Since I mentioned my rather compulsive habit of song-repeating in my last post, I've had a request to post some of the songs that have gotten this treatment in the past. And since I'm a sucker for reader-requests (whoa, people actually read stuff I write?!), I'm totally game. This is also the most I have actually planned out a post ever (I actually wrote down notes on my lunchbreak -- true story), which may have not been a great idea because of course, I kept thinking of more songs to include. For now, though, I'm keeping it to a super-concise nine (if I counted right). I pared it down like so:
You see, dear Reader, even though I, in theory, subscribe to the idea that there should be know guilty pleasures in life -- after all, you enjoy what you enjoy; in practice, I can usually recognize when I should be embarrassed to like a particular song. (Hence my admittedly defensive note about the T.Swift song in the last post.) These songs, however, are all songs that I am not even remotely embarrassed to love, nor do I feel like I should be. If someone were to put out a huge press release to the world that said: "[The Watermelon-Shirt Type] has played all of these songs on repeat before!", I would be okay with that. (To be fair, that's pretty much what a blog is, anyway. So, done and done.)
Also, it should be noted that although I'm putting unofficial YouTube videos up for your listening convenience (you'll notice I had to make some compromises here in terms of the visuals), if you like these songs as much as I do, please support the artists and buy their music! I paid money for almost all of these -- the exceptions are two songs which I received on mix compilations from other people.
#1- Fiona Apple, "Paper Bag"
I was staring at the sky, just looking for a star
To pray on, or wish on, or something like that
I was having a sweet fix of a daydream of a boy
Whose reality I knew, was a hopeless to be had
[...]
Hunger hurts, and I want him so bad, oh it kills
'cause I know I'm a mess he don't wanna clean up
I got to fold 'cause these hands are too shaky to hold
Hunger hurts, but starving works, when it costs too much to love
[...]
He said, "It's all in your head," and I said, "so's everything" -- but he didn't get it.
Her voice sounds like bourbon tastes.
Ms. Apple may be surprised to find that this song has been co-opted by some pro-anorexia groups as a "thinspiration" song, due to its use of food-hunger as a metaphor for love-hunger. But although she has discussed struggling with an eating disorder in past interviews, it seems clear to me via context that's not what this song is about.
This song gives me a visceral reaction every time I listen to it, and has since I was twelve years old. (Most other music I liked back then hasn't aged quite as well -- but the best songs, like the best books [Chronicles of Narnia, anyone?], seem to evolve with time.) I have a distinct memory of waiting to leave on the St. Joe's Middle School ski-trip bus with my friend Liz at about six in the morning, and sitting with our Discmen (Discmen!) and listening to this CD. The same year, I memorized the full title of the album (When the Pawn) and can still recite it on command:
When the pawn hits the conflicts he thinks like a king
What he knows throws the blows when he goes to the fight
And he'll win the whole thing 'fore he enters the ring
There's no body to batter when your mind is your might
So when you go solo, you hold your own hand
And remember that depth is the greatest of heights
And if you know where you stand, then you know where to land
And if you fall it won't matter, cause you'll know that you're right
#2 -- Fiona Apple, "Shadowboxer"
You made me a shadowboxer, baby
I wanna be ready for what you do
I been swinging around 'cause
I don't know when you're gonna make your move
Oh, your gaze is dangerous
And you fill your space so sweet
If I let you get too close
You'll set your spell on me
So darlin' I just wanna say
Just in case I don't come through
I was onto every play
I just wanted you
It's still amazing to me that the album this song is on, Tidal, came out when she was only 17. The whole album is breathtaking. There are rumors that she might be coming out with a new (fourth) album in the spring, and although they are unsubstantiated, I sincerely hope that they're true.
#3- Janelle Monae, "Tightrope"
We call that classy brass!
This lady needs to be a bigger star than she already is, stat. Talk about triple threat. I also love her in interviews -- other stars talk about their love lives; meanwhile she talks about ALIENS. ALIENS, YOU GUYS.
#4- Nerina Pallot, "Geek Love"
In the race to get out of this place, I am checking my face in the back of a spoon.
You're accusing, you say I'm not here -- but I'm here, yes I'm here, yes, I'm not on the moon.
I got this song and first heard of this artist from my friend Aly. It was on one of the few CDs that I brought with me on my cross-country Greyhound trip, and it was one of my favorites for looking-out-the-window-listening-to-music-and-writing, which is pretty much what I did on that trip. (Miss you, open road.) Also, her song "Idaho" is the main reason why I was super excited when my trip from California to North Dakota took me through the northern Idaho, where I had a layover in Coeur D'Alene.
#5- Amy Winehouse, "Rehab"
This song reminds me of summer '09, a/k/a Nomi and Abby's Summer of Glory, when we would drive around and play this song on a summer mix CD I made, and she would make me skip the one T. Swift song (Track 1, "You Belong With Me") that was on there whenever we got to it.
For the record, I may love this song, but I am not a heroin addict...yet. (Just kidding, M&D! No desire for that sort of thing, as you probably know.) Hilariously, though, the GoogleAds on YouTube advertise rehab facilities alongside this song. ("They advertised that I should go to rehab, but I said no, no, no.")
#6- Johnny Cash, "Hurt"
What have I become, my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know goes away in the end.
You could have it all -- my empire of dirt
I will let you down. I will make you hurt.
If I could start again a million miles away,
I would keep myself. I would find a way.
Is it terrible that the phrase "heroin addict" made me remember to add this song (which I wrote in my notes, but didn't count in the nine I listed above)? This is actually a Nine Inch Nails cover, but I find the Johnny Cash version a million times more enjoyable.
#7- Lily Allen, "The Fear"
I want to be rich, and to have lots of money
I don't care about clever; I don't care about funny.
I want loads of clothes & fuckloads of diamonds
I heard people die while they're trying to find them.
& I'll take my clothes off, and it will be shameless,
'cause everyone knows that's how you get famous.
I mentioned this one earlier as a Perfect Pop Song (TM). I really admire how Ms. Allen manages to combine saccharinely-perfect catchy pop melodies with actual social issues. The whole album "It's Not Me, It's You" is wonderful.
#8 - Lisa Loeb & Nine Stories, "Stay"
Major throwback. This song came out in 1995, and I can remember being in the health-club locker room with my mom and enthusiastically singing along. A few years after that, I remember staying up late to watch Lisa Loeb on Loveline with Dr. Drew.
#9 -- Adele, "Right as Rain"
Who wants to be right as rain?
It's better when something is wrong.
You get excitement in your bones & everything you do's a game.
When night comes, and you're all on your own,
you can say I chose to be alone.
I first heard this song during a happy event and assumed that it was cheerful, probably due to the upbeat tempo. After listening to the lyrics, though, I couldn't hear it the same way again, sort of like being unable to picture the way you imagined characters in a book after seeing the movie.
#10 - Adele, "Chasing Pavements"
If I tell the world, I'll never say enough
'cause it was not said to you,
and that's exactly what i need to do,
If i'm in love with you.
Should I give up, or should i just keep chasing pavements even if it leads nowhere?
