Hard Day's Night

"I think you just got married."

2007-12-04T00:12:00.001-05:00

A broken mirror means bad luck, but what does a broken light bulb mean?

Herbivorous: An addendum

2007-12-02T20:52:00.000-05:00

Today at lunch I had a half a pastrami sandwich. I looked at it and thought, "Vicky, you're going to pay for this later." Two hours later, I was running to the bathroom in tears.

I'll make a post that is longer than three sentences soon.

Quote of the Day

2007-11-20T23:42:00.001-05:00

"Mom, when it's cold and it rains, it's called snow."

Praying for good weather tomorrow.

Bad Behavior

2007-11-17T00:11:00.000-05:00

Tonight I took the subway home, carrying my grocery bags. The trains were crowded and running behind. I got on the train when it did come and had to stand in the middle of the train without holding on to anything. When it got to the next stop, the man who had been standing behind me shoved me aside. I elbowed him; it was probably a bad idea, but I did it on impulse. He turned around and shoved me. He got all up in my face and yelled, "Take it easy lady!" I was shocked, because he pushed me but also because I think "lady" is usually reserved for woman older than me. I heard a few "Whoa"s behind me. I just stood there with my mouth hanging open, but he was gone.

Irony Alert

2007-11-13T22:21:00.000-05:00

I can't tell the difference between sincerety and sarcasm anymore. We spend so much of our time being brash and cynical, that when people put on their serious faces I don't know when to stop laughing.

I think it started when I read McSweeney's tribute to Amanda Davis, and thought it was a witty little satire. Yeah, asshole.

But today was a cavalcade of profound obtusity and galling ignorance.

First from Jezebel's post about Donda West. Look, she was by all accounts a great woman, amazing scholar and devoted mom, but when did not speaking ill of the dead become lauding them in (embarrasingly) extravagent ways? Why, as a society, do we have to canonize the recently deceased? It just rings hollow. How many of these people even knew her name yesterday or could identify her picture?

Then on a forum that I occasionaly read, I ran across this gem in a thread devoted to current events:

The other thing, that I think bothers people is the fact that many immigrants from Mexico in particular refuse to learn English. In some cases they get huffy if you don't speak Spanish. I think it is about more than just race, a lot of it has to do with what many see as lack of assimilation: many Mexican immigrants don't come here to become Americans. At least this is what I read in my local paper practically everyday.
I'm all for people speaking multiple languages, but one should not have to learn another language just to get by in ones own country. And honestly I think we are doing our children our huge disservice - the language of the future is clearly that of the Chinese and that is the language we need to be learning.

Um, I was nodding along "ignorant bigot, ignorant bigot" and then, bam, China's taking over! Now I don't live in along the U.S./ Mexico border in one of these towns where you allegedly can't tell what side of the Rio Grande you're on, but New York has it's share of legal and illegal immigrants. I have never had any expect me to be able to speak their native. Also, I don't think being able to say "comprende, ese?" is exactly being fluent in Spanish. But this is a joke, right? Right!?

Back to Jezebel, later this afternoon in a comment about the Angelina Jolie-penned article being published in The Economist, I read this:

I don't understand the Angelina hatred. I only wish I had the money and time to learn more about all the horrible things going on in the world so that I could help in some way. Good for her for caring and wanting to help. Give her an A for effort at least...

Haha...ha? Can we give the United Nations a C- for aptitude?

Meat Manifesto

2007-11-11T16:13:00.000-05:00

I don't like meat, and while that sentiment may keep me from ever getting a date again, I'm willing to make it. I'm not sure what motivated me to finally make a serious committment, but now after ten years of flirting with going veg, I think I might actually go through with it.

I remember sitting on my grandmother's couch when I was five years old, eating bologna and being completely disgusted. I'd overheard that in some factories, they used toilet paper (I'm guessing unused) as filler in the bologna, and I tore the slice into pieces to see if I could find it. But the toilet paper didn't bother me nearly as much as the idea that I was eating flesh.

When I was twelve, my sister and I started the non-egg eaters club and loudly refused to eat scrambled eggs at the dinner table. When I read Jude the Obscure, and Jude became revolted by killing and eating a pig, I seriously considered forgoing meat. It wasn't just a twentieth-century hippie notion, the Victorians thought so too. I announced to my parents that I wasn't going to eat meat anymore. I was met with laughter (my dad) and shrieking (my mom.)

I didn't seriously stop eating meat until college; unfortunately cheez-its and diet coke, while meatless, is not balanced and healthy. So I went back to eating meat, not because I like it, but because it was easy. I don't remember the last time I cooked meat at home, but when I go to restaurants or get take-out, it's all meat all the time. The vegetarian options are usually about as delcious and exciting as dirt.

People have many reasons for not eating meat: religious, political, environmental, and while it's true that meat is cruel, environment unsound and possibly unhealthy, I can't profess any of them. I just don't want to.

Is it rude?

2007-11-09T19:27:00.000-05:00

Questions.

I am, by nature, curious and gossipy. I want to know the things people don't want to say outright about themselves. I want to burrow into the sticky soft core of their psyche and find out what makes them so sickening and strange. But it's rude to pry. When you meet a middle-aged man who lives alone, you can't ask, "So you're divorced?" When you meet a 22 year old woman who lives alone in a one bedroom in Chelsea, you can't inquire "Do your parents pay your rent?" When you meet a thirty year old multi-millionare, you can't probe, "Aren't you worried the SEC will investigate you?" So I smile and nod, but inside my mind is whirring. I'm putting together clues, constructing my own dossier.

Time to get out

2007-11-07T23:16:00.000-05:00

This evening I found myself sitting at a bar on the Upper West Side waiting for some friends. Next to me were two middle-aged woman sharing a meal. They're tone of voice should be familiar to anyone who has spent an extended amount of time in New York: nasal, bitter, whiny. Tonight, remarks Alec Baldwin had made on NPR had drawn their particular ire. He had disparaged the many middle-class establishments on the UWS as "dirty." "They're trying to push people like us out," one remarked. "I don't know what people are going to do," the other replied. Their conversation had the desperation of people who do not have regular social interaction.
Just then a pair of blond moppets in the corner of the room began squalling. Nearly everyone in the room gritted their teeth, but the parents seemed to be frozen by their embarassment and frustration. "There are two good reasons for Planned Parenthood," said the first woman.
I realized that this is who you become when you stay in New York too long.

Fall Back

2007-11-03T22:48:00.000-04:00

My favorite day of the year, an extra hour of sleep.

Trend-oid

2007-11-03T11:03:00.000-04:00

I've been going to the same hair salon for almost three years; ever since I came back from Italy recovering from the worst haircut ever and four months of chlorinated tapwater. I loved it, the space was cool, the stylists, receptionists and hairwashers were always friendly and professional. Despite being in a "trendy" neighborhood, it was never pretentious. I was always greeted with a smile by the people behind the counter, usually languid model types, too tired to be bitchy. K, my stylist is super cool and can translate my requests of "lots of layers, something fun around the face but not too poodley" into awesome haircuts. Plus, it's cheap! I mean not super cuts cheap, but it doesn't break the bank.
But yesterday, after another truly great hair cut, I heard a bunch of the stylists and the owner discussing a DJ. A DJ! Truly unneccessary. Then they tried to push products on me. Has the trendoid hit?

That explains it.

2007-11-01T19:17:00.000-04:00

This week I've been feeling pretty gross: can't sleep, don't want to eat and wanting to cry all the time. I had no idea why until I read this.

Michael Jackson was in Brooklyn. That's what's giving me the heebie-jeebies.

Karma

2007-10-28T01:01:00.000-04:00

Three years ago, on a Metro-North train, I sat next to a frazzled businessman. He got off a few stops before me, and a few minutes after he left, I noticed that he had left his wallet behind. I considered giving it to a conducter but when my stop came and one hadn't walked through my car, I decided to take the wallet with me. When I got home we googled the guy's name from his license and found his number. When we called, he hadn't even noticed that it was gone. He showed up at our house in half an hour and gave me $25 for my trouble.

Since then I've lost a lot of things: my passport, my cellphone (twice), and last Saturday, my wallet. Each time, I wonder when I'll get my karmic payback and have my lost item returned to me, but each time, Karma didn't smile upon me.
This past Saturday, after a disastrous and fruitless trip to a T-mobile store, I realized that my wallet was gone. When I went back to the store, the salespeople claimed not to have seen anything. It had my credit cards, my bank card, cash, and my ID. The only card I had at home was my frequent buyer card from the liquor store, oddly fitting. I cancelled my credit cards and chalked it up as lesson.

Today when I opened my mailbox, I noticed that my new insurance card had come, and that there was a large manila envelope in the mailbox too. "I'm not expecting anything," I thought. Then as I clutched it in my hands, it dawned on me that this was wallet. A little thinner, all the cash, even the change was gone, but everything else was there. So thank you, nameless Samaritan. You have restored my faith in humanity. Almost.

My first papparazo sighting

2007-10-09T20:57:00.000-04:00

Earlier this evening, I went to Shalom Auslander's book reading at the Barnes and Noble in Chelsea. I got there late, and the crowd had already spilled over into the aisles and stacks of books. Auslander read from his book, "The Foreskin's Lament" which details the terror he experienced growing up in an Orthodox Jewish family. The crowd, mostly apostates looking for absolution or at least commiseration, laughed at the most heretical parts. People from other parts of the store kept drifting over but didn't seem to get the dead baby jokes. The archetypal crazy cat lady found at all New York cultural events hovered around the edges of the crowd.

Finally, during the Q&A a Euro-looking guy loped in. "Who is this?" he whispered excitedly to the man standing behind me. "Shalom Auslander," the man answered annoyed and a little embarrassed.

"WHO?"

"Um, he's a writer."
"Like a, like a novelist?"

The man standing behind me shrugged his shoulders and exhaled loudly. It was only when he turned away to talk to the cop guarding the door that I saw the camera with the 70mm lens. Are they going to let him take photos in the store?, I thought. All those times I've walked around Soho or the Upper East Side and this is the first place I see a papparazo?, was my second thought. The papparazo came back with a handler whose was brusque and accented. "Excuse me!," she said while shoving me out of the way to show the pap the promotional poster.

"Oh." The paparazzo was disappointed and headed out into the night to stalk more famous prey.

Breakneck Ridge

2007-10-02T00:01:00.000-04:00

Did I go rock climbing?

On Saturday, I took the train up to Breakneck Ridge, a mountain between Beacon and Cold Spring right on the Hudson. It was the perfect late summer/ early fall weather for hiking. The views were beautiful, but in parts the hiking was much more like rock climbing. I wasn't sure what to expect on the way there, but the hiking was both fun and challenging. Scrambling over boulders 1500 hundred feet over the Hudson was a little nerve-racking, but the views from the top were totally worth. I still have bruises three days later! At the summit, I sat with my feet over the edge and watched the hawks gilde over the river. It's a really great day-trip from the city that I definitely recommend.

Strange Happenings on Canal Street

2007-09-24T19:48:00.000-04:00

For the past two weeks, they've filmed two different television shows on the block I work on. I guess with the Canadian dollar being even with the American dollar, Toronto isn't going to be standing in for New York anymore.

The Lulav and Esrog market on Canal and Essex. There's been a market here before Sukkot since the neighborhood was primarily Jewish.

My life in pictures

2007-09-23T21:08:00.000-04:00

When I was little, and someone would say "a picture is worth a thousand words," I always thought it demonstrated a certain laziness on his part. Words were intellectual, descriptive, analytical. Pictures were merely informative, and didn't show demonstrate any intelligence on the part of the creator or the viewer. But there are some pictures for which there are no words.

But also I've learned to embrace my laziness.

