Wednesday, June 29, 2005
Hva tenkt de?
I guess I should be glad my people are so bad at this sort of thing.
Courtesy of The Onion
http://www.theonion.com/news/index.php?issue=4126&n=1
Obviously
http://releases.usnewswire.com/GetRelease.asp?id=49450
I want that sandwich
E-run, we should totally let this woman plan the edible part of your next trip out here. Great food blog!
Au revoir, mb
Well, wrappin' it up here at mediabistro today. I'm sad to be leaving, as I've really liked all the writing work, but it's time. And until something perm lands in my lap ('cause I'm just sure this is how it'll happen), it's Temp City for moi. I'm thinking of trying for a few more informational interviews w/ magazine editors while I'm at it; although only one panned out the first time, I didn't follow up all that diligently. We'll see.
On another note, it's stinking hot, and by that I mean, it's stinking hot. The subway terminal this morning smelled like absolute rot, leading me to conclude that breathing is not all it's cut out to be. However, a bright spot: I've determined exactly where to stand while waiting for trains (4, 5, 6) in Union Square station. There's a strip of platform where the fans above are almost cooling, and this morning it was relatively unoccupied. This is huge.
I realize I promised a minimum of weather-talk. What a joke.
6/29 run, mental soundtrack: "Two of Hearts" (Stacy Q.) mixed in w/ Madonna's "Dress You Up." Later, "YMCA," damnit anyway.
Tuesday, June 28, 2005
6/28 run, mental soundtrack
"Earth Angel," The Penguins; "What a Wonderful World," Nat King Cole
Serious.
#:- /
[Mendy: He's gone and befriended that ugly dog. Given his ever-disheveled appearance, it only seems fitting.]
Get a kid
Animals in clothing will always look pretty effed-up to me. That said, I can stomach doggies in Christmas sweaters, doggies in clown costumes, doggies in swimwear, even doggies in drag. But a doggy in dreads? Damn, if I'd had my camera.
Then again, maybe its coat was just really matted. I once roomed w/ a cat (smashed face) cursed w/ this fate. (A: you out there?)
Church for running
This last Sunday I was scheduled to run 12, in training for this. However, by some bizarre turn, I slept in, and when I woke, weather.com told me *78 degrees w/ high humidity.* Oh wait, I hadn't slept in--it was 6:effin'30!! I went straight back to bed, visions of chilled, indoor tracks dancing in my head. Upon waking a second time, I decided to convert dream to reality: I called up the Y. Of note, New York City's Ys do not operate according to the egalitarian principle that I thought the organization was founded on--membership is $80 a month, effectively screwing a would-be-fit poor person out of a lifting regimen. But, I'd read they all have indoor tracks and figured I'd fork over the 10 bucks for one-time access. It was either that or nothing, considering there was no way in hell I'd be subjecting myself to that blasted heat. So I headed out, prepared as was possible for 48 laps of the same old thing. En route I phoned the place, wanting to make sure the track was regulation, or at least close to it. Uh, not close. Try 1/10 of a mile, making for a grand total of 120 laps if it was 12 mi I hoped to complete. Already reeling, I then found out that all those crazy turns'd cost me, oh, $20. Screw that! Exclusive Ys suck. [I made up the lost run this a.m., in conditions slightly more accommodating: 71 degrees/100% humidity. Visuals to come.]
So, instead I went to church. Specifically, to the oldest site of continuous Christian worship in New York City. I later learned that the arts have always been celebrated here; among others, W.H. Auden read poetry in its sanctuary, and these days, the church hosts a poetry reading series, theatrical performances, and visual arts exhibits. It's a church I'd been meaning to visit since I got here, solely for the history and the beauty of it, mind you. Well, I was more than a little surprised, not at the history/beauty bit, but at the all-embracing warmth and acceptance I felt while there. I wandered in a few minutes after the 10:30 start to find a congregation of no more than 40 people, and actually, I think probably half of them weren't part of the congregation at all, just tourists passing through. Anyway, verses were read, hymns and other songs (60s hippie music, I swear it!) sung, the sermon delivered--all done in a spirited, fairly informal way. There was talk of ills in Afghanistan and Iraq, and it fast became apparent: This was my kind of clergy. As if I needed further convincing, the priest proceeded to announce that St. Mark's would, for the first year, sponsor a float in the Gay Pride Parade (taking place later that day), and the cheering was loud. Kicked ess. But the part that got me more than anything happened about halfway through the service. Suddenly everyone was milling around, shaking hands and hugging one another and saying "peace" or "peace be w/ you." I was confused at first (was this a UU church?), and instantly shy; the compassion in that room was so thick, I sort of didn't know what to do w/ it. But after a few rounds, I fell into (relative) comfort, and found myself tearing a little. Actually, even as I write this, I'm feeling a bit of a lump rise up. Stunning, absolutely. And a reminder (to me) that it is possible for religion to be freeing, even outside UUism. :)
Monday, June 27, 2005
Lit
ohyeahilivehere.jpg
andhere.jpg
andheretoo.jpg
gonethewayofkatieh.jpg
I could've taken a shower instead
I'm not ruling out the previous night's Kraft dinner as cause, but at some point on Saturday I forgot I wasn't 12. Yep, it was off to the neighborhood pool! There are several outdoor public pools in this city, and on the first Friday of the summer, doors open. I'd learned this just two days earlier, which left little time for serious consideration of what I was about to do. All I was seeing were strips of weather forecasting, which told me that cold water made sense. And since I didn't feel up to a longish train ride to, say, Rockaway Beach, I figured the fake version was the next best thing. So I loaded up my Strand bag (thanks again, J!) and hit the street, destination Dry Dock rec center. Rounding the corner of 10th and C, I heard it before I saw it. There was some shrieking, yes. I pushed on. Crossing the all-stone locker room (T&T: think Silver Lake), I neared the pool entrance. I'd reached the shower area when I was stopped by a woman in uniform. "You can't take your bag in." "Oh," looking down. "You can take your towel and book, but that's all." "Ok." I turned back, choosing an out-of-the-way locker for my emptied bag. Return to shower. "You can't take your phone in." "Oh. But I don't have a lock." "Well, you can't take it in." "Oh. Ok." Against my better judgment, I stashed my phone, making my way toward the pool a third time. I got the green light this go-round, and into the sun I walked. The first thing I realized was that I'd need to give up my vision of comfort--of chaise lounges and drinks with umbrellas. (Ha! I didn't expect umbrellas, but a chair wasn't out of the question, huh?) No, I would trade such a vision for a hard cement reality. Shrinking a little inside, I moved forward, eyeing a sunny spot straight ahead. I stretched out my pathetic towel, hoping to get a few extra inches out of it, but it was four feet long at best. Drats. I reclined, and although I tried out several different positions, that cement was clearly not going to accommodate. So I sat up, which was roughly the point at which I realized I was the only one present who'd passed through puberty. Scratch that. I was the only one who'd passed through puberty and wasn't a parent. The idiocy! After dozing for a surprising 15 minutes, I hopped up and out of that place, w/o so much as a quick dip.
