Saturday, December 31, 2005
Wrap-up
Hectic half-week at work, just now tackling the holiday breakdown...
This trip home was different than the last. Makes sense, as the last (K's wedding) occurred just two months after the move. Still, I wasn't sure exactly what to expect. I knew it'd be fast and action-packed, I knew I'd enjoy the whole family/friends bit, but as far as my internal state, who knew what I had coming. Not me.
It was nice. I felt (mostly) relaxed, my love for Seattle was reignited, and, oh yes, I got all nostalgic. I hung out w/ the usual lineup, and although the months I've missed witnessed all sorts of change--minor and not so--the dynamic was essentially the same. This is always a relief to me.
Re: Seattle love, I don't know. This wasn't something I picked up on while home in May. Too early in, clearly. Back then, I recall being ready for my departure flight before I'd even left Sea-Tac. Ok, not exactly, but you catch my drift. I wasn't feeling the northwesterly pull. The end of this last trip, however, found me clinging to the door of Pa's Dodge, finally dragged by my feet to the Continental counter for Wednesday's redeye to Newark. Not really, but you know.
Admittedly, my reluctance was two/threefold. Not only was I unready to leave the green behind, I would be doing it solo, as Mr. Student gets the pleasure of an extended vacation. Add to that the unreasonable expectation that I'd be at work in nine hours--straight from plane to cubicle. Actually, this part wasn't so bad--so much to do, my eyes weren't the wiser. Of course, coffee deserves a nod, too.
The flight, unagreeable, (should've been) predictable. My pre-plane hope that wine downed w/ dinner would knock me into a solid four-hour sleep took a fast blow: not an empty seat in the house. I turned up in Newark at around six, then bussed to Grand Central, exiting to 50 degrees and rain. Odd that, for once, east and west coincided: I'd left the same conditions behind me just hours earlier. This was slightly disorienting, although I dare say my brain was functioning at a dangerously low level--a likely contributor.
I hopped a cab uptown, and wouldn't you know it, ended up w/ an especially impatient driver, which under ordinary circumstances would've been fine & manageable but, well, the timing was just off. I recall repeating myself several times. Not sure if I was talking too quietly or if all that was coming out of me were yips & grunts, but whatever the case, he wasn't having any of it. Throughout our poor communication, I watched the city fly by outside, and damn if the theme of my ride wasn't repetition. For all the variety this city dishes out, there's also a lot of the same old thing. I'm struck by this often. Market after market after shoe store after shoe store after Tasti after Tasti after jeweler after jeweler... block after block after block. Most evident while in a moving vehicle, it can leave a lady reeling. This lady, anyway.
Which brings me back to my love for Seattle, a city that earns its keep via a comparatively limited retail presence. Then there's clean air, blue water, visible mountain ranges, miles and miles and miles of trees... Add to that the coffee (been here nine months and can still count the number of passable coffee houses on one hand), the (mostly) affordable housing, the proximity to aforementioned family and irreplaceable friends and some of my favorite zip codes...
I love Seattle. But don't think for a moment I don't like where I'm at. I do. I really, really like New York City, evidenced in dozens of past blog posts and, ironically, for some of the same reasons that it frustrates me. Pea and I were talking about this over last night's sushi dinner, and we came to the conclusion that NYC love is fickle. Inconsistent. Seattle love is like super glue; the NYC version is like a crappy glue stick. It sticks, but never for very long. I'm continually having to re-glue, and w/ that same cheap, kid-art-project stuff. In other words, it's week-to-week. Depending on my inner state, the various & many stressors one confronts here will either excite or drain me, encourage or discourage me. Contrast, that's what it is. This city specializes in it, while Seattle maintains the middle ground, the gray in-between. Both have their upsides.
Who knows--maybe we'll be here longer than the anticipated 2-3 years. If I listen to a certain gay Haitian cab driver of a few weeks back, I have no choice. Once I hit the one-year mark, I'm a goner. A NYer for life, or so he says. Then again, he stood to gain a good deal of personal freedom, moving from his homeland to NY... Perhaps a little biased.
With that, I give you Christmas:
Beat on Xmas morning.
En route. The only picture I have w/ mother dearest. :(
Surrounded by cuteness. I got together w/ the S.H.S. crew for some good ol' fashioned slumber partying on Camano. The senior tea video re-debuted, and it was all downhill from there. Brunch the next day was at The Islander, where we were joined by two rollicking kiddos.
Ah, Noe & Dave, best chefs in all the land. Seriously. On the menu that night was fresh-caught salmon, homemade crab cakes, the tastiest scalloped potatoes my buds'll ever know, and for dessert, chocolate-mint trifle. Oh my.