I went to a Mets game. I felt like I was in enemy territory, but I had a good time even though they lost.

I saw a crazy guy climb up on the globe outside the Trump Tower. He was wearing rollerblades and smoking. Pretty awesome.

And I made a delicious tomato paella. Sooo good.

Modest Mouse at McCarren Park Pool

2007-09-09T20:37:00.000-04:00

My recovery from Hell Week:

Perfume from Santa Maria Novella:

Gold musk, by the way. Really classic and light, but a little spicey too.

3:10 to Yuma

Mmm, Christian Bale. The movie was pretty good too.

On Saturday, I went to get fitted for a bra at Town Shop.

I was wearing a 36C when I walked in, and I walked out with a 32D. Wow.

Last night, I went to see Modest Mouse at the McCarren Park Pool.

The domes of the Russian Orthodox church through the entrance arch.

I have to be honest, the acoustics in there are not the best. It is pool after all; all that concrete kinda deadens the sound. Still Johnny Marr! (all the way on the left)

Screaming the words too "Paper Thin Walls" with a couple hundred (thousand?) people is pretty awesome.

The Most Awesome Thing I Have Ever Seen

2007-09-02T00:27:00.000-04:00

Seriously:

Harry Potter Dance Team

Leper Event

2007-08-28T20:36:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, a blog I read regularly, let's call it Metropolist, had a post for a singles event that it was holding. It was being held in a store that we'll call Complete Edibles. My immediate reaction was "Ha, ha! This is for losers!" But then I thought, maybe this could be fun, cute fun people shop at Complete Edibles.
I asked my co-worker X is she wanted to go. "Free food!" I said after I saw her horrified reaction. "What are you guys talking about?" asked our other co-worker, A. "Um, nothing. It's, uh, a singles event," I managed to choke out.
"I feel like a have a terrible disease. It's like I'm a leper," I said to X. She didn't want to go, but I told her it was too bad because I knew her name, birthday and email address and signed her up.
Today after work, I didn't feel like going. But when I showed up there was already a long line, so I decided I wouldn't be suffering alone. Of course the people in front of me and behind me were both women. In fact it seemed like the whole line was women. "I'm treating this like a sociological experiment," said the girl in line in front of me. After signing in, I introduced myself to a girl I recognized from NYU, I'd seen her at the Okkervil River show too. At the mixers table, I talked to another girl. "You're supposed to be talking to guys, not girls!" her friend admonished her. I felt like damaged goods, but she was right. I looked across the street at the basketball court, a group of 5 girls and 2 guys were playing. Are there any guys in New York? NYU girl and I ran into each other again at the alcoholic sorbet cart. We discussed the Richard Serra show at Moma, NYU, and New York was full of women. At least I got my grocery shoppind done.

Doesn't remind me

2007-08-19T01:09:00.000-04:00

I've been really bad at both updating this and my real-life-pen-and-paper journal for the past month or so. I meant to post about my trip to California but haven't. I'll get around to it.

It's getting to be that time of year again. The humidity that hangs over New York is being blown out to sea, and soon the serene crispness of autumn will blow through the city. It'll be the high holidays, and my birthday, a time to take stock. These past five years I've changed so much that I'm almost unrecognizable to myself and yet there are still things I can't change.
I went to a show tonight at a bar in Williamsburg. Everyone there seemed to be exactly my age. Slowly sipping our beers, no whispering about fake IDs or hastly downing rum and cokes. Everybody clapped politely and rocked gently to the music. There was no pushing and shoving, and we would move out of the way quickly and quietly to let people pass. Whispered apologies were exhanged if the maneuvers did not go smoothly. It was genteel, and almost, even...mature. At one point, I found my self standing next to the the oldest person in the room. Late thirities, he'd pushed his way across the room and somehow finagled a bar stool. He carried a nervousness about him and seemed to take up twice the space of anyone else there. I wondered how many more years of youthfulness I had to be seen in places like this.
I'd been planning on going to grad school next fall. It seemed like the logical next step. It'd be a way to get out of the working world and back into the sleepy arms of academia. But I realized that short of buying stationery, I have no interest in going back to school. Everyone I've told my plans to has made a face, and told me that they can't see me doing that. I really can't either.
So all this indecision had made me fairly cranky. I've been particularly judgemental lately. All around me I see examples of how I don't want to live, and very few of how I do.

Pictures from Prague, Vienna and Budapest

2007-07-21T16:39:00.001-04:00

Resolutions

2007-06-09T15:35:00.000-04:00

Seeing as how the year is half over, I thought I would make a list of mid-year resolutions.

1) Get 8 hours of sleep a night. Since about October, I've been a ridiculous insomniac. I've probably only gotten 14 good night's sleep in 8 months.
2) Stop reading so much internet gossip. A few years ago, I was at this tiny bar/ dance club in the east village, and this bald guy started chatting me up. I told him that I was a photographer (and that my name was Micaela...) He told me that his friend was a paparazzo and could get me an in. No, thanks. I just like to watch. But seriously, I think I know more about Lilo's life than mine. Sad.
3) Let it go. I have a tendency to get really annoyed and frustrated, and then it just eats away at me. So, breeeathe.
4) Run more. I don't really care about losing weight, but I feel better when I run every day. I have this feeling of accomplishment.
5) Eat less sugar. I ate a whole box of Chips-ahoy and a quarter gallon of ice cream in the last 12 hours. Blaaargh.
6) Enjoy the moment.

Yum

2007-06-08T21:59:00.001-04:00

Sometimes, I get hungry. Really, really hungry. And there's only one thing that hits the spot.

Corned beef hash from Junior's.

A Photo Essay:

When people think Junior's, they think cheesecake. But Junior's is so much more. It's diner food at it's best.

The pickles and beets are seriously delicious, and the cornbread is some of the best I've ever had.

But the highlight was the corned beef hash. Made with real meat, not the canned stuff and topped by a over easy egg. Mmm. Yes, I did eat all that.

Meet/ Cute

2007-05-14T23:45:00.000-04:00

One of my favorite scenes is from When Harry Met Sally when the old married couples describe how they met. The one that sticks with me is the old man who says that he saw his wife in a crowded cafeteria, told his friend that he had seen his future wife and married her two weeks later.
I know that movie is supposed to explore the eternal question can men and women every be friends? Hemingway says no; Nora Ephron says...no. But I think the real question it asks is whether or not how you meet will determine the longevity of the relationship. If you don't have a meet/ cute is there anything to go from?
But in the age of the interet are were ever going to meet cute again? I mean telling people that Dr. Phil matched the two of you up is never going to sound good.

Graduation

2007-05-10T20:04:00.000-04:00

One year ago today, I graduated from college. Since then:

1) I started a new job, which ended up sucking big time.
2) I had to pack up my apartment and find a new place to live in two weeks.
3) I had to put all my stuff in storage and live with my grandparents. I was commuting 1.5 hours each day.
4) I moved into my new apartment, which is still totally awesome.
5) I got left behind as my family went to the French Riviera. Still not forgiving them for that one.
6) I quit my job. I highly recommend doing this.
7) I started a new far more awesome job!
8) I turned 22.
9) My good friend died. I really miss her, and it makes me really sad that I'll never see her again.

I've been out of high school for five years! A part of me still feels likes it's there.

Always

2007-05-08T00:40:00.000-04:00

There's two very important things to know about me:

1) I grew up in New Jersey.
2) I spent huge swaths of my childhood sneaking MTV (I wasn't allowed to watch it) when my parents weren't around or at friends' houses.

When I think back to that time, I think of this:

Bon Jovi Always

Music Videos And Lyrics On Demand

It's everything a music video should be and more.

Worst. Movie. Ever

2007-05-02T19:18:00.000-04:00

I watch a lot of bad tv. I've asked, "Ohmigod, did you see I Love New York last night?" to many times ony to be met by blank stares. But on Monday I think I may have seen the bottom of the abyss. I came home from work, and collapsed on the couch. Too exhausted to change the channel, I was accosted by Undiscovered a movie staring Ashlee Simpson and bizarrely Carrie Fisher.
I missed the first half hour, and thank god for that. I mean, when I saw the trailers for it last spring, I knew it was wasn't good, but I had no idea it was this bad. It has all the hallmarks of a truly bad film: trite dialogue, two dimensional characters and incomprehensible pacing. Unfortunately, it doesn't have any of the enthusiasm of say, Carlito's Way. What this movie does have is Simpsons. It was produced by Joe "Pa" Simpson as a vehicle for Ashlee Simpson. Ash plays the semi-lesbionic Clea who is friends with Brier, a model. Brier, is played by Pell James, and I am shocked to learn that she has continued to get acting jobs after this film came out.
Carrie Fisher plays Brier's agent/manager/ surrogate mother. It's at this point that I guess I should mention, most of the dialogue was extremely garbled. I felt like the movie was either in a foreign language or I was just trying to decipher scenes by going on facial expressions. When you consider the caliber of acting, that wasn't much. I'm not sure in exactly what capacity Carrie is connected to Brier, and I believe several other salient plot points may have escaped my attention.
When I turned the movie on, Brier and Luke were falling for each other. Unfortunately, Luke played by Steven Strait, is totally unconvincing as anything other than a Chelsea rent boy. To show her appreciation, Brier gets Luke a record deal. Which in my opion is kinda overdoing it for the second date. Stalker much? But it's not all rainbows and kittens for our young lovebirds. See, both Briar and Luke have baggage. Briar's comes in the form of Mick a possibly British, oily, aging rock star, who flys cross-country to stalk her at the batting cages. No seriously, that's where she likes to hang out. And at the trapeze school.
Luke has Josie, played by Shannyn Sossamon, best known for naming her child Audio Science. To portray Josie, it seems like Shannyn woke up one morning, decided she was Al Pacino and took a bunch of quaaludes.
Luke also manages to blow the record deal, and go into hiding in his apartment. Where none of his friends think to look for him. Brier decides to move back to New York, because it's real and edgy, and nobody in LA understand her deep and artistic soul.
Mercifully it's almost the end of the movie and time for the big showcase. Carrie show's up with her ex-husband, none other than RoboCop's Peter Weller. RoboCop is supposedly some kind of legend in the music industry.
After Luke and Clea sing their absolutely dreadful songs, it's time for Robocop to drive Brier to her flight to New York. Luke decides it's his turn to be scary stalker and gets his brother to drive him to the airport. His brother, Euan, is probably the creepiest part of the movie, and this is a movie with Pa Simpson involved. See, Euan likes to dress up like a reject from Sly and the Family Stone and give off a Chester the Molester vibe. I haven't mentioned him yet, because he hasn't been important to the plot. But he is useful for driving Luke to the airport in his VW van (great for both 60s wannabe rockstars and your neighborhood sex offender.) I think he also deals weed on the side, because at the airport he gives Luke a whole wad of cash to buy his plane ticket with. After getting through security with the help of RoboCop, Luke is ready to declare his love for Brier...by asking the flight attendant to throw a dirty glove at her. They are about to make out in the galley, when they are interrupted by RoboCop who delivers a lecture on the profitabilty of music publishing. The movie ends with Brier and Luke frolicking in the surf in Jamaica.
And everyone gets a record deal.
Undiscovered is playing on TMC all this week and next, so please go watch it. I want everyone to suffer like I have.

Cherry Blossom Festival

2007-04-28T20:53:00.000-04:00

Last night, Susan and I went to the premiere of Suburban Girl at the Tribeca Film Festival. The movie was really cute and frothy, and the clothes and the shots of New York were gorgeous. It was so cool to be at a premiere and watch the limos pull up. While we walked into the theater we actually got to stand on the red carpet. We both felt like we were at the coolest place on earth. Sadly, Alec Baldwin didn't show, but there were some scenes that erm, mirrored his current situation with his daughter and there was some nervous laughter from the audience. Afterwards we went to the Tribeca Tavern, which despite being in a such a trendy and ritzy neighborhood was totally unpretentious and fun. Plus, so many cute guys!

