Saturday, July 30, 2005
I'm ali-iiive
I was reminded of The Last Unicorn the other day. Here's a movie I adored as a kid, although in reading up on it now, I realize how much I wouldn't have gotten from it back then. It came out in 1982, produced by Rankin/Bass, screenplay written by Peter Beagle himself, man who authored the book back in '68. Nice that they entrusted him w/ the writing, thereby assuring that the movie remained true to the original story. Actually, I never did read the book--never really occurred to me. However, in about four days' time it'll have arrived via an eBay seller and will spend a good couple of evenings on a certain rooftop in Williamsburg w/ yours truly. *I can't wait!*
Anyway, back to the story. For those who haven't experienced this little piece of fantastical excellence, it's about a unicorn who's told by a butterfly that all the unicorns are gone, that she's the last one. Disbelieving, she sets off in pursuit of the others. [Oh geez. I'm listening to the title song right now. The memories this brings back: evenings spent in the old Everett house, reclined on that hideous-but-comfy black/brown/beige couch, little brother and I hunched over heaping bowls of mint chocolate chip Darigold ice cream...] Early in, she's unicorn-napped by a mean old witch (Angela Lansbury does the voice!) who turns her into a circus sideshow attraction at her weird carnival. I remember getting so scared every time I saw that vicious Harpy (another attraction) swoop down on our dear unicorn! Anyway, she of course escapes, thanks to Schmendrick the Magician (Alan Arkin), who's generally questionable in his line of work but who meets w/ random successes. The horrible and fiery Red Bull crosses their path for the first time, evaded only by Schmendrick (one of a handful of Yiddish references, I just now learned) giving the unicorn a human form. She's now called Lady Almathea (Mia Farrow!), and in the company of a third--Molly Gru, salvaged from a roaming gang of bandits--off they venture to the edge of the world, to King Haggard's castle where the last of the beautiful creatures are thought to exist. Turns out they do, w/ the Red Bull (to which the energy drink owes its name, perhaps?) as their keeper. Apparently King Haggard is made terribly unhappy by their presence, thus hides them away--in the ocean.
So King H has an adopted son, Prince Lir (Christoper Lee), who, yep, falls for Lady A. Lady A, although she becomes pretty conflicted at one point--sure I like him, but isn't there something I came here to accomplish?--realizes, after recovering a bit of memory she'd lost, that true happiness lies in loyalty to her true form and to her kind. "I can feel this body dying all around me!" She acknowledges that she'd rather face the Red Bull than remain trapped in her strange woman's body, that there's nothing worse than not recognizing herself. Face the Red Bull she eventually does--in unicorn form--and although her capacity to remember her experiences as a woman is supposedly lost, she ends up saving Lir from the bull, sensing his significance to her. The other unicorns are eventually released from captivity, and there's a, I dare say, breathtaking scene where they're literally pouring out of the ocean, rising and cresting and falling w/ the waves. In reading up, sounds like it was one of the more difficult parts to format, animation-wise.
Through everything, the "last" unicorn becomes the only one of her kind to have experienced human love and regret. Reviews I read reference the adult nature of this movie, on the messages lost on the wee viewers. Um, yes. Immortality, truth and how one chooses to use it, and other *mature* themes weave through the story.
Also, so many years out, I realize how strong the Japanese influence is! Unfamiliar w/ the term *anime* back in the day, I was surprised to come across this in my reading. But looking at a few stills, wow--hard to miss. Turns out, it was largely a joint U.S./Japanese project, the U.S. team handling the story/music/dialogue, and the Japanese, the animation. Another surprise, the movie opens w/ animated tapestries inspired by the Cloisters' Unicorn Tapestries--featured in The New Yorker a while back, and an exhibit I've been meaning to get to since arriving here. Imagine that.
This site links to this site; word has it there's another film in the works...
Oh, the title song lyrics. A little cheesy, but aww...
The Last Unicorn
When the last eagle flies
Over the last crumbling mountain,
And the last lion roars
At the last dusty fountain,
In the shadow of the forest
Though she may be old and worn,
They will stare unbelieving
At the Last Unicorn.
When the first breath of winter
Through the flowers is icing,
And you look to the north
And a pale moon is rising,
And it seems like all is dying
And would leave the world to mourn,
In the distance hear her laughter;
It's the Last Unicorn... I'm alive... I'm alive!
When the last moon is cast
Over the last star of morning,
And the future is past
Without even a last desperate warning,
Then look into the sky where through
The clouds a path is formed,
Look and see her how she sparkles;
It's the Last Unicorn... I'm alive... I'm alive!
Friday, July 29, 2005
Whoa
Yikes! I was just verbally whipped by the Blimpie cashier. I jetted out for a quick to-go lunch, and had I foreseen such violence, I would've raided the vending machine instead. Anyway, she was trying to juggle three different orders at once, which left me justifiably confused. I plunked down my cash; she pushed it right back at me. "It's not your turn! This isn't yours!" Eyebrow up to there, I said nothing. Ten seconds later, convinced I was up, I tried a second time, same result: "Calm down, ok?!" Oh my.
Whatever. I won't likely be back. Can't say I'll miss their tantalizing array of vegetables--all three of them. (Blimpie?? More like Skimpie. Oh dear, sorry for that one.)
'Tis time
Drats--too much coffee, much too late. I just got off the phone w/ one of my M.D. sources for the RW story, thought I'd summon some extra energy just before, and now this wild-eyed stuff. Oh well. I think I'm getting too much sleep these days anyway.