My ladies, ala Champagne brunch and Barney's.
Elde Family Xmas. Cousins Ibet (Elisabeth) and Nels joined in this year's festivities.
Hmm.
My gift.
Aigners & Goldsmiths all around.
Forget the CBGB onesie; she dug the box.
The infamous Johnson Family Gift Exchange. This year's was much tamer than most, and I dare say, a little boring.
Boring, perhaps thanks to Deaner's newly installed *rules.* While necessary in preempting the insult slinging and hurt feelings of years past, they all but sucked the spirit out of the thing.
Grandma got an animated gorilla head. It was scary.
Grandma and the cousins. Her smile's a surprise, considering the incredible time it took for certain relatives to put two and two together, camera-wise.
'net
http://tinyurl.com/daaq8
Few surprises, but this caught my attention: "By 2004, 22 percent of teenage girls had started a blog." Wowie.
Help
For my last year's birthday, my dear Uncle Dean gave me a book. Rules for Aging, a collection of essays, was penned by Roger Rosenblatt, a PBS favorite and winner of several prestigious literary awards. Now I'll be honest: Upon first glance, I eyed the thing w/ suspicion. Why? "One of USA Today's Best Self-Help Books of the Year" printed in wow-font on the cover. I rarely do self-help, notable exceptions being this and this and select others--always recommendations from loved ones who know me. Anyhow, along w/ the iffy book, I was handed an assignment: Read through and report back. Days, weeks, months passed, the slim volume collecting dust in one of several subletted bookcases. Why bother, when I had this and this and this to crack?
I eventually bothered--during my flight home a few days back. Deaner, I've got to hand it to you; you've done me good. Thanks. And in the case that your eyes are here, these are my favored picks:
(1) It doesn't matter
Whatever you think matters--doesn't. Follow this rule, and it will add decades to your life. It does not matter if you are late, or early; if you are here, or if you are there; if you said it, or did not say it; if you were clever, or if you were stupid; if you are having a bad hair day, or a no hair day; if your boss looks at you cockeyed; if your girlfriend or boyfriend looks at you cockeyed; if you are cockeyed; if you don't get that promotion, or prize, or house, or if you do. It doesn't matter.
(2) Nobody is thinking about you
Yes, I know, you are certain that your friends are becoming your enemies; that your grocer, garbage-man, clergyman, sister-in-law, and your dog are all of the opinion that you have put on weight, that you have lost your touch, that you have lost your mind; furthermore, you are convinced that everyone spends two-thirds of every day commenting on your disintegration, denigrating your work, plotting your assassination. I promise you: Nobody is thinking about you. They are thinking about themselves--just like you.
(26) Do not keep company with people who speak of careers
Not only are such people uninteresting in themselves; they also have no interest in anything interesting. They often form cliques, putatively for social pleasure, actually for self-advancement and self-protection. Sometimes these tight little gatherings have the semblance of shared affection, but they are based on the idea that each of its members is valuable according to what he or she has achieved, is achieving, and what he or she can do for the other members. Keep company with people who are interested in the world outside themselves. The one who never asks you what you are working on; who never inquires as to the success of your latest project; who never uses the word career as a noun--he is your friend.
And, D, I concur:
(40) A long and happy life lasts five minutes
One would think that this rule would go without stating, but many people actually believe that a long life of uninterrupted happiness is a real possibility. And they act on this belief! They change families, careers, the structure of their faces, countries, everything, for no more substantial reason than they recall five minutes of uninterrupted happiness in the past, and now they wish to re-create the moment in perpetuity. They even convince themselves that the five-minute period they recall was really five years and giddily substitute the exception (bliss) for the rule (confusion, doubt, misery, fear, confusion, and confusion). Happiness is wonderful, but if you have had more than five consecutive minutes of it, it means you weren't thinking.
Thursday, December 22, 2005
Illegal
Faux-faux-faux
http://www.nytimes.com/2005/12/22/national/22santa.html?8hpib
I see the draw. Take this scenario--dude's a phone-Santa all the way. Come on, it doesn't take a giftie* to put two and two together. Clearly this fraud is much more at home w/ a Coors, the big game, and a stack of lad mags. Good thing the little one had yet to master the art of detection, let alone intelligent communication, or the magic would've been forever lost. I hate to think how many kindergarteners short-circuited that day.
*I reserve the right.
"Taking steps"
Fact un-checked
Haven't read anything yet, but a coworker just walked in and declared... it's over. Word (c/w's) has it, the union head was staring jail time straight in the eye, thus called for all MTA employees to get back to work pronto. Just in time to relieve me of tomorrow's Newark-trip anxiety. Phew. Looks like I'll make it home (home home) after all.