Today I went to the Cherry Blossom Festival at the Brooklyn Botanic Garden.

All kinds of gorgeous cherry blossoms. The weather was perfect for it too.

People were camped out all over, and there was music and food in those tents. Tons of kids, all of whom were suprisingly well-behaved and actually cute. Or maybe I was just in a good mood.

Bizarre fountain. It's a girl riding a dolphin, but it looks...obscene, somehow.

Little red riding hood. There were quite a few interesting looking people/ bizarre outfits out today, but this one was the best.

More cherry blossoms.

M

2007-04-24T19:53:00.000-04:00

Leave a comment and I'll give you a letter. Then you list 10 things you like starting with that letter. Post them in your journal and give out new letters to your commenters in turn.

M:

1) Mozzarella. Of course my first thing would be cheese, and mozzarella is what makes pizza so delicious.

2) Manicures. I probably like pedicures better, but they don't start with M. I love them both; it's like a mini-vacation.

3) Manhattan. All I wanted growing up was to live there, but now I like living in Brooklyn better. Most of the ammenities and none of the hassle.

4) Mooshy. My nickname for Dugan, the most awesome dog in the world

5) My Morning Jacket. Awesome band. Really want to see them live.

6) M. Judi Dench is bad ass. I've been watching Bond movies with my dad since I was a little kid, and I love them.

7) Malayasia. I'm having malaysian food tomorrow for lunch. It's supposed to be yummy.

8) Motor City. Detroit is not my favorite place, but I love seeing my family and eating Red Robin.

9) Meatballs. My mom and I (and my sister) used to make spaghetti and meatballs when I was little. I have really great memories of being in the kitchen with them. And smushing all that meat and eggs and breadcrumbs is lots of fun.

10) Match.com So I was concvinced to sign up by a certain former roommate. It's not one of my favorite things, but I have a date tomorrow and possibly another this weekend so I will definitely keep you updated.

The Tyranny of the Ballet Flat

2007-04-15T14:02:00.000-04:00

Ballet flats are in. When I saw them in the fashion mags a few months ago, I thought there was no way they'd catch on. But walking around New York yesterday, on one of the first spring-like days we've had this year, I realized how mis-guided I was. There were ballet flats everywhere. With skinny jeans, cute dresses and a-line skirts. There was no way I could get through this spring in last year's pointy flats, no matter how cute I told myself they looked with skinny jeans. When my friend and I were turned away from a Soho restaurant because we didn't have a reservation, I secretly blamed my shoes.

A few months ago, I was fully prepared to resist the lure of the ballet flat. In theory, they're cute, conjuring images of Degas's dancers, Audrey Hepburn and effortlessy chic and wide-eyed school girls. When I was eight, I begged my mom for a pair from Nordstrom. I'm sure I would have worn them to school with my tutu if I hadn't realized how uncomfortable they were. They never even made it out of the house.

But there are few articles of clothing with as many caveats as the ballet flat. On girls with long legs and slim ankles, they will only make her look longer and leaner. Something else I learned at the age of eight: skirts and flats are for the select few. As many girls as I saw yesterday pulling off the ballet flat, my mind is repeatedly drawn to one poor creature. Low slung skinny jeans that made her hips look as wide as a sequoia and zebra print ballet flats that made her look about as tall as an Olsen but ten times as dumpy. And animal print? There is no faster way to evoke both a New Jersey housewife and a wildebeast.

This seems to be the season of the unwearable clothes. Maybe we've moved on from midriff bearing tops and jeans low enough to require a wax, but we're not done making normal girls look fat. But don't say the designers didn't warn you. It's in the name. Skinny jeans are just that. They don't make you look skinny, they're only for the skinny. I thought we covered this last year? Ballet flats are for girls who have the legs of dancers.

But if you leave here with only one piece of advice, remember this; the stirrup pant is for no one.

I hate your kids

2007-04-10T20:20:00.000-04:00

I solemnly swear that if I should ever find myself knocked up, I will promptly move to the suburbs. I will not crowd New York sidewalks with a MacLaren stroller. I will not take my baby/ toddler/ small child to quiet coffee shops, nice restaurants or R-rated movies.

Today on one of my rare days off, I decided to get a cup of tea at the local cafe. I was quietly reading my book, everyone around me also working or reading, when two SAHMs entered. For those lucky enough not to know, SAHM stands for Stay-at-home-mom. Otherwise known as women whose husbands make enough money that they neither have to work in or out of the home. This gives them plenty of time to drag their children to tens maybe even hundreds of innapropriate locales all over Brooklyn. Like the local cafe. Which is not an inappropriate place, per se. When I walked in a young mother had been sitting near the entrance with her toddler, and I didn't hear a sound from either of them. About fifteen minutes after I sat down, walked in the SAHMs. They made sure to announce their arrival. Their MacLaren strollers blocked the narrow path to the door. And they babbled over their sleeping children as they unzipped them from the strollers. They had the unmistakble self-satisfaction of people who had managed to procreate in brownstone Brooklyn. They continued to talk twice as loud as anyone else there. But the real kicker happened on their way out, after both children had begun crying. They noticed a flier for the annual house tour of brownstones and mansions in the neighborhood. "Ohmigod, we should totally do that," SAHM 1 announced in a tone more appropriate for a football game than a coffee shop. "I've never tried taking the stroller up all those stairs," the dowdier SAHM replied, and I realized with horror that these two planned on shlepping their teething, drooling toddlers through meticulously restored 19th Century homes. I looked up and stared at them. "I guess that's more of a carrier day," Frump continued. To which the first SAHM replied, "Yeah I've wanted to do it every year! We should totally get Michelle and Alex and Stephanie and Mike to come, too!" Guess where I won't be that day.

And I guess, that the children themselves weren't so bad. Sure they fussed and cried, but if these people were my parents, I'd be crying too.

Radical Politics

2007-02-22T21:12:00.000-05:00

I had my day yesterday all planned out. I was going to go to yoga before work, and then go to a documentary screening/ protest of the Atlantic Yards project at night. It was in the auditorium of the local high school and was sure to bring out a good number of indignant housewives, ambitious local politicians and over-involved retirees. In my neighborhood there would probably be some crunchy granola-y yuppies too afraid of what the basketball arena would do to their property values. I've always wanted to be a community activist. Like that woman in Buffalo who took a Federal employee hostage when the city had failed to disclose that the land her subdivision had been built on a toxic waste dump. Love Canal. True story.
Anyway it was not be. As much as I dislike the Atlantic Yards project and think it will fail financially and destroy several quiet Brooklyn neighborhoods and their family owned businesses, standing in the way of real estate development in New York is a little like being that guy holding a flower in Tienneman Square.
Plus I woke up an hour later than I had planned and ended up going to yoga after work. At least I know I'll see some results from that.
Speaking of results, my dear Alma Mater, ole NYU, has managed to spark international controversy today. The NYU College Republicans was planning to stage a "hunt the illegal immigrant" game in Washington Square Park. This was the third most read story on the BBC's website. A person previously selected by the venerable College Repbublican would be set loose in the park with a sticker designated him/her as the "illegal." Anyone with an NYU id would be able to search for the illegal, and the winner would receive a prize of approximatetly $100. Bigoted? Inhumane? Just plain stupid? Well then you just don't understand Repbublican political discourse.
But hey's it's been pretty much working for them for the past 13 years. Look at the swiftness and ease with which they've gotten Hilary and Obama and David Geffen to argue about...well nothing. I know I'll never vote for a Republican, but I'm beginning to wonder if I should vote for a Democrat. Why don't they get that they would save so much face if they didn't respond to these schoolyard taunts?

I'm back!

2007-02-20T22:52:00.000-05:00

Apparently, I have a fan. Hola, chica.
I stopped writing back last summer, because frankly my life has sucked. I used to laugh at those frat boys who stay in college for ten years, but now I see that they are the genuises and we are the idiots. The transition to a 9(ish) to 5(ish) life has not been easy. I'm finally a sort-of adult, and I'm not quite sure what to do with myself. I've realized my childhood dreams aren't coming true, and now I have to figure out what else I'm going to do with my life. I've kinda felt that way since I was 17 and applying to college. If there was anything I learned from that experience, it's that what I really have to figure out what to do with the next day, the next week, and forever will take care of itself.

Chihuly at the Botanical Garden

2006-08-26T00:04:00.000-04:00

Dale Chihuly has an exhibition at the New York Botanical Garden until October 29th. If you have a chance to make it up to the Bronx, I highly recommend it.

The Sun. If only the real sun had come out.

You can see how much it rained from the swollen Bronx River.

The Garden of Glass right about the Rose Garden.

The Botanicals Gardens are impressive in their own right, especially the roses.

But the real show was in the Conservatory.

The Amathyst Tower outside the entrance.

Inspired by the Japanese art of flower arranging.

More installations.

Can you guess which spears are inside and which are outside.

My favorite were the boats.

I took 102 pictures, maybe I'll post more tomorrow.

Team France: World Police

2006-08-24T20:34:00.000-04:00

Last night, Stephen Colbert quipped "Ceci n'est pas un peace-keeping force" about France's failure to institute a peace-keeping force in Lebanon. Initially France pledged the bulk of the 15,000-strong force which along with the Lebanese army would: (a) eradicate Hizbullah in southern Lebanon, (b} create a lasting peace between Lebanon and Israel or (c) leave after several soldiers had been killed by Hizbullah/ Israel/ friendly fire and leave the Lebanese army to do what is wasn't able to do/ didn't want to do in the past twenty years. If you picked c, you are clearly not a member of the UN or the EU. In any event they have only contributed 2000 soldiers.

Magritte painted a picture of a pipe and labelled it Ceci n'est pas une pipe (this is not a pipe). Because in semiotic language, it is not a pipe, but a representation of a pipe.

In the same way that France has not created a peace-keeping force, so much as it has created a farce of a peace-keeping force. Farce, along with cheese-eating and surrender, is France's true talent.

Resignation

2006-08-23T20:58:00.000-04:00

I've been bad. I haven't updated here in a month and a half. I forgot the password. I was thinking about abandoning this blog-thing altogether. I'd begun to feel anxious and frustrated. I thought I lost my voice, but really I just had nothing to say.
I had a job that was sucking my soul out. That's why I didn't write. "I feel numb. I go home at night and sit on the couch watching tv till I pass out." Day after day after day. That's sounds really depressing, but I wasn't suicidal or anything. I was just nothing. I just didn't give a shit about anything.
But yesterday, I quit. I got a new job, by what I can only describe as a stroke of luck and a sign of divine mercy. So I'm back.
Awesome things about my new (it's actually my internship from last semester, but now in job form) job:
I can wear jeans
I will not have to toil in a cubicle
I can take a lunch break
I like my coworkers and they like me (also they are not androids)
Half day fridays

It's a lot more interesting and I get to work on creative projects. I just have to suck it up and get through these next two weeks.

This has inspired me to download way to many songs. As much as I often disagree with Pitchfork (especially abou their disdain for Ryan Adams, but that's a whole other post) about current music, I agree almost whole heartedly with them about music from the past.

The Giglio

2006-07-10T22:30:00.000-04:00

In celebration of Italy's win of the World Cup, I and my friends A and A went to the annual Feast of the Giglio. New York is home to several feasts put on to commemorate Italian saints. The most famous one is the Feast of San Gennaro in Little Italy. But another great feast takes place in Williamsburg, where a 65ft. statue is carried through the streets.