I'm unlikely to go back. Not until I'm holding the hand of a five year old, anyway.
I could've picked him up and hugged him to my chest like a child
Last Friday I went back to Housing Works for another reading/show. Actually, just the show--the reading was incidental. Can't remember the name of the woman, but she read a piece (fiction) on the psychology behind a porn flick, which just wasn't very good. Anyway, next up was Ms. Claudia Gonson of Magnetic Fields affiliation, and surprise!--she had Ms. Shirley Simms at her side. (Simms contributed vocals on the 69 Love Songs discs.) Claudia made a remark about Stephin not being there to tune their guitars, they sang a half-dozen sweet little songs, Rick Moody keying along to a few, and that was that. Moody's band rounded out the evening, but as I'm not a big fan, I didn't stick around.
My real reason for writing this involves, of course, Mr. Merritt.
I arrived about 10 minutes late, in the middle of that lackluster reading. It was pretty dim, so once I found some buttspace, I was unable see much beyond my own knees. Then my eyes adjusted, and I thought to look around me. My gaze came to land on a suspicious character roughly a foot ahead/left. I took it in: the adjustable baseball cap (no holes, but one of those sliding mechanisms), the casual polo, the khakis, the bored profile, the compact body… and I realized, it was you. Of the hundred or so people present, I happened to plant myself just right of you. Predictably, I fought the urge to fixate, and was mostly successful, save these mildly troubling episodes that recurred w/ each conclusion of each song sang by your lady vocalists. It was then that you would cock your head sharply to the left, ear to shoulder, as if reeling from a punch, or guarding yourself against one. This, done while clapping. Gosh, at first I thought it must be me, that my own clapping was over the top or something. But when I pulled a little experiment, refraining for two whole songs, the head-thing continued. It was puzzling. Then, at the end of the performance, with Claudia's last twang, you shot up and poof, you were gone. (Like myself, apparently uninterested in Rick's band.) I hope you're ok.
Saturday, June 25, 2005
My new backup plan
Earlier this a.m., I was hauling my recyclables to the bin outside our apt. A well-meaning passerby commented on the two pop cans atop my stack.
Her: Are you rich? Me, in my head: No. Her: You can get five cents for each one of those, you know. Me: Oh. Thanks. Me, in my head: Don't rule it out.
Friday, June 24, 2005
Moving on...
Gary Lutz did not disappoint. Some highlights (rough quotes):
"Even when I know I'm going to be talking to myself, I like to try and rough something out." (Not part of the reading, but his introduction.)
"He and I took down hours w/ our talk."
"'I'm very happy for you,' or 'This is just not done.'" (Commenting on the two possible responses to any/everything.)
"She was aimless of face."
"... had just been graduated." (Love his often-passive style.)
*Words* like "swinge" and "roomth."
And my very favorite: "Something conciliatory had been baked into a store-bought cake."
I live in New York
I'm feeling vomitous. (Is that a word? If not, it should be, expressly for moments like now.)
It is absolutely not ok for a nasty old man to disrupt a girl's morning run--and many a person's morning run, for that matter--by exposing himself from his perch on a riverside bench. I just got off the phone w/ the police, and although he's likely gone by now, I figured it was a worthwhile move.
Excuse me while I lose my smoothie to the toilet.
Really, there are no words.
Thursday, June 23, 2005
Read this
Today's NYT features this. Regardless of your take on the article, *John Roderick's interviewer* is this lady, who's quite great. Here's an excerpt:
[The interviews are long and appealingly casual, and the best are full of unexpected little anecdotes and asides, as when Mr. Roderick's interviewer compares some Long Winters lyrics to Dorothy Parker's writing. The response is a half-serious warning: "Be careful not to compliment me too much, because I'm apt to say, 'Don't you think my last quip was rather like Dorothy Parker?'"]
Fantastic, L, just fantastic.
Another good read: http://www.csmonitor.com/2005/0623/p13s02-stin.html
But eek, a little scary.
Wednesday, June 22, 2005
Hail Kristof!
Nicholas Kristof, op-ed contributor to The New York Times, is one of my favorite writers to follow these days. I've never been one to devour the editorial section of the paper, but Kristof's Wed and Sat columns have become a staple. I like his dedication, the fact that he follows up on ideas and events he explores, rather than one-off his chosen topics. His coverage of the Darfur atrocities has been excellent, and his recent attention to the story of Ms. Mukhtaran Bibi really, really compelling. Yesterday's column almost brought me to tears, before infuriating me, that is. I realize I'm preaching to the choir here, but geezus Mr. Bush, do you have an ounce of compassion for humanity in you? Mr. Kristof calls for Bush's condemning of the deplorably cruel acts of violence toward women (a woman raped every two hours in Pakistan? Two-a-day honor killings?!) during an upcoming meeting between himself and Prime Minister Musharraf, a meeting set up, incidentally, to discuss the pending sale of fighter jets to Pakistan. Bush, you have two daughters—you have two daughters. What's it going to take?
