Today I made a small scene at the Panera Bread near Northern BLVD in Long Island city. I don't know if any of you have spent much time in this particular area of Queens but it is seriously depressing. All car dealerships and the stench of dying dreams. This was my last day off before starting a new job and I had just been to a movie. I didn't end up having time to buy snacks because there was a group of teenagers buying tickets in front of me and they couldn't seem to figure out how money works. It was a 1:25 Matinee and I hadn't eaten lunch so by the time I got out I was really hungry. Panera Bread was the first thing I found.
I ordered a panini, gave them my name, and sat at the nearest open table to read Game of Thrones while I waited. They seemed to have a loud speaker so I was confident that I would know when my food was ready. I went over to the counter to check every so often and saw nothing that resembled my order so I decided to just sit down and wait for my name. My name was never called, and after some amount of time I politely inquired if perhaps they had heard my name wrong and possibly given my sandwich to the wrong person. "For Emma? Yeah we put that out a WHILE ago" was the very 'tude heavy response from the assembly line. "Sorry miss", said the counter boy, "we'll make you another". "NO," I said in a shaky voice which exposed my overly emotional response to the situation, "I DON'T WANT IT ANYMORE. I JUST WANT MY MONEY BACK."
I can't explain why this was my response at this moment. I knew that these are low paid employees who have no incentive to do their jobs particularly well. I knew that going all bitchface on everyone was not going to do anything but make me feel like an asshole later on. I stopped for a moment and considered rescinding my request, but instead what I said was "I just didn't realize that there would be NO effort made to get that message out." I waived my arms around like a crazy person while I said it. I cried a little. It was not good. The bewildered counter attendant gave me my $10 back and I left.
So that's what I did today. I might be a little stressed out about being unemployed.
Wednesday, April 3, 2013
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Confidence! MANIC Style.
(NOT amused)The company (or corporation, to be specific) I work for has decided to move the particular department I work in, along with several others, to Orlando, Florida. This (pause for three seconds and imagine me making a pondering hand gesture) is not ideal; mainly because I, as you may or may not know, am NOT in Orlando, Florida. I am in New York City. Not that they were OFFERING people in New York jobs in Orlando, but if they were I would sooner eat a bowl of Ke$ha's hair than move to Florida. They're keeping us until May and there are the standard consolation offerings so I do have some time to sort things out. It's not the worst way to get a new job if you have to do it...but I started working less than a year ago so I'm just feeling a little harrumphy about it all.
I don't like job hunting. It causes my stomach to inefficiently allocate its resources and my sweat glands to over-produce. The only thing that causes me more stress than having an interview looming is not having any interviews set up. The only remedy is getting hired, and the only thing worse than not knowing whether or not you've been hired is getting that cookie cutter email or voice message informing you that they have gone another way (I like to imagine they've eliminated the job altogether in favor of a very fancy lizard terrarium) but they will keep you in mind and hope you will apply for future openings. How badly does an interview have to go, by the way, to NOT get this response if you don't get the job? Indecent exposure? Unwelcome physical contact? Deliberate destruction of the very fancy lizard terrarium? (Only one way to find out....) It's all very inconvenient and generally disruptive to my growth as an individual. A few weeks ago I was just trying to figure out where the line is between legitimate annoyance and racism when you really are the only white person on your very crowded train and are all these short latino men really this oblivious or are they TRYING graze my chest with their knuckles every five seconds and why do so many full grown asian woman have tiny little baby voices? I don't have the luxury of wondering whether my reactions to these things are acceptable any more. Worrying about my future is my new train activity. Or it was until today when I decided that enough is enough. We all need to agree that I am great and stop entertaining the possibility that things are not going to work out. I say we because this is my new strategy; the assumption that everyone on earth is in agreement with my positive affirmations.
There is really nothing to lose by filling all of the empty space in my head with borderline delusional, Tori Spelling style, completely unsubstantiated confidence. It's not that I don't actually think I am capable and intelligent, but when it comes to finding jobs I am well aware that no matter how comfortable I am with myself there are a whole lot of reasons why someone might not want to hire me. In order to make it through the next few months without becoming paralyzed by the possibility of rejection I need to just think I'm the shit, say I'm the shit, and not FUCKING accept it when anyone suggests otherwise. If you're picturing me sitting in an interview smoking a cigar and laughing condescendingly when asked what my "weaknesses" are then GOOD.
