About sixteen years ago, I met him for the first time. My trainwreck sibling brought home this adorable puppy he had no business adopting because he had not one thing in his life that wasn’t a mess. I was furious at my sibling – he didn’t even take care of himself, how could he drag
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July 24, 2009
There was the insta-rage lady at the newly open, already crumbly pizza joint in Chelsea. A brown paper bag and crumbs on the bench seat set off a tirade, one part speculating, two parts accusatory, regarding the probable lupine parentage of previous patrons. There was the bewilderingly affronted lady, forced to stop for our street crossing when she came to the intersection and stop sign. Evidently had it not been for our outrageous legal use of the crosswalk, she’d no intentions of stopping. And then there was the bellowing chess player on the top step at Union Square. Screaming and shaking his righteous fist at the sky, he refused to be judged by an unseen, unidentified, unprintable word of an unspeakable origin. This was the New York I expected: a raucous landscape textured by the terse, the taciturn, displaced, misplaced fear or anger. My most vivid memory of New York to date was an extremely hostile woman on the subway, shoving her way through the mass of transit passengers and cursing out my luggage. This fit my mental picture.
It wasn’t until 45 minutes after boarding my return flight to Los Angeles, 45 minutes of creeping along the tarmac with no real intent to take off, that the real New York really settled into my bones.
Entering the city, the strobelights of the brilliant, the driven, were blinding. Time and again I was told: New York is the best city in the world. The food, top flight theater, medical centers, art, music, everything here was the best. [It’s worth the rent!] Residents and transplants alike resonate with an instinctive fight to survive, thrive and endure. To create, produce, dominate. It’s dirty, rough, very rough on the senses of a tenderfoot. The incredible anonymity and isolation was evident in the straight-ahead stares of so many fellow pedestrians, alien glares and snips and bites of the yellow cab drivers. It’s a prizefighter’s city, in a way. Nothing here comes without sacrifice and ever higher prices. How much a sacrifice, and of what, remains a point of pride among those who live(d) there. This I felt to be a true challenge of surviving this city.
Truth be told, I harbored a lurking, nibbling away fear that on July 1st, I’d arrive and immediately wish myself away, discover that I desperately wanted a job in New York while desperately hated the city. On July 4th, I could hardly fathom how complete strangers, incomplete strangers and acquaintances could be almost uniformly gracious, welcoming and friendly. By July 6th, I’d tentatively accepted that this strange city was stranger still than I’d imagined. By July 7th, I’d gone so far as to ask a random lady, another subway rider for an assessment of my appearance pre-interview. I was that nervous. And she was that nice, to approve my get-up and wish me well.
After extending my stay, I pointed half a dozen strangers, tourists all, along their way. I discovered that the subway system was navigable and had only gotten completely turned around underground twice. The subterranean treks, in no small part thanks to dressing for extreme humidity, were endlessly amusing as I muttered directions to myself, gesturing as needed, blending all too well the mentally unstable denizens of the streets. I still haven’t got the subways and all the stops down, but I note for posterity that the entrance at 60th and Lexington as an easy alternative to 59th and Lex is a lie, while the 59th and Lex escalator qualifies as Mt. Kinley when it’s not working. During one of many thunderstorms the first week, fellow pedestrians similarly caught without umbrellas chatted easily about the weather and their interrupted days. Again, I cannot believe the number of people who asked me for assistance. I charged my phone three times a day, I was using the Google Maps and subway app so much.
Most of all, the personal and professional encounters during my stay were phenomenal. Despite my otherwise near hysterical insistence on anonymity, I don’t regret meeting up with fellow bloggers. To the contrary, they were highlights of my visit. Friends I’d gotten to know through months or years of correspondence were gracious hosts in every sense, offering their time generously and without hesitation. I’ve never been so flattered than when a highly placed professional judged, “After speaking with you for ten minutes, I would call you a leader, not just a manager.” Another acquaintance, fast becoming a friend and mentor, then topped that compliment the following week with, “You have a writer’s voice. You have potential.” Both individuals followed up their statements with recommendations and introductions to their professional networks, suggesting they weren’t just feeding me a line. And who am I to merit that kind of attention? Nobody to them, not before that day. Certainly I understand cronyism and nepotism, I’ve seen it many times in previous employers, but I must conclude that these are true scholars of the pay it forward philosophy. Good people to learn from in so many ways.