Wednesday, December 21, 2005
Joy
I just stumbled upon this little number:
"Necktie"
His hands flutter like birds,
each with a fancy silk ribbon
to weave into their nest,
as he stood at the mirror
dressing for work, waving hello
to himself with both hands.
--Ted Kooser
Sweet! Reminds me of a certain other poet I'm currently swooning over.
The last few days here have been frustrating. While those around me kick feet up on desks, crack open books, and/or wander idly around the office chatting, I'm left to, ur, work. If there weren't such a backlog (thanks predecessors), I'd be right there w/ 'em. But there is, so I'm not. Think I'll self-reward and take off early today, get a headstart on the walk home. Did it last night, and the journey was surprisingly pleasant--and at only an hour, shorter than I'd imagined. The streets were clogged, but the sidewalks I walked down were oddly as-usual. Typical post-work volume by the looks of it.
I'm anxious to get home, as I have a h-o-t date w/ a selection of holiday tunes, a pile of card stock, some crazyass glitter, a glass of Sauvignon Blanc, and a hopeful batch of yet-unmade peanut butter thumbprint cookies. I'm doing my damndest to rein in that hope, however, considering a pretty hopeless assortment of (makeshift, all makeshift) baking gear. Ziploc-turned-mixing bowl, anyone? I'm on thin ice.
I miss you, Pea.
From NYT
"Paul Borgoa of Bay Ridge, Brooklyn, tried to find a ride home. Throughout the city, strangers crammed into sedans, taxis and vans to get to their destinations."
On the upside...
it makes for some entertaining reading.
Synopsis: strike, MTA, subway, train, bus, bridge, tunnel, cold, long, walk, bike, liberating, free exercise, polite, luxury, ride in style, absolutely perfect, holidays, bad taste, short end of the stick, runny nose, impatient, stocking full of coal.
Unified, yes. Agreed, eh.
Tuesday, December 20, 2005
My $.02
Strike's on.
Eight thirty this morning found me in three layers of clothing w/ backpack cinched, ready for a 60-block trek north in 22-degree conditions. I was actually pretty energized, and I knew I was in for (plenty of) good company. Anyway, I figured the walk to work would take an hour-fifteen tops, which didn't seem so long.
Then it occurred to me to give my w/-car coworker a call. Timing was right on; I caught her just as she was leaving her apt. Screw that walk.
Two minutes later I was strapped into the passenger seat of a trusty Civic, nice coworker behind the wheel, two friendly strangers--a bartender, a Google employee--in the backseat: turns out, the story of the morning. I'd caught a half hour of NY1 earlier, so I'd heard the accounts. Complete strangers piling into cars by the fours--four the required number of passengers per vehicle entering Manhattan between the hours of 5:00 and 11:oo AM. And no exceptions, either. Drivers who'd stalled in gridlocked traffic for an hour-plus w/ only two companions were turned away upon reaching the bridges, tunnels, 96th... Serious business. Many scrambled to up their count, recruiting walkers in order to reach that magic number. Same deal w/ taxis--four rider requirement.
Our commute was a breeze until we reached 32nd. Inch by inch, we edged toward Grand Central, where we finally dropped off the backseaters. From there it only got uglier, and had I been the one driving, well. Well. But I wasn't, so all was fine. I was at my desk by 9:30, hardly later than usual. In the next hour or so, people trickled in, each w/ their own little tales to tell. Friendly conversation, swapped opinions on the strike, in one woman's case, a newly acquired business card... One of my coworkers, heading crosstown on foot, said that every other block she'd hear a cab driver shout, "Hey sweetie, where you goin'?" "Midtown East." "Ah, sorry, headed for [insert non-Midtown East neighborhood]." A dull day it's not.
Of course times like these, however messy, bring out the best in a New Yorker. We've heard it before, but this morning my coworker mentioned events like today's strike, the blackout of 2003, and it goes w/o saying, 9-11, as being incredibly unifying. People naturally want to share and compare, and who better to turn to than their fellow citydwellers. Be it on the sidewalk, in the elevator, a cab, over beers in some pub, etc., etc., etc., empathy's bound to be circulating. I've seen plenty already, and it's only just noon.
That I live in a city that makes widely publicized news daily is still strange to me. What does the collective know of Seattle? Starbucks, Microsoft, Nirvana?