Here is a list of assumptions that might be running through my head at any given moment and that I now assume everyone else is thinking (about me) as well:
- I am very good at everything I've ever done
- I am going to be excellent at everything I ever try
- I am just as good at anything as anyone else. I just haven't done it yet...whatever it is.
- I choose to be 12 pounds overweight because it's Victorian and classy.
- (follow up) I have excellent willpower. I just don't need it because I am already awesome.
- I am the best looking person in this train car
- People are very impressed by the fact that I earned departmental honors in college
- Everyone is always actively excited to see me
- I am the best looking person in this Duane Reade
- Everyone is interested in my stories about my experiences at a private ski academy
- I get points right away for being in my 20s
- These bronze metallic jeggings are WORKING on me
-The following song is about me:
So all of these things are now emphatically true until I sort out everything else. Having a sensible worldview is for cripples and ugly people and I do not have to put up with that shit. I am a winner and winners assume that everyone is on board with their nonsense. So you're all on board. Let the nightmare begin.
Wednesday, January 30, 2013
The Emma Look Book
If this is your first time visiting this blog I would appreciate it if you would, before reading this post, go to my "most popular posts of all time" section and read those first. The reason for this request is that today I'm going to be discussing fashion, kind of, and I don't want anyone to think that this is a fashion blog, because it isn't. Thank you.
Back? OK great.
My personal sense of style is a little hard to pin down. I don't have a lot of money and I have no patience for waiting in line for dressing rooms or putting up with snooty shop girls. I don't pay attention to trends and I really hate it when I can't find anything I like in a store because a bunch of bitches in a room somewhere decided that THIS SPRING IS ALL ABOUT NEON! Fuck those bitches. I like neon fine and all but sometimes I really just want a forest green t-shirt, ya know? So it's a lot of sales rack finds, thrift store treasures, and mostly things that I never tried on before purchasing them. Anyway. I've been documenting my outfits this week so I figured I'd share that with you. It's easier than formulating full ideas.
Look 1: The Lazy Equestrian.
Shirt and Jeans from Old Navy. Boots from TJMaxx by some cheap brand. A pretty straight ahead look that I wear when I am lazy, but not so lazy that I need to resort to sweatpants.
Back? OK great.
My personal sense of style is a little hard to pin down. I don't have a lot of money and I have no patience for waiting in line for dressing rooms or putting up with snooty shop girls. I don't pay attention to trends and I really hate it when I can't find anything I like in a store because a bunch of bitches in a room somewhere decided that THIS SPRING IS ALL ABOUT NEON! Fuck those bitches. I like neon fine and all but sometimes I really just want a forest green t-shirt, ya know? So it's a lot of sales rack finds, thrift store treasures, and mostly things that I never tried on before purchasing them. Anyway. I've been documenting my outfits this week so I figured I'd share that with you. It's easier than formulating full ideas.
Look 1: The Lazy Equestrian.
Shirt and Jeans from Old Navy. Boots from TJMaxx by some cheap brand. A pretty straight ahead look that I wear when I am lazy, but not so lazy that I need to resort to sweatpants.
Look 2: THIS HAT WAS EXPENSIVE
Hat from Anthropologie. Sweater by Old Navy (size xxl). It was in the sale bin and there was a sign in the store saying everything on sale was an additional 50% off. The hat was originally $250 marked down to $70 so I was like, yeah OK I can do a $35 hat that was originally $250. I'm assuming it's made of unicorn hair or phoenix feather and will reveal it's magical properties to me at some point.
Look 3: The "You don't KNOW that I didn't just come from the Gym." Super lazy look involving spandex from The Gap.
Look 3: Recently Homeless Space Princess
It was snowing but I wanted to wear a pretty dress. Dress by H&M. Boots by Sorel.
Look 4: The Unsupervised 6 year Old
This is a floral dress worn OVER a polka dot skirt because the dress was just a little short and I was like fuckin...whatever I'll just wear a skirt under it. Also note the belt, headband, leg warmers, AND tacky necklace.
Look 4: Recently Homeless And Slightly Provocative Unsupervised 6 Year Old
I'll let you sort this one out.
Questions?
