Most of you know that I am a music fan. Last year I went to a few concerts, and I happen to kinda like a band named Keane. So today I thought I'd update you on some music goings on. Earlier I told you that I went to watch Snow Patrol on Good Morning America. I really like Snow Patrol, and their latest CD, Eyes Open, has been my favorite this year. But my true music love is Keane. On Tuesday their new CD, Under the Iron Sea, was finally released in the US. I have waited a very long time for this. I have also been a little apprehensive. The sophmore CD is a tough one--especially after a stellar debut album. This new one is different from Hopes and Fears, and there is something in their sound that will take some getting used to. But I like it, and I look forward to loving it.
Since Keane arrived in the US, I have seen them in concert 3 times, and I was determined to see them here in New York. In fact, when tickets went on sale for the June 23rd show (yes, tonight) I was online trying to purchase. To my grave disappointment the show sold out in TWO MINUTES. However, I was determined to try Craigslist later on. But I had a bit of a moral dilemma. I am pretty much poor. My intern salary is only $10/hour, so I really didn't think I should spend my hard earned dollars on a concert when rent is so expensive. I definitely vascilated.
The other day I did check out Craigslist because I decided that I could afford a $35.00 ticket to my Favorite Band for Life. To my horror most of the posts (and by most I mean 98%) were for people wanting to buy tickets and they were willing to spend $300 for them. I could not compete with that. My two coworkers, Ian and Tricia tried to talk me into going down to the Bowery Ballroom anyway and getting a ticket from someone desperate to get rid of one. Honestly, if I was desperate to sell, I would still hold out for someone more desperate than me. I came close to going, but I had to go home after work, and I chickened out.
I am seriously the wierdest girl. How is it that I am brave enough to quit my job and move across the country, but I cannot attempt to meet or see my favorite musicians? (Most of you may recall my poor decision last year in Austin that kept me from meeting Keane. And my Snow Patrol half-effort) I am soo lame!!! I just hope Keane comes back to New York soon, and I will try again. People familiar with the new album should chuckle. Try Again is the name of one of the songs...a really pretty one, too.
I did attend a concert on Sunday. Now, don't think that I am a heathen; I actually saw Gladys Knight and the Saints United Voices choir...not the Pips. This choir is Sister Gladys Knight's missionary tool, and I must admit that she does a fabulous job. The largest focus of the concert was to share her testimony with those not of our faith. The music was not at all what one would hear at a regular church service or EFY fireside. It was more reminiscent of a revival meeting. We were even encouraged to clap our hands. For those readers that are not Mormon, I should let you know that we do not clap in church. But we were allowed to do so on Sunday, and it was fun. Gladys Knight has done a great job with her choir, and she is fun to watch as a chorister--she dances around. I wonder if Mac Wilberg or Craig Jessop of the Mormon Tabernacle Choir will ever start dancing. Probably not. Gladys Knight sang one of our classic hymns, I Am a Child of God. This hymn is important for our church and has been translated in practically every language. On Sunday I heard it in a new language--gospel. It was pretty cool. I have to admit that gospel/religious non-hymn is NOT my favorite music genre. I usually classify it with country or Backstreet Boys (unlistenable), but I appreciate the goal and efforts of the choir.
I really wanted her to sing "A Midnight Train to Georgia" but I guess that doesn't really classify as a church song.
Friday, June 23, 2006
Sunday, June 11, 2006
We are having really great weather today. The sun is bright, but the breeze keeps the temperature down. When it is nice like this I am sad that I have to spend so much time underground in the subway system. I don't think there is a day that I have not gotten on the subway since I have been here. Generally, I don't really hang out in my 'hood. When I am not at home I hop the C train, connect to the A and explore Soho, Chelsea, and wherever. And of course, on Monday through Friday, I go to work. In the four weeks that I have been using the subways, I haven't had too many mishaps or experiences. I got lost a little bit my first day and I saw my first rat(s) in a subway, but that was it--until last Friday.
On Friday I should have stayed late at work to get more done on a project. I didn't have too, but since I was meeting friends for dinner, I wanted to go home, freshen up, and drop off the milk I wanted to purchase on my way home. None of that agenda (except for meeting friends) was all that important, but I did it just the same. On my way back downtown I did my usual C to A train switch, and sat back for what should have been a quick trip downtown. Shortly before we got the 125th Street station, the train stopped. This is not unusual by any means, so I waited for the train to move while patting myself on the back for leaving my house an hour before I had to meet Erika and Sara. Soon the conductor's voice came on the loudspeaker to explain why we weren't going anywhere. I heard him say something to effect that the train just ahead of us in the station had broken down and there was an investigation. He assured us that we would be moving soon. After a few minutes the train did inch foward, but we had not travelled too far before we stopped again.
I glanced around at the annoyed faces around me, and I am certain that my eyes echoed the sentiments. Then the conductor came on again, and told us that if we wanted to leave the train, we had to move up to the first car. The cars were not overly full, so the cattle drive to the front was almost pleasant. Teen-age boys held the doors open, and passengers exchanged comments about the goings on in the subway system. I say it was almost pleasant, because an unfortunate man was not feeling too well and started to vomit. So we all had to dodge the splatter on the way to the next car. I felt sorry for him. If we hadn't had to stall, he could have purged in a less public place. As he retched, a few people giggled, but I think most people felt sorry for him. I assume so because New Yorkers don't have a problem voicing their opinions.
The herd stopped and waited. Soon the train shut down completely; both the air conditioner and lights went off. The emergency lights were illuminated so weren't totally in the dark. For a while no one moved, and no one knew what was going on. After five minutes or so I saw the people in front moving again, and we all headed towards the front. But not only did we have to go through the whole A train, we also had to go through the D that was stuck at the platform. As I emerged from the train a group of subway workers and a couple of detectives ushered us away from the platform. I wasn't sure what to do at this point. We were led away from the downtown platform, but I knew that other downtown trains stop at that station, so why couldn't I just get on one of those. I caught up with a lady that I exchanged a few crisis pleasantries with to get an idea of the situation. She informed me that the D train was not stalled because it broke down; it stalled because someone either jumped or was pushed in front of the moving train. She prayed that he was still alive. Oh. I was no longer annoyed about being late to meet my friends.
Obviously this is not the kind of story that you all want to read, I am sure. But sadly, this happens on the subway. A lot happens on the subways. People read, sleep, daydream, meet old friends, flirt with new ones, kiss, scold children, cry, laugh, sing, sell,beg, start their days, and sadly some end their days. When people are tense from the work week, tempers are short, and the accidental push can cause a near brawl. But there is always compassion. On that Friday before we stalled, I one-armed man walked through our train playing a few notes on a harmonica. He held on to the instrument with his limbless shoulder, and in the other he held a cup to collect change. He couldn't play very well--only three notes--but I think he collected more change than anyone else I've seen.
Saturday's lesson in compassion taught me a lot about judging others. On my way home from Chelsea Markets I decided to take the local C train. the ride is longer than the express A, but it takes me directly to my stop. After we left the station, I kind of regretted my car choice. There were a group of young ladies with strollers laughing and carrying on a little irreverently. One girl was particularly loud. She swore, laughed loudly, and was generally obnoxious. If a young guy sat down, she would sit next to him--closely--and would loudly flirt with the guy. A lot of times these boys would leave the train at the next station. I rolled my eyes, contemplated the welfare of their kids and futures. As did a few others on my side of the train car.
A few stops later a girl entered our car, and asked if anyone had anything to drink. She was thirsty, but also looked a little upset. I didn't have anything, and a few others pretended not to hear. The obnoxious girl did hear, and offered her a bottle of apple juice that had not been open. She wasn't loud when she offered the beverage. Her loud, bawdy tone and demeaner shifted as she graciously gave that girl that drink she needed. My opinion of that loud girl changed. She helped when no one else could or would.