Monday, December 19, 2005
Romp
I went to Philly on Saturday, an excursion a long time coming. I left Pea behind w/ his books/maps/course packs (course packs! oh, the memories), and for $20 roundtrip, headed west, destination reached in just over two hours. The "Chinatown Bus," as it's known, was a comfortable enough ride, not counting the chilly draft at my back for the duration of trips there & back. Apparently I don't take well to learning, considering it was by choice that I planted myself in the same seat both times. Anyway, who cared. I had my books (I've robbed the library of its entire Billy Collins stash for the time being), I had a change of scenery, and I was enjoying in a rare period of calm--even w/ the coffee-jacked couple sitting across from me. About that scenery: It was the NJ Turnpike for most of the way, baby, and while I'd heard about it (flat, monotonous, barren, & industrial wasteland are terms that come to mind), the experience was a new one. I must say, quite the stretch. And although it was indeed drab, characterized by bare, craggy trees and a complete lack of anything colored, it was a welcome break from, well, buildings.
About that couple: Girl and guy, although tirelessly chatty, proved helpful in the end. I overheard them tipping neighbors w/ restaurants to try, galleries not to be missed, background on the area... For instance, it was news to me that, year in and year out, Camden, NJ rivals Compton as the most dangerous city in the country. C lies just beyond Philly--on the NJ side of the Ben Franklin Bridge. Crossing this bridge, I caught a clear view of the City of Brotherly Love, and honestly, nothing really stands out in my mind. A handful of high rises, hotels, industry... Philly's lively architecture--a mix of antiquated and contemporary--and dozens upon dozens of ornate churches didn't appear until later, when my feet were touching ground. Anyhow, the bridge at our back, Chinatown was minutes away. The contrast between Chinatowns is sharp--Philly's version exhibits the quiet of a desert island compared to NYC's, the latter insanely dense and clamorous. Each w/ its charm. So I fast learned that Philly's a true walking city; stepping off the bus, downtown was a hop/skip/jump away. I was w/o map, yet somehow convinced I wouldn't be needing one. Turns out I was right. Thanks to directional signs spaced every few blocks, the way to all major tourist attractions was clear.
At first I just started wandering, which is generally the way I like to do it. The city was still, the sidewalks empty for long stretches. Seemed odd for a Saturday afternoon. I gradually made my way toward the Philly equivalent of NY's Museum Mile, having figured on one museum. I would've loved to have seen more, but five hours was bound to fly. Wavering between The Philadelphia Museum of Art and the Rodin Museum, I finally decided on Rodin. Good choice. The structure holds the largest collection of the artist's work in the country, and wow. While very piece caused my jaw to drop a little further, I was especially captivated by his hand renderings. He captured tension so exquisitely, no matter what/whom his subject. But the hands--man oh man. I never knew such depth of emotion could be expressed in the simple posturing of one of these.
Moving on, I swung by the public library, a museum in its own right. Lavish designs carved into the ceiling, gigantic portraits, that great echo I love... I climbed a flight of stairs, entered a room at random, and sat on the floor w/ a 20-lb book--a catalog published in 1926 and containing an exhaustive list of all books known to be in print (U.S. publishers) at that time. I whipped out my $10.99 disposable camera (because forgetfulness costs) and snapped a pic. The thing spanned at least a foot, its spine was shot to hell, buckling and gaping everwhere, and it just looked neat. Onwards.
The rest of my time was spent walking, pausing, walking, pausing. I swung through Rittenhouse Square, sat on a park bench and watched, got up, kept moving... Obviously the city's in full Xmas regalia, although store windows pale in comparison to ours here. I had planned to cap the day w/ a round through historic PA--Constitution Hall, Independence Hall, Congress Hall, Declaration House, Liberty Bell, etc., etc., etc.--but durnit if Philly doesn't shut its eyes on history at the freakishly early hour of five o'clock! The nerve. I did get a glimpse of the Bell through a gallery window--something anyway. No matter, though, as Pea & I will return come March 12 (anniv) for this. Oh geez. Contain me. Please.
Friday, December 16, 2005
The horror
As I'm sure everyone's heard, here in NYC we're in the midst of some pretty major MTA hoopla. The strike could well have initiated at 12:01 this morning, but didn't. Oddly enough, Pea and I arrived home from a pal's holiday party at midnight on the dot, and of course, promptly switched on NY1. About a half hour later, the news was out: No strike--not yet. But soon. Probably. I've heard various accounts--some say as soon as tonight, others early next week. We'll see.
