tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-520154402566361282024-03-13T08:14:26.788-04:00How not to move to a big city (NYC, specifically)Trials and tales of a native mid-westerner trying her hand at city life.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.comBlogger71125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-49902386727887767832018-03-28T22:05:00.000-04:002018-03-28T22:07:11.828-04:00Bringing the blunders abroadAll things* must come to an end.<br />
<br />
I'll try not to get too sentimental in reflecting on the past 8 1/2 years in NYC, though I'm pretty sure that's what blogs are for.<br />
<br />
A lot's happened here and I've grown up, arriving as a single, wide-eyed 24 year old and leaving as an almost 33 year old with a baby and a husband who's still wide-eyed at the amazingness of the city.<br />
<br />
Someone recently asked me, due to the baby and being at least one standard deviation above the average age of the East Village, if we were moving to the suburbs. I'm thrilled to say no - quite the opposite. We are moving abroad to spend time living in Ireland and traveling in Europe. It's the perfect time! Because it's now. The actual perfect time would've been a couple years ago, before baby, and possibly several years before then.<br />
<br />
But despite all the truth about the madness of the city, the stress levels, the noise, the busyness of everyone around, I've found peace and calm and New York City has been central to my journey.<br />
<br />
So my final lesson for you, <b>lesson #69 </b>if you're still counting, is that once there's an expiration date on something, like living in NYC, you will see it with new (sometimes teary) eyes. You will notice things like the parking garage that seems to intersect with the sky, pictured below. You'll see the nods and smiles of people who could've been friends if you stayed longer around. In turn, you'll be more likely to talk to strangers and smile at them too. What do you have to lose? Nothing now, and probably nothing back then, but it somehow feels different.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5EJuqAWYSUU/WrxGeYjew5I/AAAAAAABi0k/RwsQ6Q02bKUX4xIEdAMOTLi-SRs_UMmNgCK4BGAYYCw/s1600/MVIMG_20180315_130349.jpg" imageanchor="1"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-5EJuqAWYSUU/WrxGeYjew5I/AAAAAAABi0k/RwsQ6Q02bKUX4xIEdAMOTLi-SRs_UMmNgCK4BGAYYCw/s320/MVIMG_20180315_130349.jpg" width="320" /></a><br />
<br />
Thanks for joining me while chronicling alllll the missteps. It's time to bring my blundering ways abroad and learn new sets of rules and ways of life.<br />
<br />
I'll miss you, NYC. Farewell for now.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rqCBcVRkUJI/WrxGtbTKTzI/AAAAAAABi0s/oUc_h85aEW4Mj_R8SmoM61bHDTEV2AGdACK4BGAYYCw/s1600/IMG_20161106_183326.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-rqCBcVRkUJI/WrxGtbTKTzI/AAAAAAABi0s/oUc_h85aEW4Mj_R8SmoM61bHDTEV2AGdACK4BGAYYCw/s320/IMG_20161106_183326.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
*generally we say this about good things, but the mediocre and bad must also end. Thankfully, so much of my experience here in NYC has been superb, but not all of it (rat sightings and rents increases that make me blush they're so indecent). But damn, do I love it here, blemishes and all.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-70640882052461487352017-04-19T20:22:00.004-04:002017-04-19T20:24:52.480-04:00There is no elevator to success. You have to take the stairs.<br />
-- terrible motivational posters everywhere<br />
<br />
Given the predicament we found ourselves in, expecting our first child this summer at the tender ages** of 32 and 34, there's been lots of discussion recently about whether we'd stay in our East Village apartment or move elsewhere.<br />
<br />
After weeks of apartment searching, seeing at least a couple dozen units, we made our decision....we're staying put. Though dishwashers and washer/dryers and new buildings are all alluring, we just couldn't get past what we'd be giving up by leaving the East Village and the apartment that Sean has called home for 8 years. But here's the thing...it's a 4th floor walkup. At 5 months pregnant, I'm winded by the time I get to the top, but it's been do-able. But it's some of the reactions that've been fascinating. When people learn that I'll somehow be 9 months pregnant taking those stairs, or that we'll be carrying a small child up with a stroller, they respond with a mix of amusement, sympathy, and, sometimes, horror.<br />
<br />
But here's the other thing. Since we made the decision, I've been much more attuned to stairs in the city and have been counting obsessively (it's become a form of mindfulness). I learned that getting off the subway and walking up to ground level often has as many, or even more, stairs than our 5 flights of stairs to our apartment. Here's a rudimentary breakdown:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>Our apartment, top level: 64 steps</li>
<li>2nd Ave F stop, subway level to ground (the one we take most frequently, given it's across the street): 59 steps</li>
<li>57th St F stop, subway level to ground: 73 steps (ok, so this was partly because the escalator was out of service, but that's exactly how many steps I had to take to see daylight)</li>
</ul>
<br />
Once I realized this, I felt like such a sucker for focusing on apartments with an elevator or in a low floor. Turns out there are days I easily take 300-400 stairs without even realizing it (my prehistoric, pre-counting days).<br />
<br />
I don't intend for this blog to become all about the difficulties and amazingness of parenting in the big city, though I imagine I'll make a mistake or two along the way. But this does lead me to Lesson #68, which is that you don't have to change everything and move to the Upper West Side or Jersey just because you're having a baby. Plenty of people make it work exactly where there're at and I'm excited to join their ranks. Even if you have mobility and the ability to pay moving costs and higher rent, you don't have to just because you think that's what your baby wants. Know what your baby probably wants? I imagine that it wants you to be happy and love him or her and to have a full, vibrant life.<br />
<br />
As for me and my husband, we're looking forward to the sleepless nights and excitement living in a bustling neighborhood that will be awake along with us. Now that we're expecting, I've noticed that there <i>are</i> children living in the area and their parents seem pretty sane and like they might be friends/playdates further down the line. I can't wait to experience the neighborhood and city with new eyes and our new companion.<br />
<br />
The major caveat is that we haven't had the baby yet so there are lots of unknowns. When our lease is up in a year and we're over hand-washing our dishes and taking the stairs, we might decide to leave. But for now, I'm happy that we've made the decision to stay and make it work. Every painstaking stair step up to our apartment reminds me that we're pretty damn lucky and happy and are going to welcome a baby <i>into</i> our lives, not changing every aspect of it <i>for</i> her.<br />