So... the job. Oh, the job. There's really not much to say: I work in the human resources dept of a translation company. When a company abroad decides they'd like to market a particular U.S. product, they call up B, the appropriate translator kicks into gear, converting English text into German, Chinese, Norwegian... and there you have it. Me, I carry the weight of spreadsheet updating, FedEx handling, mail distribution... you know. The job's not temp-to-perm, but something they're calling, oh, I can't remember. Long-term temp, I guess. Anyhow, I'm there for anywhere between six and twelve weeks. The reason for the range/uncertainty is that the company's in the middle of merging w/ (being bought out by) their main competitor, and at this point, it's anybody's guess as to just how many of the other company's employees will slide into the chairs of my coworkers and out them their jobs. The other guy's CEO, CFO, SVPs & the like will for sure push ours out, and this has been known for some time, but the rest is pretty foggy. Of course, there's plenty of whispering about the whole ordeal, which is just absolutely my favorite component of admin work. I especially love when such hushed tones are completely for naught, as all w/in a five-cube radius are able to hear. I also like the candy that lies around everywhere, made all the more appealing when found in those adorable tins and beveled crystal bowls. My cube neighbors are great. One's around my age, the other's pushing 60 with the (extremely fit) bod of a 30 year old. She wears these impeccable sweater sets and carries w/ her one fine head of hair. We three ladies spent a better part of the afternoon--the part that didn't find me alphabetizing confidentiality agreements--discussing the merits of seared Ahi and the misfortune of meeting tako on one's sashimi platter. I left w/ a stenopadful of restaurant rec's.
All things considered, this is a good move. I needed to start reeling in regular $, and anyway, the job's the sort that won't leave me in an exhausted heap at the end of the day, which means I can pursue my quest for that one job, continue writing/editing, even enjoy the occasional romantic evening out w/ my accomplice. :)
Finally, its clutches are slipping.
ni-night.
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Can't hardly talk
But I can type, so fine. I, uh, have some news. Some LARGE news. Quite possibly the largest news I've received, with regard to the whole *writing thing,* well, ever. No, it is. Ok, I'm a wreck, but here's it: Runner's World assigned me that story!!! The one on the association between running and creativity. Think I mentioned it in a previous post, not sure. Anyway, wooHOOOOO. Granted, it won't be published 'til next March, but hell, who cares. Ms. Editor wants around 1,000 words, sidebar included, and let's just say the pay rate's well-worth grinnin' about. More than that, though, the credit is HUGE if it's fitness writing I decide to pursue in more depth. And all else aside, the whole thing's just plain exciting. I think I'll go pass out now.
I feel immodest, but I positively cannot contain myself.
Oh, I got a job, too, but that's not nearly as big. More later, although on second thought, maybe not.
Tuesday, July 26, 2005
Last night, while standing outside Westville restaurant...
we saw this walk by, albeit a few feet taller & two lbs heavier:
She was dressed casually (jeans and jersey top) and had an older, put-together blonde woman at her side. Both were in the company of--surprise--Tasti D-lite.
Monday, July 25, 2005
My weekend of Wan
Wayne Garrett. Or, Garrett Kostin these days, man of a trillion nicknames. I got five days of this fine fella, and what full five days they were. G-K and I go back, clear back to Eisenhower Middle School. These days he lives in Thailand w/ his boyfriend, whose name I won't try spelling. It's been two years since he was last statebound, and according to him, he's there for good.
So a month ago Kinip lined up a cruise, and as he'd never been the NYC, booked a week here, too. Well, about two weeks later, he randomly thought of me--it had been a good 10 years since we'd last crossed--and in a rather circuitous way, got in touch w/ me. He told me about his upcoming travel plans, NY included, then thinking I was still in Seattle, mentioned an end-of-the-year trip home to visit his family and that we should hang out. Upon learning that, no, I'm not there, I'm here, we immediately started planning. He already had a pretty stacked itinerary, but we made do....
Ahh, the highlights:
- Beauty Bar on Tuesday. For those not familiar, BBs are 50s hair salons-turned-bars, complete w/ many of the old fixtures, including hair dryers and display cases full of pretty little potions and powders.
- Din-din w/ the gang + one Kristin Proctor at Max. Best durn Italian ever--and for cheap!
- All-day MOMA extravaganza, just Wan & I. Aside from overexcited nonstop chattering/catching up, high points included a giant projected lemon (pic says it all); a perfect square sectioned into smaller squares made up of single typewriter'd numbers, two mistakes; my beloved Mondrian; and a looped film about three women wrestlers, all quite large, occupying a single room each, same location on three different floors. While peddling an exercise bike, top woman would hold her hand under a lit bulb, her fingernails would grow in spindly and red, she'd cut them off w/ scissors, stick them in a ball of clay and roll it around, drop it down through the ceiling to middle-floor woman who would do something else to it (can't remember) then drop it down to third-floor woman who would catch it in a bowl and bam, it's a maraschino cherry. Meant to be commentary on the absurdity of assembly line production that turns out useless commodities. Ok.
- The Edukators, German film you must see.
- Post-film meal at one of very few Swedish restaurants in Manhattan, and I'm not talkin' no pickled herring either. The required Swedish Meatballs, a little venison, some Gravlax, too much Rye bread, and of course, some drops of Aquavit later, and we'd had enough. For all my love of Scandinavia, that food gets a little too serious, if you know what I mean.
- Venison bones gone awry. No harm done.
- Laughing 'til I cried, a lot.
Bye Wan!
Bring it on, winter!
Ain't nothin' like being clean after a long, sticky run. I don't think I ever appreciate my showered self more than I do, times like this. Add in the fact that it's actually pretty cool, breezy, and a bit rainy right now, and there ya have it. Life's good. At least until this afternoon.