I saw a Daily News the other day, or maybe it was a Metro, w/ a headline along the lines of Transit Strike Survival Guide--"Survival" in huge blocky font. Had to roll my eyes at the sensational language. Then some time later it occurred to me: Oh, uh, wait, this is a REALLY BIG DEAL. Ok, I knew all along we had a potentially insane situation on our hands, but the 'survival' aspect of it hit me on a slightly delayed schedule. Survival indeed. And while I'd/I'll have a relatively easy time of it, others wouldn't/won't be so lucky.
On my end, at roughly 3:00 PM yesterday, the talk around the office started escalating: If it happens, will we still be expected to come in? [Yes.] Can we taxi in and expense it out? Oh, but how idiotic a thought--like we'd ever be able to get a cab anyway, all those crazy people running around w/ their own agendas. Get out, that's MY cab! I have a presentation to give in exactly one hour! [whack, cry] Ok, probably not, but I can imagine it.* What we ended up w/ was this plan: Pack the admins in a car and haul on up to Midtown. This meant that the single one of us in possession of a vehicle would start in the EV, swing south to pick up the folks ferried from SI, head due west/north to gather up a Villager or three, negotiate a parking spot, and there you'd have it. Bizarre, the amount of planning required when hoppin' in the old Honda is no longer an option. A far cry from, well, you know where.
Obviously our plan never saw execution, but my, the frenzy that surrounded it! Quite exciting.
About the strike itself, workers appear to have due cause for complaint. Menial wage increases, an adjusted retirement age for new employees (from 55 to 62), more costly health coverage... Plus, the union claims that w/ the MTA's ample surplus justifies a much better offer. But seems I read somewhere that a good chunk of this was blown before contract talks even began. Hmm, there was that 'holiday discount' for subway riders--an extra ride per so many card dollars or something... Do I smell a rat? [In this instance, a question not to be taken literally.]
Speaking of transit, I got off the 6 this morning to find a 100-deep crowd at the base of the stairs. No movement at first, then slowly, surely we all made our way to the top. Briefly, everyone around me was perfectly in step: right, left, wait. Right, left, wait. Without intention, we'd formed our own little marching band, instruments the only thing missing. (Like we need to add to the clamor here.) It was, for me, another one of those spontaneous 'we're all in this together' moments. I wonder if anyone else noticed. Unlikely.
*Actually, times like these, the city adjusts cab fare regs. Drivers charge by the person so as to accommodate more riders, and the island's divided into zones, w/ people paying according to how many they pass through en route to their destination. At least that's how I'm understanding it. Whoa, what a mess.
Orion pitch, anyone?
I have a no-nonsense piece of writing up on mediabistro today. On the off-chance that you're an AvantGuild subscriber, you can find it here.
This one's for you, Mendy
Know about this? Adorable, but why the need for 'losingest?' That part's gotta be rigged. What owner would send this picture in hopes of securing a 'winningest?' I'm sorry, not nice.
Thursday, December 15, 2005
Un-sophisticate
While I was perusing the eye candy at Banana Republic during today's lunchbreak, two different employees, completely independent of one another, asked me where I was from. When asked the first time, I was confused. By the second time, I knew where this was headed. Turns out, the inquiry was a direct response to what I was/am wearing. Colors. I'm wearing colors. I'm not w/ holes in my pants (although this would hardly land me outside the scene), I'm not in costume, I'm not half-dressed; I'm just vibrant. In a fuschia & navy knee-high argyle socks/pink barrette/purple scarf kind of way. All else is black, but apparently not enough so to disguise my out-of-townness.
Not that I an ounce care.
Delivered
See this. Heath Ledger, amazing. Why, before now, did I only know him as that dude who dated Naomi Watts? I must be missing something. If you ask me, he deserves all accolades that come his way. Jake is also fantastic, although I pretty much expected this, and the supporting cast--not a single disappointment.The highly publicized affair that unfolds between Ledger and Gyllanthaal ('so what was it like to do, you know, those scenes?') is so refreshingly natural, totally w/o a social agenda--nice, as this so often detracts from the story itself. Ang Lee just lets it happen, lets it run its course. As it should.
This one's definitely worth the hype. Oh, and the setting's too pretty for DVD. Don't wait.
Wednesday, December 14, 2005
Don't you dare... die
BIRITIBA MIRIM, Brazil (AP) -- There's no more room to bury the dead, they can't be cremated and laws forbid a new cemetery. So the mayor of this Brazilian farm town has proposed a solution: outlaw death.
http://www.cnn.com/2005/WORLD/americas/12/13/death.ban.ap/index.html
Uh, nice thought, Mr. Mayor.