<br />
**for NYC standards, for which I believe the formula for when it becomes 'normal' to have kids is about +7-10 years over most other places.<br />
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-55131822279707425932016-06-26T16:43:00.002-04:002016-06-26T16:43:56.191-04:00Furry friendsI'm living in Providence, RI for part of the summer and it's the sort of place where it's easy to walk around and breath in the air and sigh with blessed contentment at the fact that such a beautiful place exists and I'm lucky enough to experience it.<br />
<br />
However, one week in, I'm missing New York. Maybe just the people in it.<br />
<br />
I had a small taste of NYC when I went out for a late night walk. In the corner of my eye, I saw the rapid movement of a small furry creature on the street. I felt smug thinking that Providence had it's share of rodents and maybe the street I live on in NYC isn't so bad, given I usually only see 1-2 rats a night. Besides, they're usually inside the trash bags on the street, squeaking and making the bags move in the most distorted of ways. It made me like Providence a little more, even -- the city is just as flawed and imperfect as the rest of us.<br />
<br />
Upon closer inspection, the creature was far too adorable and timid to be a rat. I realized it was a tiny, terrified rabbit on the dimly lit Providence street, chewing her grass slowly so as not to draw my attention.<br />
<br />
I've been feeling lonely so it took a lot of restraint to not take the lil buddy home with me, but I walked away...and simultaneously missed NYC and felt relieved to be far from it.<br />
<br />
Lesson #67: Rats and rabbits aren't all that different. Just ask <a href="http://jezebel.com/5730682/hoarders-man-lives-with-thousands-of-uncaged-pet-rats" target="_blank">this guy</a>.<br />
<br />
<br />
<iframe allowtransparency="true" frameborder="0" height="380" src="https://embed.spotify.com/?uri=spotify%3Atrack%3A4EBisBBehGON4ESJsNZBsP" width="300"></iframe>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-19400416137130549622015-12-12T09:42:00.002-05:002018-07-01T23:15:35.578-04:00Trust jam<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jah9HO6kHts/VmwxrOaNpwI/AAAAAAAA2go/47BrSXaLWMY/s1600/1040538_10151466903266606_260559868_o.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-jah9HO6kHts/VmwxrOaNpwI/AAAAAAAA2go/47BrSXaLWMY/s320/1040538_10151466903266606_260559868_o.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
A couple years ago, I went on a lovely trip to Copenhagen.<br />
<br />
One highlight of the trip was taking a train and walking past houses en route to Louisiana, the art museum (see photo above for the scenic landscape). While walking, we came across a beautiful home with an inviting, open mailbox. The mailbox contained several jars of homemade jam, painstakingly crafted and labeled. There was also note explaining how the jam was made, a price, and a jar to place money in if one wanted to make a purchase. At first, I couldn't believe how quaint it felt. There had to be hundreds of visitors walking by each day. I assumed they got ripped off on the daily and felt sorry for them, like someone should teach them common sense and how to run a business.<br />
<br />
Later in the trip, we sat out for beers at an outdoor bar in the square. It was starting to get cold, and one of the employees walked over to a stack of blankets that were brought outside. He didn't bolt up the extras or bring them inside for safe-keeping, but left them out. Patrons grabbed blankets as they needed then returned them afterwards. No one took any, as far as I could tell.<br />
<br />
Once I was expecting to see it, I was primed for seeing it all around; there were small examples of trust and kindness everywhere I looked. When I got back to NYC, I stopped looking for it and allowed my expectations to shift downward. While the per capita Trust Jam in NYC is lower than places like Copenhagen (in my humble and only semi-informed opinion), it still exists. But if you don't allow yourself to see it, you'll continue thinking that New Yorkers are, on the whole, jerks and only in it for themselves.<br />
<br />
Lesson #66: Each of us has the ability to impart Trust Jam on those around us. When asked for directions, I can answer with a nod and be on my way, or I can give directions with a smile and a "have a nice day." When I see someone injured on the street, I can walk away to ensure my safety or I can wait until the assailant moves on and go back to see if I can help (true and recent story; though I reallllly wanted to walk away, I didn't - the poor 20 year old kid had blood coming out of his mouth after getting punched twice by a random dude asking him for money. Maybe if I was a large man I might take the chance to try to break up a fight but I know my stature isn't exactly imposing). After all, Trust Jam is not just the people who don't screw you over, but the people who take a chance on being kind in the first place.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-13403047407678780182015-03-25T09:58:00.003-04:002018-07-01T23:16:04.037-04:00New rat cityYou know it's time for a vacation when you and your yoga instructor swap horror stories about the rat invasions in the east village, then instead of departing with a solemn "Namaste," you wish her a merry and rat-free day.<br />
<br />
And with that, we're off to sunshine, hikes, nature, and animals that aren't rats. I love this city, but damn it feels good to leave.<br />
<br />
Lesson #65: there's nothing funnier than watching someone waiting for brunch at Prune spot a rat scurrying inches away from an omelet. One thing I've learned is that there are no dainty mice on the east side, only the hardiest of rats. Maybe they're slowing down the gentrification of the east village? Nah, it'd take rats <i>in</i> someone's omelet to do that.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://i.giphy.com/P07KUtlPVKvoQ.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://i.giphy.com/P07KUtlPVKvoQ.gif" height="134" width="320"></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-26395242193826587542014-12-26T09:31:00.001-05:002018-07-01T23:16:20.796-04:00Us v. them<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">It's not just a <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EdJx02LpQao">fantastic song</a>. It's more of a philosophy of which I'm becoming acutely aware. For the first few years living in NYC, I embraced the anonymity and loved feeling like one in so many millions. I don't know exactly what's changed; maybe I've grown softer with age, maybe it's because I'm marrying the coolest dude and it turns me into a sap when I think about it, and maybe it's just more exhausting to put up walls than just be a person. Being lonely amongst millions is tough work. Whatever it is, I'm enjoying feeling a little more connected to NYC, the neighborhood, and most importantly the people in it.<br /><br />I've learned first hand that you can choose either end of the anonymous v. warmth spectrum, find somewhere in between, or waver between them. There's a coldness to people here (and anywhere) if you're looking for it, or a warmth if you're willing to try a little harder. Either way is fine, but I've talked a lot less about leaving New York now that I'm further on the warmer side of the equation. My happiness still ebbs and flows, so I don't think this has much to do with it, but I'm a little more comfortable with it and worry less about happiness itself, which tends to make me the slightest bit happier. Besides, a man much more eloquent and absurd than I once said, "You will never be happy if you continue to search for what happiness consists of. You will never live if you are looking for the meaning of life." (Camus)<br /><br />Lesson #64: open yourself up a little and find the warmth in others, or at least recognize when you're ignoring it. Oh, and happy holidays :)</span><br />