What’s that saying? “New York: if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere.” Is it true? Perhaps.
I feel like I’m slowly coming back from a foreign country, that this New York of 2009 is intricate and exhausting. The city can really wring it out of you, but I’ve met so many genuinely nice, thoughtful, interesting friends in my short time here that I have a sneaking suspicion that I’ve learned to love the complexity at least a little bit.
July 23, 2009
It’s been nearly a week and I still haven’t mustered the courage to try and figure out how much this one’s going to cost.
On the way home from the airport, a huge chunk of asphalt or rock popped up from the right lane, and smashed into the lower right corner of my car. I was fairly certain that it mostly hit the bottom of my car, but as we drove on, I could hear an ominous whistling. Upon close inspection, the object did hit the bottom of my car which is already *ahem* damaged and still unrepaired, but even worse! It’s smashed the housing for my daytime running light. The bulb is fine, but the housing is completely destroyed.
Big. Fat. Sigh.
I’m not even going to deal with this until Comic-Con is over.
(still thinking about it, though….)
July 22, 2009
Homemade dinner 🙂
Central Park: The NY Philharmonic is playing free concerts in Central Park this summer, and I had the chance to attend Friday night. We were in the furthest back corner from the orchestra, but the acoustics were excellent and you could hear the music perfectly. It was a perfect summer evening, sitting on the blanket with girlfriends, wine, cheese, bread and jam. We were looking forward to the fireworks at the end, but the cloud cover burst and we were quickly drenched in a downpour. I failed to take a picture of the perfection. Flexo was there! I didn’t see him. Er, I wouldn’t know if I saw him, actually.
Pravda: Described as an underground Russian bar, I had the dubious pleasure of enjoying the strongest vodka martini of my life. At $14, I had more than my money’s worth well before I reached the halfway point, and was forced to order Speck with bread and cheese to stave off the embarrassment of passing out. Without a doubt, my single martini was stronger than the Limontini, White Russian and French Martinis ordered ‘round the table, combined. Naturally, I shared. Ambience: excellent. Memorable moment: while waiting in line for the two unisex washrooms, a dude in a striped shirt, texting, graciously waved us girls in ahead of him. Friend later speculated that that’s a decent potential conversation starter as it clearly generated good will. Confusion first, but good will that lasted.
East Village: On a mission to pick up goodies for the park excursion, I decided to hike south through the East Village and Lower East Side. Along the way, I discovered Pommes Frites, and a string of tiny little parks.
Bleeker/Carmine/6th Ave: Joe’s Famous Pizza. It only took two weeks, but I finally made it over there for a slice. Delicious. I have to hope that I’ve not been ruined for pizza elsewhere because I never believed that NY pizza was the epitome of pizzas…. Except it’s really really good. I love the really thin, light and chewy crusts. Surprisingly, I never went to town on an entire pie by myself. Really should have given that a go.
Rice to Riches: The rice pudding place that NY friend always takes newcomers to, and I tag along only so that I can collect their flying saucer like containers. I am that girl. Only worse, because who goes to shops where they won’t eat the food but want the containers? Weeeiird.
Friends: Two friends are entrepreneurs, and I materially benefited from our relationship: I tried on pretty clothing, none of which I took home, and I got to try on a pretty necklace that I did get to take home. Sparkly …..
Missed Opportunities: There’s an Edible Gardens thing going on in the Bronx, and I managed to miss it all. Also, I really wanted to go salsa dancing at one of those places that have a free lesson before they play the real stuff. If I’d paid an extra $356, I could have upgraded to First class and gotten my own personal media player. Totally worth it if I got to keep it, and it also transformed into a Netbook. And an EasyBake Oven.
July 21, 2009
*As previously Twittered, I am now officially weak sauce. I was incapable of lifting my carryon suitcase into the overhead bin. As in, I hoisted it halfway and failed miserably to complete the task. That Is Embarrassing. Yes, my friend called me the 80 pound girl with arthritis, but for heaven’s sake! It’s a joke! One, I weigh more than that and two, was almost always able to heave that ‘case ho (except that one time I way overpacked for winter in Italy and we were staying in a five story walk-up). I think that travelin’ friend has forgiven me for that ordeal.