Tuesday, December 13, 2005
Den siste fine helgen
This last w/e was nice and balanced, just the way I like 'em. Friday was mellow enough, involving little more than egg nog and a Six Feet Under episode. Late the next morning it was off to the gym, or the dugeon as I've taken to calling it. After this, we spent a luxuriously long time at Bagel Zone, me in the company of an unraveling short story, Pea swimming in urban planning textbooks. Decent food, insane decor, I like it. [A plus: employees who are--imagine it--friendly. Related post to come.] Anyhow, hours later found us at Decibel, kickass sake venue mentioned in a previous post. We didn't stay long, just long enough to greet the next day upon exit...
Woke up ~7 hours later to bury myself in CoolMax & cotton. Made it out the door and down the block before the harsh reality that was the weather registered in my brain, not to mention on my ears/nose/fingers/toes. Somehow the conditions felt less bearable than they did the other day when it was substantially cooler. Go figure. I think I need an inhaler.
Next up was brunch w/ a new friend Sophie. I met her and her beau awhile back at the Halloween parade; we were enjoying warmth & sushi while the masses braved, well, the cold & each other. They asked me a sake-related question, actually, and in responding, I believe I pretended to know what I was talking about. As fate or something would have it, the conversation didn't end there, and before I knew it, we were exchanging numbers and vowing to all hang out soon. Since then, we've seen them a couple of times, and they're truly great. Thoughtful, articulate, sensitive... my favorite kind.
Anyhow, yesterday was for the ladies, so following a mediocre brunch at Mayrose in Union Square, we relocated to the Upper East for a round through the Guggenheim. Literally, obviously. It was my first time there since moving here (went w/ Pea during our 2002 vacation) and I knew I was in for a good time. The current exhibit is called Russia!, and it features, well, Russian art. Spanning six centuries, you might call its scope ambitious. S and I splurged on an audio admission ($24!), a fine idea considering that, before yesterday, the only name I was able to associate w/ Russian visual artistry was Kandinsky. But our nifty headset provided plenty of background on both the artists and their contributions. Added to this was the fact that I was in step w/ a lady who's spent a good bit of time in/around Rus. Sophie and her family moved to New Jersey from Armenia at the age of 12, and beau Jon's from Moscow. S was able to identify several works that she'd seen in their original location: the State Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg. She got a little misty-eyed over one particular painting of a Kiev scene depicting buildings in soft pastels that she claimed was a perfect representation.
I owe my personal favorite to Ivan Aivazovsky, creator of a terrifying seascape--The Ninth Wave--at once impossible and hopeful. A close second to Ivan Kramskoy for Unknown Woman. Audio buddy informed us of a fondness between Kramskoy and old Leo Tolstoy--T, impressed by K's work, allowed K to paint his portrait after having refused several prior requests for the same. While K was painting, T was writing Anna Karenina; Kramskoy even won himself a role in the novel as the artist-character Mikhailov. Hell if I remember him. Also during Tolstoy's writing of Anna, Kramskoy cranked out Unknown Woman. You can guess the parallel that's been drawn.
Why stop there? Come 4:00, it was back downtown for the annual holiday concert w/ the Scandinavian Chamber Orchestra. Because anyone who knows me (or meg, if you will) knows that a minimum of one song-based holiday event is a prereq for a successful Xmas season. Anyway, we were of course a few minutes late--ok, fifteen--arriving in time to catch the tail end of Edvard Grieg's Peer Gynt, Suite No. 1, Op. 46, otherwise known as "The Death of Ase." Know it? Same here. Before we knew it, intermission, followed by music I actually recognized. "Santa Lucia" was sung by a Scandinavian opera singer clad in full S.L. regalia--the fire was even real! She kept making me nervous, the way those candles slanted to the right. But go up in flames, her hair did not. Takk for det.
One of the last selections was "O Holy Night." I don't care if it's sung in Pig Latin, it's hands down the most beautiful Christmas song ever. Like all else, it was done in Norwegian, shoving yet another not-so-gentle reminder in my face: You've lost it. In hopes of refreshing, I've decided to enroll in a Feb. 2006 norskkurs offered through NYU. Ha det godt.
The End.
[Did I mention it's cold here? I'd never before entertained the idea of peeing my jeans for warmth, but well.]
 Partly Cloudy | 19°F Feels Like 8°F |
Sunday, December 11, 2005
Saks
Friday, December 09, 2005
The Christmas bug has officially bitten
I put up rainbow lights in our apt last night. Amazing, the coverage of a single 100-bulb string when strung in a 265 sq ft space.
On a related note, there's snow. Snowsnowsnowsnowsnow. Momentarily, all is well w/ the world. 
I love you.
Thursday, December 08, 2005
Bye S! 'twas fun.
Wednesday, December 07, 2005
Snow day
First snow: view from our window.