What the next 3 1/2 months of my life look like, roughly
Rest
2 miles GP2 miles T2 miles GP
3 miles 4x100 S
1-hour run, including 4:00–5:00 TUT
Rest
4 miles
8 miles
Rest
2 miles GP2 miles T2 miles GP
3 miles 4x100 S
1-hour run, including 4:00–5:00 TUT
Rest
4 miles
10 miles
Rest
2 miles GP 4x1 mile T (1:00) 2 miles GP
3 miles 5x100 S
70-minute run, including 5:00–6:00 TUT
Rest
5 miles
12 miles
Rest
2 miles GP 4x1 mile T (1:00) 2 miles GP
3 miles 5x100 S
70-minute run, including 5:00–6:00 TUT
Rest
5 miles
14 miles
Rest
4x1,200 C
3 miles 4x100 S
4x800 SI
Rest
5-K race
10 miles
Rest
2 miles GP 2x2 miles T3 miles GP
3 miles 6x100 S
80-minute run, including 6:00–8:00 TUT
Rest
5 miles
15 miles
Rest
2 miles GP2x2 miles T3 miles GP
3 miles6x100 S
80-minute run, including 6:00–8:00 TUT
Rest
5 miles
16 miles
Rest
2 miles GP 3x2 miles T (2:00) 3 miles GP
3 miles 6x100 S
4x1 mile
Rest
5 miles
16 miles
Rest
2 miles GP 3x2 miles T (2:00) 3 miles GP
3 miles 6x100 S
4x1 mile
Rest
5 miles
17 miles
Rest
1-hour run, including 2x1,200 C2x400 SI
4 miles
4x800 S 6x100 S
Rest
10-K race
6-8 miles
Rest
2 miles GP 4x2 miles T (2:00) 3 miles GP
3 miles 6x100 S
90-minute run, including 8:00–10:00 TUT
Rest
4 miles
18 miles
Rest
2 miles GP 4x2 miles T (2:00) 3 miles GP
3 miles 6x100 S
90-minute run, including 8:00–10:00 TUT
Rest
4 miles
19 miles
Rest
3x1 mile C3x800 SI
3 miles 6x100 S
75-minute run, including 6:00–8:00 TUT
Rest
4 miles
20 miles
Rest
3x1 mile C3x 800 SI
3 miles 6x100 S
75-minute run, including 6:00–8:00 TUT
Rest
4 miles
13 miles
Rest
2 miles GP4 miles T
3 miles 6x100 S
1-hour run, including 6x400 SI
Rest
Rest
1-hour run
Rest
4x400 SI
Rest
3 miles6x100 S
Rest
2-mile jog
Marathon
Yeah, who wants to be a part of that anyway?
Date: Tue, 21 Jun 2005 13:07:10 -0700
From: Tiffany White tiffanywhite76@hotmail.com
To: kje7@myuw.net
Subject: RE: Avon - boo! (fwd)
Poop on them! I got a rejection letter from that magazine the other day. Sweetness. The lady didn't even call me at least for an interview. I spent 12 bucks on making a nice packet of writing samples, etc., at Kinko's, have a freakin' master's degree and a contact courtesy of you, and the current senior editor had the nerve to send me a letter saying that I wasn't qualified enough. The current senior editor who has a master's in non-fiction writing (?) and hasn't written for any major publications. I am kind of mad about it actually. So, when companies like Avon and you-know-who can't see the talent right in front of their faces, then I say it's not worth working for them. Who wants to be a part of that?
I hate job hunting.
Tiffany
I love my friends.
Date: Tue, 21 Jun 2005 15:18:04 -0400
From: L
To: K
Subject: Avon - boo!
Hey Kristen,
So as I'm sure you can guess from the subject line, I spoke with Avon today. It seems they hired someone who was personally referred from inside who will be temp to perm. I wish I had better news, and that things like this didn't happen. But alas, they do. Never mind, we'll keep looking for the next opportunity for you!
Best wishes,
L
Monday, June 20, 2005
Maybe that's my problem....
I can't stop thinking about this, just so odd. Pea and I were watching NY1 yesterday a.m., and there was this story about the difficulties some people face in finding employment later in life. This reporter offered various explanations, the last one that "seniors can look raggy." First of all, the people he interviewed weren't a day over 50--does this make a senior? And, raggy? Oh gawd, that one had me gasping for breath. Seriously, it was so funny, partially due to the way he said it--so matter-of-factly. And could he not have substituted "casual" or "less than professional?" Then again, if he really was trying to cast a negative light on the apparel picks of old people, I guess raggy accomplishes that. Oh geez, I rarely bust out laughing, but I still am!
Sunday, June 19, 2005
Saturday in pictures
How'd she get in here?
Saturday, June 18, 2005
Hmm. Wonder what this'd fetch me:
Thanks to everyone who voiced their heartfelt support
Clean as a whistle:
Brilliant, just brilliant
"Sentences should not cause you to stop and admire them. They should be in the service of the page." ---James Salter
http://www.salon.com/books/int/2005/06/17/salter/index.html
Friday, June 17, 2005
'cause I'm the luckiest giiiiirl, on the lower east side...
I love this man! LOVE him. I cannot wait.
Wednesday, June 22
Gary Lutz
with music from
Ed Pastorini and special guests
8pm (doors open at 7:30pm)
FREE!