* I get really easily bored on planes now. The flight attendants came through the cabin at least an hour before ETA offering “one more drink before we land?” and I bounced up out of my seat with an, “ooh! We’re landing??” Again: Embarrassing.
* Someone rationalized my talking to myself [out loud (in public)]: “Well, the rest of us have the pleasure of your conversation, I don’t see why you ought to deprive yourself. “ That’s sweet, but let’s be honest. After reading the above? How many of you would prefer not to be seen with me in public? It’s ok to be honest, I’d understand.
* There’s only so much socializing I can take. “But you’re in NEWYORK-you-can’t-stay-home!!” only works on me a few nights out of the week. I need quiet, productive time! I don’t know how those business students “network” [yes, no, that means party and drink] practically every night of the week. Columbia Business School is off my list of prospective schools.
* All about independence and tackling the challenges head on, but museums when you’re alone? Boring. Sorry. Just boring. Perhaps I need to perfect my talking-to-strangers skill?
* Food is always good.
July 20, 2009
Sitting in the cab, sweaty and frustrated over the thwartion of the subway, I wondered how much money I’d spent foolishly in NY.
The biggest hit was the cab fare to JFK: $52 after tip, plus $2.50 for a drink that I only half finished but desperately needed during that hour-long ride.
Aside from that, though, most stupid offenses were of the minor variety: $20 flats from Target that were Blister City, $8 for Blister Block which got me through 3 days of walking, $5 for two pairs of flip flops that I could have avoided spending if I’d just brought my trusty Rainbows.
Then there’s the $56 of makeup from Sephora. If I’d only the prescience to realize that I’d shop there, I could have redeemed Sephora gift cards from Thank You points and avoided spending that out of pocket.
Total spending came to just under $550 for 18 days, or an average of $30/day, so you can either say I didn’t spend much at all anyway, or that I managed to waste 20% of the total.
July 19, 2009
I returned home to a 10-inch stack of mail: unemployment claims forms, credit card fraud validation forms, a few bills I’d already seen online. A new credit card to replace the canceled one, instructions from the EDD to register for work on CalJOBS or else, porting forms for life insurance, the all important instructions for COBRA.
And a check for overtime in the amount of $800. I can’t believe I’d forgotten about that! Speaking of forgetting things, I almost forget to add the rent check to the pile of envelopes to be sent out.
Depositing that check and a small wad of cash from my trip fends off the spectre of being a non-earner for another week or two; the lack of earned income bothers me at an intellectual level but it hasn’t really hit me in the gut yet thanks to these little infusions of income. I’m still nervous about California coming through with unemployment but that remains a mostly nebulous fear; pretty sure I’d hear all about it post-haste if that were to fall apart.
I’ve waded through most of the forms by now, but there remains the life insurance porting and COBRA. The former requires a call to the benefits administrator before it can be completed and mailed: some genius decided to fill out all the “annual salary at time of termination” blanks with “$110,000.” Wishful thinking on both our parts, pal.
The latter is just too much fine print to read tonight. Maybe tomorrow. Oh and the CalJOBS application. *sigh* I hate online forms that require the laborious filling in of text boxes and drop down menus. It’s all on the resume!
July 17, 2009
Photo credit: Me! [4th of July BBQ]Good grief!
A SBO friend relayed the story of a customer, Z, to me recently. Some months ago, Z purchased apparel as a gift to a gorgeous model-ish gal who decided that said apparel (and accessories) would become symbols of the success of their relationship.
If she decided to keep the gifts, they were on.
If she decided to return them, she was rejecting him.
Almost unsurprisingly, the chap received notice that the gifts were wending their way back to his possession, cultural differences cited as the reason for their failure as a couple. Though “disappointed,” the fella already “has another girl in the works” and rattles off the names of the designers New Gal swoons over, adding the suggestion that he is perhaps in over his head.
I’ll say! Then again, she’s got good taste, as do I. 😉 In dresses, not in men! Er …. her, not … never mind. I’m just saying that, perhaps, if the best description of a potential partner you’re able to provide is that of his or her labels, there’s not much of a foundation for a strong relationship than one might hope.
Or am I the hopeless romantic here? Is this typical of the high-powered, big-money types of relationships?