Seen halfway through the slushiest run ever. Sure to be more.
Shoveling, although the stuff seems to run its course pretty naturally.
Those darn seals again.
South Street Seaport tree.
Clearly, it's hardly a deterrant.
The scene here differs exponentially from that observed by N or A. 
Operation Diagonal Patterned Scarf completed. 
Pardon, one last time.
They just keep coming...
74-foot, 50-year-old Norway Spruce, a.k.a. Rockefeller Tree. Pretty grand in person, but you know how it is: so much hype, bound to disappoint a little.
UNICEF Snowflake @ 57th and Fifth.
Aww... Little kids in their Christmas finest. Don't think me weird for snapping this.
Not exactly Xmas material, but cute nonetheless.
Tree in my workplace lobby. I got in trouble for snapping this. Whoops.
FAO Schwartz @ Xmas time: a regular zoo, and I'm not talking stuffed critters.
Reenacting the Big scene that catapulted this particular lifesized keyboard to stardom. Love that movie.
More large & shiny dancing figures. What's that artist's name who painted these?
The Cartier building, wrapped in red.
Had to happen sooner or later
I'm home sick from work today, presently jacked up on decongestants. Always such a tradeoff. Do I deal w/ irritating cold symptoms or struggle through a foggy, med-induced out-of-body experience? Obviously I chose the latter.
So, last night's trainride home proved quite the ordeal. First up, a startling confrontation w/ him:
Big dude was just hanging out on the step, masquerading as a piece of discarded Chinese food (moo shu chicken remnant discovered just left of him). Ah, but he didn't fool us, wise as we were to his ugly ways. Of course, I pulled my usual, standing transfixed, just waiting for the thing to take flight, or in the very least, do his little cockroach scuttle. But he appeared comatose, for which I suppose I should have been happy.
Next up, and of far more significance, was an act of near-thievery. As Pea and I stood on the train, wedged tightly between fellow goers, one in particular stood out. He started pushing his way through the mass, although this was hardly going to be possible. Eventually, he appeared to give up, fixing himself behind/to the side of Pea. In perfect reach of his front backpack pocket. Later Pea would say he noticed the guy fidgeting, but of course the meaning of this was lost at the time. So two stops in, said guy got off and Pea was left to contemplate a gaping pocket, sure it had been fully zipped beforehand. We're not 100 percent sure, but the probability's there. Thankfully nothing was taken, although nothing of value was there for the taking anyway.
Lesson learned: While on crowded train, frontpacks not backpacks.
Tuesday, December 06, 2005
Sugar
I'm tired. Tired tired tired. And not that 'boy have I got a mean case of the mid-afternoon yawns' either. I considered--scratch that, I initiated--crawling beneath my desk for a snooze. But damn if there isn't a wide crack between desktop and desk side, certainly wide enough to expose my crumpled form to my boss who sits across the way. Then again, she's not feeling well herself; maybe she'd sympathize. Anyway, it no longer matters, as I've written myself awake. Now that that's taken care of...
I'm tired for good reason. Happily tired, really. A dear friend, another S, is in town for the week, and although she's not staying w/ us, I know I'll get a few evenings of her time. Last night was the first. Dinner at Max--only the best & cheapest Italian I've ever experienced--was all about shared entrees and warm, woodsy wine, not to mention a whole lot of catching up. S failed in her initial attempt to get me to 'sum up my impression of the city in two sentences,' but I'm pretty sure that, knowing me, she never really thought that possible. Short-winded I am not. After divulging (an entry all its own, shelved for a later date), we found our way to the cherished topic of, what else, writing. We each had an accomplishment or two to share, hers being that SHE'S BEING PUBLISHED IN A BITCH ANTHOLOGY due out in August 2006. We're not talkin' no Seal Press either. Big time, baby. Yeah, so earlier this year she contributed a delightfully wry little piece about how the media, mostly in the form of popular women's magazines, tries to sell housework as physical exercise. "Mop your way to a trimmer you!" "Take to the vaccuum, take away the pounds!" You get the idea. S even found one researcher who'd concluded that women who engage in regular work around the house lower their risk of colon cancer (or something of that nature). May be, but sheesh, a p.m. walk w/ Spot will have the same effect. And can you imagine coming across something like this in Men's Fitness? Pshaw.
One long dinner wound into one even longer dessert--at Vineiro's, home to what some believe to be the city's best cannoli. I'm on the fence. Then again, I don't freak out over the delicacy as I do, say, cheesecake, which they also happen to have a knack for. Some would also have you believe the place is Mafia-run, but ahem, perhaps hard to confirm. Anyway, an apple tart & espresso mousse pie & a Limoncello (all shared, big on sharing) later, and it was time to quit w/ the sweets already. But really, c'mon. Never enough, never enough.