Since I finally gave into the countless recommendations of friends and started listening to Pandora last year, I've come to terms with the fact that my taste in music, which I once thought was rather eclectic, is entirely predictable. My discovery of Adele is an example of that. What is that, Pandora? Lots of piano? Subtle use of vocal harmony? You know me too well...
***EL FIN***
Tune in next time for "Songs I Am Actually Pretty Embarrassed To Have Played On Repeat." Well, maybe. If people want it. And I'm not too embarrassed.
In the meantime, here's what I'm reading as of late:
Born to Believe: God, Science, and the Origin of Extraordinary Beliefs and How God Changes Your Brain by Andrew Newberg, MD
Lessons from the Fat-O-Sphere by Kate Harding & Marianne Kirby
Guyland: The Perilous World Where Boys Become Men by Michael Kimmel
Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides
A World That Will Hold All the People by Suzanne Gardinier
Talking to Girls About Duran Duran: One Man's Quest for True Love and a Cooler Haircut by Rob Sheffield
The Real Facts of the Grimms' Fairytales, which I have been borrowing from my friend Charlotte since forever
Communion by bell hooks
Fragment of the Head of a Queen by Cate Marvin
I overheard someone say recently that sometimes, our worst qualities are the same as our best qualities. The more I think about that, the truer it seems. I'm extremely loyal, but that also means that I don't know when to bail. (But maybe part of that is from riding horses, and the knowledge that's tougher to injure yourself if you're still on the horse instead of the ground. On the other hand -- the emergency dismount exists for a reason!) I'm honest, but sometimes it's possible to be too honest and say things that are unintentionally hurtful. It also means that I don't build up the walls that most people have in place for self-preservation -- but even the strongest houses collapse without walls.
Also, you guys! I totally wrote a poem the other night and immediately sent it out for publication. I have never, ever done that and I probably never will again. I keep a folder called "Unfermented Poetry" and I usually let things sit for at least several months, sometimes several years, while I revise, ignore, or some combination of both. But every once in a long while, something leaks out so honestly that I'd feel like it was lying to revise it. I will probably hate it if I reread it (and so no one else can read it either, unless it gets published). It's basically about how I don't understand the Book of Job. I reread it the other day and it really made me think of this Onion article.
Also, my body is better than anything on TV lately! I wake up every day with something different. Earlier, it was a baboon-red rash covering my entire neck. Then, hives all over both of my legs. (I took a picture! If you are nice to me and like gross things, maybe I'll send it to you. But also, maybe not.) Then, I could see my heart-beat in my left wrist. (Paging Dr. Peters? What does this mean?) Always against my better judgment, I decide to Google these things, and the Internet tells me that I could die at any moment (this time: the allergic reaction could spread to your throat and it could close up! oh noes!). And will it be sleeping all day, or no sleeping? Being very hungry, or not hungry at all for two days in a row? Tune in next time!
I think death is probably the Internet equivalent of college health services suggesting that I am either pregnant (srsly, not even possible) or have mono. ("So, my eye has been pretty irritated lately, and now it's bright red and oozing." "Hmm. Are you pregnant? No? Are you sure? Why don't we do a test to be sure..." "But my eye! It burns! Do I have pinkeye? Should I not go to class? I need ans..." *collapses in puddle of eye ooze*)
Thursday, January 13, 2011
Saturday, January 8, 2011
Reasons I Will Never Have Street Cred
(Janelle Monae rocks Ariat.)
When Peters was visiting last weekend, we got into a discussion about how one of the things we both miss most about Hoofbeat is the physical labor and discipline -- going up to the barn, finding the barn director, asking what we could do, doing it, checking to see if there was anything else to do before we headed out, and thanking the barn director. Sure, there have been times in which the efficiency was there and not the spirit, and other times when the spirit was there but not the efficiency -- but whenever both elements were just "on" and camp was running like a well-oiled machine, it felt so amazing to work hard and feel the rewards of it. I enjoyed ending my days completely exhausted -- and maybe that's a little masochistic, considering how exhausted I was all the time -- but oh, how well my body sleeps after throwing hay-bales into pastures and kids onto horses all day. Somehow all of the so-called easy human things that I struggle with doing well occasionally -- namely sleeping and eating -- became easy because my body was mine. It belonged to me, and it was strong, and it did pretty incredible things.
(Once, a kid who was bigger than me expressed concern that I wouldn't be able to lift her while giving her a leg-up bareback, and I ended up accidentally throwing her over the horse. True story. She landed on her feet, we laughed about it a lot, and then we tried again.)
Anyway, I'm resigned to the fact that I will never feel that gorgeous physical kind of exhausted while working in an office.
(Every so often I consider joining a gym, but then I remember that I actually hate working out on my own. It feels too much like a hamster running on a wheel. In college I took dance and yoga through the dance department pretty much every day, and that was perfect. Unfortunately, that, too, is tough to fit into working in an office, plus it's expensive.)
But! I have a point! And I'm getting to it! And that point is that tonight I had my first working shift as a member of the Park Slope Food Co-op -- and it was the closest I've come to feeling a camp-like work ethic in awhile. I was assigned to the receiving squad, and I didn't really know what was going on -- and as somebody who happens to have huge eyes, I have to avoid this as much as possible because I absolutely look like a proverbial deer-in-the-headlights when I'm confused, and sometimes also when I'm not -- but I could feel my instincts kick in, shift into a sort of mania in which I was everywhere. Yes! I will unload that box! Aisle Seven! I will become one with Aisle 7! Restocking fancy organic kale! You got it! Crushing boxes? HULK SMASH!
Anyway, it felt fantastic to do real physical work for once. Plus, while I was restocking, I kept seeing delicious products that I want to eat, like dark-chocolate almond granola bars and pomegranate-lime juice. In the end, my squad (the same people I will be working with for my once-a-month shift) finished our work ten minutes before the end of our shift, which was apparently a record. Not bad!
Also, for posterity, I would like to establish a list of why I will never have street cred.
(So the beginning of this post ties in with the end, and also because it is true, I will add #.5 -- I'm pretty much a dirty hippie with my fancy organic kale and Kashi Crunch and Annie's Mac & Cheese. Deal.)
#1 -- This picture sometimes works on me.
AWW. Look! One is running the wrong direction! That one's me.
It is my dream to someday own a herd of corgis, so when I need cheering up, I can throw something and then they will all run toward it with their tongues all hanging in the air and their bellies flopping. No, better! I will pretend to throw something, and they'll run away! My imaginary corgis are getting better and better at entertaining me. (I mean, I'll love them, too, of course. I'm not heartless.)
#2 -- I am fond of pretty, shiny, things. You know, like a magpie.
#3 -- I will admit to liking this song and music video, even though it's creepy how T. Swift doesn't ever age even after she has kids and I know that there are differing points of view on how her lyrics fit into feminist perspectives. For the record, I think Kate Harding and her ilk are much more convincing than her counterpoints -- but for what it's worth, Taylor Swift manages to capture part of what it feels like to be a [admitting privilege here -- white, able-bodied, neurotypical, heterosexual, cisgendered] high-school girl. A lot of her songs aren't sophisticated, and some of her lyrics and metaphors are straight from the worst poems I wrote in high school, but there's an earnestness that makes me nostalgic. Her song structures are all formula, but the formulas are there because they work sometimes.