Sunday, December 30, 2012
The Life and Times of a Cautious Pedestrian
I don't like to cross the street unless there is a crosswalk. I don't like to cross the crosswalk when a stern, pixelated hand is strongly suggesting that I had better not. How stupid would I feel if I got hit by car, or even almost hit by a car? I'd prefer my demise to come in the form of something more dignified than being squashed under tires, mangled in a metal grille, or splattered against a windshield. And what's the rush anyhow? I can wait two minutes for the light to change and it probably won't alter the trajectory of my day too drastically. It's an exercise in patience to not cross the street when there is obviously, logically, absolutely no car coming but I would rather improve my patience than form habits that might someday render me paralyzed, dead, or worse yet slightly cross-eyed.
I live in New York City now which means that I have to ignore my street crossing preferences most the the time. Any New Yorkers with whom I might be roaming the streets typically have no patience for waiting for lights or for walking a half a block out of the way to a cross walk when there is a perfectly reasonable break in traffic to dash across. So I have to shelve my discomfort and buck up when I'm in a group but when left to my own devices I still prefer to play it safe. I walk fairly quickly and I'm small so I can weave in and out of foot traffic without causing too much trouble. You'll often find me standing at the head of a swarm of Asian tourists, with one foot in the street and one on the sidewalk, poised and determined like a general about to bring a very confused army into a very small battle.
I work in the Financial District and I was living in Brooklyn in the summer of 2012 so I walked over the Brooklyn Bridge on several occasions. I figured since I was by myself I wouldn't have too much trouble getting around the tourists and traveling at my preferred speed. Unfortunately there is a logic vacuum that exists within 100 yards of any internationally renowned landmark and the Brooklyn Bridge is no exception despite its status as an functioning bridge in one of the most populated metropolitan areas in the western world. One German girl was sitting on the white line that separates the walking lane from the bike lane so her friend could take pictures-and not just one or two-this was a full blown photo shoot. I don't mind telling you that she was rather corpulent and my sympathy had she suddenly broken through the wooden planks and plummeted into the cars below would have been...limited.
It is important to note for those of you not acquainted with the Brooklyn Bridge that the bikers in the bike lane mean business. There are a few spare tourists teetering along but for the most part these are people who bike to and from work. I should also mention that I've only actually been on the bridge twice and I've done exactly no research so my assumptions shouldn't be as statements of truth. A walk across the Brooklyn Bridge at 6:00 PM on a balmy summer's eve is by no means a leisurely affair. Unless, that is, you only have your own interests at heart and are either too stupid or too arrogant to acknowledge the present danger and general mayhem you insight when walking five abreast, wandering into the bike lane (or forcing other people to do so in order to pass you), stopping suddenly, insisting on having your professional wedding photos taken when the bridge is at its most crowded, or letting your brood of small children scatter like sentient marbles.
I think I might walk more than a lot of people since I A) don't drive (planning to start soon maybe if I can find a decent affordable a class!) B) hate NYC busses (I would try to work through this but I'm actually prone to motion sickness and I think it's best for everyone if I don't) and c) would rather walk a few extra blocks than transfer from one subway line to another. Several of the heels on my more comfortable fancy shoes have been worn away to the metal or plastic core. You can tell that I walk with my ankles rolled a bit to the inside because the wear on the heels is set at a noticeable angle. With all the walking that I do, though, I haven't actually adjusted to the New York cross-when-you-can method of bipedal locomotion. That's not to say I don't do it- I just don't ever feel quite at ease with it and I don't think I ever will. We'll see.
Sunday, December 9, 2012
It Sucks To Be Me: A Narrative Advisory Against Sub-Leasing
On Friday, Dec 7th 2012 at 6:15 PM I arrived home to my apartment in Brooklyn to find a troubling state of affairs. There was an eviction notice for the lease holder (I had a sub-lease so she's not actually the landlord so I'll just refer to her as L.H from now on) on the door and the locks had been changed. Hmmm. That's new. The eviction notice was dated 12/06 and said that she had 6 days to vacate. I knocked on the door. I tried calling L.H. No response. I also texted and emailed and with each message my undertones expressed an increasing level of frantic rage that she probably missed entirely because A)English is not her first language, B) she is generally oblivious, and c) she might be on cocaine (more on that later). I tried calling the City Marshall whose number was on the notice. It was Friday night though so my chances of speaking to anyone in any kind of official position were limited at best. I read the notice a few times. Despite the extreme information deficit I was operating under I was pretty sure that whoever changed the locks was definitely not supposed to do that yet. So I called the cops. I spoke to an officer who told me this was not the Police's jurisdiction. To be specific I yelled at an officer who explained to me that this was no the Police's jurisdiction. I was, perhaps, slightly unhinged at this point. I tried knocking again and cursed myself for not having my roommates' numbers in my phone.
