art (/) life

Today Emily wrote about the play we saw in celebration of my birthday.  I have nothing to add, except that I meant Hobbes instead of Locke and that I did a fist pump in the theater when the main character (Ruth — yes, this play hit a little too close to home) reached the point in her slideshow of apartments where she lived in San Francisco for four months.

 

Home Sweet Home

A few weeks ago I was waiting for the Q at Union Square at the end of a very long day. I had to pee and I was carrying about four different heavy bags (my survey of the platform showed that no one was carrying less than two bags; we New Yorkers are such a burdened people), so really, the train could not have arrived fast enough. After about five minutes spent pacing the platform — the train should be coming any second now! — I saw someone jump down in the tracks. I think it’s telling that my first reaction was not curiosity, or concern, or anxiety, or fear, but merely irritation.

“God!” I thought. “If that asshole gets hit by the train, then it will REALLY take forever to get home.”

Yeah, it hasn’t taken me long to readjust to New York at all.

 

SFO-LAS-PHX-JFK

That was my itinerary on Monday. Start to finish, I traveled from 6:20 AM California time to 11:45 PM Eastern, a total of about 14.5 hours spent in transit. One of my suitcases busted open en route, and due to some personal drama, I got the opportunity to cry in all four of the major airports I passed through (“Wow, you left your own trail of tears,” my brother said upon hearing this news.). The turbulence landing in Las Vegas was so bad, my fellow passengers were screaming and clutching one another in terror. For my part I thought we were going to die, and at the moment it didn’t sound terrible. “Yeah, take me. I’m done with this,” I thought, still sniffling, as the plane dropped like a roller coaster.

The first few days here have been a little rough. I don’t have an iPod, but no matter, I have a constant refrain looping through my head anyway. It goes, “MONEYMONEYMONEYMONEYneedmore MONEYMONEYMONEYwhere’s someMONEYMONEYMONEYgottahaveMONEYMONEYMONEY. . .” Yeah, welcome to New York, didn’t miss the financial horrorshow at all, I have to say. And then shopping for produce makes me never want to eat again (San Francisco, I take it back, I miss you!), the thrift stores suck, and no one uses Craigslist. Doesn’t anyone besides me need ridiculously cheap used furniture? Let’s do this thing, people!

I’m not in love with New York the way I used to be. Living abroad and living on the West Coast has spoiled me for closet space and natural beauty. I want to compost, dammit! I want to reuse everything, tread lightly on the earth like some brain dead hippie, take breaks to “check in with myself,” ride my bike to yoga class, and go camping on the weekends. I think I want to backpack through India, seriously, no, for real. How am I ever going to do that on my entry-level publishing salary (oh, and PS, I need surgery first!)? Fourth Avenue, which was pretty much car services, lube shops, and Cattyshack when I left, has since BLOWN UP, creating yet another neighborhood in Brooklyn where I can’t afford to live. When did all the little restaurants and shops that I used to frequent on Smith Street disappear, and how long until there’s a McDonald’s there? How long until there’s no room for people like me in New York at all?

I’m not in love the way I used to be, period. With a lot of things.

Still, every time I get an email/text/Facebook message that says “Welcome home,” I feel a little warm burble in my chest. If (cliche alert!) home is where the heart is, then yeah, mine’s still here.

 

The “Washing the Bowl” Playlist

In no particular order:

Tonight I Have to Leave It (Shout Out Louds)

Amazing (Aerosmith)

23 (Blonde Redhead)

Looking Down the Barrel of A Gun (Beastie Boys)

Dark Center of the Universe (Modest Mouse)

You Are Dreaming (Shout Out Louds)

Loud Pipes (Ratatat)

Not Ready to Make Nice (The Dixie Chicks — hate on, haters)

The Remainder (Sleater-Kinney)

Pour Me Another (Atmosphere)

How’s It Going to Be (Third Eye Blind – mmm, yeah.)