Relatedly, lately I've been obsessed with the idea of the "perfect pop song," and how to write it. My pick for right now is "The Fear" by Lily Allen, but I'd be curious to hear anyone else's contributions.
#4 -- PUPPEHS
I don't know who the people are in either of these photos; I just found the pictures online and oh my goodness, those yawns! Yawn away, my leetle puppeh friend!
And on that note, good night.
#2 -- I am fond of pretty, shiny, things. You know, like a magpie.
(Alexander McQueen by Sarah Burton.)
#3 -- I will admit to liking this song and music video, even though it's creepy how T. Swift doesn't ever age even after she has kids and I know that there are differing points of view on how her lyrics fit into feminist perspectives. For the record, I think Kate Harding and her ilk are much more convincing than her counterpoints -- but for what it's worth, Taylor Swift manages to capture part of what it feels like to be a [admitting privilege here -- white, able-bodied, neurotypical, heterosexual, cisgendered] high-school girl. A lot of her songs aren't sophisticated, and some of her lyrics and metaphors are straight from the worst poems I wrote in high school, but there's an earnestness that makes me nostalgic. Her song structures are all formula, but the formulas are there because they work sometimes.
Relatedly, lately I've been obsessed with the idea of the "perfect pop song," and how to write it. My pick for right now is "The Fear" by Lily Allen, but I'd be curious to hear anyone else's contributions.
#4 -- PUPPEHS
SPROING!
I don't know who the people are in either of these photos; I just found the pictures online and oh my goodness, those yawns! Yawn away, my leetle puppeh friend!
And on that note, good night.1:29 AM EDIT:
#5 -- One last thing: when I find a song I like, I will repeat it ad nauseam (everyone else's nausea; not mine) and I just found a new one, which I have so far listened to five times.
Saturday, January 1, 2011
The Classiest New Year's Ever (TM)
Happy New Year!
I keep seeing people online abbreviate New Year's Eve as NYE, and it reminds me of Bill Nye the Science Guy, which is appropriate because he occasionally lectures at the former school of an out-of-town visitor and old friend I was lucky enough to have over the weekend.
Before I get to New Year's, though, I'm going to rewind a little. Last Sunday, New York had a major snowstorm that resulted in a lot of businesses and transportation options getting shut down. Somehow, though, it seems I am the only person I know who didn't have any obligations (baby-sitting, cat-sitting, work, Park Slope Food Coop orientation, etc.) cancelled -- so I did a whole lot of tromping around in the snow, especially since the buses and subway service was questionable at best. (I still don't understand New York City's attitude toward snow -- it snows every year, but every year, it seems that the City doesn't know how to deal with it.) Anyway, I have a few photos to show for the tromping:
It's hard to tell, but that little bit of non-snow in the picture is a car, almost completely buried.
I got a kick out of this "COFFEE" sign because it is so obviously a lie, as there is no coffee on the ground where the arrow is pointing.
Another view of semi-buried cars. It was amazing to see how many cars had gotten stuck in the middle of the road, turned off, and left. I was very thankful that I didn't have to drive, even though I had a very interesting time getting home on Sunday night after babysitting. The trip home usually takes about 20 minutes, but this time it took 2 1/2 hours -- the train that I was on abruptly declared that a random stop in the middle of my trip was its last, so everybody got off. Everyone waiting on the platform groaned, complaining this was the third train that had done this. The rumor was that a train had gotten stuck somewhere. After futilely waiting for about 20 minutes for more information, such as whether there would be any more trains at the station, I decided to brave the snow and winds and go outside to look for a bus (which, according to the local news before I left, were all still running albeit on a delayed schedule, like the subway). I waited a long time for the bus, and about five jerk cabdrivers drove right past me -- why even be out in a blizzard if you're a cabdriver if you're not going to at least make some money from it? It was at least significantly warmer at the bus stop, since the partition blocked most of the wind. At this point, I called Cliff, who called a bunch of car services for me, none of whom picked up their phones. So I decided to continue on to the next-closest subway station, along the way passing strangers with whom I exchanged well-wishes.
There's a common stereotype as New Yorkers as rude, and despite my former barista-ish employment, I still don't think it's true. I do think it's true that people here are much more direct than Midwesterners, but it strikes me less as rudeness and more as focus. I have to say, I appreciate people who walk as quickly as me and say what they mean. Anyway, there is no other experience more illuminating to this stereotype than observing the way people behave toward one another in situations like a blizzard. Overall, people seem so kind -- giving directions, wishing others luck, sharing information. I went to a service at Trinity Church on Wall St. on Christmas Eve, and the sermon was about the kindness of strangers -- and it made me think about how much kindness I've experienced from people who truly owed me nothing. There's something to be said for people treating one another like people, and in a world that is devoid of this a bit too often -- both on a grand scale and a smaller one -- I really believe that unexpected kindness should be celebrated.
Oh, and by the way, the orientation was a success, and I am now a member of the Park Slope Food Coop along with about 12,000 other people. It basically entails working one two-and-a-half hour shift every four weeks, and getting reduced prices on groceries and household products (like Dr. Bronner's!). A lot of the food is organic or minimally treated, and I'm especially excited to have access to good meat, to be part of the community, and to learn a bit more about where my food comes from.
So anyway, back to New Year's. Peters, one of my friends from camp who I hadn't seen in roughly five years, came to visit, and we essentially ran around being awesome. On Friday I had the day off from work, so we went to the Met and wandered, summarizing some of the major life events that had happened since we'd seen each other last and looking at cool stuff. When we got hungry, we got delicious pizza that reminds me of the kind on camp trips to the Kalahari (I actually didn't realize until just now how appropriate that was, since anyone at Christmas Camp had eaten said pizza just the day before).
After that, it was already time to pick up some snacks and beverages and meet Cliff and Liza at Grand Central Station for the Classiest New Year's Ever (tm). We were a little early, so we sat down and did some people-watching until Liza showed up with signed letters on company letterhead that would permit us to be in her Times Square office on the 39th floor to watch the ball drop.
When we arrived at the building, we presented our letters and driver's licenses to the security guards. "We don't have any record of authorized guests for that floor," one of the guards told us. There were about two minutes of panic as we conversed with the guard and tried to determine what had happened and, more importantly, what we could do to remedy it. The guard told us that she couldn't authorize us to be there, since we had not been entered in the computer -- even though Liza had gone through all of the proper guest procedures. Tension mounted until one of the other security guards logged into another computer, and said, "Oh, wait, what were your names? You are on the list. I'm sorry about that." We breathed a collective sigh of relief and headed toward the elevator.
My theory is that the computer mistake was due to Y2K.
Once we got to the office, we broke out the night's necessary accoutrements: Brie, champagne, and Settlers of Catan, among other revelries. (Like I said -- Classiest New Year's Ever.) After boggling over the awesomeness of our view and the huge windows that looked straight out toward the ball, we sat down, poured some drinks, and set up Settlers.
Cliff plans his next move.
Peters looks worried here -- probably rightly so, since we play for blood.
Ridiculously enough, my biggest problem taking pictures was that I was too close to get a good angle. (I know, cry me a river Justin Timberlake-style, right?) Also, the glare on the window, which resulted in the above becoming a self-portrait.