I'd planned to get up silly-early and run all the way to the top of the island this a.m., then take the train back home--big surprise when that didn't happen. I instead had to settle for a routine out-and-back, which isn't my favorite these days. Oh well, pretty good run anyway. I felt strong up until the last 40 or so minutes, and even then it wasn't so bad. Plus it was signif cooler than in recent days, and the intermittent raindrops were 100% welcome. Anyhow, made it up past 132nd today; actually, I got off the trail out of necessity (construction) at 125th, then wove through the streets of Harlem for a few. Everyone was en route to work, so lots of activity. Many parks up that way, although the general upkeep of the neighborhood isn't what it is in, like, Soho (big surprise). It was neat getting off the trail for a while, but of course relocating it proved not easy.
Probably the high point of this run, scenery-wise, was the snow. Snow! Uh, ok, but it looked and felt damn near it. This wet, white powder--having something to do w/ construction, my guess--was strewn over a dozen yards, rising into a huge heap in the center. It even streaked like snow-turned-slush, and it crunched! Eee, I can't wait for snow here. Anyone who's lived here for more than a year will roll eyes (f-o-o-l she is), but I can.not.wait. Of course, I expect an eventual attitude shift, but until then... Oh, I also ran past a sign propped in front of a raised cement square surrounding a dozen trees: "Keep Dogs Off Trees." Off trees? Apparently a wording change is in order, as I indeed saw a small dog. But he wasn't on any tree--he was wedged, peeing, in between a couple. Smart dog.
Friday, July 22, 2005
Dinner
As of five minutes ago, I wholeheartedly agree.
But I feel a little sick, too.
The train post
Ah, the subway. Funny, funny place. So much awkwardness, although it's probably just me. Anyhow, I was presented w/ what I'll call *a situation* yesterday. I was sitting in between two people--wedged in between two people, more like it. Five minutes in, right-side upped and exited, leaving me in very close proximity to left-side. Now, lefty didn't smell or anything, so there seemed little cause to fast slide over. Man, what a quandary: Do I stick where I am, un-repelled by offending odors and knowing that in no time the space to the right of me will again be taken up by a new body? Or do I inch over a bit, allowing for a little elbow room and something less awkward-seeming than two people who don't know one another sitting very close together w/ a good few feet of unclaimed seating on one side of them? If I move, I risk giving the impression that my neighbor is ick, and even if it's only my brain that's thinking this, it's still there. Anyway, I'm a New Yorker now--none of that Seattle/personal-space business. Of course, I could move just a tad, but as I have yet to master the art of sublety, any action on my part would look damn obvious. I should have slid over right away, before the situation ever had time to register. But in the end I just stayed the course, frozen in my perplexed state. Thing is, the guy was probably thinking what the hell's wrong w/ her, why won't she scoot?, or likelier still, he didn't even notice. Anyhow, a minute later all was well, as another butt found its home on my other side, and my brain let me think about normal things again. What a dork, I know. Still, know that this account is slightly exaggerated for effect--I promise. :)
I love the trains, though. I love looking around while on an especially packed one, snickering at everyone who pretends indifference, almost always ineffectively. Because everyone who's not reading AM New York or NYT or some other daily is checking each other out--eyeing accessories, envying footwear, peering at the pretties, pitying the sweaty suit-wearers, admiring piercings & tattoos... and it's funny, because unless your head's in a book/mag/paper, you don't have much choice. I mean, you do, of course you do--you can always stare at ads, but that just gets dull, same w/ the floor. You can always look in between people, but rarely, considering there's rarely much in-between, at least during peak hours. People are much more fun anyway, which everyone knows, so why not shameless gawking? Instead, people look away just as soon as their observing is discovered, as if they can erase the whole event.
Still on the topic of trains, and shifting to an issue of real, actual consequence, the London news is really resonating here in NY. I mean yeah, obvious, but the impact is new to me, as I've just never been so central to such threat. It's strange to me that a six-hour cross-country flight from home, and poof, so close to it all. Security has been stepped up in the terminals here, with random bag-checking that incidentally I've yet to witness myself. And in the wake of all the London grief, the thought that keeps returning to me is, and maybe I'm naive, but how does a city remain so vulnerable so soon after a first round of attacks? That people are able to bypass such beefed-up security and pull off (or come close to pulling off) their evil schemes is baffling and scary. I realize that hordes and hordes of Londoners use public transit daily and that in dealing w/ such numbers, screening techniques are only so effective, but man. There's a sentiment once expressed by a dear friend that I seem to return to often, which is: Life is tenuous. Yes, it is.
Uffda
A Wired News editor responded to my request (mb-related) for a few freelanced stories recently pitched and published.
"... also mentioned a write-up on a quirky antique store in Tokyo that sells old radios as amplifiers for iPods, and a feature about spar-on mud used by some SUV drivers to cover their license plates and beat speed cameras."
Spar-on mud? What's w/ the crazy-talk? Googling produces nada. I did discover that spar is mesocrystaline calcite's pet name, which I suppose explains it. Anyway.
Thursday, July 21, 2005
A chariot might be nice right about now....
For all the dead-appropriate punctuation they reject in favor of churning out wrecked copy, every so often they come around: I've just had a comma acceptance! This is so signif! (They may have put it in the wrong place, but hey.) Ahem, I've been at the ad agency all week, and I'm starting to feel a touch crazy. Pardon the glee.
So this morning after a particularly grueling 5-miler involving a 25-oz frozen Aquafina (I don't learn, and I've accepted it), I was feeling a little downhearted. In want of some uplift, I considered my options: 1) get a grip, 2) cry, 3) move to cooler temps, 3) stop training, 4) listen to Vangelis. 4) it was. Cheesy? Eh, I don't know or care, 'cause that song gets me every time, reminding me that, at the end of a marathon--and when I say *end* I mean once the finish line is behind me--all the grueling 5-milers and 5+-milers just make really great sense.
Oh, but to get to that point...