I sat on the stairs and wept quietly for a minute or two before switching gears very rapidly into full-on pissed as HELL mode. I couldn't think of anything else to do for a few minutes so I just paced in circles and tried not to throw up. Had my roommates already been hauled out? Would all of my belongings be ransacked. Was it maybe all a hoax and had my roommates just stolen everything I own, changed the locks and left town? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? I called my boyfriend and left a shaky voiced, cryptic, and undoubtably disturbing voicemail.
An undetermined amount of time later L.H came thundering down the stairs. Apparently she had been upstairs in another apartment and just now got my messages. She was angry and seemed genuinely surprised. She thought it had something to do with one of the recent sub-leasers who was Swiss and had, according to her, been sending her weird emails so she had asked him to find a new place and get out. Again, this was all coming from her and most of what she says makes no sense so it was all very difficult to follow. It seemed unlikely on the surface though. All I really cared about was getting into the apartment so I could see if my stuff was still there.
We called a locksmith and, despite the eviction notice, somehow convinced him to open the door. While he was drilling to door the Swiss sub-letter came to the door and a melee of high-volume accusations began. I remained very quiet and, making no sudden movements, slithered past the argument and went to my room, leaving the bewildered locksmith behind. Everything was still there. Things looked normal. Nothing was condemned or boarded up.
Meanwhile, L.H was still convinced that the Swisserd(as he will now be known) was behind the eviction. At some point the cops were summoned. While they were explaining that this entire situation was really fucked up but not technically a legal matter, one of my other roommates came home. based on her account, and of the Swisserd's (who I'm still not sure can be trusted), here is what happened while I was at work that day that induced the current state of affairs:
The real landlord came and said L.H had not been paying rent. She claims this is not true and that her only outstanding debt is for a different apartment that is the basis of a current lawsuit regarding bedbugs. The building manager tells the roommates who were home that L.H is an alcoholic and a coke head. This part was not mentioned while L.H was present but relayed to me later. The landlord says the eviction doesn't actually take effect for 6 days but that "we" (the sub-leasers) could change the locks ourselves to protect our belongings from L.H. For the record I had been in the apartment almost 4 months and never had any of my belongings gone missing so I'm fairly sure the building manager was either slightly racist or was trying to manipulate the situation to his favor by playing us against her. He also said that although this sub-lease was approved by him, it wasn't actually licensed by the City Marshall's office and therefor our sub-lease contracts did not protect us from evictions directed at L.H. He was planning on resolving the matter in court and getting the apartment back under his full stewardship and then we could potentially take over the lease. So they changed the locks, but couldn't tell me because no one had my number. I am aware that this part of the complications is my fault, or, all of our faults but I'm the only one who got fucked by our lack of communication.
The building owner had been there sometime in the mid morning on Friday, but he was observantly Jewish and lived in Williamsburg so there was no hope of getting in touch with him on Friday at 7:00 PM. The best thing we could do is have the locksmith, who luckily did not get arrested and who had been very patiently waiting out this entire ordeal to be paid, put on yet another lock, and hand out the two keys that come with it to L.H and one of the roommates.
At this point the situation is somewhat resolved in that I was fairly certain that I don't have to leave either right now or in 6 days and I was no longer worried that all of my belongings were gone a. Still, I was feeling unreconciably rattled so I loaded up some valuables and some clothes and headed uptown to my boyfriend's place. He had to work very early the next day but very graciously stayed up to let me in and endured my half-crazed, extremely snippish mood. I did my best to go to sleep because I knew there was nothing I could really do until the next day but my insides were knotted and all I could do is sweat and grind my teeth.
Saturday morning I woke up knowing only one thing: No matter what happens I need to get out of there even if I am allowed to stay until the end of the month and beyond. I set up some appointments to go look at short term leases, which luckily are readily available due to the upcoming winter break at schools like Columbia and NYU. I felt better with each productive step I took towards living elsewhere but I still had to go back to Brooklyn to see if I could get a key for the new lock and remove any remaining valuables from my room.