It was bizarre looking down at the huge, tightly-packed crowd (of which I was a part last year!). We also had a bird's eye view of the stage and could clearly see the monitor of the televised program, and we could even faintly hear the bands performing. (Sample moment: playing Settlers, I suddenly recognize the music of the Backstreet Boys and run toward the window in disbelief. Could it be?! And it was! And New Kids on the Block -- wait, what year is this again?! Pretty incredible. So basically, I have now seen both of these bands in concert. Don't argue with me. BSB4LYFE)
The crowd dissipated quickly after midnight (though the huge clock in the square remained probably purposely stuck at midnight for at least thirty minutes after the fact). In the above picture, I was trying to get a picture of how much garbage was left on the streets, but it's pretty tough to see. I also took a ton of pictures of the fireworks on every hour, all of which were in vain due to my phone's modest camera as well as, I'm sure, my own human error.
View of some of the confetti as we were leaving the building.
This picture of me is pretty crazypants, but I am including it anyway because I realized I didn't take very many pictures of people, and those probably make for more interesting blog posts. (You see the sacrifices I make for you! YOU!) One of our collective goals for the night was to remember to take pictures, and we definitely took more than usual -- though Liza and I note with amusement that since Gwen has been in England, we have almost no pictures of our friends from the past year, except for the few days she was visiting. There definitely needs to be one photographer in every group of friends.
After the Times Square mayhem waned, we headed out to Cliff's place in Bushwick for a little while. We intended on taking a cab home, but little did I know that it is almost completely impossible to get a cab on New Year's Eve. So when we got a burst of energy around 5:00 am, we made a break for the L-train. It was a treacherous ride that involved accidentally stepping in someone's vomit (I am seriously anti-puke), but we made it, and enjoyed seeing people on the subway acting so uncharacteristically friendly and talkative toward one another. It is fair to say that everyone was in a party-mood.
We got home around 6:00 a.m. and promptly went to sleep. In the early afternoon, we got up and went to Huckleberry's, my all-time favorite brunch place, in which we both got delicious breakfast-y foods with a side of BACON, and I decided that one of my goals for the year is to get really, really good at making bacon. (There might also be a joke somewhere here about bringing it home...)
All in all -- an excellent start to the New Year that couldn't have been more perfect.
2010 was a pretty big year -- on St. Patrick's Day I started dating Cliff (who somehow manages to not only be compassionate, brilliant, and talented, but also really, really, ridiculously good-looking as a bonus), I signed an apartment lease like a grown-up, I got two new jobs and quit one, I was a bridesmaid for the first time, and I got to take a solo backpacking trip around Wales. I took the GRE. I read a lot and tried to fill in gaps in my knowledge (which I'm continuing to do, voraciously). I wrote a lot, and founded Rooftop Reading Series, with three rooftop readings to date. I've reconnected with old friends and made some new ones.
So here's to 2011 -- onward and upward.
I keep seeing people online abbreviate New Year's Eve as NYE, and it reminds me of Bill Nye the Science Guy, which is appropriate because he occasionally lectures at the former school of an out-of-town visitor and old friend I was lucky enough to have over the weekend.
Before I get to New Year's, though, I'm going to rewind a little. Last Sunday, New York had a major snowstorm that resulted in a lot of businesses and transportation options getting shut down. Somehow, though, it seems I am the only person I know who didn't have any obligations (baby-sitting, cat-sitting, work, Park Slope Food Coop orientation, etc.) cancelled -- so I did a whole lot of tromping around in the snow, especially since the buses and subway service was questionable at best. (I still don't understand New York City's attitude toward snow -- it snows every year, but every year, it seems that the City doesn't know how to deal with it.) Anyway, I have a few photos to show for the tromping:
It's hard to tell, but that little bit of non-snow in the picture is a car, almost completely buried.
I got a kick out of this "COFFEE" sign because it is so obviously a lie, as there is no coffee on the ground where the arrow is pointing.
Another view of semi-buried cars. It was amazing to see how many cars had gotten stuck in the middle of the road, turned off, and left. I was very thankful that I didn't have to drive, even though I had a very interesting time getting home on Sunday night after babysitting. The trip home usually takes about 20 minutes, but this time it took 2 1/2 hours -- the train that I was on abruptly declared that a random stop in the middle of my trip was its last, so everybody got off. Everyone waiting on the platform groaned, complaining this was the third train that had done this. The rumor was that a train had gotten stuck somewhere. After futilely waiting for about 20 minutes for more information, such as whether there would be any more trains at the station, I decided to brave the snow and winds and go outside to look for a bus (which, according to the local news before I left, were all still running albeit on a delayed schedule, like the subway). I waited a long time for the bus, and about five jerk cabdrivers drove right past me -- why even be out in a blizzard if you're a cabdriver if you're not going to at least make some money from it? It was at least significantly warmer at the bus stop, since the partition blocked most of the wind. At this point, I called Cliff, who called a bunch of car services for me, none of whom picked up their phones. So I decided to continue on to the next-closest subway station, along the way passing strangers with whom I exchanged well-wishes.
There's a common stereotype as New Yorkers as rude, and despite my former barista-ish employment, I still don't think it's true. I do think it's true that people here are much more direct than Midwesterners, but it strikes me less as rudeness and more as focus. I have to say, I appreciate people who walk as quickly as me and say what they mean. Anyway, there is no other experience more illuminating to this stereotype than observing the way people behave toward one another in situations like a blizzard. Overall, people seem so kind -- giving directions, wishing others luck, sharing information. I went to a service at Trinity Church on Wall St. on Christmas Eve, and the sermon was about the kindness of strangers -- and it made me think about how much kindness I've experienced from people who truly owed me nothing. There's something to be said for people treating one another like people, and in a world that is devoid of this a bit too often -- both on a grand scale and a smaller one -- I really believe that unexpected kindness should be celebrated.
Oh, and by the way, the orientation was a success, and I am now a member of the Park Slope Food Coop along with about 12,000 other people. It basically entails working one two-and-a-half hour shift every four weeks, and getting reduced prices on groceries and household products (like Dr. Bronner's!). A lot of the food is organic or minimally treated, and I'm especially excited to have access to good meat, to be part of the community, and to learn a bit more about where my food comes from.
So anyway, back to New Year's. Peters, one of my friends from camp who I hadn't seen in roughly five years, came to visit, and we essentially ran around being awesome. On Friday I had the day off from work, so we went to the Met and wandered, summarizing some of the major life events that had happened since we'd seen each other last and looking at cool stuff. When we got hungry, we got delicious pizza that reminds me of the kind on camp trips to the Kalahari (I actually didn't realize until just now how appropriate that was, since anyone at Christmas Camp had eaten said pizza just the day before).
After that, it was already time to pick up some snacks and beverages and meet Cliff and Liza at Grand Central Station for the Classiest New Year's Ever (tm). We were a little early, so we sat down and did some people-watching until Liza showed up with signed letters on company letterhead that would permit us to be in her Times Square office on the 39th floor to watch the ball drop.