<div dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://cdn1.smosh.com/sites/default/files/legacy.images/smosh-pit/122010/take-that-frosty.gif" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://cdn1.smosh.com/sites/default/files/legacy.images/smosh-pit/122010/take-that-frosty.gif"></a></div>
<div dir="ltr" style="color: #222222; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: small;">
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-77455998734636457592014-08-12T22:33:00.000-04:002018-07-01T23:16:40.468-04:00To Roosevelt Island...and beyondWhere does the time go?!<br />
<br />
I suppose every journal, diary, and other blog I've written in has had a dark period, so it's only fitting that I have one here too.<br />
<br />
You might think that in the last 10 months, I've become so much of a New Yorker that I don't need to outline all the mistakes I've made because there have been so damn few. You would be mistaken. Today alone, for example, I spilled half a water bottle on myself while talking with a teammate, almost impaled someone with my umbrella getting off the subway, and used a pen to put my hair up because I forgot a hair tie, getting ink on my scalp in several spots.<br />
<br />
All of that goes to say, I still feel like pretty much the same painfully (and happily) midwestern girl that moved here almost 5 years ago. And while the mistakes I've made have decreased in number, slightly, I'm still navigating what feels like a new world many days.<br />
<br />
Ever since arriving here years ago, I'd heard of a mystical island in the city, only accessible by tram (at least on weekends, when the godforsaken F train is rerouted). Having grown up with Cedar Point (and it's lesser, closer alternative, Michigan's Adventure), there's little more I loved than roller coasters. So I figured that getting to Roosevelt Island by tram would be pretty much like riding the Top Thrill Dragster, or at least the Raptor.<br />
<br />
Turns out it was a little less turbulent and fun than a roller coaster, but the view was stunning and an altogether new experience. Here's my dad and I taking in the view on the tram (and a short video of it <a href="https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oTBGi1BxaOk">here</a>):<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AkE9eweDVx4/U-rGTQWRzHI/AAAAAAAAnaM/u24yFZKO38I/s1600/IMG_20140810_173936.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-AkE9eweDVx4/U-rGTQWRzHI/AAAAAAAAnaM/u24yFZKO38I/s1600/IMG_20140810_173936.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
(I only wish my parents would visit more often and ride trams with me)<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Which leads me to...</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
Lesson #63 in moving to a big city: take note of all the places you'd like to see, and then see them. Stop making excuses about it and waiting for the right time. The number of people I know that haven't walked the boardwalk at Coney Island, checked out the view from the Brooklyn Promenade, or even set foot in Queens (you know it's a part of NYC, right?) is high, and I've fallen victim too. If several people have told you how cool something is, go see it and quickly. You never know when a <a href="http://www.grubstreet.com/2014/08/tgi-fridays-closing.html">great spot will close down</a> and you'll never get the chance to see it in all it's glory.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
I just still haven't been told anything compelling to do on Staten Island. I'm really open to visiting, and not just because it's the poor mans booze cruise, which is also kind of cool. Please, someone tell me what to do there.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-62883279118993416472013-09-30T23:18:00.000-04:002018-03-28T22:09:47.856-04:00Cleanliness next to Godliness, seat 12EAs I sat on the runway yesterday, I realized that it was 4 years exactly since I sat on a similar runway, awaiting life in NYC after moving from Michigan. (I have some deep, poignant thoughts on the past 4 years, but for a later time).<br />
<br />
My clothing, however, was decidedly more frumpy this time than the last. After traveling in Colombia for 10 days, I had worn everything already, so I wore the least wrinkly of the bunch.<br />
<br />
Not a big deal. But it also would have taken 30 seconds to pack an extra clean shirt and would've made the journey a bit more enjoyable. There's also something really nice about realizing you've thought ahead and want to make your future self more comfortable (also the reason I feel nice about putting $$ into my 401k).<br />
<br />
Lesson #62: If you can, save a clean shirt, socks, & underwear to wear on a return trip home. Pack them in a separate compartment so you don't even remember you have and accidentally wear them prematurely, if that's what it takes. You will appreciate traveling with the small luxury of wearing something fresh, and others around you will as well. The other option is just to do laundry on your trip. I will spare you an explanation of how fashion-conscious New Yorkers are, but it is nice after being away several days to at least manage to at least wear a clean outfit (even if a giant backpack offsets anything cool looking about it).<br />
<br />
And whether or not it's fashionable, I take this seriously: "I base most of my fashion sense on what doesn't itch." -Gilda Radner.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6g4Ncs7qOY/Uko8aB4cTKI/AAAAAAAAeHM/TyqDqwphk-Q/s1600/IMG_20130924_154730.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E6g4Ncs7qOY/Uko8aB4cTKI/AAAAAAAAeHM/TyqDqwphk-Q/s320/IMG_20130924_154730.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
hammock dreams about colombia, not clean clothes.</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-74182115498130841582013-06-19T22:11:00.002-04:002013-06-19T22:21:22.196-04:00look ma, no makeup!“The most beautiful makeup of a woman is passion. But cosmetics are easier to buy.”<br />
― Yves Saint-Laurent<br />
<br />
In trying to think less about my appearance, I actually feel quite vain writing a post on my own makeup habits.<br />
<br />
But here goes.<br />
<br />
This past Monday, I didn't wear makeup to work for the first time in a long time, maybe ever (as an adult at least). Sure, I have plenty of weekends and vacations where nothing touches my face, other than SPF 30, but the thought of going to work without at least a touch of makeup seemed beyond strange.<br />