Host: Amanda Stern
Happy Ending Bar
302 Broome Street @ Forsyth; 212-334-9676
(B,D to Grand Street or F, J, M, Z to Delancey)
No-win
4C (a.k.a. Leaky Ceiling Lady) is really something. She's well into her 80s, maybe even 90, and the woman climbs five flights of stairs at least once a day, insisting on doing this w/o an assisting arm ("no, that's ok, I use this railing"). I think (think) Pea read somewhere that people who've been living in walkups in this city for years' time live longer than those who haven't. They certainly have nice quads. Anyway, there's no ceiling to this lady's kindness. She brings us tasty Italian pastries from her favorite city bakery, always stops for conversation, and most recently, gave the umbrellaless Pea a faux bamboo-handled number. It's fairly ancient, has a mangled top, and is embedded w/ cat hair clumps, but gawsh, so nice! Of course, there's always a complaint, right? Ours: She mothers many, many cats--or so we presume given the pissawful stench that greets the nostrils once the fourth floor comes into view. It really is bad, especially at the end of an endlessly hot day, and I can't imagine her neighbors are excited. Maybe that explains the consolation pastries I see in plastic bags twirled around their doorknobs. I wonder if that's enough.
What a find!
Taxonomy of sweet snack food names: The names of snack foods are tough to rank in an unbiased way. Our perceptions of snack food names are deeply influenced by emotional connections to the products formed at an early age.
http://www.igorinternational.com/process/sweet-snack-name-taxonomy.php
And: http://www.igorinternational.com/blog/2005/06/quorn-the-other-swap-meat/. Man, I've been talkin' up Quorn for years now. Bring it on.
Thursday, June 16, 2005
Grab a pillow
[In this recess of the tunnel, Mac does not need a trap with stale food or a feces-soaked rag to catch "track rabbits," as rats are known to the underground homeless. They come because the garbage is as dense as its stench. The light is very dim, but Mac is well accustomed to it all.
Many newcomers vomit here, he warns. No use wondering what the smell is, he says. It’ll just make you sick thinking of the possibilities. Ignore it, he advises.
I bury my nose and mouth deeper into the collar of my turtleneck. The cloth seems to filter the stench a bit. At least my eyes stop watering and my senses recover slowly from the shock.
A shuffling sound penetrates the quiet darkness, and Mac crouches low to the ground, like a wrestler preparing for a new round. This, he says, is how you hunt track rabbits.
A brown rat the size of a small adult raccoon sniffs its way out of the refuse and lumbers past Mac, undeterred by the stark beam of my flashlight pointed aimlessly at my feet. He is in no way frightened by humans and is prepared to ignore us.
"See," Mac says proudly, "the biggest, healthiest, and boldest sons of bitches you’ve ever seen live down here.
The rat turns at the sound of his voice and, teeth bared, darts toward Mac. In a sudden, graceful movement, Mac’s hand sweeps down as if throwing dice and seizes the base of the animal’s tail....]
In my early days as a New Yorker (so long ago, I know), I read The Mole People by Jennifer Toth (excerpted above). Fascinated by the concept of underground dwellers that are human (versus rodent, say), I got a lot out of it. That there's this constituency of the homeless population that exists in closed-off, long-forgotten subway tunnels is stirring and strange and makes for a pretty unique read. Granted, the book came out back in '93, and since then, law enforcement has changed/stiffened and presumably impacted various statistics pertaining to *tunnel folk*, but it's still worthy, if only for the historical snapshot it provides.
While the title may seem off-putting, Toth's decision to use it was a thoughtful one. She actually *got permission* by a number of underground homeless people she met/interviewed, who insisted that "that's what we're known as, and we don't take offense." Anyhow, Toth, at the vulnerable age of 26 (or right around there), risked her life on several occasions to obtain the information required to write her story. That's not to say that danger lurked around every corner--but the threat was real. Also, don't let the quoted text above deceive; plenty of folks Toth conferred w/ chose more, uh, conventional meals.
Toth's research was not only people-oriented, but landscape-driven as well. Her descriptions of the intricate, weblike layout of the tunnels are captivating for their visually evocative detail, and once I'd started reading, I couldn't wait for a train w/o peering into the depths, w/o scanning the grimy stone walls for openings, for some evidence of life. Of course, I knew from Toth's written *maps* that quarters were (are?) rarely visible to surface gazers, but I still imagined.
Then yesterday I had the idea to google Toth, to see if I couldn't track down her email address. I wanted to ask her if she had any insight into today's underground homeless scene. I knew my chances of locating her were dim, as I'd read she's had to *hide out* a few times since the publishing of her book (some dwellers were offended by her portrayal of them), but I figured I'd try. Well, sure enough, no luck. Instead, I found something of an entirely different nature. Essentially, this reader found much to fault Toth with, having mostly to do w/, yep, her tunnel descriptions--one of my favorite elements of the book. He proceeds to, point by point, debunk a great many of Toth's claims, going so far as to question the legitimacy of her post-research narrative involving one of her interviewees physically hunting her down. Thing is, I have no knowledge to go on here, so it's impossible to feret out any kind of truth. But the guy sure writes credibly, and the fact that he undertook such an exhaustive analysis speaks to a true passion for the topic. I doubt he'd put something like this together for the hell of it. Then again, Toth struck/strikes me as an honest sort--yet w/ literally nothing concrete to go on, I'm basically left w/ my intuition.
A couple of nights ago, Pea & I went to a reading at Housing Works Bookstore Cafe. Two authors read: Colleen Curran (Whores on the Hill) and Curtis Sittenfeld (Prep). I've read neither (you yet, E?), but an ever-interested in topics relating to angst-y adolescence. So we sat w/ our deli sammiches and cool white wine and took in a good hour's worth of reading and discussion. Generally the discussion bit doesn't engage me as much as the actual reading, but on this night, I met my exception. Frankly, Curran didn't offer much beyond the obvious commentary, but Pea & I agreed: Sittenfeld is a hell of a woman. She commented on many, many things, including the whole 'what makes chick lit,' breaking from the reductionist 'women gossiping about men and lusting after shoes' to suggest that books that land outside of this classification do so for their ability to allow readers to assume new worldviews, to imagine the implications of a life completely outside of their own experience; that "chick lit" fails here, instead compelling readers to fall back on their own everyday experiences ("yeah, that happened to me, too") in relating to a given character. All fine and good, just different. S also addressed "what's harder to write about--sex or class?" posed by Air America's Katherine Lanpher, which earned another inspired response, something like class is more abstract, it sort of works its way onto the page w/o much conscious energy; sex, on the other hand, takes energy. Good stuff.
