it). I've been working on Mike's computer (thanks, sweetie!)... waiting for the past week to see what they can do. Got a call today saying that nothing could be salvaged. So once the new drive is installed I get to start all over. I didn't really back up much, but once I think about it, a lot of the stuff that is important to me (including these blog posts) is already on online servers so what I lost is really not that bad.
My roommate Evan's father is here visiting from Greece, just arrived this afternoon. He's staying until the end of the month. Already I can see this is going to be an education. He, with his thick Greek accent, spent the last 20 minutes trying to tell us that the U.S. government gets us too worried about credit cards and money troubles to realize how much they're f-ing us over. If people had more time to get up and protest about things, we'd have month-long vacations and cushy retirement allowances like those in Greece, I suppose.
That's about it for now. If you have any suggestions for specific places Mike and I should visit on our cross-country trip, comment! Neither of us are really very good at planning trips so we could use the suggestions.
Sorry she hasn't seriously blogged in awhile,
Shawno
Wednesday, April 23, 2008
New York?
Last Friday Mike and I actually had a day off together. This hasn't happened since I started working for the Panhandler and we were quite excited about how we were going to spend it. We decided to have a Whole Foods picnic in Central Park at 59th street and then walk through the trails in the park.
That green thing in the middle is Central Park. If you picture us starting at the white circle in the lower left corner of that green and walking up to the reservoir in the middle... that's what we did that day. It was about 40 city blocks when we emerged from the lovely green.
Mikey is adorable.
This is the Great Lawn. I was actually pleasantly surprised at the birds and wildlife and green I saw during our day at the park. We spent the rest of the day avoiding Pope barricades.
Mike and I have decided to move west. Despite the beauty of Central Park, we are looking for more tranquility, less crowded public transportation and mountains (well, I'm looking for mountains at least). Destination Seattle, approximately mid July. Goodbye metrocards, bums, smelly sewers, rude assholes at every turn, overpriced eats, pretentiousness and false entitlement. I just hope my time here hasn't changed me much.
That green thing in the middle is Central Park. If you picture us starting at the white circle in the lower left corner of that green and walking up to the reservoir in the middle... that's what we did that day. It was about 40 city blocks when we emerged from the lovely green.
Mikey is adorable.
This is the Great Lawn. I was actually pleasantly surprised at the birds and wildlife and green I saw during our day at the park. We spent the rest of the day avoiding Pope barricades.Mike and I have decided to move west. Despite the beauty of Central Park, we are looking for more tranquility, less crowded public transportation and mountains (well, I'm looking for mountains at least). Destination Seattle, approximately mid July. Goodbye metrocards, bums, smelly sewers, rude assholes at every turn, overpriced eats, pretentiousness and false entitlement. I just hope my time here hasn't changed me much.
Saturday, April 5, 2008
Oh, frat boy anthems
How many times in a row can you play ACDC's "Back in Black" without getting sick of it?
Me: probably somewhere around 2.5
My roommate: I dunno, I'll let you know when it stops, but this has been going on for days. It started with him listening to it a few times to figure out the guitar riff. Then he was singing it on the toilet. Now I hear it coming from his room and his girlfriend giggling. He is undoubtedly playing air guitar, perhaps doing some kind of Angus strut.
edit: today he sat around all day and then said, "Man I feel fat today. I know what will remedy this!" and he put on... you guessed it... "Back in Black" again. He said "This song is all balls."
ok....
Me: probably somewhere around 2.5
My roommate: I dunno, I'll let you know when it stops, but this has been going on for days. It started with him listening to it a few times to figure out the guitar riff. Then he was singing it on the toilet. Now I hear it coming from his room and his girlfriend giggling. He is undoubtedly playing air guitar, perhaps doing some kind of Angus strut.
edit: today he sat around all day and then said, "Man I feel fat today. I know what will remedy this!" and he put on... you guessed it... "Back in Black" again. He said "This song is all balls."
ok....
Monday, March 31, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
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.
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.
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.
Saturday, March 15, 2008
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.
"... 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.
Saturday, March 8, 2008
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.
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.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
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.
Wednesday, February 27, 2008
N Train Chronicles
I'm not sure if my mom is as old-fashioned (or just silly) as most, but she's the type who would tell you not to stick your finger in your nose because a monster that lives in your nose would bite it off. In that same sentiment she used to say that if I kept making grotesque faces, it would actually stick and I'd be sorry. And I never believed her... Until today.
I boarded the N train this morning and actually grabbed a seat for once and a couple stops later an Asian man with really cool green and white sneakers and wool hat sat down across from me. I thought his squinting face was an effort to read the subway map behind me (I always, ALWAYS end up sitting right in front of the subway map without realizing it)... But it didn't stop. His eyes were all squinted and his teeth showed. The wrinkles in the bridge of his nose indicated he was scrunching it with effort. I couldn't actually see his eyes but each little wrinkle looked like a painful depiction of the mindset causing him to make this awful face. I couldn't look away. Damnit, the man was right across from me, and I thought maybe if I did stare at him, he would notice the grimace he was making and stop it immediately. Not so.