When we arrived at the building, we presented our letters and driver's licenses to the security guards. "We don't have any record of authorized guests for that floor," one of the guards told us. There were about two minutes of panic as we conversed with the guard and tried to determine what had happened and, more importantly, what we could do to remedy it. The guard told us that she couldn't authorize us to be there, since we had not been entered in the computer -- even though Liza had gone through all of the proper guest procedures. Tension mounted until one of the other security guards logged into another computer, and said, "Oh, wait, what were your names? You are on the list. I'm sorry about that." We breathed a collective sigh of relief and headed toward the elevator.
My theory is that the computer mistake was due to Y2K.
Once we got to the office, we broke out the night's necessary accoutrements: Brie, champagne, and Settlers of Catan, among other revelries. (Like I said -- Classiest New Year's Ever.) After boggling over the awesomeness of our view and the huge windows that looked straight out toward the ball, we sat down, poured some drinks, and set up Settlers.
Cliff plans his next move.
Peters looks worried here -- probably rightly so, since we play for blood.
Ridiculously enough, my biggest problem taking pictures was that I was too close to get a good angle. (I know, cry me a river Justin Timberlake-style, right?) Also, the glare on the window, which resulted in the above becoming a self-portrait.
It was bizarre looking down at the huge, tightly-packed crowd (of which I was a part last year!). We also had a bird's eye view of the stage and could clearly see the monitor of the televised program, and we could even faintly hear the bands performing. (Sample moment: playing Settlers, I suddenly recognize the music of the Backstreet Boys and run toward the window in disbelief. Could it be?! And it was! And New Kids on the Block -- wait, what year is this again?! Pretty incredible. So basically, I have now seen both of these bands in concert. Don't argue with me. BSB4LYFE)
The crowd dissipated quickly after midnight (though the huge clock in the square remained probably purposely stuck at midnight for at least thirty minutes after the fact). In the above picture, I was trying to get a picture of how much garbage was left on the streets, but it's pretty tough to see. I also took a ton of pictures of the fireworks on every hour, all of which were in vain due to my phone's modest camera as well as, I'm sure, my own human error.
View of some of the confetti as we were leaving the building.
This picture of me is pretty crazypants, but I am including it anyway because I realized I didn't take very many pictures of people, and those probably make for more interesting blog posts. (You see the sacrifices I make for you! YOU!) One of our collective goals for the night was to remember to take pictures, and we definitely took more than usual -- though Liza and I note with amusement that since Gwen has been in England, we have almost no pictures of our friends from the past year, except for the few days she was visiting. There definitely needs to be one photographer in every group of friends.
After the Times Square mayhem waned, we headed out to Cliff's place in Bushwick for a little while. We intended on taking a cab home, but little did I know that it is almost completely impossible to get a cab on New Year's Eve. So when we got a burst of energy around 5:00 am, we made a break for the L-train. It was a treacherous ride that involved accidentally stepping in someone's vomit (I am seriously anti-puke), but we made it, and enjoyed seeing people on the subway acting so uncharacteristically friendly and talkative toward one another. It is fair to say that everyone was in a party-mood.
We got home around 6:00 a.m. and promptly went to sleep. In the early afternoon, we got up and went to Huckleberry's, my all-time favorite brunch place, in which we both got delicious breakfast-y foods with a side of BACON, and I decided that one of my goals for the year is to get really, really good at making bacon. (There might also be a joke somewhere here about bringing it home...)
All in all -- an excellent start to the New Year that couldn't have been more perfect.
2010 was a pretty big year -- on St. Patrick's Day I started dating Cliff (who somehow manages to not only be compassionate, brilliant, and talented, but also really, really, ridiculously good-looking as a bonus), I signed an apartment lease like a grown-up, I got two new jobs and quit one, I was a bridesmaid for the first time, and I got to take a solo backpacking trip around Wales. I took the GRE. I read a lot and tried to fill in gaps in my knowledge (which I'm continuing to do, voraciously). I wrote a lot, and founded Rooftop Reading Series, with three rooftop readings to date. I've reconnected with old friends and made some new ones.
So here's to 2011 -- onward and upward.
Sunday, December 5, 2010
The Lighting of a Tree
We did indeed make it to the Tree Lighting at Rockefeller Center.
We were sent in circles by police directing the foot traffic. It felt a lot like Labyrinth, except without David Bowie. Then, periodically, the police would say we had to turn around and go another way. It was all very confusing -- one would think that if an event happens every year, there'd be a logical way to direct the crowd. If one did think that, however, that one would be wrong.
It was essentially pandemonium:
We were sent in circles by police directing the foot traffic. It felt a lot like Labyrinth, except without David Bowie. Then, periodically, the police would say we had to turn around and go another way. It was all very confusing -- one would think that if an event happens every year, there'd be a logical way to direct the crowd. If one did think that, however, that one would be wrong.
Thankfully, Cliff and I are both pretty laid-back, so we just wandered along with the crowds, devising a plan to get us as close to the tree as possible. We ended up pretty close -- just around the corner from the J.Crew in Rockefeller Center -- however, because of the angle of the buildings, we couldn't actually see the tree or the stage on which the performers were. We could, however, see a monitor showing these things.
We were amused by the atrocious lip-synching, and decided that it was a bit of a backhanded compliment to be asked to perform for a free outdoor event like this (unless you are a Rockette -- the Rockettes are awesome), because it means that you're not a big enough deal anymore to make people riot. We imagined how much more ridiculous the crowd would be if, say, Justin Bieber were a performer.
Also, apparently Annie Lennox has a Christmas album and it sounds exactly like one would imagine an Annie Lennox Christmas album to sound like.
At the crucial tree-lighting moment, the monitor was stuck on a stock image of "Christmas of Rockefeller Center". There was booing from our section of the crowd (but not us, because we're classy like that).
Then, a minute later, there was chaos. We managed to work our way toward the tree so Cliff could take a picture with his fancy iWhatever gadget (all photos in this post were taken by him):
One way to tree.
Some people started pushing and yelling things and I was all like, "Dude. Christmas."
Anyway, I'm glad that I went. I had fun, felt Christmas-y, and wouldn't place it totally in the "never again" category, but I don't feel like I need to make it an every-year tradition, either.
In other news, Brooklyn is pretty.
Tuesday, November 30, 2010
PRETTY SHINY THING
Going through the photos I keep in the "Pictures I Like" folder on my laptop and rediscovered this one (Oscar de la Renta, 2010). It is pretty and shiny and I wanted to share it with you pretty, shiny, people. (And then maybe you will feel morally required to share it with me in return and let me wear it at least once if you ever own it.)
Probably it costs about the same as a pony, but looking is free.
Cliff & I are going to brave the crowds and rain tonight to try to go to the Rockefeller Center Tree Lighting. I am acutely aware of the fact that there are many things in this city that will either be totally excellent or "never again", and it's impossible to know which is which before I do them.
A question: if you were going to take someone on a tour of your childhood, where would you go? What would you do?
Saturday, November 27, 2010
on boat-cake, poetry
There are places in this world that make me reflexively lower my voice, not only out of respect, but to reflect the sense of quiet that comes over me. Poets House is one of those places.
(Photo from their website.)