<br />
Logistically, I saved minutes in the morning, rubbed my eyes as often as I pleased without worrying about smearing anything, and let my hair get as wavy as it wanted. I kept feeling like I was forgetting something all morning, though, and it helped me realize just how ingrained my morning routine was.<br />
<br />
But most importantly, it felt really good. A little vulnerable but also clearer, somehow. By Tuesday, I was kind of relieved to put on a little concealer + mascara (+ bronzer and blush, if you must know), but it was nice knowing that none of it that necessary. I also feel kind of embarrassed by how much I worried about it for the first couple hours - what, is someone going to point out the blemish on my chin or my unadorned lashes?!*<br />
<br />
Lesson #61: people care a lot less about how you look than you probably expect. But ultimately, it's what you think that matters anyway - so if you want to wear makeup, do it! if you want to try a day without it, do it! if you never want to wear it, don't! just don't expect anyone to notice and/or care.<br />
<br />
Which hopefully isn't the case for this post. But, being true to this lesson, I don't think it would bother me either way.<br />
<br />
And for proof, here is a photo. I also feel silly even posting this but now I'm officially part of #MakeupFreeMondays, at least this once.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CUEARRHBnm0/UcJgupuc6bI/AAAAAAAAaXY/x1m2tOfdYyc/s1600/no+makeup.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-CUEARRHBnm0/UcJgupuc6bI/AAAAAAAAaXY/x1m2tOfdYyc/s320/no+makeup.jpg" width="236" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
here I am, smirking at the fact that I would write about this and also post a photo of it.</div>
<br />
*a couple weeks ago, during a leisurely breakfast on vacation, I unknowingly dropped a large gob of grape jelly on my collar bone. The woman sitting next to me pointed it out. Her friend added, "Oh, I saw that but decided not to say anything. I thought it was a birth mark."Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-7738617711152886992013-03-18T23:50:00.000-04:002013-03-18T23:50:31.858-04:00luck o' the west villageTonight, while I picked up groceries on my walk back from work and started noticing how much snow was coming down. Then I heard the faintest sound of Irish bagpipes...<br />
<br />
Though my fingers were near frost-bitten, I had to turn the corner and continue towards the music, as if entranced. (maybe the Pied Piper was Irish after all?)<br />
<br />
lesson # 60: let your neighborhood surprise you! and by all means, when you hear beautiful traditional bagpipes, stop for a moment and listen.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/P9EQEgV0W6g" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-37124913348032321682013-02-13T19:02:00.000-05:002013-02-13T19:02:16.367-05:00kickin' habitsGiven today is Lent, and the new year started just a few weeks ago (okay, 6 to be exact), I'm thinking a lot about habits and the ones that I'd like to add to my life, as well as those I could probably do without.<br />
<br />
Two years ago for Lent I gave up nail biting, and I'm still going strong today. I may not have the most manicured hands in town, but I'm proud to have a little white on the ends. I feel good every time I polish them, remembering how many years and times I thought I was a nail biter for life. I have also mostly stopped touching my mouth and lips when nervous, and both of these habits being broken has resulted in an unexpected side effect: getting sick less frequently. The flu shot and getting more obsessive about hand sanitizer has also helped.<br />
<br />
This year, I want to add something. I will meditate daily and try to remove stressors from my life. Starting with Lent, 40 days, but hopefully continuing.<br />
<br />You know what's a big stressor to me, but one that I haven't been able to break? Running late. So so often. It doesn't always bother me, but when it does, it can feel soul crushing and anxiety provoking to say the least. But I learned a small trick to help with at least the traveling part of it, thanks to <a href="https://twitter.com/seancarlson">@seancarlson</a>.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fVHG2c5vbHI/URwpG3oAeHI/AAAAAAAATqY/Dbx_qEpauwI/s1600/IMG_20110326_140342.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-fVHG2c5vbHI/URwpG3oAeHI/AAAAAAAATqY/Dbx_qEpauwI/s400/IMG_20110326_140342.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Lesson #59: The worst thing about running late and trying to catch a train is to have <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QIKqw-pTiJ0">insufficient funds</a> on your metro card. You hear the train swooshing past as you curse yourself for your lack of foresight, walk out of line and then defeatedly over to the card kiosk to add funds (hopefully using hand sanitizer afterwards, because even though you missed the train, you don't want to ruin your next week getting ill). What's the alternative? Refilling your metro card as you <i>leave</i> the train station, once you've already gotten to your destination. Even if you're in a rush, it is so much easier to refill your card (when low) as you exit the station than it is as you enter.<br />
<br />
The nice thing about this tip is that it takes exactly the same amount of time and requires just a second of proactive thinking to potentially save you a few minutes (as well as stress).<br />
<br />
Oh, and happy new year!Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-75532905385111502692012-12-12T22:08:00.003-05:002012-12-12T22:16:06.955-05:00the witching hoursI often think that the night is more alive and more richly colored than the day.<br />
- Vincent Van Gogh<br />
<br />
I can't help but reflect on hurricane Sandy this evening, <a href="http://www.121212concert.org/">12/12/12 benefit concert</a> blasting on another tab and my mind exploring the destruction. I feel lucky to have gone through it unscathed and to see how much the community and world is pitching in. That being said, there's so much still to do and it seems that recovery has only just begun. It's all incredibly sobering.<br />
<br />
The one thing that still haunts me a bit during the week after Sandy was the power outage in the village and the resulting absolute darkness at night. We were without power Monday-Saturday (like pretty much everyone within a couple mile radius), but we made do by traveling around the city, backpacks full of books, laptops, changes of clothes in case we could shower. The days were interesting, but the nights were just unreal. Seeing total darkness in one of the busiest parts of the city. Dashing across busy streets, sans streets lights or stop lights, hoping the scurrying taxis saw us and cared enough to swerve. Hearing the sounds of voices without faces, and the lone band that congregated to play a few songs in the street.<br />
<br />