The thirsty girl was indeed upset. She wiped away tears as she stood and drank her juice. But she didn't stay with us long; she decided to go to another car. On her way to the other car, that once-obnoxious girl also gave her a Kleenex to wipe her eyes. After that one girl left, the one who was loud continued to laugh, swear, and flirt with the young male passengers, but after seeing her kind gestures, I was more amused than annoyed.
Even though the subway smells bad, is crowded in the a.m., and has it's disturbing moments, I appreciate the subway. Not only because it costs less than gas. I also appreciate the glimpses of good human nature in this very dog eat dog world.
On Friday I should have stayed late at work to get more done on a project. I didn't have too, but since I was meeting friends for dinner, I wanted to go home, freshen up, and drop off the milk I wanted to purchase on my way home. None of that agenda (except for meeting friends) was all that important, but I did it just the same. On my way back downtown I did my usual C to A train switch, and sat back for what should have been a quick trip downtown. Shortly before we got the 125th Street station, the train stopped. This is not unusual by any means, so I waited for the train to move while patting myself on the back for leaving my house an hour before I had to meet Erika and Sara. Soon the conductor's voice came on the loudspeaker to explain why we weren't going anywhere. I heard him say something to effect that the train just ahead of us in the station had broken down and there was an investigation. He assured us that we would be moving soon. After a few minutes the train did inch foward, but we had not travelled too far before we stopped again.
I glanced around at the annoyed faces around me, and I am certain that my eyes echoed the sentiments. Then the conductor came on again, and told us that if we wanted to leave the train, we had to move up to the first car. The cars were not overly full, so the cattle drive to the front was almost pleasant. Teen-age boys held the doors open, and passengers exchanged comments about the goings on in the subway system. I say it was almost pleasant, because an unfortunate man was not feeling too well and started to vomit. So we all had to dodge the splatter on the way to the next car. I felt sorry for him. If we hadn't had to stall, he could have purged in a less public place. As he retched, a few people giggled, but I think most people felt sorry for him. I assume so because New Yorkers don't have a problem voicing their opinions.
The herd stopped and waited. Soon the train shut down completely; both the air conditioner and lights went off. The emergency lights were illuminated so weren't totally in the dark. For a while no one moved, and no one knew what was going on. After five minutes or so I saw the people in front moving again, and we all headed towards the front. But not only did we have to go through the whole A train, we also had to go through the D that was stuck at the platform. As I emerged from the train a group of subway workers and a couple of detectives ushered us away from the platform. I wasn't sure what to do at this point. We were led away from the downtown platform, but I knew that other downtown trains stop at that station, so why couldn't I just get on one of those. I caught up with a lady that I exchanged a few crisis pleasantries with to get an idea of the situation. She informed me that the D train was not stalled because it broke down; it stalled because someone either jumped or was pushed in front of the moving train. She prayed that he was still alive. Oh. I was no longer annoyed about being late to meet my friends.
Obviously this is not the kind of story that you all want to read, I am sure. But sadly, this happens on the subway. A lot happens on the subways. People read, sleep, daydream, meet old friends, flirt with new ones, kiss, scold children, cry, laugh, sing, sell,beg, start their days, and sadly some end their days. When people are tense from the work week, tempers are short, and the accidental push can cause a near brawl. But there is always compassion. On that Friday before we stalled, I one-armed man walked through our train playing a few notes on a harmonica. He held on to the instrument with his limbless shoulder, and in the other he held a cup to collect change. He couldn't play very well--only three notes--but I think he collected more change than anyone else I've seen.
Saturday's lesson in compassion taught me a lot about judging others. On my way home from Chelsea Markets I decided to take the local C train. the ride is longer than the express A, but it takes me directly to my stop. After we left the station, I kind of regretted my car choice. There were a group of young ladies with strollers laughing and carrying on a little irreverently. One girl was particularly loud. She swore, laughed loudly, and was generally obnoxious. If a young guy sat down, she would sit next to him--closely--and would loudly flirt with the guy. A lot of times these boys would leave the train at the next station. I rolled my eyes, contemplated the welfare of their kids and futures. As did a few others on my side of the train car.
A few stops later a girl entered our car, and asked if anyone had anything to drink. She was thirsty, but also looked a little upset. I didn't have anything, and a few others pretended not to hear. The obnoxious girl did hear, and offered her a bottle of apple juice that had not been open. She wasn't loud when she offered the beverage. Her loud, bawdy tone and demeaner shifted as she graciously gave that girl that drink she needed. My opinion of that loud girl changed. She helped when no one else could or would.
The thirsty girl was indeed upset. She wiped away tears as she stood and drank her juice. But she didn't stay with us long; she decided to go to another car. On her way to the other car, that once-obnoxious girl also gave her a Kleenex to wipe her eyes. After that one girl left, the one who was loud continued to laugh, swear, and flirt with the young male passengers, but after seeing her kind gestures, I was more amused than annoyed.
Even though the subway smells bad, is crowded in the a.m., and has it's disturbing moments, I appreciate the subway. Not only because it costs less than gas. I also appreciate the glimpses of good human nature in this very dog eat dog world.
Wednesday, May 31, 2006
My friend Carrie from BYU has made some lists of seven on her blog, and asked me to do the same. A very fun idea. Here it goes:
7 Places Where I Would Like to Live
1. NYC, oh yeah, I'm here.
2. London, England, UK, The World
3. In that tiny little town across the hill from Nice.
4. Vancouver, B.C.
5. Barcelona, Spain.
6. Austin, TX except when it's hot.
7. Seattle, WA - of course I'd go back
7 Possible Names for my Future Kids-I don't intend to have that many...but you need to be prepared for any possible spousal veto.
1. Magnus
2. Megan
3. Deacon
4. Lydia
5. Wesley
6. Elaine
7. Caleb
7 Foods That Will Always be Found in My Pantry or Fridge
1. semi-sweet chocolate
2. cheese
3. nuts
4. popcorn
5. yogurt
6. avacados or guacamole
7. fruit (the variety depends on the season)
The 7 Most Played songs on my iTunes. I was surprised by the results (Don't worry, Keane will catch up):
1. How Will He Find Me, Deb Talan
2. Set the Fire to the 3rd Bar, Snow Patrol
3. What You Wish For, Guster
4. Either Way, Guster
5. I Spy, Guster
6. Two Points for Honesty, Guster
7. Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
The 7 Things I Would Like to Have in a Future Spouse:
1. Intelligence
2. Motivated
3. Integrity (I include all Church worthiness in the category)
4. Hard Worker
5. Someone who can make me blush like a school girl
6. Looks great in a t-shirt (you know, nice shoulders)
7. I've always been weak in the knees for sparkly blue eyes.
7 Reasons Why I Would Be a Good Spouse
1. I know that I am not always right
2. I can cook. Interpret that as you will ;)
3. I may be poised, but there's never a dull moment
4. I know how to save money and still have fun
5. I can whisper sweet nothings in three languages
6. I don't always go see the chick movies...I like the Great Escape!
7. I've had no complaints in the kissing department...
7 Things I Would Like to Do Before I Die
1. Visit all continents except for Antarctica (too cold).
2. Do a geneological tour of Ireland, England, and Denmark.
3. Watch a Tour de France mountain stage.
4. Be married and enjoy "conjugal bliss"
5. Read all the books my high school didn't have me read, like Grapes of Wrath.
6. Help an organization that brings real solutions to developing nations, especially if that involves going to a developing nation.
7. Write a book.
That was fun. What are your seven 7 lists?