I've mentioned to some of you that I was the lucky recipient of a membership card as a gift. Before that, I had heard of the place and thought, "Hmm, I should go there sometime." -- and then, of course, didn't. They run some fantastic events, many of which involve the winning combination of poetry, wine, and cheese. I've been to a few readings there, most notably Kathleen Norris, who read some of her own poems and talked about theology in poetry. I also went to see a Greek avant-garde poet named Demosthenes Agrafiotis, whose work didn't particularly speak to me, but I appreciate the conversations about poetry translation that it sparked. (So many people dismiss translating poetry as something worthless, and it's such a loss. There's so much to be gained, for poets, translators, readers, and most of all, those with some amount of overlap in those categories.)
Anyway, I have been remiss in taking advantage of their beautiful library, so Monica and I went today to read and take in the beautiful Battery Park sunset across the street. (I can't believe that no one has photographed this and documented it online for posterity. It is a thing of beauty. I suppose that's a nudge that I should start carrying my camera around more, and maybe eventually get one that actually takes non-blurry pictures in less-than-perfect lighting.) I wish this library were open all the time -- nothing could possibly be better for my mental health. I don't know how to describe it -- the closest I can come is that it feels like stepping into a huge cathedral with stained glass windows letting in lots of light through the rafters, except without the cathedral or the stained glass windows or the rafters. (With the light, though.)
I also want to plug my new favorite brunch place, which is such a hidden gem that it doesn't even have a single Yelp! review. I don't even have a Yelp! account and now I am considering signing up just so I can leave a glowing review. I was initially reluctant to go to Bay Ridge to meet up and have coffee before heading the opposite direction toward Battery Park -- I mean, there's coffee everywhere in Manhattan, right? -- but when neither of us could come up with an idea of where to go close to Poets House, we decided to try this place in Bay Ridge that Monica had longingly walked past a number of times.
We were only going to have coffee. We really were. Then, we looked at the menu.
And we wanted to eat ALL THE THINGS. Pancakes (dark chocolate chips? bananas foster? strawberries & nutella? vanilla with pear? dear Jesus the options -- and I am not taking the Lord's name in vain here because this was my honest prayer -- dear Jesus the options. And I'm only through the pancake part of things), waffles, breakfast burritos, eggs benedict, and the most amazing sounding burger ever with bacon and cheese and "secret barbecue sauce" (I am a barbecue sauce connoisseur, so the concept of "secret barbecue sauce" is particularly intriguing. It's like they know me). We had to tell the waitress that we needed more time to decide approximately five times. Finally, I decided on the secret magic delicious burger and promised myself to eat the vanilla-pancake with pear at a future date, and Monica and her sister decided the best way to solve delicious-menu deer-in-the-headlights was to order one eggs benedict and one breakfast burrito, cut each in half and swap. Done and done.
Oh, and you can get anything on this delicious brunch menu, plus unlimited (or at least we were never told "no more") coffee and an adorably-sized glass of orange juice for $9.95. I'm so unbelievably stoked. I promise no one is paying me to write this. (Though if you were to give me $9.95 to taste test anything on the menu for you, I would totally do it. Special offer, dudes!) I will say, though, that the restaurant is gigantic and although there were other people there, there was no wait and plenty of open tables, which is a little worrisome during prime brunch hours. So, I will continue to support delicious brunch and I'll totally go there with you probably, depending on who you are.
The restaurant is:
Huckleberry's NY
8901 3rd Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11209
To get there, take the R-train to 86th St. in Bay Ridge. Huckleberry's is on 3rd Ave. between 88th and 89th Streets. (I learned via Google just now that there is also a bar in Williamsburg called Huckleberry's -- don't let the hipsters lead you astray. Bay Ridge, not Williamsburg.)
Today was my first trip to Bay Ridge and if, in a decade or two, I start talking about wanting to move to Staten Island and buy a house, I would like all of you to collectively remind me that Bay Ridge is both much prettier and more accessible via public transportation than Staten Island, and that there are houses in Bay Ridge, too.
I made my first real trip to Staten Island last night, and by real I mean "with a destination" rather than taking the ferry for fun (and it actually is really fun, taking it for fun -- great views of the skyline and Statue of Liberty, plus it's free and you get to be on a boat like T-Pain). Cliff and I went to visit our friend John, and I'd just like to illustrate what this trip entailed:
* Taking the subway to the ferry (about 40 minutes)
* Waiting for the ferry, which runs every half hour and then cuts down to once an hour late at night (about 20 minutes)
* Taking the ferry (about 25 minutes)
* Waiting for the bus, which we just barely missed (about 30 minutes)
* Taking the bus (about 30 minutes)
* Walking from the bus stop (about 15 minutes)
By the time we got there we were cold and desperately in need of beer and a warm puppy. Thankfully, both of these were in the house when we arrived. (My brain switched onto OMG PUPPEH mode for basically the whole night.) We played MarioKart on the Wii and I proclaimed that Baby Mario is not a real character (which is a statement I wholeheartedly stand by the next day, despite the amusement of my compatriots), and generally had a great time.
My goal was to get home by 3:00 a.m. so I wouldn't be comatose for coffee-and-poetry today. John told us that the ferry left at 1:30, so we left the party at 12:45 to catch the bus. We waited and waited, and still no bus -- so, still hoping to catch the 1:30 ferry, we called a cab, which shockingly told us it would take 15 minutes to get there (normally it's more like 5). All of the businesses by the freezing-cold bus stop were closed, and we stared longingly at a pizza place at which we would had been enthusiastic patrons had it not decided to forsake us and remain closed.
Finally, we saw a cab across the street and jumped in.
"Wait, did you call? Is this the pick-up at [name of bar I can't remember]?" the cabbie asked.
"Yes, that's us," I said, noting that the bar was almost right at the intersection that we'd specified.
The cabbie had the world's most-leisurely radio conversation with another cabbie that established that this wasn't actually our cab, and that ours was coming in a few minutes. However, since this cab's customers were nowhere to be seen, he would drive us and let the second cab get the second group of people.
This was at 1:21. We wanted to make the 1:30 ferry. If we didn't, we'd be stuck at the ferry terminal until 2:30, and I probably wouldn't go home until about 4.
It was on.
Cliff asked the cabbie how much it was going to be to the ferry terminal, and we began to assemble our collective ten dollars plus tip.
"Here, hand me the money," I told Cliff. "I'll pay him while you open the door. You ready to run?"
We further elaborated on our plans in hushed breaths. Meanwhile, the cabbie turned up the radio so that "Little Drummer Boy" was blasting. Not exactly an ideal soundtrack for a high-speed car chase, perhaps.
The minutes ticked by. When we pulled out in front of the ferry terminal, it was 1:29. I handed the cabbie the money and told him good night while Cliff opened the car-door. All according to plan, so far.
Then we sprinted flat-out like we were in an action movie, dodging slowpokes with shopping bags.
When we reached the lobby area, we slowed to a walk and looked around. There were plenty of people there -- mostly sitting calmly while homeless people slept on the benches. It certainly didn't seem like we'd just missed it -- but people weren't standing to board, either. Curioser and curioser.
Bemused, we approached the ferry schedule.
2:00. Not 1:30. We had been misinformed.