The energy, though...it didn't leave the village for a second. It's hard to even think about how many people lost so much, but I'm so happy that the spirit of the city seems stronger than ever. My hope is that it only continues and that we all donate/give back what we can to those affected by this disaster.<br />
<br />
lesson #58 in moving here: you can never be too grateful.<br />
<br />
But speaking of starry nights, look what I got to see a few weeks after the hurricane - this Van Gogh has been in my bedroom at home for probably 10 years and it's currently at the MoMA. Since you still couldn't see the stars from my neighborhood during the power outage because the rest of the city still shone so brightly. Van Gogh's starry depiction will have to do!<br />
<div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o9d5FJ4v5ds/UMlDNd_nJiI/AAAAAAAAQFg/qvuo55SIiGw/s1600/IMG_20121113_192315.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-o9d5FJ4v5ds/UMlDNd_nJiI/AAAAAAAAQFg/qvuo55SIiGw/s320/IMG_20121113_192315.jpg" width="320" /></span></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<span style="color: black;"><br /></span></div>
</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-62986772476620043342012-10-28T23:05:00.002-04:002012-11-05T11:58:20.348-05:00Birds of paradiseI've wanted to have a pet bird for a while. Before moving to NYC, I seriously considered adopting one and teaching it to talk/keep me company after getting back from work. I could just bring it with me to my new home, right? Sadly, I came to the realization that even getting a bird is a commitment I wasn't yet ready to make.<br />
<br />
Three years later, I'm still sure I made the right choice. But why the hell didn't I buy these bird decals for my wall earlier?!<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LaP0swEl5Zs/UI3wbJP9-WI/AAAAAAAAOZo/t4DeNfH3IAc/s1600/IMG_20121023_215859.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="231" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-LaP0swEl5Zs/UI3wbJP9-WI/AAAAAAAAOZo/t4DeNfH3IAc/s320/IMG_20121023_215859.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g-FgbnCdTQw/UJfwFB5yOyI/AAAAAAAAOtU/cRXsxNw1bTU/s1600/IMG_20121102_201554.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-g-FgbnCdTQw/UJfwFB5yOyI/AAAAAAAAOtU/cRXsxNw1bTU/s320/IMG_20121102_201554.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
(updated view, courtesy of Sean and Hurricane Sandy's loss of power)</div>
<br />
Lesson #57: you can have it all, even if it's a fake version of it. I don't have 5 birds as pets, but I am reminded daily of how awesome they are on my wall, but without the constantly chirping/screeching reminders. If you can't commit to having a pet, I feel your pain, but don't let it stop you from pretending.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-16305697010972482772012-09-20T21:50:00.000-04:002012-09-20T21:50:00.138-04:00Ode to Red Hook<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Nfd1GS8bGE/T480faP2OBI/AAAAAAAAGvA/0ezxLmTLbkc/s1600/red+hook.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-0Nfd1GS8bGE/T480faP2OBI/AAAAAAAAGvA/0ezxLmTLbkc/s320/red+hook.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
“Every dreamer knows that it is entirely possible to be homesick for a place you've never been to, perhaps more homesick than for familiar ground.” </div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
―Judith Thurman</div>
<br />
Verging on 3 years in the city, I am focused on retaining the love for exploring new neighborhoods, which diminishes some of the homesickness about places not yet traveled.<br />
<br />
One of the things I love best about living in New York is finding spots/bars/neighborhoods where you simply feel like you're thousands of miles away. Red Hook, pictured above (along with my incredibly resilient travel buddy), is a favorite sort of newly discovered spot. From<a href="http://www.jalopy.biz/"> the Jalopy</a> to <a href="http://sunnysredhook.com/">Sunny's</a>, it's truly like no place I've been in my life. Plus, the sign pictured above is simply too bad ass to miss.<br />
<br />
Lesson #56 in moving to a big city: Finding gems in your own neighborhood is hard to beat, but there's nothing as satisfying as venturing far, far away via public transit and long walks to find your own new neighborhood spots, as if you were a local.<br />
<br />
Another tip: if you aren't a local, don't pretend you are - just be open to a new experience. In Red Hook's case, be open to hearing the cool dudes who've played bluegrass for 50+ years. Get into the music, drink lots of beer, clap and shout loudly, and maybe their coolness will rub off.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="allowfullscreen" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/LHmTa_RDYz8" width="420"></iframe>
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-50578634801359713592012-07-30T20:38:00.003-04:002012-07-30T20:38:42.722-04:00Searching high and low for hope<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
"You can't tie me down like a pair of shoe strings." Unless you're writing a hopeful quote and trying it to this pole. In which case, tie me down, please.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ujaPt0tr-6g/UBckxgajjlI/AAAAAAAAKo0/VjnZkCToA3I/s1600/IMG_20120730_201736.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ujaPt0tr-6g/UBckxgajjlI/AAAAAAAAKo0/VjnZkCToA3I/s320/IMG_20120730_201736.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
Lesson #55: Hope is all around, but you sometimes just have to get your phone out of your face to see it. (And yes, these photos were taken with my phone. But while out of everyone's the way. And while standing still).<br />
<br />
The Highline and surrounding streets take my breath away every time, but its mostly because it turns the city into such an incredible backdrop that even the bright yellow taxis look beautiful.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A7SD7zy117c/UBckxoYPo_I/AAAAAAAAKo0/zwc35BKrFBU/s1600/IMG_20120730_194708.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-A7SD7zy117c/UBckxoYPo_I/AAAAAAAAKo0/zwc35BKrFBU/s320/IMG_20120730_194708.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-53822252143350330072012-07-11T10:35:00.004-04:002014-08-12T22:46:12.837-04:00(I can get some) SatisfactionHere is a short list of things that I find ridiculously satisfying:<br />
<br />
- changing from tight pants into a loose skirt, especially if it's hot out<br />
- finishing chapsticks, big boxes of cereal, anything that seems too large to finish at first<br />
- finding new bones in my body that crack<br />
- getting out of New York<br />
- ....returning to it<br />
<br />
Lesson #54: "there" is never better than "here," meaning I'm learning to love whereever I am more than where I could be. Mainly, for the simple reason that I'm here, not there, and as long as I remain present, where better could I be?<br />
<br />
Honestly, I feel so lucky to both live in the greatest city in the world (validated by yours truly) and also for the ability to travel to so many other great spots. It does induce a tendency to open the travel bug flood gates and think about all the other wonderful places to see, but as long as I remember that "here" is always the right spot for me, a little dreaming is a-ok.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4cxNkDVIdIs/T_2O10e74EI/AAAAAAAAKT0/7oy2hY19BEQ/s1600/photo+(1).jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-4cxNkDVIdIs/T_2O10e74EI/AAAAAAAAKT0/7oy2hY19BEQ/s400/photo+(1).jpeg" height="155" width="400" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