How does one acquire a natural state of a scrunched face? How much stress does this man have? Or did he have? Relax, man! Life is too short to ever be so stressed that your face would look the way it does.
I wonder what other supposedly "silly" things Mom told me that ended up being true.
I boarded the N train this morning and actually grabbed a seat for once and a couple stops later an Asian man with really cool green and white sneakers and wool hat sat down across from me. I thought his squinting face was an effort to read the subway map behind me (I always, ALWAYS end up sitting right in front of the subway map without realizing it)... But it didn't stop. His eyes were all squinted and his teeth showed. The wrinkles in the bridge of his nose indicated he was scrunching it with effort. I couldn't actually see his eyes but each little wrinkle looked like a painful depiction of the mindset causing him to make this awful face. I couldn't look away. Damnit, the man was right across from me, and I thought maybe if I did stare at him, he would notice the grimace he was making and stop it immediately. Not so.
How does one acquire a natural state of a scrunched face? How much stress does this man have? Or did he have? Relax, man! Life is too short to ever be so stressed that your face would look the way it does.
I wonder what other supposedly "silly" things Mom told me that ended up being true.
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Oh, good!
So last Friday , as many of you know, I started work at Organic Avenue to make up for the days I'm not working at the magazine. I trained. It was pretty easy, the store is not nearly as big as BBB and we hardly had any customers. Piece 'o' cake. I thought I did a fantastic job stocking, cleaning, ringing people up, putting labels on things and being friendly.
Saturday, after Mike, his roommate Carmen and I had visited the Brooklyn Brewery, I got a call from my manager telling me not to come in for my scheduled Sunday and Monday shifts. I was a little bit peeved because I really need the cash but figured they just had too many people scheduled and I, being the new person, was the first one to get shafted. So Tuesday rolls around and I'm wondering when I'm scheduled for Friday so I email my manager Eniko. Not until yesterday afternoon did I get this reply:
"Hi Shawn,
Thank you, for spending the day on Friday. Unfortunately, we decided to
go with another candidate. I greatly appreciate you coming in. Please
send me your info so I can pass it on to the bookkeeper to compensate
you for the day.
Many thanks,
Eniko"
WTF? She acts as if I didn't spend an entire day training... as if she didn't send me all the excel documents for people's scheduled deliveries... as if she didn't tell me the code to the front door and I'd just come in for an interview and that was it.
Undoubtedly, some cruchier vegan asshole came in to interview after I'd already been hired so they backstepped and instead of being professional, acted as if I wasn't actually hired. Needless to say I am pretty upset.
Saturday, after Mike, his roommate Carmen and I had visited the Brooklyn Brewery, I got a call from my manager telling me not to come in for my scheduled Sunday and Monday shifts. I was a little bit peeved because I really need the cash but figured they just had too many people scheduled and I, being the new person, was the first one to get shafted. So Tuesday rolls around and I'm wondering when I'm scheduled for Friday so I email my manager Eniko. Not until yesterday afternoon did I get this reply:
"Hi Shawn,
Thank you, for spending the day on Friday. Unfortunately, we decided to
go with another candidate. I greatly appreciate you coming in. Please
send me your info so I can pass it on to the bookkeeper to compensate
you for the day.
Many thanks,
Eniko"
WTF? She acts as if I didn't spend an entire day training... as if she didn't send me all the excel documents for people's scheduled deliveries... as if she didn't tell me the code to the front door and I'd just come in for an interview and that was it.
Undoubtedly, some cruchier vegan asshole came in to interview after I'd already been hired so they backstepped and instead of being professional, acted as if I wasn't actually hired. Needless to say I am pretty upset.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
My epic nosebleed, among other events
I've been kind of dreading posting for awhile because SO MUCH has happened since last time.
I guess the most logical way to attack it would be chronologically.
After settling in a bit in Astoria, Mike and I took up residence at his sister's apartment for a week while she and her boyfriend were away on vacation in Mexico. Same thing any sane person would do if someone offered free reign their upper west side apartment for a week. Easier commute to work, awesome neighborhood, awesome apartment without any roommates to bug you.
Everything was going fine. I was making Mike dinner for when he got home from work, he was enjoying it (yay, I finally cooked for my chef boyfriend and he actually liked it!). I find the trick is not to have him looking over my shoulder. As long as he's not around, my cooking anxiety is kept to a minimum. So one night I made some really awesome vegetarian chili (see: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Wicked-Good-Veggie-Chili/Detail.aspx for recipe). We were sitting on the couch and out of nowhere my nose starts to bleed a little bit.
No big deal, I think, because I've grown up with nosebleeds. Once I even had one right as I was supposed to blow the kickoff whistles at a kids' soccer game I was reffing and the parents and players had to wait a couple minutes for me to get it under control.
But this time, it wasn't stopping. I was pinching the bridge of my nose over the sink when my nose literally started pouring blood. I yelled for Mike and he moved me to the tub. It was like that scene from Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho."