7 Places Where I Would Like to Live
1. NYC, oh yeah, I'm here.
2. London, England, UK, The World
3. In that tiny little town across the hill from Nice.
4. Vancouver, B.C.
5. Barcelona, Spain.
6. Austin, TX except when it's hot.
7. Seattle, WA - of course I'd go back
7 Possible Names for my Future Kids-I don't intend to have that many...but you need to be prepared for any possible spousal veto.
1. Magnus
2. Megan
3. Deacon
4. Lydia
5. Wesley
6. Elaine
7. Caleb
7 Foods That Will Always be Found in My Pantry or Fridge
1. semi-sweet chocolate
2. cheese
3. nuts
4. popcorn
5. yogurt
6. avacados or guacamole
7. fruit (the variety depends on the season)
The 7 Most Played songs on my iTunes. I was surprised by the results (Don't worry, Keane will catch up):
1. How Will He Find Me, Deb Talan
2. Set the Fire to the 3rd Bar, Snow Patrol
3. What You Wish For, Guster
4. Either Way, Guster
5. I Spy, Guster
6. Two Points for Honesty, Guster
7. Chasing Cars, Snow Patrol
The 7 Things I Would Like to Have in a Future Spouse:
1. Intelligence
2. Motivated
3. Integrity (I include all Church worthiness in the category)
4. Hard Worker
5. Someone who can make me blush like a school girl
6. Looks great in a t-shirt (you know, nice shoulders)
7. I've always been weak in the knees for sparkly blue eyes.
7 Reasons Why I Would Be a Good Spouse
1. I know that I am not always right
2. I can cook. Interpret that as you will ;)
3. I may be poised, but there's never a dull moment
4. I know how to save money and still have fun
5. I can whisper sweet nothings in three languages
6. I don't always go see the chick movies...I like the Great Escape!
7. I've had no complaints in the kissing department...
7 Things I Would Like to Do Before I Die
1. Visit all continents except for Antarctica (too cold).
2. Do a geneological tour of Ireland, England, and Denmark.
3. Watch a Tour de France mountain stage.
4. Be married and enjoy "conjugal bliss"
5. Read all the books my high school didn't have me read, like Grapes of Wrath.
6. Help an organization that brings real solutions to developing nations, especially if that involves going to a developing nation.
7. Write a book.
That was fun. What are your seven 7 lists?
Tuesday, May 30, 2006
I had my very first celebrity sighting on Thursday afternoon. I was walking along third avenue in the East Village/Flatiron area when I saw John Leguizamo. He played Toulouse Lautrec in Moulin Rouge. I know, he's not some huge, hyper-famous celebrity, but I am sure he is still a person that likes to be left alone. So I did not chase after him begging for an autograph. I should probably keep a journal of all the celebrities I see, because in a place like New York I am bound to see a lot. Especially since this area has tons of TV shows where actors, writers, and musicians come to promote their projects.
One band that I like a lot is Snow Patrol. (Ha! You thought I was going to say Keane.) Snow Patrol is an Irish band I saw last year on my birthday. I have recently bought their latest album, and it is FABULOUS. I encourage you all to buy it. One song from this particular cd was recently featured on the ABC show Gray's Anatomy. Maybe there was buzz for this song, because ABC invited Snow Patrol to perform that song on Good Morning America.
I found out about the performance through an email I got from the band. (OK not the band per se, but it was from the Snow Patrol organization. But I would not complain if Gary Lightbody, the lead singer, did send me an email). The email announced that the performance would be on Memorial Day. I decided right then and there that I was going to go down to Times Square to see the performance.
To get inside the studio for the performance I had to email ABC to request "tickets." They don't actually issue tickets, but they will email would-be guests and inform them that they are on the reservation list. Since I requested a spot on Saturday I thought my chances were pretty slim for getting in the studio. Nonetheless, I could stand outside and watch the performance from there. I did check my email Sunday night, and I received no notice that I would be in the studio.
So yes, I woke up at 5:30 to stand outside of the Good Morning America studio to catch a glance of Snow Patrol. Luckily I was not the only fan of the band to wait around to see them. And fortunately Tyler Florence of Food Network fame was outside barbecuing for a segment on the show. I knew the band would be on last, but that didn't matter. It was pretty cool to watch a TV show being taped.
I was perched outside the window with a pretty good view of the band. I was closer to them there than I would be if I could afford to go to their concert this Friday (I really want to see that concert. I am SO devastated). It is possible that the camera may have gotten a glimpse of me as it panned the audience inside. I stayed there for two hours as I waited for the end of the show.
With about thirty minutes left in the show, the tv crew prepared that area for the last two segments: Tyler Florence and Snow Patrol. There must have been a glare because they crew lowered a black curtain over the windows. The curtain was somewhat clear; I could still see inside, but barely. I stuck it out that long, and even though I was upset by the curtain, I was bound to stick it out to the end.
Finally the band played the song "Chasing Cars," a beautiful soft song that perhaps I will play at my wedding reception. The performance sounded good, and I was happy to be able to see the band through the curtain. My heighth helped.
When Good Morning America was over I decided to wait around to see Snow Patrol leave the studio. My original plan was to take my cd and and a Sharpie to get an autograph, but when one wakes up at 5:30 on a holiday things are forgotten. I was not only person waiting for the band, but thankfully this group stayed under ten people. Finally the band walked out of the side door and headed to the curb to talk with managers and drivers, etc. Just as soon as they were out a group of girls in short skirts went up to talk to them. They took pictures and chatted, and I stood there and watched. I had no camera for pictures, and I didn't really want to appear like another giggly groupie in a short skirt trying to get the attentions of the good looking Irish boys. I was not wearing a short skirt; I was in pants. My insecurity got the better of me. Even if I had a profound way of telling them how much I felt about the cd, why would they want to talk to me? (I generally feel this way whenever I attempt to talk to a boy.) I froze on my spot on the pavement, and watched them talk with the other girls, and then eventually walk away.
I would for sure love to meet members of my favorite bands, but I would like it to happen more organically than running after them to get a picture and an autograph. Maybe that way I wouldn't feel so self-conscious. I think it would be way more interesting to meet-- say--Tom Chaplin of Keane at Whole Foods as we both reach for the same Odwalla fruit smoothie. (I hear he likes them.) That way I could have a lot more to say than gushing about their latest album or performance. Maybe they'd have something to say to me as well.
But that is the beauty of living in New York. It is quite likely that I could bump into some celebrity at Magnolia Bakery or Bliss Spa and have an absolutely normal conversation. And to improve my chances I have been thinking about joining Crunch Gyms. It is a good gym, and I hear that Matt Damon and Calvin Klein work out there...
* I did make it on tv. You can actually see my silhouette during the music performance. I'm not sure if you can see me any other time. My roommate taped it for me to watch, and there I was was. My grandma also taped it. And because of that show I have now also seen Charlie Gibson and Tyler Florence, along with Snow Patrol.
One band that I like a lot is Snow Patrol. (Ha! You thought I was going to say Keane.) Snow Patrol is an Irish band I saw last year on my birthday. I have recently bought their latest album, and it is FABULOUS. I encourage you all to buy it. One song from this particular cd was recently featured on the ABC show Gray's Anatomy. Maybe there was buzz for this song, because ABC invited Snow Patrol to perform that song on Good Morning America.
I found out about the performance through an email I got from the band. (OK not the band per se, but it was from the Snow Patrol organization. But I would not complain if Gary Lightbody, the lead singer, did send me an email). The email announced that the performance would be on Memorial Day. I decided right then and there that I was going to go down to Times Square to see the performance.