Santa Monica, CA</div>
Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com0Santa Monica, CA, USA34.0194543 -118.491191233.9931323 -118.53067320000001 34.0457763 -118.4517092tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-44843807917856646752012-04-23T17:55:00.001-04:002012-04-23T17:58:18.311-04:00Goodbye, Blue BrooklynSome moments last forever<br />
but some flare out with love, love, love<br />
- the mountain goats<br />
<br />
this is the view of my normal (as of last week) commute home to Brooklyn on the C train. I'll take a video of the new commute at some point, but it involves only walking, trees, and some incredibly well dressed New Yorkers. After staying away for a couple years in the comfort of Boerum Hill, I'm a West Village resident again.<br />
<br />
I'm really going to miss this place.<br />
<br />
<iframe allowfullscreen="" frameborder="0" height="315" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/NJ1kLdXfFOs" width="420"></iframe>
<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br />
Lesson #53: Just because you move to a new place or neighborhood doesn't mean it's really goodbye. As my move back to Manhattan attests, I could one day call Brooklyn home again. I've literally gone from living in Brooklyn to Manhattan to Brooklyn to Manhattan again, as of yesterday. It seems I just can't make up my mind, but the great thing is you don't really ever have to.<br />
<br />
For now, I'm going to enjoy my Subway-less commute, wonderful addition of a roommate, and lots of new posh, upscale memories to be had (well, probably just new).</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-23165984565230117892012-04-20T16:35:00.003-04:002012-04-20T16:41:20.929-04:00say cheese!<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1E7_Kfaq0ns/TofP7AB5jkI/AAAAAAAAC2E/kcy1Cp0GNlI/s1600/125734.JPG"><img border="0" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-1E7_Kfaq0ns/TofP7AB5jkI/AAAAAAAAC2E/kcy1Cp0GNlI/s1600/125734.JPG" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
(credit to the New Yorker)</div>
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
"Your life leaves laugh lines, your love leaves bright bruises."</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
- the Hold Steady</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
I'm generally a pretty smiley person. I like to laugh and, well, <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9jyCfRHumHU">smiling's my favorite</a>.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
When I was in high school, a boy I liked once complimented me on my smile by noting it's resemblance to Aerosmith's Stephen Tyler's jagged laugh lines. That was over 10 years ago, and I've grown to love my "imperfections," especially those that I've gained through smiling and being joyful.</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
However, it seems that this puts me squarely in the minority (and I suppose I should revisit this post in, say, 10 or 15 years).</div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
I read somewhere that women tend to focus on the details, where men focus on the whole picture in terms of what each finds attractive. Maybe that's why some of the obsession with wrinkles and anti-aging has taken off so much, and not a day goes by that I don't see a woman that has poured more money into her face than most people spend on a house.<br />
<br />
The thought of not being able to express my emotions fully, and non-verbally, is akin to having a nightmare where no one can hear you yelling and you're stuck in the same place, unable to move.<br />
<br />
Lesson #52: I know this seems fairly ridiculous for a 27 year to say, but own your imperfections and the process of aging, even if it's relatively early on in the process. Lots of people have the money and time to "fix" theirs, but when does one draw the line? Beauty is in our imperfections, I truly believe. I suppose being a slave to surgery is an imperfection of sorts. Instead of giving in to the urge to change ourselves, I wish we'd keep it natural and all take a deep breath, smile without thinking about our wrinkles, and pop a Xanax.</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
<br /></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-10399872579937077672012-02-27T19:07:00.001-05:002018-07-01T23:17:53.310-04:002am kitchen tour<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hatEJJr_QTA/T0wZ9aeca7I/AAAAAAAAE2M/OK6SCxWo8hM/s1600/Pacman-Food-pac-man-123433_475_280.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="188" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-hatEJJr_QTA/T0wZ9aeca7I/AAAAAAAAE2M/OK6SCxWo8hM/s320/Pacman-Food-pac-man-123433_475_280.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
This past weekend was a great one, but I do have a true confession to make. I did something I haven't done in a long time. Take a deep breath as I continue.<br />
<br />
After a particularly fun night out, I got home and promptly got into bed, but drunkenly realized I was hungry. I emerged from a state of half-sleep and turned into a Pac Man, eating everything in my path. The problem was that everything on hand wasn't exactly health food. After polishing off most of a frozen pizza (Amy's new vegan pizza was pretty awesome, I can sort of remember), I dug into almonds, chips, then a box of Saltine's when realized I'd hit a new low: eating food that is normally reserved for those that are too sick to keep anything other than crackers and ginger ale down. I promptly put the Saltine's down and marched straight to bed, though I found some leftover Valentine's candy on my way and chewed through that obstacle as well.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson #51</b>: keep healthy foods around, even if you're not expecting to eat at home. The worst feeling is being hungry and desperate enough to eat Saltines at 2 in the morning because nothing is open and you can't possibly wait for food delivery. Living in the city with everything has led to a false confidence that I don't really need to keep fresh food in my apartment, but in moments of drunken distress, I would've woken up much happier had my inner Hunger Games heroine snacked on pineapple instead of pizza.<br />
<br />
Dammit...writing that caused me to also remember that I also polished off a container of dried pineapple on Saturday night. The good news is that I ate pretty much all of the junk food in my apartment in one fell swoop.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-5166408602929560692012-01-16T18:55:00.000-05:002012-01-16T19:19:59.020-05:00Guest Post: Head vs. Heart<i>This week's post come's courtesy of Meggie Smith, who I'm delighted to call a best friend and, as of this year, fellow New Yorker. You can check out her blog <a href="http://www.hoppmegg.com/">here</a>; set aside a few hours because you'll be hooked.</i><br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7y5dCqFK4u8/TxS-qgTtDOI/AAAAAAAAEkI/GlBbSyRaH3Q/s1600/head+vs+%25281%2529.+heart.+heart" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="156" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-7y5dCqFK4u8/TxS-qgTtDOI/AAAAAAAAEkI/GlBbSyRaH3Q/s320/head+vs+%25281%2529.+heart.+heart" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