I actually just got off the phone w/ S. We're both disappointed because the Broadway show we got all giddy over last night (should we? let's! let's!) isn't going to pan out after all. Thought I could nab us a good deal, but nope. Still, our backup plan is hardly pitiable (translation: dinner tomorrow at Serendipity, where plenty more chocolate awaits). Plus, a certain Pea will probably get to join in, school workload permitting.
Oh, and that snow we got? Gone. Seattle may have beat us to the punch this year, but we can clear it out faster than anyone. All it takes is a few million vehicles and poof! Gone. Not that I'm happy about this.
Sunday, December 04, 2005
Barneys: "Get Royal"
These guys went w/ a royalty theme, combining serious (first two) w/ scandal. Nice, huh? 
Bloomingdales: "Imagine"
Bloomies has a fairy tale thing going on this year. Each window is a tribute to a particular character set. Lots of glitter, lots of glamour. 
theme
Snow White
Sleeping Beauty
Little Red Riding Hood. Love that wolf.
Rapunzel
The Frog Prince
The Frog Prince closeup. The frog's amazing -- hundreds of tiny glass (plastic?) beads, so shiny... 
Cinderella
Aladdin
Saturday, December 03, 2005
Wide eyed
Ah, NYC department store windows at Xmas. Long heralded for their decadence, they deserve plenty of space on my blog. Which they'll get. I'll divide images according to store--Bloomies, Saks, Barneys, Bergdorf Goodman, Lord & Taylor, Macy's--and take the liberty of inserting a little commentary alongside. Enjoy!
We're in. We're in, we're in, we're in. And no more monkey business for at least another year (life of the lease). Getting in was predictably an ordeal, as this involved an 11:00 PM move that lasted well into the next morning. But two giant cab rides (the loads, not the cars) + two dozen trips up five flights of stairs did the job.
The new digs are spectacular--and by that I mean the walls are white and the toilet more than two steps from the front door. It's still small, but it's funny how fast one adjusts to cramped quarters in this city. Anyway, the layout's smart, which creates the illusion of a little more space. I'm happy to be tricked.
Ok, enough talk.
Long blue climb.
Second-floor holiday kitsch.
Tasteful art prints hang on the walls of each floor.
Here we are. The TV was gifted us by the previous tenants, that mirror found in the trash, and well, that about rounds out our furniture stocks. Wild: We lose six inches from west wall to east. That's some serious slope. To better illustrate, I'll take a picture of Pea sliding from one end to the other.
Oh, we do have a mattress. ($240 new, baby!)
We have a view of the large communal garden below. Tables and chairs, even. Now, to wait 'til spring...
Ample closet space.
There's a built-in table. (Don't mind the clothes heap. Not mine--never mine. :)
Northwest corner. Pea found that mod cube-thing in, you guessed it, the trash.
Finally, a home for my books--present and future. Home for a Petey, too.
Welcome to the bathroom. "I may be small, but my blue shower tiles give me character, no?"
More of the same.
There's a kitchen.
I
I've been thinking about the French woman w/ the face transplant, trying (to begin) to imagine what she's been through, what she faces in the weeks/months/years to come. The idea of walking around w/ someone else's features is hard to comprehend, especially considering the woman had 38 years to experience her own. (Of course, it's incredibly cool that the technology was available to her.) Waking up in the morning to a different nose, mouth, chin... How much of an impact this would have would depend, at least in part, on how strongly a person identifies w/ their physical appearance, but I can't imagine not suffering some trauma post-operation. Coming to terms w/ that strange new face in the mirror would hardly be straightforward, then there'd be the waiting period while friends and family did the same...
I'm reminded of my dear friend, E, who recently underwent a bone marrow transplant--amazing gift from an amazing woman overseas--that rendered him "97% French girl" as he puts it. (That figure might be a % point or two off.) How would it feel to be handed another person's biology versus another's face? In both cases, one's spirit, one's soul would remain constants, but psychology would invariably be affected.
Interesting, too, that her musculature was preserved. Strange to think of features that once twisted and moved a certain way on one woman's face as twisting and moving quite differently on another's.
In case you've a mind to perform your own bypass surgery
Scattered across the island, one finds a number of businesses--drugstores and gift-y shops alike--advertising "surgical supplies." It's always a big, bold declaration, printed on banners spanning entire windows. I have yet to determine the meaning behind this, and every time I see one such store/banner, I'm left wondering if I'm missing something obvious.