Oh gawd, but I stray. (I wanted to write about that reading anyway, so no matter.) Another topic that came up during the post-reading discussion was the whole 'what makes fact/what makes fiction'--you know the debate. Sittenfeld--who claims that while she herself went to a boarding school, Prep is entirely fictional--talked about the number of readers who have responded to the book as if it were nonfiction. Uh, even her own family. Her sister, speaking to Prep's protagonist going to school on scholarship, said to Sittenfeld, "So you had a scholarship?" ("No! It's fiction, fiction damnit!")
Anyway, this part of the discussion got me thinking, again, about the fact/fiction dilemma--namely, how much do I care. Would I really mind if it turned out Augusten Burroughs didn't watch the Brady Bunch episode he claimed to in Running with Scissors? No. Would it bother me terribly to learn that his wacked psychiatrist fake-dad didn't actually encourage the family to psychoanalyze their poop? No. (Er, maybe, for the sheer awesomeness of the claim.) On the flip side, with regard to fiction, would it crush me to learn that Sittenfeld did in fact go to school on scholarship, thus mirrored her protagonist to this end? No. The broad understanding and general acceptance that fiction is never truly *fiction*, that writers necessarily mine their own past for inspiration, seems to suggest that people protest fiction-as-fact more than they do fact-as-fiction.
ANYhow, to tie this all together, I'm not sure how to take this discovery. If I subscribe to Joseph Brennan's extreme skepticism, then I'm forced to acknowledge that a good chunk of Toth's tale is just that--a tale. Say she did embellish landscape details, drawing parallels between hidden tunnels that, in reality, had/have little in common. Say she totally made up the ending--that she wasn't really chased by the infamous *Blade*. Maybe she even made up a dweller or two. Beyond the fact that this would constitute lying, which is rarely a good idea, would I feel wronged? Let down? Yes, I think I would.
Personally, I don't take issue w/ writers who liven up their memoirs, especially when they're written in a humorous voice, w/ a made-up anecdote or two, who fabricate dialogue and hairstyle. As everyone knows, this shet's just damn hard to remember. So if a writer is true to the heart of their personal story, I'm pretty ok with it. And anyway, it's theirs.
However, when a writer attempts to tell another person's story, and couches it in *investigative research*, I expect something different. In pursuing a book like Toth's, I wanted real life. I'm all for fiction, even fiction about people who live underground (Neverwhere is currently sitting on my nightstand), but in this case, I wanted non-. To think that the images Toth's writing conjured for me could be significantly off is frustrating--no, disappointing. And maybe it is just setting stuff, but still, I don't like that, anymore, I can't wait for the train and work up a picture in my head of what it might look like beyond this wall or that track. Even if the characters are accurately portrayed in the book, I have nowhere to put them. Then again, this Joseph guy could be a total kook, in which case this entire entry has been a waste of my time.
Or, simplify
Cute: http://www.501uncomplicate.com/
(Thanks, Jer.)
And how large is yours?
Provocative article on macho TVs: http://www.csmonitor.com/2005/0616/p13s02-stct.html
This is the sort of thing that I imagine many people, even those w/ a stake in environmentally conscious living, don't stop to consider. Hell, I hadn't. Not that my 16-incher poses nearly the threat, but still.
Oh wait, that's right, it's not mine. Nothing is mine; it's all hers. Not a single elephant can I lay claim to. Although (shh) someone else may, if I follow through w/ my *hawk the things on eBay* plan. With at least a dozen different manifestations (candles, figurines, step stools et al), she'd hardly notice a missing tchotchke or two.
Aw, I wouldn't really.
Wednesday, June 15, 2005
To think
I'm working on putting a query together, doing some prelim research first, on the association between running and writing, or more broadly, between physical exercise and creative thought. I plan to pitch both Runner's World and Poets & Writers, and although it's clear to me how to approach RW (thanks largely to mb!), I have zero experience w/ P & W. Upon visiting a marketing site for writers, I learned that new freelancers must send a SASE to obtain writers guidelines. (My take: an attempt to weed out the lazy, thereby cutting back on a certain % of submissions.) Anyway, since I'm one of the (more determined) lazy, I thought, why not just go by their offices? Of course, this was after I'd figured out that they're located a whopping two blocks from mb, making for an easy trip. Well, I just returned from there, and I continue to be impressed by the sheer accessibility of any and all things writerly in this city. (Duh, yes, but I haven’t been here long enough for it to set in.) I mean, here's a magazine I really respect, and there it is--right around the corner! Save the directory posted at the entry, the bldg is basically unmarked, and although I walk by the place every day en route to mb, there's no way I would have known. I just walked right in, said "third floor please," took the elevator up, and there I was. Opened the door to an immaculate reception area, framed magazine covers on the wall, a display of books they've published, a classy lady behind a desk… Stated my purpose, collected my due, then back to work. I love thinking about all the neat places mere blocks from me, no matter where my given location, there for the (my) finding.
There's always next year
This morning, while out running, I ran by a shirtless man bongo-drumming to "Do You Believe in Love?" He was having a hard time keeping up, rhythm-wise, but I raised a hand in support anyway. Cute. :)
It was a cooler run (68 degrees, albeit 87% humidity--ew) than yesterday's. This fact, coupled w/ my new favorite route (north for about 12 minutes--shaded by an overpass roughly half of that time--then back; turn around, same thing; turn around, same thing) guaranteed I wouldn't overheat. Laugh all you want, but I can see it now: training for the marathon, my Sunday long runs consisting of six or so rounds of that ridiculous out-and-back course. Anything for shade--anything.