Sitting on my couch (OK, not so much a couch as a creaky twin mattress under a lofted bed- but hey, it was France and I only had 250 square feet to work with!) with feet on the coffee table, and a glass full of rosé reflecting the lavender and burnt orange twilight of a sun setting over the Spanish tiles of sloping Provençal rooftop, I was relaxed. And with good reason. Earlier that day I had turned in my thesis, effectively completing the Master’s degree I’d spent the past 9 months working towards. My friends would be over in an hour to celebrate, and I had a call with my Google recruiter in several minutes. I should have been nervous, but the beautiful circumstances around set me at ease.<br />
<br />
The phone rang and the ‘+1 212’ on the display looked both foreign and familiarly comforting. My recruiter and I exchanged pleasantries for a few minutes, and then he relayed the good news. “Meggie, your resumé and experience look great. Both hiring managers want to interview you, but you can only go for one position. Which do you want to pursue, Chicago or New York?”<br />
<br />
I paused, not able to give an immediate answer. Earlier that day, I had made a list of pros and cons for each city. Chicago far outweighed the pros of New York. It was familiar, close to my family, affordable, with Midwest charm and a haven for fellow Michigan alumni. Most importantly it was home to so many close friends I would need more than two hands to count them all. The list for New York City was paltry in comparison. Cathlin, writing, and inspiration were what I had come up with, my wonderful best friend’s residence the only tangible advantage on my list. Deeming writing and inspiration move worthy qualities to a city I’d briefly visited four times in my life seemed retrospectively absurd when reviewing my list.<br />
<br />
But before I knew it, my heart made the decision for me, as I confidently blurted “New York” into the phone receiver. Ten months later, as a fledging New Yorker thoroughly enjoying and soaking in the wonderment of her new city, I suppose you could say the rest is history, the “right” choice made.<br />
<br />
<b>Lesson #50: when moving to a big city: </b>don’t let your head preside as the all-knowing master of ceremonies over your choices. For decisions big and small, listen to your heart and go with your gut. Whether you call it God, the Universe, your inner guide, whatever, sometimes you just need to stop and listen to yourself, tapping into your own great wisdom. Amidst the noise, bustle and endless options in the city, you can feel pulled in a million conflicting directions, re-thinking and over analyzing the minutiae of life’s decisions. What restaurant to eat at and whether or not to purchase those high waisted jeans are scrutinized with the same fervor as larger decisions, like which apartment to take, going for a new role at work, or if he is really the right guy for you.<br />
<br />
At an impasse, sometimes the best way to go forth is to stop and breathe, ceasing the city and cerebrum’s cacophonous assault on your choices, clear your mind, and listen to yourself. When you tap into your own wisdom and follow your heart and your gut, your decisions may surprise you. But if you’re true to yourself, there really are no wrong choices. You’ll be in for an amazing ride, and if you’re as lucky as me, your next great adventure amongst a million new friends and neighbors in the city that never sleeps.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-80326526558613221462012-01-03T19:02:00.000-05:002018-03-28T22:29:25.873-04:00“I'm not confused, I'm just well mixed”- Robert Frost<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
I had a strange few years of my life that I'd like to tell you about. Essentially, it revolved around the following scenario: every time I was promised great music at a party with friends, I got mediocre beer instead. Time and time again I attended multiple parties in my young twenties expecting to enjoy one of my favorite bands' music. After being promised we'd play Beirut at said parties, I would wait to hear the trumpet blaring, hip shaking gypsy music of the wonderful group.<br />
<br />
But each party visit, I was offered a ping pong ball and a beer pong match up instead. Don't get me wrong. I enjoy playing beer pong as much as any other Big 10 grad (though the allure has faded with age). But why, oh, why were we playing beer pong instead of sitting around (and dancing) to Zach Condon and friends?<br />
<br />
Finally, late one night, I asked the party host point blank - "So, just when are we going to play Beirut?" I could hardly hide the frustration in my voice, so desperate was I to hear <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SXIaDBad5Vg">this</a> or <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hq2s0AhdFE4">this</a>. The host stared at me for a few moments before simply pointing to the ping pong table and saying, "what do you <i>think</i> we're doing?"<br />
<br />
It was my turn to stare back. What could he mean with this cryptic statement? Were the band members hiding under the table, ready to jump up for an impromptu jam? A fellow midwesterner shook his head and took me aside, explaining to me that the term "<a href="http://beirut-guide.com/article_beirut_vs_beerpong.php">Beirut</a>" refers to the game of beer pong for pretty much everyone from the east coast (and beyond, but apparently I'd missed that).<br />
<br />
Oh. I guess that explains it. The fact that I never thought it was weird that people would have parties focused on an indie band with a relatively small (but passionate) following evades me as well.<br />
<br />
Lesson #49: Don't assume you know the lingo everywhere, and also don't be afraid to just ask. Sure, you'll feel and look silly asking someone to define a confusing sounding phrase they've known their whole life (hopefully not beer pong in this case), but you'll feel far sillier if you spend years attending parties because you thought some of your favorite music would be played. Maybe even sillier yet if you tell others of your misunderstanding that lasted far longer than it should've.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-11633537044533863082011-11-23T19:57:00.000-05:002011-11-24T13:04:31.161-05:00Don't Mix Work and Play (Doh!)<br />
The other day, I was having a really productive brain storm session at my desk and found some silly putty/play doh concoction that I'd been given after a training. I took it out of the jar and happily played with it, letting it ooze between my fingers and form various shapes while I continued working. I received a phone call unexpectedly and placed the putty on my lap for safe keeping, until my call was over, when I could continue playing with it.<br />