Here is what my day looked like on Saturday, December 8th 2012:
8:00 AM: Wake up. Send a bunch of emails to people looking for short term sub-leasers.
9:00 AM: Take the 2 train from 96th street to Franklin street in Brooklyn where I get the shuttle to Prospect Park...this is not the fastest way to get to where I live but it is the easiest.
10:00: Call L.H, whose phone is apparently off. Knock on the door of the apartment she told me to meet her at to no answer.
10:30: Knock at my apartment. Maybe someone's home. Success!
Swisserd opens the door and we chat for a moment about the current state of affairs. He is weird and racist. "Well, the landlord, he's a Jew, so he only cares about "this" (rubs fingers together to indicate money)- In reference to why we might be allowed to stay as long as he gets the rent. It is hard for me to find an apartment because people just see a foreigner. They can't tell the difference between someone from Africa and someone from a wealthy country like mine. Fuck this guy. Seriously. At this point I am more than resolved to only live in a place where I choose my roommates from now on.
10:30-11:00 Pack up another bag and my TV, which is only 22" and in a flatscreen but isn't exactly a joy to carry on the subway for an hour.
11-12:00: Head back uptown. This time I take the Q to 42nd and transfer to the C because it's raining by this point and I need to get the subway that brings my closest to where my boyfriend lives. Anyone who has ever done this transfer with a heavy load will know why I included this bit of information. It is indoors but it is very long, and very uphill.
12:00-2:15 I think I kind of blacked out from stress during these hours but I at least made a couple of appointments to see some apartments. and my boyfriend ordered us lunch which is good because I hadn't actually eaten a meal since lunch on Friday and I was too stressed to know whether or not I was hungry.
2:15: Earlier in the week I ordered special Hanukkah donuts from a Bakery on 77th and Lexington so I had to go pick them up. It is still raining and both the crosstown bus and the 6 train are very crowded, but I make it home safely at around 3:15.
3:15-5:00 Partial decompression
5:00 Went to see a place.
The day didn't end here but the part of my day that was uniquely stressful sort of tapered off. Dinner was made. Hanukkah was celebrated. Everyone is very kind to me because they are kind people and because I probably looked deranged and potentially hazardous.
Today is Sunday and I have been back at the scene of the crime packing all of my clothes into the two suitcases I still have stashed on top of the wardrobe I paid $200 for and spent a whole day building that I will probably have to leave behind. I still don't actually know when I HAVE to be out of here but I know I want it to be asap. The short-term sublet I'm looking at is from a Columbia student on the UWS in a very soothing part of town. It starts in 10 days and as long as nothing else unexpected happens I think I should be able to get out of here fairly painlessly...if you don't count the half-month of recent I'll be eating as well as my security deposit. If you're feeling a little bummed out by this story please watch the following video. I'm trying to have a sense of humor while I sort this all out.
I don't work until noon tomorrow but I am thoroughly exhausted and although I feel much better than I did two nights ago I have the vague sense that nothing is going to be normal or easy for a while and I might just have to deal with that.
I sat on the stairs and wept quietly for a minute or two before switching gears very rapidly into full-on pissed as HELL mode. I couldn't think of anything else to do for a few minutes so I just paced in circles and tried not to throw up. Had my roommates already been hauled out? Would all of my belongings be ransacked. Was it maybe all a hoax and had my roommates just stolen everything I own, changed the locks and left town? WHAT THE FUCK IS GOING ON? I called my boyfriend and left a shaky voiced, cryptic, and undoubtably disturbing voicemail.
An undetermined amount of time later L.H came thundering down the stairs. Apparently she had been upstairs in another apartment and just now got my messages. She was angry and seemed genuinely surprised. She thought it had something to do with one of the recent sub-leasers who was Swiss and had, according to her, been sending her weird emails so she had asked him to find a new place and get out. Again, this was all coming from her and most of what she says makes no sense so it was all very difficult to follow. It seemed unlikely on the surface though. All I really cared about was getting into the apartment so I could see if my stuff was still there.
We called a locksmith and, despite the eviction notice, somehow convinced him to open the door. While he was drilling to door the Swiss sub-letter came to the door and a melee of high-volume accusations began. I remained very quiet and, making no sudden movements, slithered past the argument and went to my room, leaving the bewildered locksmith behind. Everything was still there. Things looked normal. Nothing was condemned or boarded up.