The feast is in honor of San Paolino the patron saint of Nola who saved the town from Arab invaders. If you look closely you can see the arab invader on the platform.
Carnival games and rides are staples of feasts in the tri-state area, but my favorite part is the food.

Sausage and Peppers, Pizza and Kebabs and other crazy delicious street food.

Mmm. Meat on the grill. A classic smell of summer.
My favorite are Zeppoles.

Delicious deep fried batter covered with powdered sugar. Heart attack inducer? Maybe. Heaven in a paper bag? Definitely.

Working Girl

2006-07-08T10:55:00.000-04:00

I've been wondering for a while now how to broach the subject of my employment. I am generally against writing about work. As if we haven't learned enough times already, it will only get you fired. And for all the funny, weird and annoying things that happen to me, when I sit down to write about them they lose some of their luster. As if under the florescent ligths and grays walls of the cublicles, everything is amplified, but in the cold clear light of day the same slights and the bizarre conversations are cut back down to size.
John Lennon said life is what happens when we're to busy making other plans, I would just amend that to say life is what happens when we're not at work. I took my job because I believed in the mission of the organization. At college graduation, all of the speeches encouraged us to use our extensive educations, prodigious intelligence and massive student debt to change the world.
A nice sentiments, but how does one go about doing that? A few weeks ago, I read an article in the times that quoted a resident of the rapidly shrinking coastal islands of Louisiana as saying, "I used to think I could change the world, but now I realize, it's changed me."

Lady? in the Water

2006-07-07T22:11:00.000-04:00

Elijah Wood? Is that you?

Resolution

2006-07-05T19:32:00.000-04:00

I don't make New Year's resolutions. I don't care to lose weight or stop biting my nails. But it's come time to make a change. I've been thinking about this for a while, and I know that it's been negatively affecting my life. My family hates it; my friends make fun of me. Strangers stare at me on the street. It's ruins my appearance and it ruins my reputation.
Confessions of a sloppy eater. I've gotten grease stains on my clothes and crumbs in my hair. I've walked around with powdered sugar from zeppoles all over my shirt. (Hey they don't call it a shelf for nothing.) It was funny when I was a little girl. Inconsequential when I was a teenager. Understandable when I was a college student. But now? It's gross.
The last straw came today when I got a sandwich at lunch. I couldn't wait of course, so I ate it walking down the street. Only to realize three minutes later that I was getting big greasy drops of olive oil on my pants accentuated by ciabbatta flour dust. I had to walk around the rest of the day like this. People looked at me funny.
From now on, I'm going to sit down and eat my dinner like a grown up.

Why the South scares me.

2006-07-04T19:43:00.000-04:00

I was accosted by a group of southern kids in Washington Square Park today. They were taking a survery of some sort. Despite the fact that my eyes were looking at a book and I appeared, by all accounts, to be reading not one but two of these kids came up to me and wanted to ask me some questions. The first time I said I was busy and the second time I said I was reading. This kid had a serious southern accent that I had previously only heard on tv, and part of me wanted to believe he was putting it on. But his big blue eyes were lit up with what can only be described as the light of the Lord. There was this flicker of confusion on his face, like reading was clearly not a good enough excuse to not talk to a stranger. I was curious about what these questions pertained to, but not curious enough to be berated for being a liberal, non-believing, fag-lover. (Ok I have no idea if that is what they were all about, but I automatically distrust anyone who lives outside of a 75-mile radius of New York. Who do you think elected Bush? Twice.)
Any way upon coming home I decided to do a google search to see if I could turn up anything. One of the kids was wearing an Auburn University shirt, so I decided to start there. I couldn't find anything about a survey, but I did find this. Ok, the guy who wrote it is seems like a nice enough chap, but that's not going to stop me from making fun of it.
First of all they fell into the Manhattan Apts trap. Everyone I know who has gone to this agency has had a nightmare experience. Everyone. But it is kinda funny that they are shocked that realtors charge a fee. $3000 is pretty steep, but no one I know even complains about realtors fees anymore. We're just so used to being raped up the ass like that. (Maybe that's how we become fag-lovers in the first place?)
Also college students need it explained to them that a train line has two tracks that go in opposite directions? Really?
The best way to get a job in New York? Southern Charm. Unless that's a code word for blowjobs and connections, I'm not sure it's going to take you far.
But the do's and dont's list is the best part.
Don’t make any jokes regarding race or sexuality. You never know
You never know!? You never know!? There are so many things wrong with this, I don't know where to start. Yes, clearly the reason not to make racist, homophobic jokes in the workplace is because you might offend one of those n*****s, kikes or fags. But it's totally cool behind closed doors with your cracker buddies. And again, college students need to be told this? So much for southern charm.
Don’t interrupt the producer while he is having an important conversation with the DP to ask if the thing we’re having tomorrow is a party or a meeting.
I assume this one comes from personal experience.

First We take Manhattan

2006-06-25T22:57:00.000-04:00

Today was the first day off I've had in close to a month. I had a perfectly nice plan to go into the city and see the new Leonard Cohen documentary, aptly titled Leonard Cohen, I'm Your Man playing at Film Forum. I have a hard time telling New York's arthouse theaters apart, and it was only after I arrived that I realized, I had never before seen a movie at Film Forum before. Because they have been, without fail, sold out. But I arrived with forty-five minutes to spare and figured that I could run my one errand of the day, going to the bank, after I bought tickets. Instead when I plonked my debit card down on the counter I was told that they only took cash, but there was an atm around the corner. I figured I could run to the bank and be back in time to make the movie, but of course when I got back (all of twenty minutes later) it was sold out I had to buy a ticket for the next showing, two and a half hours later. If I had had a book with me this would have been fine, I could find a coffeshop and kill two and a half hours no problem. But I didn't.
So instead I got a delicious beet and goat cheese sandwich at the Sullivan Street Bakery and read a few articles in the Times Styles Section. Afterwards, I decided to head over to the river but was confronted by two unexpected occurences: rain and 16 year old divos. The rain I could have dealt with, but 200 hundred 16 year olds in last Halloween's Rainbow Brite costumes was another matter. I walked west along Charles Street, only to get sucked into the vortex of the Gay Pride Parade and spend the next two hours wending my way back down to Houston Street. Somewhere around Christopher Street and Washington Street, I got stabbed by a kebab skewer in the crush of the crowd.
By the time I got to my seat at the theater, I was irritated and exhausted. The movie fortunately was amazing. It was not only a musical retrospective but also a spritual journey, I felt inspired and transformed by the time the credit's rolled. I've long respected Cohen's song-writing ability, but I like covers of his songs more than his own versions. The performances, which had all been taped at a concert last year at Sydny's Opera House, were interspersed by interviews with Cohen and the musicians participating in the concert. Once I got over the interviews interupting the music, I fell in love with the movie.
On my way home, I sated my craving for Mexican food at Le Esquina with a avocado con queso torta. The service was ridiculously amateur with two hipsters manning the counter. The boy hipster spilled my change all over the place when handing it to me and didn't seem to notice. While waiting for my food, I watched as domestic hipsters tried furtively to gain access to the "speakeasy" downstairs and foreign hipsters confusedly tried to order food. The sandwich itself was a party in my mouth.

I thought you were from somewhere else.

2006-06-17T21:48:00.000-04:00

I took a long two-hour walk today all through Clinton Hill, Fort Greene, Boreum Hill, Cobble Hill, Gowanus, Park Slope and Prospect Heights and then finally back to Clinton Hill. When I was two blocks from my apartment, this crazy women asked me for the time. Seriously she had a beard, no joke. I told her the time, and then we both looked up the street to the Williamsburgh Savings Bank, which was showing the wrong time.
"You can never depend on it."
"Yeah..."
"I need to know the time, because I have a phone call to make."
"Uh huh"
She had come up to me in the middle of the crosswalk and by this time I'd crossed the street, but she kept talking to me.
"Where are you from?"
"Here"
"New York? You seem like you're from somewhere else. Some other state."
I keep walking up the street, and she keeps following me, trailling me by a few feet.
"When's your birthday?"
"October"
"October what?"
"Sixth"
"Libra. My friend's a Libra. My dear brother's birthday is October 1st."
I'm not even trying to respond anymore. It's dusk, like the French say, entre le chien et le loup.
"I haven't seen him for twenty-seven years. He got married twenty-six years ago and the last time I saw him was the year before that. He lives in Nassau. He won't come into the city and I won't go into the country. I thought you were from somewhere else."
I'm starting to get nervous, because we're around the corner from my apartment and I don't want this crazy woman to know where I live. But just in front of the library she stops walking abruptly, like there's an invisible wall only she can see.
I don't know what it is about me, but I've always had this ability to attract the walking wounded, the lost souls. Yesterday, I started talking to a woman, about the architecture of tenement houses. Somehow my art history major at NYU came up.
"Oh!" She said, like I had just revealed my prediliction for eating glass. I was a little taken aback.
"I know how smart you are! Do you know what you learned? I'll tell you what you learned. You learned you how to read people," she said ticking them off on her fingers. "You learned how to look at things, you learned how to analyze people."
"Yeah..." I was dumb. I felt like I was having my palm read.
I thought I had majored in art history because I liked the pretty pictures. I thought I was from here.

The Never-Ending Story

2006-06-14T23:07:00.000-04:00

I have now discovered that when I bought my new cell phone two weeks ago, I was also charged for an extended two year contract and a bunch of accessories I neither want or need. Uuuuggghh.

In cheerier less tedious news, I moved into my new apartment. It's fabuuuulous. Pictures to follow.

Let them eat 401(k)ake

2006-06-10T23:08:00.000-04:00

Boy, the NY Times sure likes giving advice. A few weeks ago they had an article about the rise of unpaid internships and their general worthlessness. If it doesn't pay; it doesn't teach you anything, that article proposed. Upon reading this article, at my first real post-grad job, I thought it was bs. I've had both paid and unpaid jobs and internships, and I didn't think how much I took away from the experience had anything to do with how much monetary compensation I received. Besides I've learned tons of great job skills during my internships in college. I can do amazing things with spreadsheets and I've mastered the art of the business casual email. The tasks that I do at my "real job" don't vary greatly from what I did at my "fake jobs," but something fundamental has changed.
In high school I had a job to pay for trips to the mall and cheesecake at the diner. In college I had an on-campus job to make beer money. Now I have to pay for my own rent and food, which in New York, don't come cheap.
At all my previous jobs, I tried to ignore the office politics. My mantra was not to get involved in personalities. I could act like I was above the fray, because I wasn't a part of it. My internship would end at the end of the semester or the summer, and it's almost impossible to get fired from a part-tiime job as long as you're a warm body. But the "real world" is different. All of sudden it matters if people like you, and if they're spreading rumours behind your back. It's like being back in the cafeteria in high school.
Thankfully the New York Times also has savings and retirement adivce to help the recent college grad actually escape the soul-sucking gray cubicle. The first two suggestions are prosaic, at best. Drink the sludge at the office, instead of getting Starbucks, and quit smoking, not because it's bad for you, but because it's expensive. (Although the lung cancer will keep you from worrying about the state of your 401(k), since you probably wont' make it to retirement age.)
But my favorite peice of advice is to sock $325 away in your 401(k) every month. After paying my rent and utilities, I have $521 to pay for cable, internet, phone, groceries, clothes, cleaning supplies, toiletries, laundry, dry cleaning, transportation, and grooming. Forget restaurants, bars, concerts, museums, furniture, books, music, pets and travelling, Wait wasn't this the same newspaper that just told me I'm a complete ignoramous with no knowledge of global affairs or cultures, and I should get dear old mom and dad to bankroll the Grand Tour?

Miss Embarrassed

2006-06-09T20:37:00.000-04:00

I actually had this conversation with a little boy today.