(So anyway, we did catch the ferry, and I made it home by 3. But we totally could be in action movies and do our own stunts. Especially if they involved running to catch the ferry like Staten Island tourists, which I guess we are, since we don't live there and all.)
Also, I am developing new life rules for myself. One of them is to never do laundry on a weekend (it ends up eating up your entire day -- weekday evenings are much less brutal). The other is never dating anyone who, when you suggest that he bring "boat cake" along on an evening adventure, doesn't show up with beautifully-tinfoil-wrapped leftover chocolate cake and sweet-potato pie from Thanksgiving plus an equally-beautifully-tinfoil-wrapped fork with which to eat it. (That sentence got a bit overly-complicated, so suffice to say -- Cliff brings me cake to eat on boats and that is one of many things that makes him a good, good man.)
I am writing ALL THE THINGS tonight to make up for only updating once all month. Here is a summary for the sake of brevity and thankfulness for those who are still reading (hi Mom):
* My mom in Wisconsin won two tickets to Promises, Promises on Broadway. Cliff & I went and had an awesome time, and waited at stage door to talk to Kristin Chenoweth, Sean Hayes, and Molly Shannon and get my t-shirt and tote bag (also courtesy of Mom's winnings) autographed. Everybody was super friendly, especially Molly Shannon. Kristin Chenoweth was even tinier than I expected, and she came out with a bodyguard who started acting gruff when some fans wanted to videotape Kristin saying hello to their friends. She was calm about it though, saying she couldn't because she has had creepy stalkers who manipulate her videos to make her say gross things.
* My apartment building just put up Christmas lights and they are beautiful. I will take a picture when it's not cold outside and warm in my room. So, probably never. (Just kidding. I will take one, eventually. Probably.)
* I am really into the poet Suzanne Gardinier lately, who is also a Sarah Lawrence professor and a lovely human being. Her book Dialogue with the Archipelago is heart-stoppingly beautiful. It combines Greek mythology with the story of the Garden of Eden, and interweaves it with stories about relationships in a series of related poems and dialogues. My favorite are her short poems, some of which are like a really awesome punch in the gut. I once described a friend's music as making me homesick for places I haven't been yet -- that's how I feel about Suzanne's poems. (After being out all day, I am enjoying my evening by finishing the book while drinking peach schnapps with Trader Joe's orange-peach-mango juice. I am a genius.)
* I met Cliff's whole family for Thanksgiving! Nothing exploded, and we ate a lot of delicious food and then spiked the punch with Malibu. All in all, totally fantastic. Also, I love that Thanksgiving is the gift that keeps on giving -- not only did we eat far too much, but we also took home plates to eat for lunch the next day AND boat-cake. (I may need to go back on The Cake Diet in preparation for winter.)
* I also heard the poet Cate Marvin read at a friend's reading series and I can't wait to read her book, Fragment of a Head of a Queen, which I immediately put on reserve at the Brooklyn Public Library after hearing her read. I really enjoyed seeing her poems projected on the screen, since she does such gorgeous work aesthetically.
The title of the book is inspired by this sculpture, on display at the Met:
I think once I get the book, I will take it to the Met and read while I visit the sculpture. That sounds like a great day, doesn't it?
(Photo from their website.)
I've mentioned to some of you that I was the lucky recipient of a membership card as a gift. Before that, I had heard of the place and thought, "Hmm, I should go there sometime." -- and then, of course, didn't. They run some fantastic events, many of which involve the winning combination of poetry, wine, and cheese. I've been to a few readings there, most notably Kathleen Norris, who read some of her own poems and talked about theology in poetry. I also went to see a Greek avant-garde poet named Demosthenes Agrafiotis, whose work didn't particularly speak to me, but I appreciate the conversations about poetry translation that it sparked. (So many people dismiss translating poetry as something worthless, and it's such a loss. There's so much to be gained, for poets, translators, readers, and most of all, those with some amount of overlap in those categories.)
Anyway, I have been remiss in taking advantage of their beautiful library, so Monica and I went today to read and take in the beautiful Battery Park sunset across the street. (I can't believe that no one has photographed this and documented it online for posterity. It is a thing of beauty. I suppose that's a nudge that I should start carrying my camera around more, and maybe eventually get one that actually takes non-blurry pictures in less-than-perfect lighting.) I wish this library were open all the time -- nothing could possibly be better for my mental health. I don't know how to describe it -- the closest I can come is that it feels like stepping into a huge cathedral with stained glass windows letting in lots of light through the rafters, except without the cathedral or the stained glass windows or the rafters. (With the light, though.)
I also want to plug my new favorite brunch place, which is such a hidden gem that it doesn't even have a single Yelp! review. I don't even have a Yelp! account and now I am considering signing up just so I can leave a glowing review. I was initially reluctant to go to Bay Ridge to meet up and have coffee before heading the opposite direction toward Battery Park -- I mean, there's coffee everywhere in Manhattan, right? -- but when neither of us could come up with an idea of where to go close to Poets House, we decided to try this place in Bay Ridge that Monica had longingly walked past a number of times.
We were only going to have coffee. We really were. Then, we looked at the menu.
And we wanted to eat ALL THE THINGS. Pancakes (dark chocolate chips? bananas foster? strawberries & nutella? vanilla with pear? dear Jesus the options -- and I am not taking the Lord's name in vain here because this was my honest prayer -- dear Jesus the options. And I'm only through the pancake part of things), waffles, breakfast burritos, eggs benedict, and the most amazing sounding burger ever with bacon and cheese and "secret barbecue sauce" (I am a barbecue sauce connoisseur, so the concept of "secret barbecue sauce" is particularly intriguing. It's like they know me). We had to tell the waitress that we needed more time to decide approximately five times. Finally, I decided on the secret magic delicious burger and promised myself to eat the vanilla-pancake with pear at a future date, and Monica and her sister decided the best way to solve delicious-menu deer-in-the-headlights was to order one eggs benedict and one breakfast burrito, cut each in half and swap. Done and done.
Oh, and you can get anything on this delicious brunch menu, plus unlimited (or at least we were never told "no more") coffee and an adorably-sized glass of orange juice for $9.95. I'm so unbelievably stoked. I promise no one is paying me to write this. (Though if you were to give me $9.95 to taste test anything on the menu for you, I would totally do it. Special offer, dudes!) I will say, though, that the restaurant is gigantic and although there were other people there, there was no wait and plenty of open tables, which is a little worrisome during prime brunch hours. So, I will continue to support delicious brunch and I'll totally go there with you probably, depending on who you are.
The restaurant is:
Huckleberry's NY
8901 3rd Ave.
Brooklyn, NY 11209
To get there, take the R-train to 86th St. in Bay Ridge. Huckleberry's is on 3rd Ave. between 88th and 89th Streets. (I learned via Google just now that there is also a bar in Williamsburg called Huckleberry's -- don't let the hipsters lead you astray. Bay Ridge, not Williamsburg.)
Today was my first trip to Bay Ridge and if, in a decade or two, I start talking about wanting to move to Staten Island and buy a house, I would like all of you to collectively remind me that Bay Ridge is both much prettier and more accessible via public transportation than Staten Island, and that there are houses in Bay Ridge, too.