Eee, speaking of which, time to re-re-re-re-check this site in the hope that 2005's entrants are posted! Gawd, site traffic must be crazy-high today.
One minute later: Oh maaan, just checked. Lottery results are indeed up. I can't bring myself to look--I can't! Eek, but I will. Be right back.
Ahhhh!!! Damn damn damn!!! No dice. Grrrrrrrrr. However, one Randolph Lee Elde made the cut, and although he's considered not running it w/o me, I think he should. Way to go, D.O.D.
Summer training would've sucked anyway. Harumpf.
I refuse to be embarrassed. I dare you to try and make me.
Our little Poppy--some might look at her and think "stuffed duck!" but not we--is off at summer camp. Er, at least, that's what I told her. The reality: She's presently hangin' w/ my favorite dry cleaner--a launderer just up the street, right across from Philip Xavier. What she doesn't realize is that she's about to experience her first professional cleaning, and gawd knows she needs it, dirtied as she's become. I know, evil to trick a duck like that, but what are you gonna do? The only way it would've worked, trust me. [MS: you got any secrets?] Still, funny she wasn't tipped off by the absence of other kids, peeping happily all the way to her holding pen in the back of the shop.
It went a little something like this:
K: Hi, how are you? I've got this suit, a skirt, and, uh... [reaching into my bag] this.
L: Oh, uh.
K: Yeah, I'm not sure... Do you think you can do something? It's my little sister's [said while plugging Poppy's ears], and it's just gotten so dirty.
L: Well, I [laughing, wholly disbelieving], ok. Let me ask the owner [turns, inquires, question met w/ blank stare].
K: If you can't, no big deal. I just...
L: Well, we can try [pulling out clipboard]. What should I, I'm not sure what to call--
K: Yeah, maybe just a shirt--list it as a shirt or something. Or, you know, a stuffed animal, a duck...
[Hesitates, writes "c" on item description line. He mumbles, and it's then I realize he's planning to write "chicken." The absurdity of the situation threatens to overtake me. I pull myself together.]
L: [Crossing out what he's written, visibly perplexed] Ok, we'll try. When do you need this?
K: Oh, whenever [sorry Poppy--I'm not one to inconvenience].
L: Thursday ok?
K: Yep, fine. Take care.
[I exit. Laughter--mine--ensues.]
I'm preparing for the "you lied!"s and the "I hate you!"s that are sure to come. This is normal though, right? A stage they all pass through....
Tuesday, June 14, 2005
Hot hot hot heat
I've decided it's this oppressive heat that's responsible for my recent melancholy. See, I've been missing friends & family, becoming a tad envious of the cozy, chummy groups of people I see clustered around cafe tables, sipping vino and laughing over some lighthearted remark. I totally have Pea to thank for keeping me loved here :) but one simply needs one's friends, too, I've determined. Obvious? Maybe, but until now I'd sort of considered myself one of those people content to spend a signif deal of time alone--and while I know I'll always crave and need this time, I'm realizing just how irrepressibly important *social hour* is to me. I love love love my friends & fam, and know that the bonds will maintain, even grow, w/ this new distance--but still, there's something to be said for the face-to-face stuff. Virtual kisses all around, kids.
Back to the heat. I feel like what it does is stick me in a given frame of mind, so that my current reflection on the past is *locked in* by this impossibly thick, humid air. It's really a strong visual thing for me--like, I can just picture this imposing outside force suffocating all other thought (and in reality, it really does take over, dictating how one will spend one's day, be it near water, in a chilled museum, or at home planted squarely in front of the a/c box). Another possible contributing factor: I'm still stuck on author Dan Chaon (right now, Fitting Ends, a collection of shorts), whose prose makes me instantly woozy and introspective and nostalgic. In fact, I'm currently writing a book review--You Remind Me of Me--for Flak, so I'm pretty immersed. Hmm, maybe it's time for some Sweet Valley High. (Ouch Mom, I'm just kidding.) Speaking of which, last month's Bust had a semi-interesting interview w/ Francine Pascal, who lives somewhere in the Upper East Side and considers herself a full-fledged feminist.
What else can I ramble on about?... Well, I'm here at Grey again, for which I'm eternally greytful (sorry, had to). Had I not landed this freelance assignment, I would have had to have left MB a good three weeks ago, which I would not have felt at all good about. Yay! Also, had my second interview w/ Avon yesterday. Met w/ the executive art director (kooky as they come, friendly & harmless, outing things like "you seem--no, you are--a lovely young woman" and "well, you seem--no, you are--obviously very charming and bright") as well as another HR rep (slighly more formal/intimidating; I talked too fast, stumbled over a few words--but hell, so what), and I think all went almost as well as I could have hoped. I should be hearing back w/in a week's time, so keep those digits crossed, mm?
Something I've become aware of is just how influenced I am by the disposition of my interviewer. For instance, my session w/ Mr. Art Director went off w/o a hitch, largely because his eccentricity overshadowed any nervousness I might have exhibited. He made me instantly comfortable. Ms. HR, on the other hand, showed a cooler side, was intently focused on what I was saying, and was just generally more formal. She definitely had her magnifying glass out which made me more than a little self-conscious, and I wish I could've been 100% consistent between interviews, but as Pea has taken to saying, *wish* paired w/ *could have* = no good. Onwards.
In other news, Pea & I are considering the NY UU circuit. We went to a service last week at All Souls, then this past Sunday, to an end-of-the-year party hosted by a church-sponsored anti-racism group. They work/have worked for increased representation of minorities w/in the church, from ushers to ministers. We met some really nice folks, enjoyed a kickess view (27th flr!) of the city (incl Central Park), and ate far too many Milanos. Also last week, we did The Whitney, our first *big museum* excursion to date. Alexander Calder's mobiles and 3-D, miniature-scale circus scenes; Alexander Ross's paintings of amoeboid-like shapes that appear to be flying through space, ready to bust loose of their canvas; other landscape-oriented exhibits... It was all pretty great. Oh, speaking of art, here's an image from a Chelsea gallery exhibit I saw early on. I don't think I posted it back then, and it's really very cool. That shine! So real! But it's paint!