A pool of blood accumulated at my feet, splashing up a little bit with each drop. It wasn't stopping. After about fifteen minutes of continuous severe bleeding and Mike's frantic Googling and running back and forth from me to the computer, I decided it was time to call my folks. It was 12:30 a.m. my time... They'd be getting ready for bed. A couple rings on the receiver, and I had to remind myself not to sound panicked. But Dad picked up, I completely lost it. "Dad!?" "Shawno, what's wrong?!.... Bev!" They were frantic, telling me to pinch the bridge of my nose, put ice on it... I coughed a bit of blood. Handed the phone to Mike. Dropped the foil-wrapped hamburger in a baggie he'd given me as a cold compress and got light-headed and started to sway. After Mom and Dad gave him the go-ahead, Mike said, "We're calling 911." After protesting, then looking down at the puddle of blood, I let him.
The cops came first. They told Mike I looked familiar, asked the poor kid a lot of questions about whether there was an "injury," and what happened. The paramedics came next. They asked me if Mike hit me or if I fell. Seems like they don't see many of these types of things that don't involve domestic violence. They took my blood pressure, which was high. The medics asked me a lot of questions and somehow I calmed down and the bleeding finally stopped. My feet were splattered with it. I was sitting there, hunched in the bathtub of my boyfriend's sister, in my pajamas with no bra on completely dazed. While I refused a ride to the hospital in an expensive ambulance, the color began to return to Mike's face. After we cleaned up, he forced me to eat an apple and drink a bottle of water. He held my hand and stayed awake until I fell asleep, which was not soon after everything had settled down. The whole next day I felt weak and had three subsequent smaller nosebleeds.
Needless to say, VERY SCARY. And I feel bad that Mike had to be the one to deal with it all. I'm OK now though, and attribute it to a combination of dry air and dehydration.
Aside from having serious walnut reactions and nosebleeds, I feel pretty OK. I'm getting familiar with my neighborhood and roommates, and I've recently revisited a Paul Simon album, Rhythm of the Saints, from my youth. I remember it being pretty prominent around age 4 but then my dad stopped listening to it for whatever reason. It was funny because I just randomly heard, "The Coast" from the same album and all these crazy nostalgia and memories started flooding back. It's like returning to the neighborhood where you were born, or tasting a dessert your mom used to make when you were young, before she became too busy to bake. You don't really remember it until you experience it again.
So anyway, that's on my MP3 player now. And I'm pretty much loving it.
Other thing worth mentioning, I got a job here: http://www.organicavenue.com/products/index.php
I was looking for part-time work and stumbled upon it on craigslist. Not really thinking much of it, I sent my resume and got called in for an interview the next day. Apparently they need help not only in the store itself but with their blog, newsletter and some educational text around the store. So I come right in handy. I start on Friday. Hooray cute little organic shops with resident dogs, eccentric bosses and a discount for me. I'll likely be working 6 days a week, but it'll be worth not being broke and ceasing this silly "asking parents for financial help" thing I had going on.
At the end of the day, my room is hopelessly unequipped. I have yet to get a dresser and therefore the big green monster suitcase sits in the corner with all kinds of clothes that can't be hung piled up in it. Nothing on the walls... Every night I hear the elevated train, which is less than a block away, roaring by. In the morning one of my roommates gets up at 5 to get ready for work, the other directly after him. I hear someone talking on the street, a car honk its horn, the recycling truck going by, a siren.... Needless to say I bought earplugs today and I'm considering a sleep mask. Hopefully they'll work without making me miss my own alarm.
One last story:
This morning it was pouring rain, there was slush on the ground from yesterday's snow storm and I couldn't find a goddamn umbrella anywhere in the house. Reluctantly, I yanked out my ugly, big, bright red Columbia raincoat with the fleece lining and bill on the hood for the trek to and from the train. I really had no other choice. I just hoped my bag wouldn't get too wet on the way, and I cinched up the drawstrings around my face. When I arrived at my stop, I still had enough time for coffee and I'd remembered to bring my Pike Place Starbucks mug so I walked down Astor to grab some. Opened the door, I was dripping with rain, pulled down my hood to expose my already frizzy hair and fogged up glasses. I handed the cashier my cup and asked for drip (with room, for gosh sakes!), and he looked at the cup, looked at me, and asked me if I'd gotten to mug in Seattle. "Yup," I said... The mug has the original Starbucks logo of the less attractive mermaid:
He asked, "Are you from there?" and I replied yep once again. He told me he was from Oregon and turned to his coworker, who was obviously an east-coast type. "This is what people look like where I come from." "Soaking wet?" "No, she doesn't use an umbrella but she's got a good raincoat instead and she brought her own cup." The coworker looked at him like, "So what?" and then said, unenthusiastically, "That's pretty hardcore."
After that incident I realized a little bit how I'm not sticking to my Northwest roots. This was one of the three days a week I actually remember my own mug, and I haven't worn that old coat since last spring. Maybe I need to stop trying to be so wannabe fashionable and umbrella-toting and remember where I came from once in awhile.
OK end of epic post. Thanks if you got through it.