"What's your name?"
"Miss Baritz"
"Miss Embarrassed? Do they call you that because you're embarrassed?"
"No, that's not my name."
"Can I have your number?"

Fin.

Phone Follies, Part Two

2006-06-08T21:53:00.000-04:00

If I have learned anything from this experience, its not to lose a phone in a cab. At least I'm not this guy.
When I called 311, a lovely group of people who will listen to you bitch but not do anything in anyway to help you, I filed a police report and was given the numbers of the two police precincts in New York that collect items lost in cabs. One of which never answers the phone and the other which never seems to have any lost items in their possession
On Saturday, certain I would never see my phone again (RIP) I headed to the Verizon store to see how I could replace it. The customer service rep had told me very helpfully and completely falsely that sometimes Verizon stores carried reburished phones and would give them away to replace lost phones.
First stop, the Verizon store on Union Square, where I was not received like a customer, but more like a crackhead or a subway rat.
"We don't do that," the girl in the store said. "I don't know of any stores in New York that do that," she answered when I asked about a refurbished phone. So what could I do? "You'd have to buy full retail," she said and continued to stand there. How do you expect to sell anyone anything if you don't show them any merchandise?
Second stop, the Verizon store in Circuit City on the other side of Union Square where I was completely ignored for a full half-hour and then told that I would get a better deal on a phone if I went to an independent wireless store. The rational? "the phone service providers don't make money off the phones, only the service." Which wold seem to support Verizon having better priced phones over Sketchy Cellphones down the street, but whatever, but I was soaked and exhausted, so I head off to 14th and 6th.
Third stop, Sketchy Cellphones (name changed to protect complete assholes.) I found the same model as my lost cellphone and was told that it would cost $200.
"But it retails for $180," I said and turned to leave.
"Okay, I'll give it to you for $170."
So I bought it, making losing the cellphone only the second dumbest thing I had done last week. Sketchy asked me I could pay for it in cash, even going so far as to tell me to go across the street to the atm and get cash and he'd waive the tax. While swiping my credit card, he actually answered his phone and had a conversation about how he was living rent free in his apartment by renting out the other rooms. Who would want to live with this douche bag?
When I took it out of the box, there were scratches on it and when I got home, I discovered that the phone was assigned another number and had numbers already stored in it. Plus, I couldn't activate the phone.
The receipt helpfully said no refunds. But I went back to Sketchy, where I was confronted by Muffin-Top. Whose solution was to call Verizon and let me talk to customer service again.
"Look, I don't want this phone. It's used, it has someone else's number on it and it doesn't work with my plan. Take it back."
"You can have a store credit."
"No I want a refund."
At this point I was shaking with rage. I've never been antagonized by store employees before but these gems came out of Muffin-Top's mouth:
"So what, you're just going to stand there for hours?" When I told her I wasn't leaving without a refund.
"Are you just going to stare at me like that?" When I decided to end a volley of "I want a refund." "We don't do that."
"I can't just take money out of the cash register. I have my own expenses." That's not how a refund works, retard.
Finally when I kept demanding she take the phone back, she tossed it off the counter and scribbled a "store credit" on the receipt.
It took a lot of self-restraint not to yell, "you're a fucking piece of shit" when I walked out the door.
I called my credit card to stop payment on the charge, but was told I'd have to wait because the charge was still pending.
Monday though I was on the war path. I filed complaints with both the Better Business Bureau and the NYC Department of Consumer Affairs, both of which offered consolation and a promise to fight the good fight. You're going down, Sketchy.
(Also, the second person I talked to at Verizon gave me a discount on a new cellphone, so I'm back in business. Call Me!)

Lost

2006-05-31T20:42:00.000-04:00

So, last night on the way home in the cab I lost my cell phone. I was on my way home from a benefit at The Pierre, which was crazy fun, but I think it was that last glass of champagne that led to my distracted state and lost phone. I called it when I realized it was gone and it rang but no one picked up. Everytime I called it after that it just went to voicemail. I actually filed a police report, which trust me, I felt really stupid doing. I mean ok, someone steals your car or breaks into your house, you file a police report, but a cell phone? Anyway, I'm supposed to keep calling the NYPD lost and found to see if someone turns it in.
I'm trying to recover my numbers (I didn't even know my parent's home phone number and had to look it up), so if anyone reads this (Bueller? Bueller?) email me your number at victoria_at_nyu_dot_edu and I will send you my work cell phone back.

So Long, Bushwick

2006-05-27T15:24:00.000-04:00

This is going to be my last weekend in Bushwick. I can't say I'm exactly sorry to go. On Monday the moving truck comes and all of my stuff will be put into storage for two weeks until I can move into my new apartment. I'm moving to a neighborhood that actually has stores and restaurants, banks and pharmacies. Delis that sell more than ossified cookies and rolling papers. When I first moved here, my dad asked me if I knew where to buy drugs and I did. But I still haven't found a clean supermarket that sells more than chips and rotten produce.
I won't miss the dirty dusty streets dotted with dog poo and chicken bones. I won't miss having to scrub my feet of ingrained dirt on days I wear flip flops. Least of all, I'll miss the old men yelling Mami at me and blowing exaggerated kisses. I was used to catcalls from living in Manhattan but all the learing leachery made me want to lock my self in my apartment and only emerge wearing a burka. I won't miss the strange smells that billow up to my window from my neighbors' kitchens; today I can't decide if it is a gas leak or rotten chicken liver. I won't miss the noise, either, from the hipsters on the roof or the distant roar of a PA system. Some nights I wonder if I hear cars backfiring or gun shots. Most nights I just turn the tv up and try not to think about it. Maybe I'll miss the crowing of the rooster at the slaughterhouse a few blocks down, but I won't miss the smell from all the chickens, geese and rabbits kept in small cages.
Now I have to run breathing in the exhaust from the BQE, in a couple of weeks I'll be close enough to Prospect Park to run there.
I never for one day forgot that I didn't belong here. Every walk to the corner, ever ascent up the stairs to the subway station; I felt as if I had two heads. The accusatory looks, the sidelong glances; I always felt as if I were an attraction at a zoo. The only thing that made it bearable was my daily escape into Manhattan.

The Circus

2006-05-25T20:40:00.000-04:00

I swear this happened to me. The circumstances are vague, but the details are clear. One night, while I was living in Italy, I came upon a band of Gypsies. The Piazza de la Repubblica, normally sedate and heavily touristed, had turned into a swirl of sound and light. I saw the sparks from the fire, a block off, illuminating the silhouettes of the crowd. Closer, the beat of the drums seemed to pulse from the cobblestones. I was spellbound and walked toward the flame as if compelled. In the center was a barefoot girl, spinning to the music as if oblivious. She didn't look like the gypsy girls I saw at the bus stop with their torn clothes and bitter faces. In the red pulsing light she seemed superhuman, divorced from reality, gravity, convention. My heart beat to the rhythm, and the seconds seemed to slow, suspended in the thick, smoky air.
Could I live like that? Yesterday a distant memory; tomorrow an insubstantial dream. Could I loosen the chains that bound me to the earth? Would I live by my own dreams and find my own way?
I felt as I was turning head over heals. A breeze picked up and the light flickered. The dark wrapped itself closer around us and I turned to go home.

Usage

2006-05-23T20:48:00.000-04:00

I'm no grammar saint. I make mistakes. I leave out apostrophes, misuse commas, but I proofread and ask myself if it is, indeed, too much. I smirk when I walk past a deli advertising "grocery's" or a store renting "video's." Today I saw a "goes" spelled "go's." Freshman year, I took a class during which we had to pass our rough drafts around and critique each other's work. I was too hung up on the sentence structure and punctuation to spend much time on the content. Forget "Writing the Essay," we needed "Writing the Sentence."
So today I was particularly disappointed by the essays Nicolas Kristoff chose to be the finalists for his "Come Document Devistation in Africa!" contest. As my sarcasm may suggest, I don't think much of this trip. I think it's akin to Oprah showing victims of car accidents who have had their faces burned off or allowing housewives to feel "the horror of the Holocaust" through the eyes of someone who experienced it. It's just pornography for the soul-dead. The winner even claims to want to "break people's hearts thoroughly."
I've often enjoyed and agreed with Kristof's articles, but this entire contest seems to be mis-guided. When announcing the contest, he alleged that American students, even those who study abroad, are sheltered and ignorant (my words.) Something about doing more drinking than studying, I believe. He encouraged all college students to take a gap year and travel the world and investigate other countries and cultures, supposedly to right perceived wrongs. A virtuous goal, no doubt, but the essays that were chosen as finalists hardly reflect it.
Instead they vacillate between a litany of complaints concerning childhoods marred by poverty and divorce and self-satisfied boasts of prior accomplishments including trespassing, reading newspapers and pissing oneself. I come away believing that mass media has so warped the general conscience of this country that we think any ripple or hiccup in our lives is a sign of insurmontable tragedy, and that our penchant for self-promotion is insatiable. I have experienced death and divorce and poverty, but I would never disrespect my mother so thoroughly as to degrade her sacrificies to further myself. Even if I were to, I would use proper syntax.

Victoria Day

2006-05-22T21:16:00.000-04:00

All of Canada is celebrating me right now. Seriously.

Seeworthy

2006-05-21T21:00:00.000-04:00

This weekend has been unusually eventful.
Friday I went to a benefit for the AIDS walk, which I really enjoyed. It was a little bit like vaudeville with music and comedy and readings. I always thought vaudeville must have been really kitschy and schmaltzy, but this was quite sophisticated. Everyone who performed was really talented, too . And to cap it off, I won something in the raffle. It's a box set of music from the '90s called Whatever and includes Social Distortion's Ball and Chain, Spacehog's In the Meantime, and Pavement's Cut Your Hair. I love the '90s.
Saturday I went to to look at the apartment I'm moving into. Looks like I won't be homeless after all. I can't believe that I'm going to be living in a nice apartment in a nice neighborhood after my experience living with a leaking roof in the ghetto. I mean, the other night I was going to sleep and realized that I sleep in the same room as my refrigerator, which is the same room that I do my work in, which is the same room that I watch tv in. But in 3 weeks I will have different rooms to do all those things in! I think it's a little sad though that I'm excited that my new bathroom will have a toilet paper holder and a towel rack. The only downside is that it is in a coop building, and I need to get them all kinds of documentation that is proving rather difficult to gather.
I think my new job and my new apartment mean that on the Brooklyn food chain, I have moved from despised hipster to loathed yuppie. I'm not sure if its an upgrade or not, but I did feel that my new status meant I should travel to the mecca, Fairway, which only opened this week. Conveniently located in Red Hook, it is innaccessible by subway, poorly serviced by bus routes and almost impossible to be found by the average New York cabbie. Luckily half of Park Slope was there with their Jeeps and Subarus. I on the other hand had to hike from the Smith-9th Street stop of the G train.
Red Hook was not what I had expected. I'm beginning to think that Bushwick is indeed the shittiest shit hole in Brooklyn. I had heard all about Red Hooks reputation, but it's a picturesque, if picaresque, neighborhood. Brick tenements huddIe together in the shadow of crumbling factories and warehouses while closer to the waterfront the rusted vestiges of Brooklyn's seafaring past are still visible. I passed art galleries and antique stores and yes, even strollers. Just as I saw the distant form of Fairway on Van Brunt Street, I began to smell the sea. The one form of transportation that is easily accessibly from Fairway is the Water Taxi.
I hadn't been planning on buying much, but when I walked up to the cheese case and saw they had Brie de Meaux, I couldn't resist. The employees had obviously been vigourously coached to be friendly and helpful, but I still had a pretty genuine conversation with the cheese guy about the supierority of brie de meaux. (Whole Foods and many cheese shops refuse to carry it, because it is made from raw milk.) After the cheese, I quickly went into what I can only describe as the foodie trance, that weird stupor that people go into when they walk into gourmet supermarkets and lose the ability to walk. Thankfully, the aisles are wide and the store is big enough that customers can walk around like extras from Dawn of the Dead without creating chaos. There were still some kinks to be worked out, though. The credit card machines were on the fritz and didn't accept the first card I tried. I also would have appreciated if some proper bagging instruction had accompanied the customer service training. My container of watermelon opened all over the bag it was placed in and the cheese was crushed by the apples. My mother always rearranges the groceries after they're packed, and I thought she was crazy, but today it made sense. They were only single bagged and one of the bags split on my way home.
The trek home involved a bus, a subway, and a 20 minute walk. All told it took two hours to get back home. If I have another free Sunday afternoon, I might go back for certain things like cheese and fresh fish that I can't get from Fresh Direct, but I won't be making that hike for stuff like apples and pasta.