To get inside the studio for the performance I had to email ABC to request "tickets." They don't actually issue tickets, but they will email would-be guests and inform them that they are on the reservation list. Since I requested a spot on Saturday I thought my chances were pretty slim for getting in the studio. Nonetheless, I could stand outside and watch the performance from there. I did check my email Sunday night, and I received no notice that I would be in the studio.
So yes, I woke up at 5:30 to stand outside of the Good Morning America studio to catch a glance of Snow Patrol. Luckily I was not the only fan of the band to wait around to see them. And fortunately Tyler Florence of Food Network fame was outside barbecuing for a segment on the show. I knew the band would be on last, but that didn't matter. It was pretty cool to watch a TV show being taped.
I was perched outside the window with a pretty good view of the band. I was closer to them there than I would be if I could afford to go to their concert this Friday (I really want to see that concert. I am SO devastated). It is possible that the camera may have gotten a glimpse of me as it panned the audience inside. I stayed there for two hours as I waited for the end of the show.
With about thirty minutes left in the show, the tv crew prepared that area for the last two segments: Tyler Florence and Snow Patrol. There must have been a glare because they crew lowered a black curtain over the windows. The curtain was somewhat clear; I could still see inside, but barely. I stuck it out that long, and even though I was upset by the curtain, I was bound to stick it out to the end.
Finally the band played the song "Chasing Cars," a beautiful soft song that perhaps I will play at my wedding reception. The performance sounded good, and I was happy to be able to see the band through the curtain. My heighth helped.
When Good Morning America was over I decided to wait around to see Snow Patrol leave the studio. My original plan was to take my cd and and a Sharpie to get an autograph, but when one wakes up at 5:30 on a holiday things are forgotten. I was not only person waiting for the band, but thankfully this group stayed under ten people. Finally the band walked out of the side door and headed to the curb to talk with managers and drivers, etc. Just as soon as they were out a group of girls in short skirts went up to talk to them. They took pictures and chatted, and I stood there and watched. I had no camera for pictures, and I didn't really want to appear like another giggly groupie in a short skirt trying to get the attentions of the good looking Irish boys. I was not wearing a short skirt; I was in pants. My insecurity got the better of me. Even if I had a profound way of telling them how much I felt about the cd, why would they want to talk to me? (I generally feel this way whenever I attempt to talk to a boy.) I froze on my spot on the pavement, and watched them talk with the other girls, and then eventually walk away.
I would for sure love to meet members of my favorite bands, but I would like it to happen more organically than running after them to get a picture and an autograph. Maybe that way I wouldn't feel so self-conscious. I think it would be way more interesting to meet-- say--Tom Chaplin of Keane at Whole Foods as we both reach for the same Odwalla fruit smoothie. (I hear he likes them.) That way I could have a lot more to say than gushing about their latest album or performance. Maybe they'd have something to say to me as well.
But that is the beauty of living in New York. It is quite likely that I could bump into some celebrity at Magnolia Bakery or Bliss Spa and have an absolutely normal conversation. And to improve my chances I have been thinking about joining Crunch Gyms. It is a good gym, and I hear that Matt Damon and Calvin Klein work out there...
* I did make it on tv. You can actually see my silhouette during the music performance. I'm not sure if you can see me any other time. My roommate taped it for me to watch, and there I was was. My grandma also taped it. And because of that show I have now also seen Charlie Gibson and Tyler Florence, along with Snow Patrol.
Down the rode from my apartment is a area where a larger apartment building keeps its trash until it is collected on a Monday, Wednesday, or Friday. One can probably imagine that an area like that probably has a rat problem. What is a good cure for rats? Cats.
I walk by this place at least once a day enroute to the subway station. One day I noticed open cans of cat food and a water dish. Someone has been feeding the alley cats, or ferral cats which is probably the PC way of saying "alley cat." My first thought that this person was not doing the neighborhood any favors by inviting all the mangy cats to our street. But then it dawned on me. Those mangy cats are probably keeping the vermin away. This thought was cemented the day I saw a rat on the subway platform Saturday afternoon.
I saw the animal zigzagging across the platform sniffing about for some food. Rats are very unpleasant, but I didn't really want to draw attention to it for fear that some testosterone-filled guy would go over and kill it. For some reason that bothered me a little bit more. I kept my eye on it anyway while maintaining a good healthy distance. I was not the only person watching it. As more passengers joined me, more people watched the rat.
One girl came down, walking quickly, and headed straight for it. All of a sudden she stopped, and turned quickly away from the animal. The rat saw her too and jogged away speedily with his little rump swishing side to side as he moved.
Suprisingly that was not the only rat I saw that day. It looks like the entire NY metro system could use some ferral cats and a nice lady to keep them there. I am in no way volunteering for that position.
I walk by this place at least once a day enroute to the subway station. One day I noticed open cans of cat food and a water dish. Someone has been feeding the alley cats, or ferral cats which is probably the PC way of saying "alley cat." My first thought that this person was not doing the neighborhood any favors by inviting all the mangy cats to our street. But then it dawned on me. Those mangy cats are probably keeping the vermin away. This thought was cemented the day I saw a rat on the subway platform Saturday afternoon.
I saw the animal zigzagging across the platform sniffing about for some food. Rats are very unpleasant, but I didn't really want to draw attention to it for fear that some testosterone-filled guy would go over and kill it. For some reason that bothered me a little bit more. I kept my eye on it anyway while maintaining a good healthy distance. I was not the only person watching it. As more passengers joined me, more people watched the rat.
One girl came down, walking quickly, and headed straight for it. All of a sudden she stopped, and turned quickly away from the animal. The rat saw her too and jogged away speedily with his little rump swishing side to side as he moved.
Suprisingly that was not the only rat I saw that day. It looks like the entire NY metro system could use some ferral cats and a nice lady to keep them there. I am in no way volunteering for that position.
I know why Memorial Day weekend is a huge kick-off to the summer. The temperatures in New York have gone up, and humidity is now sticky and dense. The old gum on the sidewalk is gooey again, and the rank smell of the subway stations is a little bit worse. Ahh summer in the city.
To comabat the heat in our little apartment, Angie and I installed our air conditioner. Since most of the buildings are old it is hard to find central air anywhere, and even the fanciest of old New York apartment buildings have an eyesore a/c unit sticking out of the windows during summer. Ours is by no means attractive, but essential for the summers here. Of course the worst part about the looks of this machine is the items used to jerry-rig it to the window.
When I first arrived at the apartment, I saw the machine wrapped in a black garbage bag hiding out behind a chair. On top of it were two pillows and three cans of Campbell's chicken soup. I thought the soup and pillows were left by a previous tenant, and they were hidden there until someone decided what to do with them. Angie didn't know what the pillows were for, but I learned on Saturday that the cans of soup were meant for the air conditioner.
Angie and I hefted the dusty, heavy machine to the window where it would take up residence for the summer. I'm sure you have a basic idea how this works. The bulk of the square contraption hangs outside of the window, while the the window itself holds it in place. Since the weight of the unit is oustide we needed to place things under the a/c to keep it from breaking the window and falling to its death. This is where the cans of soup come in. I guess food storage is important for more than just curing hunger in times of famine. I put the cans under the a/c but there was still a large gap between the cans and the a/c. So we stopped our labors to figure out another plan. Angie decided to go to the hardware store to get some wood to put under the machine instead of the soup.
Later that evening, after a hot afternoon we put the a/c back into the window. Angie had purchased cans of fruit which were larger than the soup cans. She also bought three 2"x4" pieces of wood, each about 8 inches in length. With the a/c unit in place at the window, we slid the wood under it. There was still a gap. We next tried the cans of fruit...no luck. The soup and fruit cans and one piece of wood were still insufficient. Finally we came up with the combination: two pieces of wood on top of the soup cans. Even with the wood and cans firmly in place, the job was not done. The a/c unit was not as wide as our window, so we had to close the gap before we invited in every bug in the neighborhood. I imagine that's probably what the pillows were for since I've seen pillows used in other winows. I've also seen plastic, wood, and paper. Angie decided to use fun foam. She likes crafts, and luckily had some supplies. We decided on the blue foam (our other choices were red and yellow), and she hammered and taped the foam into place.