I guess the most logical way to attack it would be chronologically.
After settling in a bit in Astoria, Mike and I took up residence at his sister's apartment for a week while she and her boyfriend were away on vacation in Mexico. Same thing any sane person would do if someone offered free reign their upper west side apartment for a week. Easier commute to work, awesome neighborhood, awesome apartment without any roommates to bug you.
Everything was going fine. I was making Mike dinner for when he got home from work, he was enjoying it (yay, I finally cooked for my chef boyfriend and he actually liked it!). I find the trick is not to have him looking over my shoulder. As long as he's not around, my cooking anxiety is kept to a minimum. So one night I made some really awesome vegetarian chili (see: http://allrecipes.com/Recipe/Wicked-Good-Veggie-Chili/Detail.aspx for recipe). We were sitting on the couch and out of nowhere my nose starts to bleed a little bit.
No big deal, I think, because I've grown up with nosebleeds. Once I even had one right as I was supposed to blow the kickoff whistles at a kids' soccer game I was reffing and the parents and players had to wait a couple minutes for me to get it under control.
But this time, it wasn't stopping. I was pinching the bridge of my nose over the sink when my nose literally started pouring blood. I yelled for Mike and he moved me to the tub. It was like that scene from Alfred Hitchcock's "Psycho."
A pool of blood accumulated at my feet, splashing up a little bit with each drop. It wasn't stopping. After about fifteen minutes of continuous severe bleeding and Mike's frantic Googling and running back and forth from me to the computer, I decided it was time to call my folks. It was 12:30 a.m. my time... They'd be getting ready for bed. A couple rings on the receiver, and I had to remind myself not to sound panicked. But Dad picked up, I completely lost it. "Dad!?" "Shawno, what's wrong?!.... Bev!" They were frantic, telling me to pinch the bridge of my nose, put ice on it... I coughed a bit of blood. Handed the phone to Mike. Dropped the foil-wrapped hamburger in a baggie he'd given me as a cold compress and got light-headed and started to sway. After Mom and Dad gave him the go-ahead, Mike said, "We're calling 911." After protesting, then looking down at the puddle of blood, I let him.
The cops came first. They told Mike I looked familiar, asked the poor kid a lot of questions about whether there was an "injury," and what happened. The paramedics came next. They asked me if Mike hit me or if I fell. Seems like they don't see many of these types of things that don't involve domestic violence. They took my blood pressure, which was high. The medics asked me a lot of questions and somehow I calmed down and the bleeding finally stopped. My feet were splattered with it. I was sitting there, hunched in the bathtub of my boyfriend's sister, in my pajamas with no bra on completely dazed. While I refused a ride to the hospital in an expensive ambulance, the color began to return to Mike's face. After we cleaned up, he forced me to eat an apple and drink a bottle of water. He held my hand and stayed awake until I fell asleep, which was not soon after everything had settled down. The whole next day I felt weak and had three subsequent smaller nosebleeds.
Needless to say, VERY SCARY. And I feel bad that Mike had to be the one to deal with it all. I'm OK now though, and attribute it to a combination of dry air and dehydration.
Aside from having serious walnut reactions and nosebleeds, I feel pretty OK. I'm getting familiar with my neighborhood and roommates, and I've recently revisited a Paul Simon album, Rhythm of the Saints, from my youth. I remember it being pretty prominent around age 4 but then my dad stopped listening to it for whatever reason. It was funny because I just randomly heard, "The Coast" from the same album and all these crazy nostalgia and memories started flooding back. It's like returning to the neighborhood where you were born, or tasting a dessert your mom used to make when you were young, before she became too busy to bake. You don't really remember it until you experience it again.
So anyway, that's on my MP3 player now. And I'm pretty much loving it.
Other thing worth mentioning, I got a job here: http://www.organicavenue.com/products/index.php
I was looking for part-time work and stumbled upon it on craigslist. Not really thinking much of it, I sent my resume and got called in for an interview the next day. Apparently they need help not only in the store itself but with their blog, newsletter and some educational text around the store. So I come right in handy. I start on Friday. Hooray cute little organic shops with resident dogs, eccentric bosses and a discount for me. I'll likely be working 6 days a week, but it'll be worth not being broke and ceasing this silly "asking parents for financial help" thing I had going on.
At the end of the day, my room is hopelessly unequipped. I have yet to get a dresser and therefore the big green monster suitcase sits in the corner with all kinds of clothes that can't be hung piled up in it. Nothing on the walls... Every night I hear the elevated train, which is less than a block away, roaring by. In the morning one of my roommates gets up at 5 to get ready for work, the other directly after him. I hear someone talking on the street, a car honk its horn, the recycling truck going by, a siren.... Needless to say I bought earplugs today and I'm considering a sleep mask. Hopefully they'll work without making me miss my own alarm.