It's Coming With Me When I Go

2006-05-12T21:40:00.000-04:00

So because of poor foresight and even poorer planning, I have to get out of my apartment by the end of the month. My apartment has been rented to a girl who came to look at the place about a week ago. A few other people had been by before, and they had been underwhelmed. But this girl was seriously enthusiastic. "This is what I"m talking bout!" she said when she came throught the door. I had 3 weeks of laundry jammed in a corner, and the tub and toilet had these weird pink stains they get when I don't clean them frequently, but she didn't seem to mind. (BTW, I looked it up and the pink residue is caused by airborne bacteria that thrives in moist environments. Yum.) "This kitchen is way better!" She'd already been to the vacant apartment next door, which except for the paint job, is identical to mine. I can only assume she liked my crusty cutting board and dusty dishes in the drying rack. Her reaction to the bathroom: "You use Kiehl's!? Me, too!"

I had this exchange with someone else who came to look:
"Is this your air-conditioner?"
"Yeah, it's mine."
"Does it work? Does it keep it cool?"
"Yeah, it does a good job."

Why do you care? I'm taking it with me when I go! I remember being dragged to see what felt like hundreds of houses with my parents in second grade. Upon getting in the car again, I would make comments like "I didn't like their couch" or "They had pretty curtains in the kitchen." And my parents had to explain to me that their stuff was leaving with them, and I had to imagine how our stuff would look in the house. Apparently the people who came to see my apartment didn't get the same pearls of wisdom from their parents. I know that my stuff looks cute with the inexplicable orange paint job, but I'm taking it with me when I go! The pink bacteria is all yours, though.

In return I've been looking for apartments in Clinton Hill, which is near where I'll be working. Seeing as how I have to be at work at seven, I figure I should be close by. I had looked at a couple of lofts in the area, but moving from a loft in a sketchy neighborhood to a loft in a semi-sketchy neighborhood at a 50% mark-up seemed like a bad idea. Today I went to look at a studio in a brownstone on Clinton Ave. Clinton Avenue really must be one of the most beautiful streets in New York. 19th Century limestone mansions and brownstones hide behind lush leafy trees. I had Essex Green on my iPod and the people I passed nodded and smiled at me. "I must live here," I thought. I got to the buidling, which echoed the gabled townhouses of Amsterdam. "I want it!" I thought. I was asked to come back in twenty minutes. When I got back I was greeted by the super who spoke only semi-comprehensible English. I was able to make out that it was the basement apartment, and that the current tenant had changed the locks and we had no way of getting in. I peered down the dank stairs to the darkened front door. "Come back later." Maybe not.

When I got back home, I began looking at listings online and called about another apartment in a brownstone nearby. The landlord sounded sleazy.
"What do you do for a living?"
"I'm a school registrar."
"Oh so you teach."
"Well, no I work in the office. I do the admin stuff."
"I'm partial to school teachers."

Yeesh. I'm supposed to look at it tomorrow, but I'm not sure if I really want to. Will my desperation to stay housed win out over my reluctance to not fall into the clutches of a dirty old man?

Fin

2006-05-04T22:38:00.000-04:00

Yesterday, my last paper for college was due. It was for my internship seminar, and was title "Community at a Crossroads: Adaptive Reuse and Redevelopment on the Lower East Side." I'm now officially done.
Afterwards I went to pick up my new computer and my tickets for graduation. I all just feels so final. I mean, I'm pretty happy with where I am in life and how college turned out. I think regret and guilt are pretty useless emotions so I'm not even going to entertain any fantasies about what college could have been like had I or it been different. So all in all, I had a pretty great time at NYU. It just all feels so fast and incomplete.
I never really thought about what I wanted my adult life to be like outside of ballerina/astronaut/lawyer day dreams, and now that I'm finally here I don't know what direction I want to go in. Especially since I feel like I already missed a fork in the road that I didn't even know was there.

Anyway in cheerier cooler news, my graduation present is an iPod nano and a MacBook Pro. They are both seriously cool. Although it is a total pain getting my music/ pictures from my old PC to the new compy. If only I could upload from my old Pod... I would take a picture, but I'm not sure if my old camera works with this computer and I'm too exhausted to find out.

Le Travail

2006-04-30T22:26:00.000-04:00

So I got a new job that is sort of kind of in Clinton Hill. (It's really in Bed-Stuy, but more on that later.) On Friday I went to look at some lofts about two blocks from my future place of work. They were okay, but reminded me of NYU dorms in that they were showing about 10 years wear and tear when people had only been living in them for two. But I loved the neighborhood. I was walking down the street, when a woman stopped me and asked what smelled so good in someone's front yard. It was Lily of the Valley. We both stopped and smelled the flowers until we walked to the corner and said good bye. Actually we wished each other a nice day. I couldn't believe I was still in New York.

Shut Up

2006-04-30T01:47:00.000-04:00

Shut Up, tourist frat boys I saw at Magnolia who were "rapping" Lazy Sunday. You've never been here before. You don't know that you love these cupcakes, cousin. You're no better than those Sex and the City wannabes who get off that taupe colored tour bus and stuff their face with cupcakes till they can't fit into their jeans.

Shut Up, NYU. It's a library. I don't want to hear your conversation (on your cellphone!) about whether or not that Chinese girl was flirting with you by asking if you wanted to study this weekend. I don't want to hear you singing through the wall of my study cubicle. I don't want to hear your conversation in Russian.

Shut Up, Asshole on my roof who brought there dog up there for a whiz and won't be quiet. Hey! I have a great idea let's get drunk and yell! WHOOO!

Spring Fever

2006-03-29T21:50:00.000-05:00

I don't consider my self an outdoorsy person, but every year when it begins to get warm again and the sun starts to stay up till after dinner, I get this intense desire to sit in the sun or go on long walks. Unfortunately this is also the time when I have to most work to do. So I find myself ditching my homework to walk along the still desolate boardwalk at Coney Island or climb the hill to the Cloisters. This afternoon rather than take the subway home, I decided to walk across the Williamsburg Bridge and watch the sunset.

I've always like Edward Hopper's aptly titled, From the Williamsburg Bridge. I thought it perfectly captures that desire to be outside, to get out of the dark.
I took this picture from the Manhattan ramp of the bridge. It's unlikely that these are the buildings in the painting, as many of the buildings along Delancey Street have been knocked down and replaced with projects or even that Hopper painted the exact streetscape, but I think they come remarkably close.

Misc.

2006-03-26T19:46:00.000-05:00

In an homage to my favorite Daily Photo blogs, I thought I'd post this picture. It's the Flushing Avenue Station of the J train and directly behind the platform is the hulking form of Woodhull Hospital. The hospital is ugly, distopian and, by all accounts, provides inadequate medical care. I think the architect must have been watching Kubrick movies and drinking chocolate milk the night before he began designing it.
Anyway if you like cityscapes check out Paris, London and Venice. There must be 35 in all, but those are my favorite.
On Friday, I went to see Lonesome Jim. It was opening night and Steve Buscemi, who directed, answered questions afterwards. It was a quasi-Catcher in the Rye story about a likeable loser who hits rock bottom only to learn not to look for his heart's desire any farther than his own backyard. Despite it's cliche ridden plot and minimalist production, the acting was low-key and charming. My biggest complaint is that it's entirely forgetable

Not a girl; not yet a boy

2006-03-25T10:30:00.000-05:00

Reasons I think I might be missing a chromosome:

1) Dirty Dancing I don't get it. In one 24 hour period freshman year, I was forced to watch this "movie" twice. I sat through it dutifully, but frankly I think it's crap. I don't get Patrick Swayze. I don't get the dancing. I don't care if any one puts Baby in a corner.

2) Sex and the City All right, I'll be honest, they really lost me with the "shiksa princess" story line, but even before that this show was kind of mystifying. I like shoes and shopping as much as the next girl, but Carrie was whiny, petulant and ultimately, completely unsympathetic. Sure the show was funny at times, but it's not my life philosophy or anything. And I would never pay to have a taupe colored tour bus take me to Magnolia for cupcakes. I can walk there just fine myself.

3) The NY Giants This past fall I had a conversation with a girl who admitted that sometimes she wished she'd been born a boy so she could play football. Maybe I'm not alone...

4) Offsides It's just not that complicated. You're in an offsides position if you're closer to the goal line than the second to last defender and the ball. But it's only an offense if you're interfering in play. Granted this is made more complicated to judge because football (Europe) doesn't use instant replay. But making Angela Merkel (the Chancellor of Germany) draw a diagram of offsides to prove she's really a football fan? Puh-lease.

Belated Greetings from Michigan.

2006-03-23T19:38:00.000-05:00

I hadn't realized that I haven't updated in almost a month. I've been really busy with school and work and I haven't had anything interesting to talk about. I'd been planning on updating when I'd been in Detroit, but I was to busy eating hamburgers and watching tv. (Seriously that is all I did, and Comcast is way better than Cablevision.)
Detroit is a crazy, crazy place. There is so much I could say about this, but I will only mention this. Detroit has a phenomenon called urban prairie where entire neighborhoods have been demolished and have reverted to their original prairie state. Feilds of wild flowers now surround the ruins of houses, factories and churches. This isn't the whole city, but its a sizeable part.
The other things that I've been thinking about include the crappiness of the fact that Apple doesn't make replacement iPod headphones and Trader Joe's doesn't live up to the hype.
I've been forced to buy replacement headphones that are pinkish-white, although they do fit more comfortably in my ears. I know it's a total lable-whore thing to worry about, but I'm not appreciating having to walk around the city with non-Apple 'phones.
Also Trader Joe's, meh. I will totally admit that I'm Whole Foods' bitch, but I'm not that impressed by TJ's. Their selection is way smaller; plus I have to stand in line outside. The lighting and decor are harsh, while the shelves are in varying degrees of disorder and emptyness. All of which contributes to a rather Soviet bread line atmosphere. And their claims of super-deliciousness? Completely unfounded. My brie was average, but the massaman curry was inedible. As if it needed another endorsement? (ex)MTV VJs love Whole Foods. Two years ago, I saw Carson Daly chatting up everybody in sight at the Columbus Circle WF, and yesterday I saw Matt Pinfield at the Union Square one. (It was totally him.)

In the Future

2006-02-28T00:17:00.000-05:00

As I am currently procrastinating writing a paper and I have been asked the question of what I am planning to do upon graduation approximatley 2000 times, I thought I would answer it here.