It's ugly, but the idea of it is way more attractive than three sweaty girls with frizzy hair.
To comabat the heat in our little apartment, Angie and I installed our air conditioner. Since most of the buildings are old it is hard to find central air anywhere, and even the fanciest of old New York apartment buildings have an eyesore a/c unit sticking out of the windows during summer. Ours is by no means attractive, but essential for the summers here. Of course the worst part about the looks of this machine is the items used to jerry-rig it to the window.
When I first arrived at the apartment, I saw the machine wrapped in a black garbage bag hiding out behind a chair. On top of it were two pillows and three cans of Campbell's chicken soup. I thought the soup and pillows were left by a previous tenant, and they were hidden there until someone decided what to do with them. Angie didn't know what the pillows were for, but I learned on Saturday that the cans of soup were meant for the air conditioner.
Angie and I hefted the dusty, heavy machine to the window where it would take up residence for the summer. I'm sure you have a basic idea how this works. The bulk of the square contraption hangs outside of the window, while the the window itself holds it in place. Since the weight of the unit is oustide we needed to place things under the a/c to keep it from breaking the window and falling to its death. This is where the cans of soup come in. I guess food storage is important for more than just curing hunger in times of famine. I put the cans under the a/c but there was still a large gap between the cans and the a/c. So we stopped our labors to figure out another plan. Angie decided to go to the hardware store to get some wood to put under the machine instead of the soup.
Later that evening, after a hot afternoon we put the a/c back into the window. Angie had purchased cans of fruit which were larger than the soup cans. She also bought three 2"x4" pieces of wood, each about 8 inches in length. With the a/c unit in place at the window, we slid the wood under it. There was still a gap. We next tried the cans of fruit...no luck. The soup and fruit cans and one piece of wood were still insufficient. Finally we came up with the combination: two pieces of wood on top of the soup cans. Even with the wood and cans firmly in place, the job was not done. The a/c unit was not as wide as our window, so we had to close the gap before we invited in every bug in the neighborhood. I imagine that's probably what the pillows were for since I've seen pillows used in other winows. I've also seen plastic, wood, and paper. Angie decided to use fun foam. She likes crafts, and luckily had some supplies. We decided on the blue foam (our other choices were red and yellow), and she hammered and taped the foam into place.
It's ugly, but the idea of it is way more attractive than three sweaty girls with frizzy hair.
Wednesday, May 24, 2006
I had a really great follow up interview at Zeno Group. When it was all over I was told that I will receive a phone call to talk about the "next step." A phrase like that can go two ways. Either we will discuss what day I begin, or he will refer me to a reliable trade school. I am hoping for the former.
At the interview, or should I say, interviews, many people asked where I lived. They were pretty amazed when I stated, so matter-of-factly, Washington Heights. After the jaws dropped, I countered, and assured them that I live in a nice part of Washington Heights. I think Law and Order has given his place a bad rap. Sure this place is no Tribeca, but it is not Eucador. Frankly, there are not enough iguanas for this place to Ecuador.
The other day I decided to walk (for exercise) while my laundry was spinning around in the neighborhood laundromat. It was refreshing to walk in the chilly morning city. I use the term "refreshing" loosely. Normally, when I walk around Washington Heights I am usually headed north the the 168th subway stop or Gristede's grocery store. But that day I wanted to see what was south of my street. Most of it looked like my previous travels. There were a few hardware stores, small markets, and once-beautiful buildings--long neglected.
I walked as far south as 152nd street, and headed west towards the river. This direction led me to a few different sites. This street has two old, large stone churches. One was Presbyterian and the other was Catholic. Both were a little rundown, but definitely a nice addition to the urban backdrop. Along side the churches, were two well-manicured cemeteries. I am not sure how old they were, maybe when I am not in-between laundry loads I can spend more time looking for ancestors. I imagine there is a mix of old and new. From my side of the street I saw new, clean headstones and worn mausoleums. (I am not sure if I spelled it correctly.)
Past the churches and cemeteries I found a neo-classical styled building. I thought that this is an odd place for a museum. I looked up near the roof of the building, and saw the word "Quecha", among others, carved into the granite. I was immediately intrigued. Through a small investigation I saw that the building housed the Hispanic Society, a small hispanic museum, and a small college. I would have looked around more, but it was time to go back to the laundromat and put my clothes in the dryer.
On the way back to 162nd and Amsterdam, I had a true Ecuadorian experience. One thing I had to get used to as a missionary was the constant catcalls from, ahem, well-meaning gentlemen. It is partly flattering, and partly annoying. I walked back to the laundromat briskly, but I still heard that older Latin gentleman calling out, "Preciosa!" I hadn't even showered. I was far from "precious." Besides, after Lord of the Rings that word lost all endearment.
After this experience, and after those in Ecuador, I really question that whole "Latin Lover" myth. Sure it's obvious these men enjoy the female form, but they obviously thrive on the misconception that females actually like being shouted at. These men are brave--a lot braver than their Anglo-Saxon counterparts. But there is something missing in their tactics: subtlety. Oh, and I am sure it would have more effect if they didn't shout at every tall, leggy girl.
Now if I can get those Anglo-Saxon boys to take notice.
At the interview, or should I say, interviews, many people asked where I lived. They were pretty amazed when I stated, so matter-of-factly, Washington Heights. After the jaws dropped, I countered, and assured them that I live in a nice part of Washington Heights. I think Law and Order has given his place a bad rap. Sure this place is no Tribeca, but it is not Eucador. Frankly, there are not enough iguanas for this place to Ecuador.
The other day I decided to walk (for exercise) while my laundry was spinning around in the neighborhood laundromat. It was refreshing to walk in the chilly morning city. I use the term "refreshing" loosely. Normally, when I walk around Washington Heights I am usually headed north the the 168th subway stop or Gristede's grocery store. But that day I wanted to see what was south of my street. Most of it looked like my previous travels. There were a few hardware stores, small markets, and once-beautiful buildings--long neglected.
I walked as far south as 152nd street, and headed west towards the river. This direction led me to a few different sites. This street has two old, large stone churches. One was Presbyterian and the other was Catholic. Both were a little rundown, but definitely a nice addition to the urban backdrop. Along side the churches, were two well-manicured cemeteries. I am not sure how old they were, maybe when I am not in-between laundry loads I can spend more time looking for ancestors. I imagine there is a mix of old and new. From my side of the street I saw new, clean headstones and worn mausoleums. (I am not sure if I spelled it correctly.)
Past the churches and cemeteries I found a neo-classical styled building. I thought that this is an odd place for a museum. I looked up near the roof of the building, and saw the word "Quecha", among others, carved into the granite. I was immediately intrigued. Through a small investigation I saw that the building housed the Hispanic Society, a small hispanic museum, and a small college. I would have looked around more, but it was time to go back to the laundromat and put my clothes in the dryer.
On the way back to 162nd and Amsterdam, I had a true Ecuadorian experience. One thing I had to get used to as a missionary was the constant catcalls from, ahem, well-meaning gentlemen. It is partly flattering, and partly annoying. I walked back to the laundromat briskly, but I still heard that older Latin gentleman calling out, "Preciosa!" I hadn't even showered. I was far from "precious." Besides, after Lord of the Rings that word lost all endearment.