One last story:
This morning it was pouring rain, there was slush on the ground from yesterday's snow storm and I couldn't find a goddamn umbrella anywhere in the house. Reluctantly, I yanked out my ugly, big, bright red Columbia raincoat with the fleece lining and bill on the hood for the trek to and from the train. I really had no other choice. I just hoped my bag wouldn't get too wet on the way, and I cinched up the drawstrings around my face. When I arrived at my stop, I still had enough time for coffee and I'd remembered to bring my Pike Place Starbucks mug so I walked down Astor to grab some. Opened the door, I was dripping with rain, pulled down my hood to expose my already frizzy hair and fogged up glasses. I handed the cashier my cup and asked for drip (with room, for gosh sakes!), and he looked at the cup, looked at me, and asked me if I'd gotten to mug in Seattle. "Yup," I said... The mug has the original Starbucks logo of the less attractive mermaid:
He asked, "Are you from there?" and I replied yep once again. He told me he was from Oregon and turned to his coworker, who was obviously an east-coast type. "This is what people look like where I come from." "Soaking wet?" "No, she doesn't use an umbrella but she's got a good raincoat instead and she brought her own cup." The coworker looked at him like, "So what?" and then said, unenthusiastically, "That's pretty hardcore."After that incident I realized a little bit how I'm not sticking to my Northwest roots. This was one of the three days a week I actually remember my own mug, and I haven't worn that old coat since last spring. Maybe I need to stop trying to be so wannabe fashionable and umbrella-toting and remember where I came from once in awhile.
OK end of epic post. Thanks if you got through it.
Monday, February 4, 2008
And here we are
HI!
(reference http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1799271 :43)
This last week has kind of been a whirlwind. I found a place to live (hooray!) it's awesome, as are the roommates I have acquired (whoopee!), and I feel renewed and ready to take on whatever comes at me (*sigh*).
My current residence is in Astoria, a primarily Greek neighborhood that has been flooded with bars, cafes, young people and neat restaurants... the perfect next step up from Bay Ridge. My new place is literally a block away from the elevated subway line (I can see it out my window). I have two roommates, both guys in their late 20s, and both teachers of public school in NY (bless their hearts). Evan is Greek. His father, who lives in Greece, calls him regularly, yet doesn't look much like his son, or so Evan tells me. The first day I started to unpack, I sat on the floor with my suitcases, listening to Evan play everything from Beatles to Radiohead, singing as if no one was home. Normally, I would be annoyed, but because he is so good and on-key, I was actually entertained. The previous roommate Bryan, native New Yorker, Jewish, banker in an immaculate suit came by to pick up some of his stuff and paused to sing a little with his old roomie. Apparently he, Evan, and Ryan (my other roomie whose last name is Bagg and nickname is Beaner), had an A Capella group in school. And apparently so, as I heard seeping into my room, a perfectly harmonized rendition of "Hook" by Blues Traveler. It was a welcome change from my completely impersonal, defensive, unfomfortable situation in Bay Ridge with Crazy Lady and the crew. I do believe I'm going to like living here.
I decided to take a break from unpacking and asked the boys "what's good eats around here anyway?" Evan asked me what I was in the mood for, and I told him sushi and he lit up. He told me he'd come with me and we'd be going to JJ's. It was delicious. We talked about where I was from. I corrected his mispreception that the Red Skins were from Washington State, and he paid for my meal.
That day my bed got delivered. I bought it from a girl who is moving back to California and wanted to get rid of some things. $100 for an Ikea full sized bed, mattress pad and fiber bed, and she delivered it to my place. Seemed too good to be true until I realized she didn't give me some very important components... Let's say, oh the screws that hold the frame together. UGGGH! I don't think I was scammed, rather just the victim of an absent minded valley girl with no perception of how things are actually put together. So began my quest for a solution.
I walked down the street more than a few blocks to the nearest hardware store and came in contact with an interesting worker/owner/fellow. He seemed to be quite ornary. His hair was long and scraggly, red. He had three large guage piercings in each ear, at least, and his accent sounded as if he might be from the midwest or thereabouts originally. I told him about my bed predicament and he was annoyed that I didn't have a screw for reference, but gave me eight similar sized screws that might do the job, along with nuts, washers and lock washers. As he was screwing each on to keep them mostly together, he sang to the classic rock, substituting "squirrel" for "girl" and calling one unacceptable screw a "fucking Polio refugee" and throwing it over his shoulder... "Ahhh, this one's all smooshed. Fucking polio refugee. Let's get another one." Indeed. Indeed.
Eventually, because of my buying a lot of screws and nuts and Mike's perserverence, we got the bed together. He helped put it together and he's been so patient with the moving.
Yesterday we went to Il Bambino, a place right down my street with paninis and tappas. I was about halfway through my sandwich before I realized their pesto had something that was giving me a reaction. Walnuts. Like most of my reactions lately, it was serious, and it was bad. Being at home and familiar with the restaurants and what I am eating has been a privilege. This is the second time I've had a serious reaction away from home, the other when I was covering an energy summit in Reno. I started to feel very shakey and weak, and I had to throw up. Mike and I ran to the corner store to get some Benedryl.