I made my first real trip to Staten Island last night, and by real I mean "with a destination" rather than taking the ferry for fun (and it actually is really fun, taking it for fun -- great views of the skyline and Statue of Liberty, plus it's free and you get to be on a boat like T-Pain). Cliff and I went to visit our friend John, and I'd just like to illustrate what this trip entailed:
* Taking the subway to the ferry (about 40 minutes)
* Waiting for the ferry, which runs every half hour and then cuts down to once an hour late at night (about 20 minutes)
* Taking the ferry (about 25 minutes)
* Waiting for the bus, which we just barely missed (about 30 minutes)
* Taking the bus (about 30 minutes)
* Walking from the bus stop (about 15 minutes)
By the time we got there we were cold and desperately in need of beer and a warm puppy. Thankfully, both of these were in the house when we arrived. (My brain switched onto OMG PUPPEH mode for basically the whole night.) We played MarioKart on the Wii and I proclaimed that Baby Mario is not a real character (which is a statement I wholeheartedly stand by the next day, despite the amusement of my compatriots), and generally had a great time.
My goal was to get home by 3:00 a.m. so I wouldn't be comatose for coffee-and-poetry today. John told us that the ferry left at 1:30, so we left the party at 12:45 to catch the bus. We waited and waited, and still no bus -- so, still hoping to catch the 1:30 ferry, we called a cab, which shockingly told us it would take 15 minutes to get there (normally it's more like 5). All of the businesses by the freezing-cold bus stop were closed, and we stared longingly at a pizza place at which we would had been enthusiastic patrons had it not decided to forsake us and remain closed.
Finally, we saw a cab across the street and jumped in.
"Wait, did you call? Is this the pick-up at [name of bar I can't remember]?" the cabbie asked.
"Yes, that's us," I said, noting that the bar was almost right at the intersection that we'd specified.
The cabbie had the world's most-leisurely radio conversation with another cabbie that established that this wasn't actually our cab, and that ours was coming in a few minutes. However, since this cab's customers were nowhere to be seen, he would drive us and let the second cab get the second group of people.
This was at 1:21. We wanted to make the 1:30 ferry. If we didn't, we'd be stuck at the ferry terminal until 2:30, and I probably wouldn't go home until about 4.
It was on.
Cliff asked the cabbie how much it was going to be to the ferry terminal, and we began to assemble our collective ten dollars plus tip.
"Here, hand me the money," I told Cliff. "I'll pay him while you open the door. You ready to run?"
We further elaborated on our plans in hushed breaths. Meanwhile, the cabbie turned up the radio so that "Little Drummer Boy" was blasting. Not exactly an ideal soundtrack for a high-speed car chase, perhaps.
The minutes ticked by. When we pulled out in front of the ferry terminal, it was 1:29. I handed the cabbie the money and told him good night while Cliff opened the car-door. All according to plan, so far.
Then we sprinted flat-out like we were in an action movie, dodging slowpokes with shopping bags.
When we reached the lobby area, we slowed to a walk and looked around. There were plenty of people there -- mostly sitting calmly while homeless people slept on the benches. It certainly didn't seem like we'd just missed it -- but people weren't standing to board, either. Curioser and curioser.
Bemused, we approached the ferry schedule.
2:00. Not 1:30. We had been misinformed.
(So anyway, we did catch the ferry, and I made it home by 3. But we totally could be in action movies and do our own stunts. Especially if they involved running to catch the ferry like Staten Island tourists, which I guess we are, since we don't live there and all.)
Also, I am developing new life rules for myself. One of them is to never do laundry on a weekend (it ends up eating up your entire day -- weekday evenings are much less brutal). The other is never dating anyone who, when you suggest that he bring "boat cake" along on an evening adventure, doesn't show up with beautifully-tinfoil-wrapped leftover chocolate cake and sweet-potato pie from Thanksgiving plus an equally-beautifully-tinfoil-wrapped fork with which to eat it. (That sentence got a bit overly-complicated, so suffice to say -- Cliff brings me cake to eat on boats and that is one of many things that makes him a good, good man.)
I am writing ALL THE THINGS tonight to make up for only updating once all month. Here is a summary for the sake of brevity and thankfulness for those who are still reading (hi Mom):
* My mom in Wisconsin won two tickets to Promises, Promises on Broadway. Cliff & I went and had an awesome time, and waited at stage door to talk to Kristin Chenoweth, Sean Hayes, and Molly Shannon and get my t-shirt and tote bag (also courtesy of Mom's winnings) autographed. Everybody was super friendly, especially Molly Shannon. Kristin Chenoweth was even tinier than I expected, and she came out with a bodyguard who started acting gruff when some fans wanted to videotape Kristin saying hello to their friends. She was calm about it though, saying she couldn't because she has had creepy stalkers who manipulate her videos to make her say gross things.
* My apartment building just put up Christmas lights and they are beautiful. I will take a picture when it's not cold outside and warm in my room. So, probably never. (Just kidding. I will take one, eventually. Probably.)
* I am really into the poet Suzanne Gardinier lately, who is also a Sarah Lawrence professor and a lovely human being. Her book Dialogue with the Archipelago is heart-stoppingly beautiful. It combines Greek mythology with the story of the Garden of Eden, and interweaves it with stories about relationships in a series of related poems and dialogues. My favorite are her short poems, some of which are like a really awesome punch in the gut. I once described a friend's music as making me homesick for places I haven't been yet -- that's how I feel about Suzanne's poems. (After being out all day, I am enjoying my evening by finishing the book while drinking peach schnapps with Trader Joe's orange-peach-mango juice. I am a genius.)
* I met Cliff's whole family for Thanksgiving! Nothing exploded, and we ate a lot of delicious food and then spiked the punch with Malibu. All in all, totally fantastic. Also, I love that Thanksgiving is the gift that keeps on giving -- not only did we eat far too much, but we also took home plates to eat for lunch the next day AND boat-cake. (I may need to go back on The Cake Diet in preparation for winter.)
* I also heard the poet Cate Marvin read at a friend's reading series and I can't wait to read her book, Fragment of a Head of a Queen, which I immediately put on reserve at the Brooklyn Public Library after hearing her read. I really enjoyed seeing her poems projected on the screen, since she does such gorgeous work aesthetically.
The title of the book is inspired by this sculpture, on display at the Met:
I think once I get the book, I will take it to the Met and read while I visit the sculpture. That sounds like a great day, doesn't it?
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Like many people, I had come to New York City with this idea that I was somehow extraordinary. The important part wasn't "extraordinary," it was "somehow" -- I wasn't quite sure what kind of renown it was, exactly, that I was destined for. I just knew that I was really good at something, or that I could be, if I could just figure out what. Free-floating ambition is toxic because it means that anyone who has accomplished anything in any realm of human endeavor is the enemy because she might be your competition. So you hate everyone a little bit, but behind this wall of hatred you still feel vulnerable. And you are vulnerable, but not because of the competition. You're vulnerable because if anyone points you in anything that seems like a direction, that's where you'll go.
-- Emily Gould, And the Heart Says Whatever
The book as a whole left me wanting something that it didn't quite deliver, but there were a few parts that particularly resonated. I think it's one of the saddest books I've ever read.
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