Meanwhile, L.H was still convinced that the Swisserd(as he will now be known) was behind the eviction. At some point the cops were summoned. While they were explaining that this entire situation was really fucked up but not technically a legal matter, one of my other roommates came home. based on her account, and of the Swisserd's (who I'm still not sure can be trusted), here is what happened while I was at work that day that induced the current state of affairs:
The real landlord came and said L.H had not been paying rent. She claims this is not true and that her only outstanding debt is for a different apartment that is the basis of a current lawsuit regarding bedbugs. The building manager tells the roommates who were home that L.H is an alcoholic and a coke head. This part was not mentioned while L.H was present but relayed to me later. The landlord says the eviction doesn't actually take effect for 6 days but that "we" (the sub-leasers) could change the locks ourselves to protect our belongings from L.H. For the record I had been in the apartment almost 4 months and never had any of my belongings gone missing so I'm fairly sure the building manager was either slightly racist or was trying to manipulate the situation to his favor by playing us against her. He also said that although this sub-lease was approved by him, it wasn't actually licensed by the City Marshall's office and therefor our sub-lease contracts did not protect us from evictions directed at L.H. He was planning on resolving the matter in court and getting the apartment back under his full stewardship and then we could potentially take over the lease. So they changed the locks, but couldn't tell me because no one had my number. I am aware that this part of the complications is my fault, or, all of our faults but I'm the only one who got fucked by our lack of communication.
The building owner had been there sometime in the mid morning on Friday, but he was observantly Jewish and lived in Williamsburg so there was no hope of getting in touch with him on Friday at 7:00 PM. The best thing we could do is have the locksmith, who luckily did not get arrested and who had been very patiently waiting out this entire ordeal to be paid, put on yet another lock, and hand out the two keys that come with it to L.H and one of the roommates.
At this point the situation is somewhat resolved in that I was fairly certain that I don't have to leave either right now or in 6 days and I was no longer worried that all of my belongings were gone a. Still, I was feeling unreconciably rattled so I loaded up some valuables and some clothes and headed uptown to my boyfriend's place. He had to work very early the next day but very graciously stayed up to let me in and endured my half-crazed, extremely snippish mood. I did my best to go to sleep because I knew there was nothing I could really do until the next day but my insides were knotted and all I could do is sweat and grind my teeth.
Saturday morning I woke up knowing only one thing: No matter what happens I need to get out of there even if I am allowed to stay until the end of the month and beyond. I set up some appointments to go look at short term leases, which luckily are readily available due to the upcoming winter break at schools like Columbia and NYU. I felt better with each productive step I took towards living elsewhere but I still had to go back to Brooklyn to see if I could get a key for the new lock and remove any remaining valuables from my room.
Here is what my day looked like on Saturday, December 8th 2012:
8:00 AM: Wake up. Send a bunch of emails to people looking for short term sub-leasers.
9:00 AM: Take the 2 train from 96th street to Franklin street in Brooklyn where I get the shuttle to Prospect Park...this is not the fastest way to get to where I live but it is the easiest.
10:00: Call L.H, whose phone is apparently off. Knock on the door of the apartment she told me to meet her at to no answer.
10:30: Knock at my apartment. Maybe someone's home. Success!
Swisserd opens the door and we chat for a moment about the current state of affairs. He is weird and racist. "Well, the landlord, he's a Jew, so he only cares about "this" (rubs fingers together to indicate money)- In reference to why we might be allowed to stay as long as he gets the rent. It is hard for me to find an apartment because people just see a foreigner. They can't tell the difference between someone from Africa and someone from a wealthy country like mine. Fuck this guy. Seriously. At this point I am more than resolved to only live in a place where I choose my roommates from now on.
10:30-11:00 Pack up another bag and my TV, which is only 22" and in a flatscreen but isn't exactly a joy to carry on the subway for an hour.
11-12:00: Head back uptown. This time I take the Q to 42nd and transfer to the C because it's raining by this point and I need to get the subway that brings my closest to where my boyfriend lives. Anyone who has ever done this transfer with a heavy load will know why I included this bit of information. It is indoors but it is very long, and very uphill.
12:00-2:15 I think I kind of blacked out from stress during these hours but I at least made a couple of appointments to see some apartments. and my boyfriend ordered us lunch which is good because I hadn't actually eaten a meal since lunch on Friday and I was too stressed to know whether or not I was hungry.