I always feel so stupid for having this allergy and not asking about ingredients. I feel terrible that Mike had to worry so much because this supposedly "authentic" place put walnuts in their pesto. Many of you who know me well know I am reluctant to make a fuss or to admit there is something wrong with me and ask for help. The look on Mike's face made me realize I can't keep denying I have this allergy (even though it rarely affects me), because it really is serious and could be fatal if I'm not careful.
So!
A couple of random things worth mentioning:
I saw a man in the subway today with a toupee. And it was not a regular toupee, rather a very obvious and ridiculous one. It looked like a cluster of white cotton balls on top of a 70-year-old's head... kind of like an animal but I'm not sure which. Mom and Dad always play "Spot the Toup" when they're in Vegas, and this was definitely one for the record books. Here is my visualization of the dialogue:
Man with balding problem: I want a toupee.
Toupee salesman: OK, I see your dilemma. Why don't you try this brown one?
Man with balding problem: No, I wouldn't want it to look too unnatural. Do you have anything in stark white?
Toupee salesman: Oh yes, this is our newest model, I'm sure you'll find it to be less "roadkill on a head"-like than most you've seen.
Man with balding problem: Aaah, yes, this poofy powder-puff wig from the 1770s will do nicely! No one will every know I've lost my hair! Thank you, kind sir!
Mmmm.... And I dropped a wad of money on the floor today on accident and the people on the train helped me pick it up and gave it to me. Life is alright. Pictures to follow.
(reference http://www.collegehumor.com/video:1799271 :43)
This last week has kind of been a whirlwind. I found a place to live (hooray!) it's awesome, as are the roommates I have acquired (whoopee!), and I feel renewed and ready to take on whatever comes at me (*sigh*).
My current residence is in Astoria, a primarily Greek neighborhood that has been flooded with bars, cafes, young people and neat restaurants... the perfect next step up from Bay Ridge. My new place is literally a block away from the elevated subway line (I can see it out my window). I have two roommates, both guys in their late 20s, and both teachers of public school in NY (bless their hearts). Evan is Greek. His father, who lives in Greece, calls him regularly, yet doesn't look much like his son, or so Evan tells me. The first day I started to unpack, I sat on the floor with my suitcases, listening to Evan play everything from Beatles to Radiohead, singing as if no one was home. Normally, I would be annoyed, but because he is so good and on-key, I was actually entertained. The previous roommate Bryan, native New Yorker, Jewish, banker in an immaculate suit came by to pick up some of his stuff and paused to sing a little with his old roomie. Apparently he, Evan, and Ryan (my other roomie whose last name is Bagg and nickname is Beaner), had an A Capella group in school. And apparently so, as I heard seeping into my room, a perfectly harmonized rendition of "Hook" by Blues Traveler. It was a welcome change from my completely impersonal, defensive, unfomfortable situation in Bay Ridge with Crazy Lady and the crew. I do believe I'm going to like living here.
I decided to take a break from unpacking and asked the boys "what's good eats around here anyway?" Evan asked me what I was in the mood for, and I told him sushi and he lit up. He told me he'd come with me and we'd be going to JJ's. It was delicious. We talked about where I was from. I corrected his mispreception that the Red Skins were from Washington State, and he paid for my meal.
That day my bed got delivered. I bought it from a girl who is moving back to California and wanted to get rid of some things. $100 for an Ikea full sized bed, mattress pad and fiber bed, and she delivered it to my place. Seemed too good to be true until I realized she didn't give me some very important components... Let's say, oh the screws that hold the frame together. UGGGH! I don't think I was scammed, rather just the victim of an absent minded valley girl with no perception of how things are actually put together. So began my quest for a solution.
I walked down the street more than a few blocks to the nearest hardware store and came in contact with an interesting worker/owner/fellow. He seemed to be quite ornary. His hair was long and scraggly, red. He had three large guage piercings in each ear, at least, and his accent sounded as if he might be from the midwest or thereabouts originally. I told him about my bed predicament and he was annoyed that I didn't have a screw for reference, but gave me eight similar sized screws that might do the job, along with nuts, washers and lock washers. As he was screwing each on to keep them mostly together, he sang to the classic rock, substituting "squirrel" for "girl" and calling one unacceptable screw a "fucking Polio refugee" and throwing it over his shoulder... "Ahhh, this one's all smooshed. Fucking polio refugee. Let's get another one." Indeed. Indeed.
Eventually, because of my buying a lot of screws and nuts and Mike's perserverence, we got the bed together. He helped put it together and he's been so patient with the moving.
Yesterday we went to Il Bambino, a place right down my street with paninis and tappas. I was about halfway through my sandwich before I realized their pesto had something that was giving me a reaction. Walnuts. Like most of my reactions lately, it was serious, and it was bad. Being at home and familiar with the restaurants and what I am eating has been a privilege. This is the second time I've had a serious reaction away from home, the other when I was covering an energy summit in Reno. I started to feel very shakey and weak, and I had to throw up. Mike and I ran to the corner store to get some Benedryl.