See:
Grey's housed here:
My set-up at Grey (creepy lighting):
Friday, June 10, 2005
My inbox: 6/10
RUN FAST. RUN LOUD.
Nike Run Hit Wonder 2005 Tour
NYC: Wednesday, July 20: pre-race concert at 6:00 p.m., race start at 7:00 p.m.
BEAT THE CROWDS AND HIT THE ROAD.
Last year's Run Hit Wonder sold out in just over two weeks. And with pre- and post-race celebrations in Central Park's East Meadow, live music along the five-mile course, and a band line-up including Joan Jett and the Blackhearts, The Donnas, and Fountains of Wayne, this year promises to rock even harder. Don't miss the biggest party of the summer!
Learn more and register at http://www.NikeRunHitWonder.com.
TUNE UP WITH FREE TRAINING RUNS
Whether you're preparing to give your best performance or just get back in shape for summer, crank up the volume with a little group energy. We've got training runs six nights a week around the city. No matter what your level, join us for free coaching, refreshments, and more.
Check out the schedule at http://www.NikeRunHitWonder.com.
PROCEEDS TO HELP SAVE CBGB
Help save CBGB musical landmark; $1 of your race entry will help support the Save CBGB fund. http://www.cbgb.com/save_cbgb.htm
Uh, since when did Nike start giving a shet about the fate of CBGB? Surprising.
Thursday, June 09, 2005
I want one!
Selective I'm-sorrys
From an NYT.com article, in the wake of Dean's 'white Christian GOP' remarks:
[Reid has been criticized for making strong comments as well, including calling President Bush a "loser" and a "liar." Reid apologized for the former.]
Send me an angel... ooh-ooh-ooh-ooh... send me an angel...
So the other night I went w/ a pal to Barnes to hear Michael Cunningham read from his new book Specimen Days (J--were you there?). He was great, although pal & I agreed that his books are better read than heard. A need to get closer to the (painstakingly beautiful) writing, I think. Anyway, it wasn't nearly as packed as it had been on Chuckie's evening, which was nice. At the close of the reading portion, Michael fielded the usual questions, then, a not-so-usual one: "Do you believe in angels--yes or no?" from a woman mid-crowd. M took some time to think this one over aloud, coming up w/ no certain answer. Mid-crowd wasn't happy, and made this known. "I want a yes or a no--do you or do you not believe in angels?" she persisted. At this point, M still thought the whole thing mildly amusing; it wasn't until a minute more of it that he realized he was dealing w/ a grade A nutjob. Anyway, he was eventually able to opt out w/o having to defer to security, which, had it come to that, would've made for an even better story.
I need to make more things up.
Thanks J--priceless indeed!
This on craigslist:
Copywriters of all levels
Arrogant, untalented and uninspiring copywriter required to create flabby copy packed with stale insight. Must show willingness to apply a lifeless corporate tone of voice to everything they touch and exceed deadlines by days rather than hours.
Ideal candidate should also possess a proven ability to drone on and on about 'big ideas' without actually having any. Must be able to irritate and infuriate clients - possibly in several different languages. An ability to murder the English language is an absolute must.
If you fit the description above, please change your career. It depresses us to meet people like you, frankly.
If however, you're an extremely good copywriter with a least 2 years of experience in long and short copy, please send resume with Craig's List in the subject line to: recruitc@digitas.com. To learn about who we are, visit our web site at: www.digitas.com
* Job location is New York City
* yes -- OK for recruiters to contact this job poster.
* no -- Please, no phone calls about this job!
* no -- Please do not contact job poster about other services, products or commercial interests.
* no -- Reposting this message elsewhere is NOT OK.
Wednesday, June 08, 2005
From the website of the New York City Marathon
"The U.S. lottery deadline for the ING New York City Marathon 2005 was June 1, 2005. No applications are being accepted at this time. The U.S. lottery will be held on June 15, 2005. Check your entry status in the Entrant Database."
Ooh-ooh, the day's drawing near! Thing is, I don't know that I'll be crushed if I don't make the cut, as training for a m-thon in the crippling New York summer heat (oops--that's twice in one week) does not sound fabulous. Huh.
Taking my time
Just returned from a little coffee break. Wandered east on Spring, turned north on Mulberry, ducked in and out of dim boutiques and peeked at menus posted outside charming cafes… ended up at Café Gitane, where many a chiseled model (male this time) sat at the counter sipping their café au lait. Plenty of chatter, a good deal of scoping, and lots of hair. Quite the scene, and the closest I've ever felt to Paris. I looked for fame, but came up empty-handed (no Cindy in sight, S).
May be hard to believe, but I love moseying, and I insist on doing lots of it here, where I'm moved to defy the rule of speed. Then again, Soho isn't exactly Midtown, where the pace is quintessential New York.
Skin So Soft
At the risk of sounding weak and ill-prepared, this weather stinks. The other day saw humidity climb to 84%, and today, well today it was 75 degrees by 9:00 a.m. As a general rule, I like to regulate my own showering routine; unwittingly bathing (in my own sweat, ahem) four times daily doesn't agree w/ this. For the record, I promise not to write about the weather more than once a week from here on out. Promise.