After this experience, and after those in Ecuador, I really question that whole "Latin Lover" myth. Sure it's obvious these men enjoy the female form, but they obviously thrive on the misconception that females actually like being shouted at. These men are brave--a lot braver than their Anglo-Saxon counterparts. But there is something missing in their tactics: subtlety. Oh, and I am sure it would have more effect if they didn't shout at every tall, leggy girl.
Now if I can get those Anglo-Saxon boys to take notice.
Sunday, May 21, 2006
I have survived my first week in New York. It has been a good week: part vacation, and part adjustment. I think I am adjusting well. I like being able to walk more (it's something that I miss about living in France), and I am learning to buy a few groceries at the store, instead of enough food for a couple of weeks. I think the only adjustment that I still need to work on is my sleeping schedule. I think I my body is still running on Pacific Standard Time. I go to bed at midnight; not because I'm tired, but because I have nothing else to do. Then I wake up about 9:30. Anyone who knows me should see how odd that is for me. Normally I like to go to bed earlier and wake up at seven. I think I could switch my schedule if I was more tired in the evening. Thing is, right now I don't do enough to make myself tired. I do take walks in the afternoon, but I maintain a leisurely gait. (Fortunately, it is enough to keep my waistline at bay.) I have been told by many people that I should enjoy this leisurely state while it lasts, because soon enough I will have a job and all luxury will go away.
I spend my mornings on the job hunt, and in the afternoon I run errands and explore. For all those concerned with my safety I would like you to know that I live near two hospitals, one of them being the Columbia University hospital. I have mentioned that I live in a great quiet, historical neighborhood, but on the other side of the road is Washington Heights. It is quite the dichotomy: a nice, tree-lined street right next to a busy, loud, urban thoroughfare. The Rite-Aid, grocery stores, and laundromat are on that side of the street. I get to go to the laundromat tomorrow. But I kinda like having both worlds. YES I AM CAREFUL, and I rarely have a need to go wandering around after nine. Really, the most dangerous part of my neighborhood is the busy intersection, and I've already told you about the nearby hospital.
I got to do some touristy things Friday and Saturday. I was going to explore the Lower East Side on Friday, but when the subway dropped me off at the appropriate stop it was pouring down rain. Torrential downpour. Even if I had an umbrella I would have been soaked. So instead I hopped back on the subway and headed to the Museum of Natural History. I chose that museum because it has its own subway stop and I wouldn't have to go outside. I am glad that I went because it is a great museum. It is HUGE. Not as large as the Louvre, but it is one of those museums that you shouldn't do in one day--too much to see. I was there for about two hours and didn't even finish all of the first floor. So I'll have to go back...when I can afford the $14 admission fee again.
On Saturday I was blessed with nice weather, so I took my trek back to the Lower East Side (LES), and did a walking tour of the area that includes Chinatown and Little Italy, as well as some old synagogues. The tour I followed was outlined in the guide book my former co-worker, Nancy, gave me. The LES is the part of Manhatten that housed early immigrants to New York. At one time it had the largest concentration of people in the world. I think. I don't remember the actual numbers. These immigrants, poor but crazy determined, lived in cramped tenements that make modern New York apartments look spacious. There is actually a museum that goes through one of these buildings, and shows how people managed to survive. But it cost $15, and I decided to wait to see it. It isn't going anywhere, and neither am I.
The LES is also full of bargain stores. On both sides of the street people called out to me asking if I needed a leather jacket. I was not in the market for one yesterday. But it is still good to know where those stores are. That particular section has a large jewish population, and it being the Sabbath, the streets were very calm. I hear the place is really hopping on Sunday, which just so happens to be my Sabbath.
The action on Saturday was found in Chinatown and Little Italy. Tourists flock to Chinatown because they go to buy black market Rolex watches and cheap knock-off handbags. The key to getting a good price on a handbag is bartering. But you have to do it right. For exmple, I saw two girls attempting to get a Chloe bag for under $30. The salesgirl said $30 because it was a real Chloe...yeah whatever. The girls made a fateful error in their bartering: they insulted the merchandise. They then said that they would not pay that much. Well, in the end they knocked down the price to $29. FYI faithful readers: no need to be a jerk. Simply say that you would love to have the item, but you only have $X. The sales people want to sell, and they will work with someone who really wants the bag.
The popularity of Chinatown is encroaching on Little Italy. One could say that nowadays Chinatown and Little Italy are one in the same. Little Italy also seems like nothing but a street of restaurants. But they look like yummy restaurants. I'll have to go back when I have more funds and more friends.
When you come visit me, I will take you to the Lower East Side. We'll walk around, eat gelato, buy handbags, and come home tired enough to get to bed early.
I spend my mornings on the job hunt, and in the afternoon I run errands and explore. For all those concerned with my safety I would like you to know that I live near two hospitals, one of them being the Columbia University hospital. I have mentioned that I live in a great quiet, historical neighborhood, but on the other side of the road is Washington Heights. It is quite the dichotomy: a nice, tree-lined street right next to a busy, loud, urban thoroughfare. The Rite-Aid, grocery stores, and laundromat are on that side of the street. I get to go to the laundromat tomorrow. But I kinda like having both worlds. YES I AM CAREFUL, and I rarely have a need to go wandering around after nine. Really, the most dangerous part of my neighborhood is the busy intersection, and I've already told you about the nearby hospital.
I got to do some touristy things Friday and Saturday. I was going to explore the Lower East Side on Friday, but when the subway dropped me off at the appropriate stop it was pouring down rain. Torrential downpour. Even if I had an umbrella I would have been soaked. So instead I hopped back on the subway and headed to the Museum of Natural History. I chose that museum because it has its own subway stop and I wouldn't have to go outside. I am glad that I went because it is a great museum. It is HUGE. Not as large as the Louvre, but it is one of those museums that you shouldn't do in one day--too much to see. I was there for about two hours and didn't even finish all of the first floor. So I'll have to go back...when I can afford the $14 admission fee again.
On Saturday I was blessed with nice weather, so I took my trek back to the Lower East Side (LES), and did a walking tour of the area that includes Chinatown and Little Italy, as well as some old synagogues. The tour I followed was outlined in the guide book my former co-worker, Nancy, gave me. The LES is the part of Manhatten that housed early immigrants to New York. At one time it had the largest concentration of people in the world. I think. I don't remember the actual numbers. These immigrants, poor but crazy determined, lived in cramped tenements that make modern New York apartments look spacious. There is actually a museum that goes through one of these buildings, and shows how people managed to survive. But it cost $15, and I decided to wait to see it. It isn't going anywhere, and neither am I.
The LES is also full of bargain stores. On both sides of the street people called out to me asking if I needed a leather jacket. I was not in the market for one yesterday. But it is still good to know where those stores are. That particular section has a large jewish population, and it being the Sabbath, the streets were very calm. I hear the place is really hopping on Sunday, which just so happens to be my Sabbath.
The action on Saturday was found in Chinatown and Little Italy. Tourists flock to Chinatown because they go to buy black market Rolex watches and cheap knock-off handbags. The key to getting a good price on a handbag is bartering. But you have to do it right. For exmple, I saw two girls attempting to get a Chloe bag for under $30. The salesgirl said $30 because it was a real Chloe...yeah whatever. The girls made a fateful error in their bartering: they insulted the merchandise. They then said that they would not pay that much. Well, in the end they knocked down the price to $29. FYI faithful readers: no need to be a jerk. Simply say that you would love to have the item, but you only have $X. The sales people want to sell, and they will work with someone who really wants the bag.
The popularity of Chinatown is encroaching on Little Italy. One could say that nowadays Chinatown and Little Italy are one in the same. Little Italy also seems like nothing but a street of restaurants. But they look like yummy restaurants. I'll have to go back when I have more funds and more friends.