Wednesday, July 20, 2005
Gun-jumping
Ahem, having waded through my NARAL, MoveOn, Earth Action et al messages and moved onto, um, the usual news outlet lineup, I realize that last post may have been a bit premature/reactionary. I mean, ok, it was. So while I certainly have my doubts about Roberts, I'll hold out a bit longer, wait and see what surfaces....
Tip of the iceberg
I just got off the phone w/ Pa, and while running is typically a central conversation topic, Mr. Unfit-for-Judgeship weasled his way in. Hard not to wax on about a man who threatens to undermine so much progress. And at the ripe young age of 50, he's got plenty of time to do so. Pa made a good, albeit scary, point: Roberts' has made public some pretty strong thoughts regarding Roe v. Wade ("wrongly decided and should be overruled"), which makes you wonder what all he's not saying. I think we've all learned that when it comes to the current lineup, things are generally a lot worse than stated.
Causality
An hour ago I had a headache. A trip downstairs and a Starbucks later, and bam, gone. Damn you, caffeine! Let go!
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Terrible lizards
Last weekend Pea & I braved the humid raunch to make the rare museum appearance. Dinosaurs and butterflies were to be the order of the day, and while the latter evaded us, the former delivered. Thousands of bones, a few dozen wall plaques, and an embroiled debate over the upright vs. splayed leg controversy (not really), we relocated to Central Park before returning to our not-home. I've got a great dino picture, but that'll have to wait, as right now I'm on a Mac that I can't seem to have my way w/.
Feeling book-y
Lifted from http://www.kirjasto.sci.fi/calvino.htm:
"In The Uses of Literature (1980) Calvino noted that there should be a time "in adult life devoted to revisiting the most important books of our youth. Even if the books have remained the same (though they do change, in the light of an altered historical perspective), we have most certainly changed, and our encounter will be an entirely new thing."
I'm currently carrying on a love affair w/ Italo Calvino, whom I just discovered in the last year. (Thanks, Mr. Burns, for the book.) The fact that he's no longer in the land of the living is hardly relevant. Anyhow, the above quote feels especially fitting to me now, having recently reread A Wrinkle in Time and a handful of my old Nancy Drews. For all its eccentricity, WIT continues to delight (love the timelessness of that one, written so long ago); Nancy Drew, too, although more for the nostalgia/kitsch value than for the mark of some captivating quality or, ahem, literary merit.
So the book I just finished is Difficult Loves, a collection of shorts split into four sections. Mr. Calvino, a dedicated constituent of the Italian Resistance during WWII, was a journalist, short story writer and novelist wrapped into one quirky package. He's apparently most known for his whimsical fables, a form he adopted in the later years of his career as a writer. Difficult Loves, composed of some of Calvino's earliest writings (he was 20-effin'-2!) is more reality-based than his later work, which incidentally I plan to read next.
The stories of DL are very character-driven, reading more like character studies than plot-reliant stories. I waded through the war stories a little, as war writing has never been a favorite of mine, but he certainly writes these w/ more creativity than others I've (tried to) read. Of course, I have my favorites, which invariably resonate w/ my own life experiences/thought.
"Theft in a Pastry Shop" is one of them, which is a story about a trio of thefting teenage boys who stumble upon a pastry shop. The ringleader heads straight for the register, one boy stands guard outside, and a third is overtaken by the lure of so many sweets. "He flung himself at the shelves, choking himself with cakes, cramming two or three inside his mouth at a time, without even tasting them; he seemed to be battling with the cakes, as if they were threatening enemies, strange monsters besieging him, a crisp and sticky siege which he must break through by the force of his jaw. The slit halves of the big sugared buns seemed to be opening yellow throats and eyes at him, the cream horns to be blossoming like flowers of carnivorous plants; for a horrible moment Baby had the feeling that it was he who was being devoured by the cakes." Wow, eh? I love, love, love the language of this one, so full of sensuality and lust, while at the same time alarming and grotesque. I love the way Baby completely loses himself in his shameless gluttony, defenseless against all that unlimited dessert. And we've all gone the way of *too much of a good thing* before, right? (Did I mention I LOVE SUGAR? Ask anyone, I do.)
Next up is "The Adventure of a Photographer," which is about a city made up almost completely of amateur cameramen/women. Every Sunday inhabitants go out and photograph the day's activities, intent on preserving routine memories. But non-photographer Antonio Paraggi doesn't get it, and decides that the only worthwhile method, if one is going to take pictures at all, is to take them constantly. "If you take a picture of Pierluca because he's building a sand castle, there is no reason not to take his picture while he's crying because the castle has collapsed, and then while the nurse consoles him by helping him find a sea shell in the sand. The minute you start saying something, 'Ah, how beautiful! We must photograph it!' you are already close to the view of the person who thinks that everything that is not photographed is lost, as if it had never existed, and that therefore, in order really to live, you must photograph as much as you can...." He himself starts living this concept; when he gets himself a lady, he greets her morning, noon and night w/ flashbulbs. In time she leaves him, at which point Antonio becomes obsessed w/ photographing the sentiment attached to the situation: he snaps pictures of torn, crumpled and trashed photographs. In the end, he decides this is the only truly worthwhile activity.
This one got me thinking about my dear old blog. (I'll always hate that word, btw. It's just so silly-sounding.) The reason I'm writing these entries is twofold, I guess. First, I figure it's a great way to keep up w/ friends and family, and second, I like the idea of documenting my life for later reference. I like the idea of being able to look back and on any given month/day, recall what was going through my head. In the beginning, I figured I'd post every few days, maybe once per week, but that's not how it's turned out. Instead I write in this thing almost daily, and I wonder if part of the reason behind such constancy doesn't have something to do w/ a desire to *leave no gaps.* Without proper context (continuity), maybe it's an absence of logical progression I fear. Not being able to fit it all together in the end.
Or maybe it's my OCD.