2:15: Earlier in the week I ordered special Hanukkah donuts from a Bakery on 77th and Lexington so I had to go pick them up. It is still raining and both the crosstown bus and the 6 train are very crowded, but I make it home safely at around 3:15.
3:15-5:00 Partial decompression
5:00 Went to see a place.
The day didn't end here but the part of my day that was uniquely stressful sort of tapered off. Dinner was made. Hanukkah was celebrated. Everyone is very kind to me because they are kind people and because I probably looked deranged and potentially hazardous.
Today is Sunday and I have been back at the scene of the crime packing all of my clothes into the two suitcases I still have stashed on top of the wardrobe I paid $200 for and spent a whole day building that I will probably have to leave behind. I still don't actually know when I HAVE to be out of here but I know I want it to be asap. The short-term sublet I'm looking at is from a Columbia student on the UWS in a very soothing part of town. It starts in 10 days and as long as nothing else unexpected happens I think I should be able to get out of here fairly painlessly...if you don't count the half-month of recent I'll be eating as well as my security deposit. If you're feeling a little bummed out by this story please watch the following video. I'm trying to have a sense of humor while I sort this all out.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Knowing the Un-constructed Self
If you notice me sitting alone and pursing my lips with the air of far away thought, chances are I am either doing it on purpose because I want you to think I'm a thoughtful person, or I'm imagining myself doing a song and dance routine to "When I'm 64" at a famous actor's 32nd Birthday. I don't know which actor it is and at the end of this scenario his handlers give me a check and I go home without ever meeting him. Everyone agrees that I am adorable and many people try to hire me for future events and possibly a Disney pilot but I refuse because, like all truly humble talents, I am not interested in the Show Business lifestyle. I just did it this once as a favor.
This is not a fantasy. It is not an unfulfilled dream. I do not enjoy dancing by myself in front of others and although I do enjoy singing this is actually entirely unrelated. This is not something I want for myself. The imagining of this event just pleases me, and like all things that please me it dominates my inner world entirely and with very little warning. This is not the kind of thing that I would ever mention to anyone in conversation and I do not feel that it defines or even reflects my personality in any meaningful way. I bring it up because I feel it is my bloggerly duty to expose my low-stakes secrets for the sake of discussion.
When no one is paying attention to me I usually am thinking about the people I care about or I am thinking responsible thoughts like what do I need to accomplish today? or what do I want for myself in the long run? or even occasionally what do people think of me? These are self-aware thoughts that I think when I am actively engaging in my own life and in the world around me. These are the thoughts thought by the version of myself that I choose to send out into the world. However, when I stop paying attention to myself and let my brain do what it wants, I am usually thinking things that would look and sound like complete nonsense to anyone other than me. These kinds of thoughts are hard to keep track of because like dreams, I can usually only process them retroactively.
This is all just a fancy way to discuss what happens when we "space out", but I think it would be really fascinating if we could accurately expose these sides of ourselves to each other. It's impossible, though, because in even beginning to discuss these kinds of thoughts we are actively sanitizing them and re-working them to make sense to someone else. The description of my kitchy little vignette isn't really accurate. It can't be. It's never really exactly the same and it's not like I'm closing my eyes and thoughtfully imagining the details of the event. It just pops into my head and there it is. The bit about about it being a 32 year old actor's birthday party came in later versions and as stupid as it sounds I can't edit that out. It's in there and it will stay that way until something changes. It's also not the only thing that ever pops in. I happen to remember it because its recurring and it can sometimes be triggered by the song coming on my ipod in shuffle mode. I'm pretty sure I also spend a lot of time thinking that I must remember words in Spanish that I learned while watching Pan's Labyrinth. If I actually end up remember any they do not stick.
Thinking about this kind of thing for too long makes me a little squeamish and like my brain might suck itself into a vortex of some kind so I'm going to stop now.
This is not a fantasy. It is not an unfulfilled dream. I do not enjoy dancing by myself in front of others and although I do enjoy singing this is actually entirely unrelated. This is not something I want for myself. The imagining of this event just pleases me, and like all things that please me it dominates my inner world entirely and with very little warning. This is not the kind of thing that I would ever mention to anyone in conversation and I do not feel that it defines or even reflects my personality in any meaningful way. I bring it up because I feel it is my bloggerly duty to expose my low-stakes secrets for the sake of discussion.