Little Dawn (Ted Leo and the Pharmacists)

Apologize (Timbaland/One Republic)

Seventeen Years (Ratatat)

You Were Right (Built To Spill)

Gotta Get Thru This (Daniel Bedingfield)

Don’t Think Twice, It’s All Right (Dylan, live, Before the Flood)

Sky Blue Sky (Wilco)

 

Protected: There And Back Again

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Decision 2008

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I have to pick tomorrow.

 

Impostor Syndrome

Earlier this week, I was flown to Seattle for a job interview. The company I interviewed with is very successful and has tons of money to throw around — you would recognize the name right away if I told you. They put me up in a luxury hotel. My room had panoramic views of the city, a huge bed with a cushion-top mattress and about a dozen pillows, and an all-marble bathroom perfect for abusing coke with a pair of high-class call girls (though I merely wallowed in the soaking tub and enjoyed the feeling of really clean hair — hooray for great water pressure!).

I checked into the hotel wearing faded jeans and a hoodie and basically felt like an impostor from that moment on. It would not have surprised me to have been roughly shaken awake at 3 AM and told to get out, we know all about you, and YOU do not belong here. Only at the end of my trip and after my interview (which went well but not great) was I finally able to tell myself, You know, I’m a smart, talented, and hard-working young woman. There is NO reason why I shouldn’t be here. There is NO reason, in fact, why my life shouldn’t be like this from here on out.

Then I took the extra roll of toilet paper in the bathroom and packed it in my suitcase. We always seem to need it at my apartment.

 

If you still believe I’m thinking of you, you are dreaming

Anyways.  2007!   That happened.  And when I was ready for it to be over, it still kept happening.

So, yeah, resolutions.  Dreams.   How to ensure that 2008 is as little like 2007 as possible?  And what is the difference between “dreams” and “resolutions” anyway? Allow me to do a little thought experiment with you.

Dreams:

1.  Pitney-Bowes calls a press conference.  CEO Michael J. Critelli steps to the podium.  “I am here to publicly apologize for the manufacture and distribution of the DI-350 mailing machine with separate folding/insertion mechanism,” he reads from a statement.  “It has come to my attention that quality control for this particular product is far, far below the accepted standards for doing business.  I know that my heartfelt apology cannot even begin to make up for the countless man-hours lost in attempting to operate this catastrophically poorly-designed piece of equipment, but I hope that all the mailroom clerks and temporary office workers listening will weigh my words on the scales of forgiveness and understanding rather than justice.”  A federal court rules that Critelli’s year-end bonus must be paid incrementally in a series of one-dollar checks, each of which must be folded and inserted into a mailing envelope via a DI-350 machine operated by Critelli.

2.  I wake up and turn on the radio.  Due to a freak copier malfunction, Kikkoman International, Incorporated (KII), headquartered at XX California Street, has burned to the ground.  No one is hurt; however, all databases and related Consumer Services materials are destroyed.  Irretrievably.  My temp agency calls to say they are paying me through January anyway.

3.  All my Netflix movies arrive today, even though they are scheduled to arrive tomorrow.

Resolutions:

1. To write in this online diary more than once a month.

2.  To stop calling it an “online diary.”

3.  To avoid Bridget Jones mannerisms and stereotypes as much as possible.

Let’s see how I go.

 

Right?

 

“You, alone, believe you will die.”

No use pretending anymore that this is anything but the kind of blog in which the author posts song lyrics, lame links, and “dear diary”-esque emotional diarrhea once a month or so. This* falls into the second category, except it’s not lame — it’s incredibly awesome and funny. Well, that’s what I thought when I first stumbled upon it three years ago, in amazingly similar circumstances to the ones in which I find myself at present. Now older and wiser**, I still think it’s fairly awesome. There is one crucial difference, though — this time, I WAS NOT DUMPED. IT WAS MUTUAL, OK???

I need to go listen to some depressing music now.

*NSWD (Not Safe For Dad. Dad, this means you.)

**Debatable?