1)Go abroad. I'll never again be so rootless that I'll be able to pick up and move to a foreign country.
a) UK, I love Britain even though I've only spent one week there. (Ridiculous? Possibly.) I would love to experience a culture whose language I can understand (mostly) but is so different from the US. Although London is prohibitively expensive, it manages to feel more cosmopolitan and smaller than New York simultaneously. It would be interesting to experience a culture that values (requires?) self-deprecation and regimentation as it is so opposite of the US, although that could possibly be stifling.
b) Paris, once again, a place I have only spent a week in that I love. I think with a few months I could be fluent in French, which would be very nice. Plus, Paris is so beautiful and I miss how delicious food in Europe is. I love how in Europe vestiges of the "old" way of life have survived despite industrialization. In America this old way of life never really existed.
c) Tokyo (or an large city in Japan.) I've never been, but I would love to go. What I've seen/ read about Japanese culture fascinates me. This would be the most difficult experience of the three so far. I don't any Japanese and I think navigating the cities/ culture would be exceedingly different but I'm up for a challenge.
d) Hong Kong, Like Japan it would be a difficult transition, but the I think the hectic pace of Hong Kong would be exhilirating and a challenge.

2) Stay in New York
a) Work for the city/ state. I like politics, theoretically. Could I like them practically?
b) PR, I have some experience in PR-y things. It's fast-paced, relatively creative and can get you into some pretty nice parties. The sleaze factor is pretty high, though.
c) non-profit, It's basically what all my internships have been in. My current one I love, but I've been in several that have been miserable experiences. The mission/ work environment is so important, although it always is and it's hard to weed out the good places from the bad. Also the pay can be exceedingly low. I don't know if I have the time to find a good place and pay rent in New York.
d) teach, I love the idea of molding young minds and improving their lives. It would be really rewarding, but on the other hand, it is a huge responsibility and a huge committment. I don't know if I'm ready for such a "settled" down job yet.

There it is. Does it sound too much like a report for career planning day. Well, I have three months to decide and make it happen.

Right to Privacy? What Right to Privacy

2006-02-23T20:53:00.000-05:00

OR

Reason #361 why I am never leaving New York:

Or not going to South Dakota at any rate

My favorite part of the article? There's only one abortion clinic to shut down.

Coffee

2006-02-21T21:04:00.000-05:00

What I miss most about Italy is the cappuccinos (cappuccini?) New York coffee, even and especially Starbucks, is bitter, burnt and well, bad. An early morning cappuccino in Italy is like being awoken by angels. It doesn't need sugar; the steamed milk is sweet, not sugary and smooth, foamy not bubbly. The shot of espresso is never bitter, but dark, earthy, complex. It's the perfect size. It's small enough that it can be drank before the milk gets cold, but large enough to be savoured. Italians don't take their coffee "to go;" they drink it at the bar with a coronetto. As an aside my last night in Florence, we went to the bakery that makes the pastries for all the bars in the city. Our only directions were to follow "the smell and the light." We found it.
Since coming back to New York, I haven't been able to find a decent cappuccino. That's wrong I have found ok cappuccino. The espresso wasn't bitter; the foam wasn't stale, but something was missing. It didn't help that they are universally sold in paper cups and drank through plastic lids. There's just something special about drinking it from a cup and saucer. Most of them are just too big, too much milk, not enough coffee. I was despondent, but settled for drinking what I could get.
Until today. There is a little cafe near Washington Square that I have walked past thousands of times. The outside is unassuming, white stucco surrounding gigantic windowsm but the name, the name is promising. Caffe pane e cioccolato. Coffee bread and chocolate. Today I finally had a reason to go in and it was just like being back in Italy.

The "F"reak Train

2006-02-14T20:16:00.000-05:00

Monday. 4:55 pm. F Train at Delancey
Freezer bag. Freezer bag full of brownish-green stuff. Freezer bag full of weed!? Just as I realize what I'm staring, the guy next to me bolts towards it. Before he can grab it, the 19 year old whose pocket it has fallen out of snatches it from the jaws of the door. "Did you see that?" he asks me as he sits back down.

Other things I've seen on the F Train?

A barefoot homeless man covered in motor oil.
A man suffering from NF
A conductor exorting riders to "turn that frown upside down."

Blizzard of 06

2006-02-12T14:31:00.000-05:00

Last night (and this morning and currently) New York got the second biggest snowstorm in the city's history.
These are pictures from my neighborhood. I wanted to take pictures from my roof, but by the time I'd made it home my camera was frozen.

The Most Holy Day of the Year

2006-02-05T16:56:00.000-05:00

My parents turned down Free tickets to the Super Bowl. I'm so mad. And when did I find out? 15 minutes ago. So angry.

Check Yourself Before You Wreck Yourself

2006-01-25T11:01:00.000-05:00

I live in a hipster building. I came to realize the fact coming home on the J or L train. I would always see these kids: the boy who dresses like Joe Strummer (complete with fedora), the kid wearing white loafers and too tight cords, the girl with the bleached asymetrical hair cut and surgically attached pod'phones, get on the train in Manhattan. Hipsters, I would sneer to myself and expect them to get off the train at Marcy or Bedford, but they wouldn't. When the J train would make express stops and bypass Hewes and Lorimer, they wouldn't seem nervous, like they'd missed their stop. Then they would get off at my stop and we would both start walking west, and the first one to make the right onto my street would look over their shoulder to see who was following them. (This is a bad neighborhood; people get mugged, you know.) We'd reach my building, not holding the gate open for each other. It happens all the time.
I've seen a lot of weird behavior. I'm no one to judge really, anybody who's lived with me can tell you that, but there are somethings even I find off putting. The other night as I was heading downstairs to get my laundry, I passed a man on the stairs holding a swaddled bundle. There are no babies in this building, I thought. He glanced up at me, both surprised and worried and hugged the the thing closer as if he were afraid I would wake it up. I tried to walk quietly so as not to disturb the "baby." As I passed him on the landing, I saw a dog's head poking out. WTF?

Cops and Robbers

2006-01-21T21:58:00.000-05:00

Last night, someone tried to break into my neighbor's apartment by "ripping off the skylight." How do I know this? I was awoken by the conversation between the cops and my neighbor. The cops seemed pretty unconcerned and kept saying it must have been "a buddy trying to mess with you" while my neighbor kept repeating that the skylight had been ripped off and that it was a "cat burglar."

My apartment is just down the hall and also has skylights so I'm pretty edgy, but the whole thing seems so surreal, I'm still not completely sure what to think.

Wayfaring Stranger

2006-01-20T22:33:00.000-05:00

Something strange happened to me when I came back from studying abroad almost a year ago. I only became more restless. I've never been content to sit around, and I've always been ready to leave for anywhere at a moment's notice. Shpilkes, my grandmother calls it. Ants in your pants. And yet I've always considered myself a die-hard New Yorker, even during those years in New Jersey, I always thought of New York as the only worthy place to live. But in these last few months, I've begun to wonder what else might be out there. I've begun to wonder if I might not really be happy elsewhere. My father, having spent a considerable amount of time in the Midwest, would tell me growing up that I had no idea what the "real" America was like, that New York was an anomaly existing in its own universe. Maybe America isn't like that New Yorker cover.
Maybe there's more than rocks out there.
I think it might have happened when a friend came to visit this past fall. She had never been to New York before, and the sight of the Empire State Building literally stopped her in her tracks. I couldn't quite understand her reaction. I've become a little inured to what makes New York so great.
New York has a lot of cons, and I've become a bit jaded to her pros. In the past six months, I've had several friends leave New York, and at first I was at a loss. Where do people go when they leave New York, I wondered. Doesn't any other place pale in comparison to New York? Aren't they bored? But maybe I've become a little bored.

Happy New Year!

2006-01-01T17:56:00.000-05:00

I was lucky enough to be able to see the ball drop in person last night, and not have to freeze my ass off, either. I'll try to post pictures when I get them since I didn't bring my camera with me.

And the Giants won the Division title and are going to the playoffs! It will be a good year!

The War on Chrismahanakwanzaakuh

2005-12-30T18:31:00.000-05:00

I realize this post is very late and no longer timely, but I'm still posting it.
Or, It's a Christmas World; You're Just Living in It.
During the commercial breaks of The Daily Show and The Colbert Report, I've been know to flip the channel to the O'Reilly Factor. This was where I was first introduced to the War on Christmas.
Initially I was a bit confused by the anger at the use of Happy Holidays and Season's Greetings. These phrases are meant to be inclusionary (and supposedly this is where the anger stems from), but they're not. The "Holiday Season" to me always meant the time from Thanksgiving to New Years. The time when Christmas decorations go up. The time when people shop, when Carols are played on the radio. Advent. The "holidays" weren't Hannukah, Kwanzaa, Solstice, Diwali, or Ramadan. In some European countries, Christmas isn't over until Epiphany; in Sweden St. Lucia Day (Dec. 13) is a big deal. The Eastern Orthodox Christmas is in January.
That isn't to say there haven't attempts at a more inclusionary "Holiday" Season. Marketing attempts. This year I've seen a lot more plastic menorahs in stores and restaurants than I used to. I've always hated them. They're cheap and one or more of the bulbs never works. They look nothing like the real menorahs that my family lights. My elementary school always had a beautiful huge christmas tree in the lobby, and on a small table next to it was one of those unfortunate plastic menorahs. To me, even at the age of eight, it said Christmas is beautiful, joyful and festive; Hannukah is cheap, small and unfortunate.
My Jewish aging hippy parents disapproved of the Holiday Season. Christmas was out of the question. Even Jewish Christmas (a movie and Chinese food) was frowned upon. Hannukah was celebrated in a purposefully austere manner. My parents objected to a minor Jewish holiday being turned into a glorification of commercialism and assimilation. We were reminded that in Israel, Hannukah isn't a big deal, and that when they were growing up, they would be happy to get an orange as a present. A Hanukkah Bush, Hanukkah Harry and a glazed ham were verbotten. Christmas, like happiness, isn't for the Jews.
But we do have our traditions, our holidays; they just aren't in December. We have a drunk holiday (Purim), a symbolic food holiday (Pesach), a starvation holiday (Yom Kippur), even a camping holiday (Sukkot.) I used to try to explain this to my non-Jewish friends, but I stopped after seeing the glazed looks on their faces.
A plastic menorah and a "holiday" season aren't inclusionary. They're cheap, easy ways to dodge the real question of ethnic and religous diversity.

Steeeeerike!

2005-12-23T22:42:00.000-05:00

In the past 3 months I’ve had to deal with two strikes, the first I've ever had to deal with. When the GAs went on strike, I was initially ambivalent. No matter how much I felt that the United Auto Workers should have been saving people's jobs in Michigan rather than supporting the Grad students at NYU who were only marginally employed by NYU, I guess they had a right to unionize. But what I really objected to was being used as a pawn by both the GSOC and the University administration. I don't appreciate being made to feel like a scab by using the library or being asked to be a snitch by the administration and report which of my classes are meeting off campus. I still have a class meeting off campus this semester and no, J-Sex, I'm not going to tell you which one.

I've been told (accused, really) by several people that by not supporting the GSOC strike, I was a lipstick liberal. I am liberal; I am pro-union, but I also have a mind of my own and I'm not going to blindly support any cause that claims to have the same political leanings that I do.

I feel completely differently about the transit strike. Don't get me wrong, there is no love lost between me and the transit workers. In a city full of bad service, the transit workers are paragons of the laziness, rudeness and unprofessionalism that New Yorkers have come to expect, but in an economy where workers' rights and privileges are quickly being eroded, unions are more important than ever. The range of objections to the strike have been particularly suprising in a city full of alleged liberals. The elitism of people with post-graduate degrees objecting to having salaries less than those of the transit workers has been particularly disappointing. Social Security and Medicare are not retirement plans, and someone has to pick up the slack. If this means a few days of walking a few miles in the cold, New York should suck it up.