Two days ago I interviewed w/ Avon for a f/t copyediting position. Yes, that's right, Avon. The whole thing was slated to take two hours, and it came close to that. I first met w/ the manager of the editorial dept, who smiled often and, in a previous life, sang opera. She put me at ease right away, and I found myself hardly nervous at all. She asked me the big questions, the "what do you see yourself doing in five years?" and the "what do you like about copyediting?" and a 20-minute editing test followed. Fearing myself screwed over a misplaced en dash or two, I worried. It was a worry that carried into my second interview, this one w/ the marketing dept's recruiter. It was during this session that I got the "tell me about a situation where you effectively problem-solved" and the "everyone has strengths as well as weaknesses—what are your weaknesses?" Thing is, my irksome obsessing over that damn en dash may have served me well—I was too distracted to be anxious, but not so much that I wasn't able to thoughtfully answer her questions. Anyway, in the end all worry was for naught, as I found out two hours later that they want me back for a second interview on Monday—woo! This time around I'll meet w/ their
I wonder about the whole Avon affiliation, though. Would such an employer pose problems at parties? "So where do you work?" "Uh, er, Avon. That's Avon CORPORATE, mind you." I don't know, maybe it's time to erase the image of overly made-up product-pushers ringing doorbells and forcing catalogs, anyway. The few women I saw the other day, not counting my interviewers, appeared normal enough. Sure, the bathroom includes a vanity with a dozen age-defying creams and magical poor-minimizers laid out for public use, but that's business, right? Hmm. I did feel on the young side.
But hell, I like to edit; specifically, I like to copyedit. Such a gig would look great on my resume, would introduce me to the world of corporate editorial, suggests a positive work environment (this, going off the manager's friendly, down-to-earth manner), promises an excellent benefits package and, yes, excellent pay(!) At the risk of jinxing myself, it might be a pretty good fit.
Saturday, June 04, 2005
This just in:
The job is for naught. Got a call yesterday from my agency rep, Andy, and apparently--although word has it she really likes me--the position is closed for the time being. Unbeknownst to me, I was actually a potential replacement; it wasn't the newly created role I'd thought it was. The only *new* thing about it is the *strong writing background required* bit. Anyway, they were planning to let their current receptionist go, but last minute the head honcho decided, "No, we should at least give her a second chance." So, a second chance she will get. Really though, this is all fine by me, as it makes my decision that much easier--by taking it away from me entirely. Still, in two months' time, they'll be looking for someone til fill a creative-only position, which will have nothing to do w/ admin b.s. Andy said Blake'd love to bring me on for this ("she'd really rather not stick you behind a reception desk all day"), but hell, if I don't have a steady job by that time, I fear I'll have gone insane, thereby incapacitating me to the pt of total uselessness.
Onwards.
I want to live here:
Friday, June 03, 2005
?
It's back to Grey for me today--and the next two Thursdays and Fridays as well. I pledge, continually, my undying gratitude to Ms. Carolyn for an esp fortuitous connection, which/who also happens to be nice. So far today, not a lot on my plate, but I did get to gawk at a reprehensible piece of Unisys copy involving embarrassing fragments, invisible commas and general awkwardness. Casey (Mr. Nice Connection), editing the proof yesterday, jotted numerous notes/suggestions, all which were very reasonable. The company adopted none of them. Instead, they made an entirely different change, in the process rendering the text worse off than it was to begin w/. I was talking to my office neighbor, songwriter Jeremy who's been here for two months, about this anomaly, and he confirmed that it's extremely rare that a company accepts any revisions exclusive of misspellings and misplaced text compartments/images/legal lines. Advertising, as everyone knows, is all about punchy sound-byte text that, although grammatically gross, appeals to the nanoseconds-long attn span of the general population. Hence the demise of pretty English. I told J to write a song about it. :)
Had an intervu yesterday w/ this company. One of my temp firms contacted me about the position, which they're calling *Studio Manager w/ a strong writing background.* X is a motion-graphics design firm w/ clients like MTV, Nike, Mastercard, Cartoon Network and Target. The team consists of roughly 20 designers, the bulk of them male 20/30-somethings. The space is in Soho, and it really is what I'd call a studio over a plain vanilla office. Flamenco blaring in the background, flip-flops and bare/socked feet everywhere, shouting across cubes... laidback, you'd call that. The woman I met w/ is their communications director, and she's a 27-year-old, whipsmart firecracker who, in her brief work history, has started a magazine, a company (it failed, but still), worked for Gucci in P.R.--here and overseas, networked w/ the biggest of the big (oh, Madonna), and plenty more I'm sure.
Anyway, there was a real airy quality to our session, during which I learned that she, Blake, prefers to let her employees hone and develop their own unique skills, seeking personal betterment while keeping the aims of the company in mind. But considering that my job would first and foremost be administrative in scope (although she detests that word), I'm just not sure how much time I'd have left over for inspired, writerly contribution--for instance, she tossed out the idea of scribing an annual book detailing company concepts, that kind of thing. I don't know though. Answering phones; ordering supplies that include Clorex wipes for boys who, word has it, continually miss; keeping the fridge stocked w/ snacks that deplete at, word has it, a harrowing pace; tracking designer movement in/out of the office, scheduling production meetings... Could I break from the daily grind to write
Anyway, Blake asked that I spend time this w/e going over their media kit and some DVD reels of past projects, and write cleaned-up stream-of-consciousness responses--so like, what I perceive the company stands for, their place in the broader media, how I imagine the public interprets what they're doing, you get the idea. I felt a little overtaken. I mean, we'll see what comes to me once I view the material, but then again, do I want to? A big part of me craves structure, and such a job would certainly leave me guessing, which admittedly, can make me squirmy. So then, maybe I should email her a no. I'm just not sure what to do. I have an interview next week w/ Avon for a copyediting position, and although it certainly wouldn't offer the spirit of Eyeball, it would definitely provide that structure stuff. How boring am I? :)
Believe
My vocabularily stacked friend Litsa graces this month's Believer w/ a fine piece of writing. The lady had something like eight hrs (more, L?) of material to transcribe and work w/, and she tuned it beautifully. Also, it's thanks to her and her new pals that she, she, and I will attend this on Sat. Fun!