Creative medicine
While on PubMed researching a hopeful Runner's World story, I find the typical dry study titles like "Physical and cognitive activity and exercise for older adults: a review" and "Social cognitive theory variables associated with physical activity among high school students" and "Influence of exercise duration and hydration status on cognitive function during prolonged cycling exercise."
Then, this: "Implementation intentions, perfectionism, and goal progress: perhaps the road to hell is paved with good intentions."
And why not?
Monday, July 18, 2005
16 down, many more to go
I typically run long on Sundays, but as my whole schedule was pushed back a day last week, I did yesterday's run this morning before work (Grey f/l this week). I knew what I was up against, having checked weather.com--which, btw, tries to tell me that 76 degrees with 92% humidity feels like 76 (bullshet)--but there's really no predicting the net result. Eh, ended up being a moderately comfortable one, following the usual *hard start, easy stretch, hard again, easy, hard* progression. The first four miles, always tough, would have been tougher still had I been w/o my new savior--a frozen 20-oz Evian. He only gets me that far before he turns to plain old water (you're pathetic), and well, lukewarm H20 is just sooo refreshing in sick-hot conditions. Yes, that element of my run needs work. (Ideas?) Anyhow, I was thrilled to finally have cracked the whole East River/FDR trail conundrum--before today, I hadn't figured out where the thing picks up after dead-ending at 34th St. 63rd: Now I know. So I stayed the northward course, passing the Queensboro and Triborough and a couple of smaller bridges, as well as John Jay and Carl Schurz parks and plenty of rich-y UES condos and apt buildings. It was a pretty quiet scene--probably something to do w/ the fact that it was 6:30 a.m. Still, there were a good number of people out walking/running, and I never felt out of my element. Of course, toted the pepper spray just in case. At about 11 miles in, I was cursing my shallow key pocket, responsible for dumping a packet of Gu somewhere near my starting point. This meant I'd had only the one in my hand to get me through the miles, the one I'd consumed at roughly mile 5. (I like to follow the *Gu every 45 minutes* formula.) Anyhow, such specifics are likely terribly boring for some to read, but hey, I'm all about the detail, no?
In sum, I made it up to 125th before turning back, and I got a kick out of discovering this new-to-me route. Nothing like a little variety. And now, in checking out my trusty map, I see that above UES, I skirted the neighborhoods of Yorkville, Carnegie Hill and East Harlem. Who knew? Actually, this is what I love most about running--the ability to cover a lot of ground in a relatively short period of time. And while walking is always preferable when it comes to taking in my surroundings in a relaxed manner, I just can't move fast enough to see enough. But w/ running, there's always the off-chance that I won't be dragging to the point of total tunnel vision, thereby allowing me to take in/appreciate long stretches of my city.
One of these Sundays I'll run all the way up to the tippy-top of the island (216th) and take the 1 or the 9 all the way back down. I'll want to kiss that A/C'd train, surely.
Candor
Just found: http://www.overheardinnewyork.com/. I love this sort of thing. There's an especially cranky subway exchange a few entries in....
Saturday, July 16, 2005
Feed the Tree
Back in, oh, '96, dear friend Kristy--otherwise known as *dogg* and many, many variants thereof--and I were obsessed w/ Belly. This band/artist fixation became fairly routine--ok, totally routine--for us, as in years following we glommed onto Live, The Rentals, Super Deluxe, Jewel, Sarah McLachlan et al. Anyway, back to senior year at S.H.S. The dogg and I caught wind of a very desirable Belly show at The Moore, and we freaked out. We had to be there, see. Keep in mind that The Moore is in Seattle, and to some Stanwoodians, Seattle is threateningly urbane. But not to us, two refined girls who had spent many a Saturday evening traipsing* up and down Broadway/The Ave, hitting up Retro Viva (oh, that nail polish), Urban Outfitters (store wholly responsible for earning me S.H.S.'s 'best-dressed girl' recognition that year), Cellophane, Tower & many others. I'm not sure how often parents were informed of these infamous road trips. Thinking back, that Belly show we were disallowed from attending due to certain authority figures' ill-founded take on the neighborhood (Belltown, sketchy? nah...) would have been a great night to, er, lie. Sadly, we never got another chance, as the band disbanded shortly thereafter. Drats. Anyhow, I'm presently listening to Star and getting all nostalgic** and stuff, hence this entry.
*expressly for you (deegsmoppity--um, yes, your name, that's your name, yes)
**pardon my obnoxiously frequent use of the word
Friday, July 15, 2005
Mets 6 / Braves 3
We followed friends Caryn & Glenn to tonight's game, where the highlight of the evening had to have been the superhero moves of Met Cliff Lloyd [Floyd! I know this!], who somersaulted over the left-field wall to catch a foul fly in the fifth. I could definitely get into this.
The subway ride through Queens was also enjoyed--I love all the evident tagging talent. The vibrant colors, the precise lines, the fact that it's left there, un-painted over, to admire...
But yeah, baseball rocks:
shea.JPG
steeerike%21.JPG
becauseeverysectionhasone.JPG
fansbydefault.JPG (Poppy sports one of those ice-cream sundae helmets that I had no idea were still around. Love 'em.)
Thursday, July 14, 2005
Just an extra digit or two...
This makes me squirm.