I always feel so stupid for having this allergy and not asking about ingredients. I feel terrible that Mike had to worry so much because this supposedly "authentic" place put walnuts in their pesto. Many of you who know me well know I am reluctant to make a fuss or to admit there is something wrong with me and ask for help. The look on Mike's face made me realize I can't keep denying I have this allergy (even though it rarely affects me), because it really is serious and could be fatal if I'm not careful.
So!
A couple of random things worth mentioning:
I saw a man in the subway today with a toupee. And it was not a regular toupee, rather a very obvious and ridiculous one. It looked like a cluster of white cotton balls on top of a 70-year-old's head... kind of like an animal but I'm not sure which. Mom and Dad always play "Spot the Toup" when they're in Vegas, and this was definitely one for the record books. Here is my visualization of the dialogue:
Man with balding problem: I want a toupee.
Toupee salesman: OK, I see your dilemma. Why don't you try this brown one?
Man with balding problem: No, I wouldn't want it to look too unnatural. Do you have anything in stark white?
Toupee salesman: Oh yes, this is our newest model, I'm sure you'll find it to be less "roadkill on a head"-like than most you've seen.
Man with balding problem: Aaah, yes, this poofy powder-puff wig from the 1770s will do nicely! No one will every know I've lost my hair! Thank you, kind sir!
Mmmm.... And I dropped a wad of money on the floor today on accident and the people on the train helped me pick it up and gave it to me. Life is alright. Pictures to follow.
Monday, January 21, 2008
Rambling On
As you may have noticed, it's been much too long since my last blog post. This is in no way intentional. Once on Sex and the City (which I RARELY watch, but with my basic cable I am confined to every once in awhile), Carrie said something to the effect of "In New York, they say you are always looking for one of three things: a new job, a new apartment or a new boyfriend."
Well... I've got the boyfriend thing covered but instead of just one of those things, I'm looking for both a new apartment and a new job and it's been extremely stressful. I apologize for not bloggity blogging as much during this time, but I will tell you that I have a couple of leads on both fronts, so just keep your fingers crossed for me.
We're about to close another issue at Audubon (closing means getting everything done and shipping it off to be printed), and I am happy to say I will have two "Field Notes" approx. 500 words each, a book review and a "dispatch" report in the next issue. Hooray for clips! This will likely be my last issue at Audubon so I'm milking it for all it's worth. I'll be very sorry when I walk out the Audubon door for (possibly) the last time. The staff is a group of sincere, genuinely nice people who have taught me so much and I'm sad that they have to kick me out ;)
Last Monday, Mike and I went ice skating. This was after much debate, since neither of us had gotten paid in awhile and we weren't sure if we should spend the money to go. But in the end, we concluded we both need the release. So off to Bryant Park we went (yes, Project Runway fans, same place they put up the tents for Fashion Week). It was only my second time ice skating, and Mike played lots of hockey when he was a kid, so needless to say I was clinging to him most of the time. I got the hang of it though, and didn't fall once!
I'm probably about to fall in this next one, not having Mike hold me up.
It was really amazing ice skating in Bryant Park, pretty much in the heart of midtown. Skating laps in perfect view of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building with jazz playing in the background as I'm trying not to fall on my booty. In all, a great day and definitely worth the bucks required.
Empire State Building (the one with the pointy thing in the background, third from the right. I only say that because I saw a couple of tourists one day pointing at the Chrysler building saying 'oh, look! The Empire State Building!' Obviously there is some confusion).
THIS is the Chrysler building (skinny pretty one in the middle) and I love the way it looks when it's lit at night.
So that was a very good day. Mike hopes to have Sundays off and my goal is to go out and do "New York" things.
We went to go see his sister in the upper west side to make a delicious vegetarian lasagna and I actually helped a lot. Ever since dating Mike it has been hard for me to cook (I know, I know, crazy, right?). But the lasagna turned out great, and it was a collaboration. On the way home, braving the 1 train, a man with funny braided hair and wild eyes asked us for money because he was "saving up for new shoelaces." I looked down at his shoes. They were indeed without laces... But I wondered what had happened to the original laces that came with them. When we both told him (truthfully) we had no cash, he got off at the next stop. I watched as he walked down the platform, and because we were in the first car, if he walked any further he'd be too far, behind the gate in the tunnel where passengers aren't supposed to go. I saw him run past the barrier. I told Mike, "He just ran past the platform barrier!" I stood up and pressed against the door of the subway to see him jump on to the tracks and run across to the track going the opposite way. Our train conductor also noticed, honking the horn in one constant tone as I watched the man run up the tracks, not knowing if he would be electrocuted or hit by an oncoming train. As our train pulled away, I saw him climb up a ladder to the platform. I can honestly say I haven't seen anything that scary in a long time. Generally the "third rail" is charged with electricity, and warning signs tell you not to even think about going on the tracks. It was one of the most terrifying things I have ever seen.
Each time a train comes in, I stand a little closer than the yellow line to feel the woosh as the train goes by me. You can almost feel the power of the train with the wind it creates.