When you come visit me, I will take you to the Lower East Side. We'll walk around, eat gelato, buy handbags, and come home tired enough to get to bed early.
Wednesday, May 17, 2006
My roommate Angie gave me a special New York guide book on my first day here. It is the "NFT", or "Not For Tourists Guide to New York City." What a handy little book. It breaks down each neighborhood (including mine--Washington Heights generally doesn't show up in tourist books. I guess there is no tour of Law & Order crime scenes) and shows where a newbie, like myself, can find grocery stores, hardware stores, and points of interest. It also has very detailed bus and subway maps. It is an essential guide for newcomers, except for one small thing...it is outdated the minute it comes off the printing press.
This is the city that never sleeps, and I don't think that necessarily means that most locals suffer from insomnia. It just means that things change constantly. New restaurants are always opening, and a few more are closing. People leave the city when they want a quieter life, and others come when they want to shake things up a bit (like me!). And copy shops disappear from off the face of the city without any tips to find another one.
For the past couple of days I have been trying to find a place to make copies of my writing sample portfolio. In PR they really want to know that potential candidates can write. According to my little black NFT book there was a place to make copies on Broadway and 171st. No such luck. I am pretty sure I made a good reconnaissance of the neighboring blocks but I saw no neon sign advertising 5 cent copies. Since it wasn't completely urgent I held off my copy making and tried again today.
I realized that change inevitably happens, even to copy making establishments, so I was pretty certain that a place like Kinko's would keep better tabs of their facilities. I searched online for a few places to look for in my travels today. You wanna know how many of them I actually found? Zero. It looks like Kinko's website is as up to date as my book.
Finally I found a place to make copies in the Upper West Side. Believe it or not I did find the place in my NFT guide, but it had another name. It was a prett ghetto establishment for the Upper West Side. Paper boxes were strewn about and the machines looked like they belonged next to the dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History. They had a self serve copy machine that I intended to use, until I saw that the automatic feed slot was broken. I had more that five pages to copy, and I did not like the idea of placing each of my twenty pages on the glass. But I did not want to traipse all over the city to look for another place to make copies. Instead I used my secret weapon. If you don't know what that is, I'll enlighten you: my hair toss. It was infamous at church in Bellevue, and I find that it even works in New York. Gently tossing my hair and cocking my head to the side, I asked the kind non-native english speaking boy to please make my copies. After all I had a lot to make, and the machine was not working 100%. He gave in to my super power, and made my copies. Of course now that I am mentioning this power online, I may have weakened it. But at least I have my copies and a few portfolios for upcoming interviews.
You are probably wondering how that is coming...well I am still in the interview process for the internship, and that's it for right now. And as long as the streets don't change overnight, my NFT book should get me to each and every interview I wil have.
This is the city that never sleeps, and I don't think that necessarily means that most locals suffer from insomnia. It just means that things change constantly. New restaurants are always opening, and a few more are closing. People leave the city when they want a quieter life, and others come when they want to shake things up a bit (like me!). And copy shops disappear from off the face of the city without any tips to find another one.
For the past couple of days I have been trying to find a place to make copies of my writing sample portfolio. In PR they really want to know that potential candidates can write. According to my little black NFT book there was a place to make copies on Broadway and 171st. No such luck. I am pretty sure I made a good reconnaissance of the neighboring blocks but I saw no neon sign advertising 5 cent copies. Since it wasn't completely urgent I held off my copy making and tried again today.
I realized that change inevitably happens, even to copy making establishments, so I was pretty certain that a place like Kinko's would keep better tabs of their facilities. I searched online for a few places to look for in my travels today. You wanna know how many of them I actually found? Zero. It looks like Kinko's website is as up to date as my book.
Finally I found a place to make copies in the Upper West Side. Believe it or not I did find the place in my NFT guide, but it had another name. It was a prett ghetto establishment for the Upper West Side. Paper boxes were strewn about and the machines looked like they belonged next to the dinosaurs at the Museum of Natural History. They had a self serve copy machine that I intended to use, until I saw that the automatic feed slot was broken. I had more that five pages to copy, and I did not like the idea of placing each of my twenty pages on the glass. But I did not want to traipse all over the city to look for another place to make copies. Instead I used my secret weapon. If you don't know what that is, I'll enlighten you: my hair toss. It was infamous at church in Bellevue, and I find that it even works in New York. Gently tossing my hair and cocking my head to the side, I asked the kind non-native english speaking boy to please make my copies. After all I had a lot to make, and the machine was not working 100%. He gave in to my super power, and made my copies. Of course now that I am mentioning this power online, I may have weakened it. But at least I have my copies and a few portfolios for upcoming interviews.
You are probably wondering how that is coming...well I am still in the interview process for the internship, and that's it for right now. And as long as the streets don't change overnight, my NFT book should get me to each and every interview I wil have.
Friday, May 12, 2006
I have been in New York for little over 1 day, about 37 hours, and I think I have pinched myself 37 times. Maybe less because I did get some sleep. I first pinched myself in the shuttle while winding down the streets dropping off passengers. I kept repeating to myself, "I actually live here..." Since I was the second to the last person dropped off, I saw a lot of my new home. Other passengers were deposited at fancy hotels, Penn Station, and even a cruise ship. Just a couple of us went to our actual homes.
That's when I had to pinch myself again. I live in a charming brownstone in the Marten Jumel Historical district of Washington Heights. The street is lines with leafy trees and brownstones that either have been or are in the process of being renovated. Mine is in process. It was remodeled from the original house 6 years ago, but the entryway is filled with building materials. It looks like there is some work left somewhere in the building.
The apartment is small, but very well taken care of. The living room has a fireplace (sealed), and two tall windows with the original wood frames. The kitchen and bathroom have new appliances and fixtures, thank goodness. My room is the largest, and it is pretty large by New York standards. It has tall cielings, hard wood floors, two tall windows (again, with the original wood frames), and a fireplace. The fireplace has been sealed, but there is a cavity where I could put candles or, as someone suggested, a small tv/dvd player combo with the fire dvd. The fireplace is tile, but has the original wood mantle. I like my room. I can't wait to get furniture for it.
Yesterday evening, after unpacking, I went to visit my friend Krista. For those readers who don't know this fine lady, she used to live in Bellevue and we went to church together. She moved to NYC about two years ago, and has since married. Anyway her hubby was out of town, and she offered to make me dinner. Since I had no food I was not about to turn it down. But I would have gone to visit her even if no food were offered. She lives on the edge of Harlem, so I got on the subway to her house. I had a good time; we ate and then watched the documentary "New York Doll" and I promptly fell asleep. I caught portions of the film. Enough to say that I would like to see it again without napping.
My trip home from Krista's was my first New York adventure. The stop at Krista's house going uptown was closed. So I had to take the 1 train to 96th street, and then get on the other platform to go up to 168th. This was the successful part of the journey. On the 1 train to 168th I thought about walking to my place on 162nd instead of taking the C train, but since it was dark I opted for the subway. I should have walked. At the 168th stop, I noticed that the C train was not going downtown, so I had to take the A train downtown. A & C run along the same lines, but C is a local and A is the express, and does not stop on 162nd. I got on the A anyway with the plan to hop platforms to take the C at the next stop. This is what I did, but the C I got on was going downtown. Urgh. I got off at the next stop (135th) to get on an uptown train. I had to go all the way outside and cross the street to get to the right platform. Luckily, this stop is in the nice, regentrified area of Morningside Heights. On my way to the correct platform, I had some problems with my Metro card, and missed the train by a few seconds. So I waited by myself on an empty platform for the next train. Being a Sunday, this train didn't come as quickly as I and my mother would prefer. I prayed for safety and got it. I also finally got home and got ready for bed.