Wednesday, July 13, 2005
Aminals
Manhattanites like to pretend that their lifestyle accommodates pets. I've decided that pet ownership here, not counting ownership of fish, birds, and the rodents that populate the city FOR FREE, Petco membership not required, is an act of defiance by people intent on *proving* that 1,537,195 people on 23 square miles of backyard-free land is conducive to a normal, pup-embracing existence. Or maybe it's just loneliness. Anyway, most have the sense to think small, as in cats and suitcase-dogs, which is beneficial to both adoptee and adopter--the former is less miserable in his 300-sq-ft quarters than, say, a Golden Retriever would be, and the latter enjoys the convenience of a highly mobile animal. The mobility factor is equally attractive to me, as I get to fawn all over the terriers/dachshunds/chihuahuas, their little heads peeking out from backpacks and shoulder bags as they make the trainride home. But although this is a common sight, I'm still not used to it, and I jump every time I connect w/ a set of peepers framed by zippers and canvas straps. So sweet! They're always so well-behaved, too, surveying their surroundings w/o so much as a cautious bark. What I don't get is how they can be so overlooked--often I seem to be the only interested party. Yesterday on the N was the most adorable little guy, you couldn't not stare and smile--but apparently you could, given the large number of passengers who weren't. Curious.
There have been other sightings of the animal variety, most notably/recently:
- A two-inch COCKROACH (yeah yeah, I'm still new) lumbering across the platform at the W. 23rd St. station. My dirty contacts blurred my view some, but this was one present roach. Strangely, I didn't think to shriek. Others around me, though, did--although more in amusement than terror. We saw some dead'uns up close the other day, and I have to say, there are a little funny.
- A dozen-plus mid-sized rats ransacking a stretch of the Union Square lawn. Pea figured fresh compost had just been laid. Whatever their inspiration, we stood and gawked for a full 10.
- Fireflies/lightning bugs/glowbugs/what have you: every night if we're out at the right time. They're transfixing.
Because I can
Some may be familiar w/ my guilty crush on Regis & Kelly. Well, there's another one: on Matt & Katie. Please don't ask me to explain.
Now it's not as though I had to go out of my way to see this; I'm working right next door, after all. That known, go easy.
Two seconds later, Katie's was all over her face/hair. She was shuttled away immediately, of course.
Way, way up here
I could do worse
In the last three months, I’ve eaten a lot of Brie. Odd, too, because even when I don’t pick it, it manages to pick me. Take today. I’m sitting here at my desk, on the 54th floor of 30 Rockefeller Plaza, when the president offers me a sandwich, a sandwich recently turned down by an associate he’d just met w/. Liking sandwiches, I say, “Sure!”
You know the rest. (It was turkey & Brie.)
Gather 'round, kids
I have two things up today: this and this.
Durn though, I liked "life-tired," not "tired-of-life." Ah well, choose your battles.
Monday, July 11, 2005
No fair
When I lived in Seattle, my zip code and paycheck generally matched up. Whether in Ballard, U-District or Capitol Hill, I got along alright. Enough $ for morning lattes, dinners out, happy hours, the occasional movie... I wasn't stretched beyond my means. But here in Gramercy, while our rent's not too outrageous, everything else is. $24 raw food, $8 microbrews, $1.25 6-oz yogurts... it doesn't work. So we leave, and we get our kicks in the adjacent East Village. Don't get me wrong, I'm hardly miffed, considering Gramercy pretty much makes me yawn. But, if I did wish to hang out in my own neighborhood, I'd be hard pressed.
The other day while scouting housing, Pea commented that there are a lot of pretty cheap Upper East Side apts that show up on craigslist. Presumably, this has something to do w/ the fact that no one can afford to carry on up there, even w/ decent rent savings. Good luck, UES. I'm w/ W-burg.
Then I came across this. In Chelsea, not always the snob it is today, residents of a sprawling public housing project are comin' up empty, and I reckon their empty looks different than mine. To watch your modest lifestyle combust in favor of million-dollar penthouses, four-star restaurants and scene-y hotels--that would sting. Says one resident: "You're living here, but basically all you can do is sleep here."
Ouch.
If this trend persists across the island, soon there'll be only one kind of Manhattanite: the rich kind. That's fun.
Jeepers!
We found an apt! Yes-huh! Our current sublet is up in a few weeks, and we'd been scrambling to find our next bed when we ran into a great loft space here--South 10th to be exact. The departing lady is a writer, and a well-published one at that. Her first book of short stories will run in a year (Crown), and her second book (novel) is in the works. Actually, that's why she's taking off for the summer--to seek inspiration in, of all places, Seattle. Beginning Aug. 1, we'll have it for a minimum of two months, possibly longer if we're interested (um, we will be). It's about 750 sq ft w/ a real industrial look to it--weathered cement walls, high ceiling, good art/decor... The bed's up there a ways, but the climb isn't a scary one (not like the old Belmont place!). Oh, and did I mention the roof access? There's roof access, complete w/ a precautionary railing, bbq furnishings, a lounge chair or two... and a view. A really, really neat view. The East River, a good section of Manhattan, miles of Brooklyn/Queens--unreal, man. I'll post pictures the day we settle in, swear.
There's also a large Hasidic population in the neighborhood. The first thing we noticed were the teetering, tire-like hats, which are like nothing I'd seen (excepting tires). I feel like I should have been more familiar w/ this religious group, but alas, I wasn't. Jami filled us in some, and turns out, the resident Hasids have their own police force--right outside our bldg! Bonus. Still, I don't expect much interaction, as according to Jami, the men who run a nearby deli look at/talk to her, a woman, as little as they can get away w/ while still supplying her w/ lunchmeat.
Sunday, July 10, 2005
Not for all the tea in China
Pea & I are at Drink Me right now, and this is playing:
[don't fall in love with me yet we only recently met true i'm in love with you but you might decide i'm a nut give me a week or two to go absolutely cuckoo and when you see your error then you can flee in terror like everybody else does i only tell you this 'cause i'm easy to get rid of but not if you fall in love know now that i'm on the make and if you make a mistake my heart will certainly break i'll have to jump in a lake and all my friends will blame you there's no telling what they'll do it's only fair to tell you i'm absolutely cuckoo] x2
I'll never, ever grow tired of him and all his words.