It's true that a few old and sick people were seriously inconvenienced by the strike, but the rest of New York was more insulted than injured. The story of a woman giving birth in a taxi has been pointed to repeatedly as an example of the havoc that the strike has caused, but in truth, women don't make it to the hospital all the time. This week it made the news. Most New Yorkers don't support the MTAs desicions closing of token booths and the one-person operation of trains, but they're obviously unwilling to do anything to keep that from happening.

Strike

2005-12-20T08:12:00.000-05:00

If the MTA strike continues till Thursday, I'm looking at a two and a half hour walk in twenty degree weather beginning at 5:30 in the morning to get to my final.

Charity Mugging

2005-12-05T20:44:00.000-05:00

Whenever I would see charity muggers on the street, you know those college kids in windbreakers from Greenpeace or Children International begging for signatures or money, I would be so grateful that despite all the crappy jobs I have had, I've never sunk that low. And then several Saturdays ago, I became one.
Standing on a street corner in Philadelphia, I found myself asking people if they had a minute for air quality. Most of them did not. I was there for an interview with an advocacy/research group that will remain nameless. For six hours I was expected to schmooze and act very concerned about environmental issues. The charity mugging was essential, because should I be hired, I would spend an entire summer doing just that.
The longer the interviews and public speaking activities went on, the more uncomfortable I felt. Here I was talking about environmental racism and homelessness with priviledged white kids, Liberal white guilt at its most blatant. One of the advantages of living in New York (or disadvantages) is the exposure I've gotten to all levels of society. I don't know many other places where you have public housing projects in close proximity to one-bedroom condos worth more than half a million dollars. And like the confusing jumble that the citizens of New York often find themselves in, the issues that concern them can not be neatly seperated into neat categories. It's naive to say, but it's true: it's all connected. "Fixing" the world is a messy job; you can't be afraid to get your hands dirty.

Security

2005-12-03T21:57:00.000-05:00

A few weeks ago, I bought long underwear as a kitschy-maybe-I'll-wear-this-when-I-go-visit-the-'rents-in-Michigan purchase. Well they've come in very handy in New York. Where's the global warming?

Speaking of the 'rents, this week I realized more than I have ever before, that there's nothing more valuable than a family that loves each other. I never thought I'd be happy that the most serious thing we argued about on Thanksgiving was what kind of pies we were going to have.

The Best Music You're Not Listening To

2005-12-01T19:04:00.000-05:00

Explosions in the Sky. Go. Listen. Now. Thank me later.

Non Sex

2005-11-17T22:26:00.000-05:00

Writing about sex is a good way to get people to read your blog. No really, people love reading about other people's bad sex, ways to improve their blow job technique and just smut in general. At least that is what I read. But I can't write about sex; I can only write about non-sex.
I'm sure if I went to a normal college, I would be writing about drunken hook-ups, first love (or second or third) and improving blow job technique. Instead I go to NYU and I write about drunken nights in which I find nobody remotely attractive, meet only gay guys or gay guys (in the socially unacceptable, third grade sense) and wind up home by myself. Freshman year we came up with a breakdown of guys at NYU: 50% gay, 25% taken, 10% extreme assholes, 5% Republicans, 6% thinks speedballs are a breakfast cereal, 4% are Stern nerds and 1% are actually reasonably attractive datable guys. This might seem cynical, but I don't mean to imply that no one at NYU dates. Actually I do mean that. Getting into a relationship at NYU is akin to being in the ocean just after your trans-atlantic ship has gone down. While various flotsam drifts past you and other hapless victims flail for their lives, you look about for anything, anything that will keep you afloat and out of the icy water. Yup it's a lot like the end of Titanic except without Leonardo DiCaprio, just a door.

Autumn in New York

2005-11-10T18:40:00.000-05:00

Finally! Not that I'm complaining about the unseasonably warm weather that we've been having for the past couple of months, but fall is finally here. Today in Prospect Park was a perfect fallen leaf crunching, apple cider drinking, pumpkin carving, sweater wearing, wood smoke smelling autumn day.

2005-11-10T18:36:00.000-05:00

This tree looked like it was on fire. Seriously.

2005-11-10T18:35:00.000-05:00

It was a perfect day.

2005-11-10T18:34:00.000-05:00

Crunching through leaves...

2005-11-10T18:33:00.000-05:00

Runners!

2005-11-10T18:32:00.001-05:00

The Long Meadow

2005-11-10T18:32:00.000-05:00

And of course beautiful Park Slope.

Graduation

2005-11-09T22:15:00.000-05:00

So there's a rumour (www.nyunews.com) that graduation might be held at Shea Stadium, because Washington Square Park will be under renovation. If this turns out to be true, I will kill someone. On the other hand, if we were to have graduation at Yankee Stadium, I will feel as if my $160,000 dollars was totally worth it.

Say Yes to M!ch!gan!

2005-11-07T22:43:00.000-05:00

My family is moving to DETROIT! I keep saying it, but I can't quite believe it yet. In a couple of months, they will be living somewhere in the wilds of Michigan. It's what my dad calls the real America. I'm currently listening to Sufjan Steven's album. It's all songs about Michigan recorded in Brooklyn. Seems fitting.

And no, I am not following them out there.

Madness

2005-11-01T23:55:00.000-05:00

As I've mentioned before, in most of the places I've lived during my life, I've been able to see the Empire State building from my bedroom window. It's a landmark, a symbol to me. If it's there and ok, then I'm here and I'm ok. I used to feel the same way about the World Trade Center, but well you know... I think my personal relationship with New York architecture is what led to the Metropolitan Studies major.
The top thirty stories are lit at night, normally with white lights. For most of my childhood, the tower would be lit with mulit-colored lights only on special occassions. Thanksgiving, Christmas, the Fourth of July. Seriously if you didn't garner a day off of work, you didn't get tower light recognition.
Following 9/11 the lights were red, white and blue for a good six months. The next March they went back to "normal." Except now they are hardly ever white. Everyone and their mother has the lights lit in their honor. Today for instance, tonight the lights are blue for "Keeper of NY Harbor." On November 9, they will be white and yellow for something called "NYC Honors County Music Awards." I have no idea what either of these things is and I doubt that other New Yorkers do either.
Frankly I really hate it. I hate that such a symbolic part of New York is so subject to whimsy and caprice. Sure a little color is fun, but that's for the Chrysler building or Met Life. The ESB and by extension New York is stoic and unimpressed. Should it really be acknowleding Stop Red Light Running or Corporate Philanthropy Day?

2005-11-01T19:54:00.000-05:00

11/1/05: Blue

Halloween!

2005-10-31T23:59:00.000-05:00

The annual Greenwich Village Halloween Parade was insane. I saw stiltwalkers, ghosts, ghouls, witches, Batman, Superman, Rainbow Brite, Wonderwoman, Dorothy and the Cowardly Lion, Marilyn Monroe, Ali G, women and children dressed as Elvis, kings, queens, drag queens, a mammogram machine (insert boobs here), sexy nurses, 3 different marching bands, animal rights activists, 2 popes making out with each other, line dancing priests, a leprechaun, Highlanders, the Grim Reaper, devils, angels, Jesus, a Jew, and Fridha Kahlo's self-portrait. I highly reccomend it to the uninitiated.

(Also scroll down and look at the last picture first.)

2005-10-31T22:23:00.000-05:00

And naked men.

2005-10-31T22:21:00.000-05:00

Brooklyn in da house!

2005-10-31T22:20:00.001-05:00

No definitely Halloween.

2005-10-31T22:20:00.000-05:00

Carnivale?

2005-10-31T22:19:00.000-05:00

Mardi Gras?

The roof leaks...

2005-10-31T02:26:00.000-05:00

So yeah my ceiling/ roof leaks. Monday night it started dripping down and for the next two days, I had cups and bowls collecting rusty smelly water as it dripped down onto my floor and kitchen table. It was lovely. At first I was totally freaked out and thought that the flooding would compromise the structral integrity of my apartment causing the ceiling to fall on my head, but that didn't happen. Then I thought I would come home from class to find that the sprinkler had fallen out of the ceiling and had destroyed most of my furniture in the process. That didn't happen either. After the first day I decided to embrace the situation and I listened to jazz and pretended that I live in a Parisian garret. It's going to get fixed soooometime.

Ambivalence

2005-10-17T00:46:00.000-04:00

1) Motherhood. I never really thought about having babies until I was 17. In my AP Psych class we would watch videos about child development which would often prominently feature smiling laughing babies. I'm pretty sure every girl in my class ovulated on those mornings. I, too, wanted a baby. Not right there in first period but eventually. For several years I entertained fantasies of being a stay-at-home Mom in the West Village; raising cute children and sending them to posh private schools. Yet the closer I get to that point in my life where I will be expected to get married and have children, the less I want to do it. The world is over-populated as it is. There's global warming, disease and social unrest (and that's just Brooklyn!) Also marriage is terrifying. I don't want to hear the m-word until I'm thirty, at least. Currently in my fridge you will find tortillas, a green tea eye compress and wine. I can't take care of myself; how can I be expected to take care of anyone else?
2) Reform Judaism. The Days of Awe have just ended, and I have had my fill of schul for another year. This year I attended services at NYU. Despite the fact the liturgy of Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur have remained relatively unchanged for thousands of years the sermon was a surprise. This year's Rosh Hashanah sermon centered on not feeling guilty for not being Orthodox. Of all the things I feel guilty about, this is not one of them. I am not Reform because I am lazy or want to half-ass my religion. I'm Reform because I believe that women have the right to have an equal share in the practice of their religion. I don't think that I should be forced to sit in the back behind a screen and be kept away from the Torah because I am "unclean." Yom Kippur's sermon was a little closer to my actual sins: is reading US Weekly actually committing Lashon Harah? I can't quite remember what conclusion the sermon came to, but I came to my own: making any resolutions to refrain from talking shit is futile. Especially when I was wondering where the girl sitting in front of me got her nose done.

"Got a feeling 21's going to be a good year"

2005-10-07T00:09:00.000-04:00

Yeah and the Weekend of Vicky has only begun.

I was always jealous that my sister got to have a summer birthday. Now thanks to global warming, I have one too. Did I mention that I have AC on in OCTOBER!?

"It Ended Bad, but I love what we started."

2005-10-05T22:45:00.000-04:00

I wrote a whole post about how much I love the new Fiona Apple record, but it gotten eaten. Suffice to say, it is amazing. I can't remember loving an album so much on the first listen. It's been on since about four this afternoon.

Tomorrow, I turn 21. I've never been terrified about a birthday before. This is the last fun birthday; the last milestone birthday. I feel like I'm no longer getting older, I'm just getting old. That's a semi-ridiculous way to feel, I know, but I've been teetering on the edge of adulthood for a while now and tomorrow I finally fall over the edge. It's sink or swim.

No really I'm not suicidal.

2005-09-13T23:42:00.000-04:00

Yesterday I had my first day of Senior Seminar. We went around picking dates for the presentations of our field notes, which was accomplished by assigning the date to the person who could shoot their hand up the fastest when the date was called. I wanted one of two dates in November, but when I shot my hand up so did another girl across the room. (Yes, it was totally one of those moments from elementary school where you wave your right hand around while supporting it with your left. Ooo me, pick me, ooo ooo.) It was decided by the friend sitting next to Girl 1 that she was the winner of this contest, but because it was so close, the professor gave me first choice for any of the remaining dates. But they were all in December and I had wanted a November date. While the apportioning of dates continued, my friend A asked me why December was so bad. "I have so many papers due. I'm gonna wanna kill myself," I whispered back. Of course I don't know how to whisper. When I whisper, people in Mongolia can hear me. I sound like Li'l Jon. WHAT!? OKAAAY! Just then the professor came back to assigning me a date by saying, "I'll let two people go on the 28th. Vicky seems distressed." She had heard me. Great, now I'm the suicidal sociology student.