I didn't sleep well. I caught some bug, or ate something bad, and I ended up throwing up all night and most of the morning. Not the best way to start my time in NYC. Many people wanted to know what I was going to do first in NYC, and I certainly didn't plan to inspect the toilet system my first night in town. By the time morning came, I was still sick and very worried about my appointment this morning. I was supposed to be down by Union Square at 10 a.m. I didn't want to postpone my interview, but I sure as heck didn't want to throw up in the subway...it's not how I intended to make my mark on this city. Fortunately the recruiter was understanding, and we pushed my appointment to 2 p.m. By afternoon I wasn't throwing up, even though I wanted to. The subway ride was tough. I took the express so that I could get there quickly, but I had second thoughts after every fast bump and/or turn. I was very lucky not to throw up on myself. I took a taxi home...after I went to Trader Joe's.
I think my interview went well...not superbly well, but I think my resume and experience made an impression. I get to go back and meet with the Vice President. Pray for me. If I don't get the internship, my roommate works at a staffing agency, and can get me temporary work in the mean time. I think that will be very helpful.
I need a nap now. Just a tiny nap until people come home.
That's when I had to pinch myself again. I live in a charming brownstone in the Marten Jumel Historical district of Washington Heights. The street is lines with leafy trees and brownstones that either have been or are in the process of being renovated. Mine is in process. It was remodeled from the original house 6 years ago, but the entryway is filled with building materials. It looks like there is some work left somewhere in the building.
The apartment is small, but very well taken care of. The living room has a fireplace (sealed), and two tall windows with the original wood frames. The kitchen and bathroom have new appliances and fixtures, thank goodness. My room is the largest, and it is pretty large by New York standards. It has tall cielings, hard wood floors, two tall windows (again, with the original wood frames), and a fireplace. The fireplace has been sealed, but there is a cavity where I could put candles or, as someone suggested, a small tv/dvd player combo with the fire dvd. The fireplace is tile, but has the original wood mantle. I like my room. I can't wait to get furniture for it.
Yesterday evening, after unpacking, I went to visit my friend Krista. For those readers who don't know this fine lady, she used to live in Bellevue and we went to church together. She moved to NYC about two years ago, and has since married. Anyway her hubby was out of town, and she offered to make me dinner. Since I had no food I was not about to turn it down. But I would have gone to visit her even if no food were offered. She lives on the edge of Harlem, so I got on the subway to her house. I had a good time; we ate and then watched the documentary "New York Doll" and I promptly fell asleep. I caught portions of the film. Enough to say that I would like to see it again without napping.
My trip home from Krista's was my first New York adventure. The stop at Krista's house going uptown was closed. So I had to take the 1 train to 96th street, and then get on the other platform to go up to 168th. This was the successful part of the journey. On the 1 train to 168th I thought about walking to my place on 162nd instead of taking the C train, but since it was dark I opted for the subway. I should have walked. At the 168th stop, I noticed that the C train was not going downtown, so I had to take the A train downtown. A & C run along the same lines, but C is a local and A is the express, and does not stop on 162nd. I got on the A anyway with the plan to hop platforms to take the C at the next stop. This is what I did, but the C I got on was going downtown. Urgh. I got off at the next stop (135th) to get on an uptown train. I had to go all the way outside and cross the street to get to the right platform. Luckily, this stop is in the nice, regentrified area of Morningside Heights. On my way to the correct platform, I had some problems with my Metro card, and missed the train by a few seconds. So I waited by myself on an empty platform for the next train. Being a Sunday, this train didn't come as quickly as I and my mother would prefer. I prayed for safety and got it. I also finally got home and got ready for bed.
I didn't sleep well. I caught some bug, or ate something bad, and I ended up throwing up all night and most of the morning. Not the best way to start my time in NYC. Many people wanted to know what I was going to do first in NYC, and I certainly didn't plan to inspect the toilet system my first night in town. By the time morning came, I was still sick and very worried about my appointment this morning. I was supposed to be down by Union Square at 10 a.m. I didn't want to postpone my interview, but I sure as heck didn't want to throw up in the subway...it's not how I intended to make my mark on this city. Fortunately the recruiter was understanding, and we pushed my appointment to 2 p.m. By afternoon I wasn't throwing up, even though I wanted to. The subway ride was tough. I took the express so that I could get there quickly, but I had second thoughts after every fast bump and/or turn. I was very lucky not to throw up on myself. I took a taxi home...after I went to Trader Joe's.
I think my interview went well...not superbly well, but I think my resume and experience made an impression. I get to go back and meet with the Vice President. Pray for me. If I don't get the internship, my roommate works at a staffing agency, and can get me temporary work in the mean time. I think that will be very helpful.
I need a nap now. Just a tiny nap until people come home.
Saturday, May 06, 2006
There is a magnet on my fridge in Bellevue, Wa that says(and for those with senstive eyes, please excuse the explitive), "Ever notice that 'what the hell' is always the right decision?" In a way, that's kinda why I chose to quit my job and move to New York. Now for all those concerned folk out there, I was not totally flippant in making such a huge decision...but it pretty much boils down to: What the he#@?
The decision to quit my job was pretty easy. I had been thinking about it for quite some time. The only trouble is that I wasn't too sure what I was going to do. All I knew that I wanted to be a bit more creative. Aviation Insurance is a good many things, but it didn't provide too many creative opportunities. I really knew I had a problem when I was more excited to choose decorations for the company Christmas tree than I was for renewing my cliets' accounts. After some research I decided to try start a career in Public Relations. I even did some freelance PR work for some friends. I liked the small things that I did, and I wanted to learn how to do more. That decision was done.
So how did I choose New York? This is pretty much where that "What the he*%?" phrase kicks in. Sure NYC is a mecca for PR jobs, but it really boils down to...I think you know where I am going. My mom reminded me that when I was little I would make up stories about myself, and I would always talk about living in NYC. So I decided to have faith in my early childhood propheices and move to the Big Apple. I wonder what else I predicted for myself?
In April I went to the city to visit friends, meet with a PR firm, and see if I would want to live there. Despite the large cockroach in my tub the first morning and zero hot water on Sunday morning, I knew I was moving to New York.
I have a list of cities where I would like to live. In the past couple of years I was trying to move to London. But nothing seemed to work out. My move to New York seems to be working out: I sold my car, I have a place to live, and an interview when I arrive.
Inevitably it appears that "What the he$#" was once again the right decision.
The decision to quit my job was pretty easy. I had been thinking about it for quite some time. The only trouble is that I wasn't too sure what I was going to do. All I knew that I wanted to be a bit more creative. Aviation Insurance is a good many things, but it didn't provide too many creative opportunities. I really knew I had a problem when I was more excited to choose decorations for the company Christmas tree than I was for renewing my cliets' accounts. After some research I decided to try start a career in Public Relations. I even did some freelance PR work for some friends. I liked the small things that I did, and I wanted to learn how to do more. That decision was done.
So how did I choose New York? This is pretty much where that "What the he*%?" phrase kicks in. Sure NYC is a mecca for PR jobs, but it really boils down to...I think you know where I am going. My mom reminded me that when I was little I would make up stories about myself, and I would always talk about living in NYC. So I decided to have faith in my early childhood propheices and move to the Big Apple. I wonder what else I predicted for myself?
In April I went to the city to visit friends, meet with a PR firm, and see if I would want to live there. Despite the large cockroach in my tub the first morning and zero hot water on Sunday morning, I knew I was moving to New York.
I have a list of cities where I would like to live. In the past couple of years I was trying to move to London. But nothing seemed to work out. My move to New York seems to be working out: I sold my car, I have a place to live, and an interview when I arrive.
Inevitably it appears that "What the he$#" was once again the right decision.
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