Saturday, July 09, 2005
My rockin' job
Yesterday I had the distinguished honor of standing in as the admin asst to a VVIP at Universal Records. I got in at around 10:00, the shift running the usual 10-7, thereby accommodating all those late-night martini marathons (there's, not mine). Music posters everywhere--Toni Braxton, Jack Johnson (everyone's obsession around there), Missy Elliott, Justin, Nick, Lindsay... Mr.'s a baby, maybe 35--pretty young for an exec in that industry. I'd been in the office, which contains an extensive CD library, half of the discs unopened and most of them sucky--for about 10 when in walks the maid, tray in hand. Apparently Mr. takes six de-yolked eggs w/ a sprinkling of s&p for breakfast. Anyhow, he hadn't arrived yet, so said tray was placed on a shelf two feet from my face. The aroma was not nice, and when Mr. made his debut, he wasn't interested. Breakfast mtg, word had it. Rough.
The rest of the day went like this: Against a backdrop of crazy-loud music coming from every which direction, I answered phones and dialed numbers, half the time in Mr.'s office, half the time in mine. The #-dialing part was strange indeed. Maybe this is the protocol, but I sat across from him at his desk, a big rich mahogany thing, as we both called up folks who'd left him msgs over the last few days. I'd go, "Hello, this is KE calling for Mr. of Universal. I have Mr. on the line; are you available to talk?" and if they consented, I'd put 'em on hold and Mr. would break from/end the phone conversation he was presently engaged in (generally revolving around Toni Braxton's latest, Mike Jones' mediocrity, some new abomination called "reggatone," or his wife and their pending w/e stay in Bedford) to take the call. Apparently this is a time saver. But actually not really, considering half the time he'd forget about me, taken w/ whomever he was talking w/, and I'd sit there and space out/get hungry, my only entertainment option the nonstop reality TV flashing across the massive, wall-mounted screen behind Mr.
"Date My Mom" was a definite highlight. Definite.
So, Mr. is a bit of a whack-job, and I mean this in the nicest possible way. (He did gift me two CDs and offer to *hook us up* w/ an Upper East Side apt--uh.) He's a neu.ro.tic who literally zips from here to there, waving his arms dramatically and making loud, demonstrative noises. Of course, I realize this should come as no surprise given his title/the nature of the business, but wowie. (I'm not ruling out the influence of a little meth, btw.) He's also fairly critical, he who critiqued my phone manner to no end as I sat there serving. Don't ask me how the hell he was able to hone in on what/how I was doing, given his involvement in at least three other tasks at once. Anyway, apparently the way I pronounced his first name (lazy "t") was very "West Coast," and when I inadvertantly lingered on the "p" of his last, he flew off the handle. ("You're butchering my name!") But his frustration was like that of a child's, soon overtaken by something shiny and new. That, and I don't think he was seriously bothered, maybe just picking on me a little. He asked me about myself periodically, seeming esp interested in the running bit. All things considered, a nice enough man--one w/ an office that looks more like a super-luxe hotel suite, complete w/ a personal bathroom, an impressive wine/cognac display, and a mini recording studio. Something tells me, a 9-5--er, 10-7--I'll never experience. Oh well. Fun to look in, anyway.
Next week I'll work w/ the Rockafellers. Uh, I mean for the Rockafellers. Snazzy!
(Eek, a sucker for parentheses.)
Can't get over it
More Fourth/L-B pictures:
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Thursday, July 07, 2005
Because, well, it's the small things
Landed a temp job today w/ a law firm-slash-accounting firm. I got a call at around 7:45, which, convinced it was my sorry cell phone alarm (laziness preempts my buying a cheap alarm clock), I almost ignored. Anyway, an hour later found me sitting behind a desk in a fishbowl cubicle, transcribing letters and revising legal docs. The people were friendly enough, and problems few. Since I'm feeling cranky, I'll harp on the problems: One technology-defiant attorney scribes all correspondence on a stenopad, leaving his staff (today, me) at the mercy of his pisspoor penmanship. Someone recommended I go to him myself and request he decode the nonsense; I did. That he expressed surprise at my inability to get the proper name "Golich" from "eaorhfkd" defies comment. His red bow tie was crooked, too, which made me anxious. Next, I had to use a typewriter, and well, as Kenny G. will attest, I suck here. I always manage to eff the margins up, text crosses entry lines, X's miss their boxes.... Pfft. Also, a moderately obnoxious 30-something passed by my cube a few times too often, spouting painful office humor in a voice oddly reminiscient of that old Family Fued host. It made my eyes squint. But, who cares, really. The whole scene kept me awake, a condition only partially helped by the FREE ESPRESSO MACHINE in their breakroom. To quote an employee: "If it ain't free, it ain't in my budget."
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Heh. Wonder if my Scand studies degree qualifies me...
P/T Counter Help Needed at Gourmet Scandinavian Cafe
Date: 2005-07-06, 4:55PM EDT
Very busy casual cafe (cafeteria style) operated by Restaurant Aquavit, in Scandinavian Cultural Center, seeking part time counter help. (20-30 hrs/wk; 4-5 days/wk)
Basic responsibilites include, but are not limited to, set up of cafe counter and displays, light food prep (microwave, tossing salads, etc..), computer register operation, bussing tables, helping customers at the counter, restocking necessary goods for service, maintaining cleanliness of customer areas.
Food service experience and/or sales experience helpful. We are looking for people who are reliable, punctual, energetic/enthusiastic, friendly, courteous, and professional, and who like working in a team-oriented environment. Good personal hygeince and clean appearance important as well.
Cafe is open for lunch only, but evenings may be required on occasion. May be required to work weekends as well.