When no one is paying attention to me I usually am thinking about the people I care about or I am thinking responsible thoughts like what do I need to accomplish today? or what do I want for myself in the long run? or even occasionally what do people think of me? These are self-aware thoughts that I think when I am actively engaging in my own life and in the world around me. These are the thoughts thought by the version of myself that I choose to send out into the world. However, when I stop paying attention to myself and let my brain do what it wants, I am usually thinking things that would look and sound like complete nonsense to anyone other than me. These kinds of thoughts are hard to keep track of because like dreams, I can usually only process them retroactively.
This is all just a fancy way to discuss what happens when we "space out", but I think it would be really fascinating if we could accurately expose these sides of ourselves to each other. It's impossible, though, because in even beginning to discuss these kinds of thoughts we are actively sanitizing them and re-working them to make sense to someone else. The description of my kitchy little vignette isn't really accurate. It can't be. It's never really exactly the same and it's not like I'm closing my eyes and thoughtfully imagining the details of the event. It just pops into my head and there it is. The bit about about it being a 32 year old actor's birthday party came in later versions and as stupid as it sounds I can't edit that out. It's in there and it will stay that way until something changes. It's also not the only thing that ever pops in. I happen to remember it because its recurring and it can sometimes be triggered by the song coming on my ipod in shuffle mode. I'm pretty sure I also spend a lot of time thinking that I must remember words in Spanish that I learned while watching Pan's Labyrinth. If I actually end up remember any they do not stick.
Thinking about this kind of thing for too long makes me a little squeamish and like my brain might suck itself into a vortex of some kind so I'm going to stop now.
Sunday, November 18, 2012
When My Heart Finds Harry Connick Jr.
Most people do not share my enthusiasm for Harry Connick, Jr. When I bring him up in conversations about music people tend to look at me a little sideways, like I've just admitted to having a puppet fetish. People think of him as the Christmas guy, or that guy who kind of sounds like Frank Sinatra. I'm not going to launch into my whole thing about why he's great but I will say that I have 4 or 5 of his non-holiday albums, some of which are albums of Jazz standards, some of which are original compositions in which he sounds approximately nothing like Frank Sinatra and I enjoy them thoroughly and un-ironically. Furthermore, I generally appreciate his existence as a human being. I even went to see him on Broadway in "On Clear Day You Can See Forever" despite its very tepid reviews. Anyway, his career and his pretty, pretty face are not what I'm trying to write about today. It is less than a week before thanksgiving which means that soon I can start listening to Holiday music, specifically my HCJ albums which, besides the Ella Fitzgerald classics, are pretty much the best seasonal schmaltz out there. I am looking forward to getting drunk in flannel pajamas and listening to all of "When My Heart Finds Christmas" in my parents basement as I struggle to wrap oddly shaped boxes in fancy looking but very cheap wrapping paper that I will inevitably buy on a whim at TJMaxx.
HCJ is like my own personal Santa Claus (an idea which was never encouraged in my house except when my parents needed to evade the "did you get me that____ that I asked for??" question). Although I listen to him year round there is a certain nostalgia specifically surrounding his Holiday music that I find comforting. For people with more of an anchor in tradition I can imagine this is how they feel about angels and mangers and shit. Keep in mind here that I'm not even vaguely Christian in any meaningful sense of the word. My family celebrates both Xmas and Hanukah (spelling varies so I'm going with one that looks most reasonable to me) in my house because Holidays are actually a lot of fun when no one makes you go to Church or read out loud in Hebrew and I suppose we figure "why the hell not?". For more thoughts on why we need Holidays in the winter you can refer to my post "Important Dates in February"
I'm pretty much done talking about this now so I will leave you with a couple links to just a song via youtube and video of a live performance. I usually hold off until after Thanksgiving but I'm going to make an exception here. The second video has a little chatting at the beginning because his charm and good looks add to the total experience.
1- Must Have Been Ol' Santa http://youtu.be/AQliZiSCDYQ Live version of same song: http://youtu.be/HnyPNaobneg
2- Please Come Home For Christmas (Live) http://youtu.be/nSSAMehLUA8
3- A song that is usually unbearable, done better by HCJ. http://youtu.be/rMUHj8xJ
P.S Mariah Carey and her ONE stupid song can suck a dick.
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