That's a video of the R Train... the one I take every day on my way to Manhattan. Recently a New York Times columnist began a series about commuting in New York and he's doing different train, ferry or tram each day to document what the ride is like, what kind of people ride the train, etc (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/18/realestate/18comm.html?_r=1&ref=realestate&oref=slogin) but he has not as of yet done the R Train. I'd be interested to see what he'd say about my hometown train. It's so funny how defensive people are of their trains. Almost like a sports teams.
Speaking of, Giants and Patriots Superbowl. Holy Crap. I'm inclined to favor the Patriots because of their amazing undefeated season... But being anything but a Giants fan here will get you a smack in the mouth. So says a man on the evening news who pushed a woman who said "Go Patriots!" on the street. New York fans are harsh, man.
Again, I apologize for the long period in between posts and I ask you for your crossed fingers/good thoughts/prayers that I can find at least one of two things I'm looking for: A good room and a good job.
Goodnight!
Well... I've got the boyfriend thing covered but instead of just one of those things, I'm looking for both a new apartment and a new job and it's been extremely stressful. I apologize for not bloggity blogging as much during this time, but I will tell you that I have a couple of leads on both fronts, so just keep your fingers crossed for me.
We're about to close another issue at Audubon (closing means getting everything done and shipping it off to be printed), and I am happy to say I will have two "Field Notes" approx. 500 words each, a book review and a "dispatch" report in the next issue. Hooray for clips! This will likely be my last issue at Audubon so I'm milking it for all it's worth. I'll be very sorry when I walk out the Audubon door for (possibly) the last time. The staff is a group of sincere, genuinely nice people who have taught me so much and I'm sad that they have to kick me out ;)
Last Monday, Mike and I went ice skating. This was after much debate, since neither of us had gotten paid in awhile and we weren't sure if we should spend the money to go. But in the end, we concluded we both need the release. So off to Bryant Park we went (yes, Project Runway fans, same place they put up the tents for Fashion Week). It was only my second time ice skating, and Mike played lots of hockey when he was a kid, so needless to say I was clinging to him most of the time. I got the hang of it though, and didn't fall once!
I'm probably about to fall in this next one, not having Mike hold me up.
It was really amazing ice skating in Bryant Park, pretty much in the heart of midtown. Skating laps in perfect view of the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building with jazz playing in the background as I'm trying not to fall on my booty. In all, a great day and definitely worth the bucks required.
Empire State Building (the one with the pointy thing in the background, third from the right. I only say that because I saw a couple of tourists one day pointing at the Chrysler building saying 'oh, look! The Empire State Building!' Obviously there is some confusion).
THIS is the Chrysler building (skinny pretty one in the middle) and I love the way it looks when it's lit at night.
So that was a very good day. Mike hopes to have Sundays off and my goal is to go out and do "New York" things.We went to go see his sister in the upper west side to make a delicious vegetarian lasagna and I actually helped a lot. Ever since dating Mike it has been hard for me to cook (I know, I know, crazy, right?). But the lasagna turned out great, and it was a collaboration. On the way home, braving the 1 train, a man with funny braided hair and wild eyes asked us for money because he was "saving up for new shoelaces." I looked down at his shoes. They were indeed without laces... But I wondered what had happened to the original laces that came with them. When we both told him (truthfully) we had no cash, he got off at the next stop. I watched as he walked down the platform, and because we were in the first car, if he walked any further he'd be too far, behind the gate in the tunnel where passengers aren't supposed to go. I saw him run past the barrier. I told Mike, "He just ran past the platform barrier!" I stood up and pressed against the door of the subway to see him jump on to the tracks and run across to the track going the opposite way. Our train conductor also noticed, honking the horn in one constant tone as I watched the man run up the tracks, not knowing if he would be electrocuted or hit by an oncoming train. As our train pulled away, I saw him climb up a ladder to the platform. I can honestly say I haven't seen anything that scary in a long time. Generally the "third rail" is charged with electricity, and warning signs tell you not to even think about going on the tracks. It was one of the most terrifying things I have ever seen.
Each time a train comes in, I stand a little closer than the yellow line to feel the woosh as the train goes by me. You can almost feel the power of the train with the wind it creates.
That's a video of the R Train... the one I take every day on my way to Manhattan. Recently a New York Times columnist began a series about commuting in New York and he's doing different train, ferry or tram each day to document what the ride is like, what kind of people ride the train, etc (http://www.nytimes.com/2008/01/18/realestate/18comm.html?_r=1&ref=realestate&oref=slogin) but he has not as of yet done the R Train. I'd be interested to see what he'd say about my hometown train. It's so funny how defensive people are of their trains. Almost like a sports teams.
Speaking of, Giants and Patriots Superbowl. Holy Crap. I'm inclined to favor the Patriots because of their amazing undefeated season... But being anything but a Giants fan here will get you a smack in the mouth. So says a man on the evening news who pushed a woman who said "Go Patriots!" on the street. New York fans are harsh, man.
Again, I apologize for the long period in between posts and I ask you for your crossed fingers/good thoughts/prayers that I can find at least one of two things I'm looking for: A good room and a good job.
Goodnight!
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