Fax resume to: 212-686-2115, att: Heather
or email to h.gurfein@aquavit.org -- please copy and paste resume into body of email
Job location is Midtown
no -- Principals only. Recruiters, please don't 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.
Tssh
Oh gawd, this is funny--a rejection ltr received by New York writer Amanda Stern. AS organizes the Happy Ending reading series here, which is terrif.
Dear sir,
We have received your tape and listened to it. We feel the material is very weak and have no interest in having any further contact with you. Please do not contact us again.
Sincerely,
------- ------------
Warner Bros. Records
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Worth more?
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You know
Ah, Fourth of July weekend.
Highlights abound:
- Two boisterous guests, names Lanna and Brendan.
- Nice-w/-a-side-of-sticky weather.
- A long, meandering Saturday walk during which the entire lower Manhattan was covered. Well, almost.
- Saturday dinner in Chinatown/Little Italy w/ L&B and local friend Lea. House of Vegetables serves up a mean mock-meat meal. Mock meats sampled: sweet and sour "chicken," baby back "ribs," "beef" and broccoli. Mmm. I'll be back, perhaps for something they're calling "neatloaf."
- One relaxing Sunday day, followed by an evening introduction to a Theater District restaurant, Becco, where I may fill in as a p/t host. Nice folks.
- Dancing to "99 Luft Balloons" at Lit, many Lanna-friends on board.
- Lunch at Ukranian Village Restaurant, where platesful of schnitzel, pierogi, and 'kraut had us reeling in tummy-rubbing delight. (The aftereffects, not so hot.)
- The sound, if not the sight, of Stephen Malkmus at Battery Park. We showed up roughly on time for a *free* show here, but found ourselves in the latter stages of a ridiculous line. We left--too soon to hear Yo La Tengo. Next time.
- A stroll down Wall Street, past NYSE, the bldg where Washington took oath, other $ institutions, a great old church (which Pea joked is the place where all the WS $bags go to absolve their greedy souls).
- A second-to-none, rooftop-viewing of the Macy's fireworks show on the East River. We were on top of some loft complex in Williamsburg, access courtesy of Brendan's kind Evergreen buddy, Shane. I took pics, of course, which will follow this post. The only downside was the obscene number of drunken 22 year olds (rich, all rich), screaming "ESPN!" "Wal-Mart!" "Walt Disney!" "Our country's the most popular!" Yeah yeah, I hear ya, but c'mon, it's the Fourth. Yeah our country's pretty effed-up right now and always, but damnit if we don't have a reasonable number of personal liberties--and some pretty proud history. Things haven't all gone to shet.
- A new laptop! I'm on it right now, in fact, and it's all thanks to Pea's tech-brilliant papa. (Thanks Jim!)
- Word from Mediabistro that they aren't letting me off the hook so easily. They've offered me a small sum (negligent, really) to stay on as a freelancer, to continue writing the HTPs, copyediting, that sort of thing. We'll see. It all just depends.
- Nope.
Sunday, July 03, 2005
One of this w/e's guests (that's the lovely NJ behind us--uh, yeah)
Friday, July 01, 2005
Alright, alright
I have a pretty keen sense of smell, one that often inspires random flashbacks. While running on the East River trail this morning, I passed a dumpy, mud-puddled construction site. And I smelled, I swear it, my old Strawberry Shortcake doll. It was very distinct, and a little unsettling (the circumstance, not the smell).
At the run's end, I dropped by Gristede's for some smoothie makings. I brought my purchases to the checkstand, then remembered I'd forgotten the Westsoy. "I'll be right back, forgot something..." said I. After maybe 30 seconds, I hear over the loudspeaker: "The person whose groceries are at my checkstand, you're holding up my line!" Sheesh! She then proceeded to overcharge me for that blasted soy milk. Harrumph.
No notable songs mid-trot. Unless, that is, you count Billy Ocean's "Get Out of My Dreams, Get into My Car."
Very worth your while
Dear Kristen,
For the first time in over a decade, there’s a vacancy on the Supreme Court. Unless we act quickly and forcefully, it will be filled by a right-wing extremist bent on ending a woman’s right to choose.
Pro-choice Americans like you must fight back right now to save Roe v. Wade by demanding a fair and balanced Supreme Court! Now that President Bush has the power to appoint an anti-choice justice to the Supreme Court, we are just one vote away from the end of Roe v. Wade, one vote away from the end of your right to choose.
The news of Justice Sandra Day O'Connor's retirement from the Supreme Court sent a shudder through the pro-choice community.
Throughout her tenure, Justice O'Connor has been one of the "swing" votes on the Supreme Court, part of the razor-thin majority that has kept Roe v. Wade from being dismantled.
Right now, only hours after O'Connor's retirement, anti-choice forces are at work to ensure President Bush nominates the most conservative candidate he can find to replace her.
Now, pro-choice Americans must fight back.
Over the next 10 days, NARAL Pro-Choice America is launching the campaign we have been preparing for months. With your support, our campaign can block the confirmation or appointment of an anti-choice justice who would end a woman’s right to choose.
Your donation will help us put organizers on the ground, reach out to senators and keep our message front-and-center in this all-out struggle for women's freedom and privacy rights. We will make it clear that America’s pro-choice majority expects any Supreme Court nominee to be honest about his or her views on Roe v. Wade.
Please, give NARAL Pro-Choice America the resources to save Roe v. Wade! Please give as generous a donation as you can afford to help us expose the truth about President Bush's vision for a Supreme Court. Help us get the truth out by making an emergency contribution today
Thank you for standing with us in the fight for our lives.
Sincerely,
[nancysig.jpg]
Nancy Keenan, President
NARAL Pro-Choice America
P.S. Our strength will be in our numbers. Help us enlist as many people as possible in our Choose Justice campaign - make a donation and then forward this message to at least 5 friends today.