<br />
Thirty minutes or so later, my call ends and I get up to stretch my legs, having completely forgotten about my toy. I should clarify; I <i>tried</i> to get up. The putty had made it's way between my legs and literally stuck them together like a tree trunk. A few desperate moments of tugging at it, and I was able to at least separate my legs...but the putty had made it's way in through every cotton fiber in my pants that it touched.<br />
<br />
Luckily, I happened to have a pair of black tights in my purse, as well as a sweater on that was just long enough to be loosely considered a sweater dress. It also happened late in the day on Friday, the one time it just might be acceptable to get play doh stuck on one's clothing.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yKFXi03K0oo/Ts23X77WZBI/AAAAAAAADWw/Spc_EmlttKU/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-11-23+at+10.16.14+PM.png"><img border="0" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yKFXi03K0oo/Ts23X77WZBI/AAAAAAAADWw/Spc_EmlttKU/s320/Screen+shot+2011-11-23+at+10.16.14+PM.png" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
SPLAT</div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
the putty looked mysteriously like Nickelodeon slime.</div>
<br />
<b>Lesson #48</b> when living in a big city (or a lesson in simply being an adult): mixing work and play is risky business. Always have an extra pair of clothing on hand in case you're as accident prone as I am.<br />
<br />
I'm happy to report that while visiting for Thanksgiving, my clever mother was able to clean the putty out, resulting in clean black pants. I generally wear black because it's the one shade that'll allow me to spill freely without consequence, but even I surprise myself sometimes.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-81070432388415075812011-11-16T23:41:00.001-05:002011-11-19T09:44:10.191-05:00Chasing Happiness<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/006/cache/mountain-goat_635_600x450.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="http://images.nationalgeographic.com/wpf/media-live/photos/000/006/cache/mountain-goat_635_600x450.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="p1" style="text-align: center;">
This guy's not worried about climbing the mountain; he's just enjoying the view.</div>
<div class="p1">
<br /></div>
<div class="p1">
When a 5 year old works on a sand castle on the beach all afternoon, is she preoccupied with thinking what it’ll look like when it’s completed? How accomplished she’ll feel once it’s done? No. She enjoys the act of creating it and focuses her attention on the process, not the outcome.<br />
<br /></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">I recently watched this terrific <b><a href="http://www.ted.com/talks/lang/en/srikumar_rao_plug_into_your_hard_wired_happiness.html">Ted Talk</a> </b>that discusses how we basically pluck happiness out of our lives by focusing an inordinate amount on the outcomes in life, which by definition we do not fully control. We <i>influence</i> it, of course, but at least part of any outcome relies on outside factors outside our control. The process, on the other hand, is completely our own. It is our choice to either find joy in it and accept that things may not (and usually don’t) go as planned, or to spend our lives fighting it, consumed with thoughts of how our lives should be, if only our desired outcome occurs.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Now, this focus on the outcome is something that we’ve grown accustomed to for a long time. The focus on report cards, trying out for the school play, an attempt to make the science team in 4th grade were the outcomes that we placed value on, and in doing so, much of the appreciation for the process is sapped.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Are there outcomes I’d like to see in my life? Are there goals I’d like to achieve and a firm belief that I can? Yes, absolutely. Yet when I think back on goals and outcomes that have gone my way in the past, the initial thrill is intoxicating, and I’m overjoyed. The euphoria doesn’t tend to last, though, and before I know it, I’m thinking about what next to achieve in order to get a similar high. The cycle is never ending, if we allow it to be. </span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">What I’ve learned and enjoyed along the way, though, is what really stays with me. The most beautiful thing about this concept is that every single day can be a part of a process towards something; whether that something ever happens doesn’t end up mattering. </span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Lesson #47: recognize the simplicity and beauty of enjoying the process, for example, of cooking fresh vegetables from a farmer’s market instead of obsessing over how great it’ll be when you weigh 10 less pounds. Maybe eating those vegetables will in fact help you lose weight, but you’re missing the pleasure if that’s the thought process. If we’re focused on climbing the proverbial mountain simply to say we’ve done it, we end up not really experiencing much at all.</span><br />
<span class="s1"><br /></span></div>
<div class="p2">
<span class="s1"></span></div>
<div class="p1">
<span class="s1">Strangely, this way of thinking actually helps embolden my choices in life. The fear of failure is less prominent when I don’t think in a binary manner, focusing on how one choice might affect an outcome. Instead, I have faith that enjoyment of the process will lead to good outcomes enough of the time; and if those outcomes aren’t realized, that’s fine - I had a damn good time along the way.</span></div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-60530533253740649522011-10-02T21:18:00.003-04:002011-11-20T22:35:28.401-05:00Fire, Water and Government Know Nothing of Mercy<div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
Ever notice how many amazingly delicious restaurants there are in NYC? Just me?<br />
<br />
My (overly simplistic) theory is that rent is so high, coupled with the high cost of running a restaurant, that only the best, most visited restaurants can survive. That means only good things for the masses.<br />
<br />
Lesson #46: you almost can't go wrong when it comes to restaurants in the city (the restaurant shown above is likely an exception). The people demand good food, and generally only visit places that have it. Be as adventurous as possible, and explore new neighborhoods on the premise of checking out the specialty cuisine in that 'hood.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
It's simple economics, right? Delicious restaurants exist because people here want it, and are willing to pay. If a restaurant comes along that's sub-par, or has exorbitant prices they can't back up, then they'll likely go out of business.</div>
<br />
Supply and demand is the simplest economic theory I can think of, and it's very loosely referenced above. Yet it's one our government has apparently stopped embracing this theory in some cases, as <a href="http://money.cnn.com/2011/08/16/news/economy/chicken_prices/">this article</a> entails:<br />
<br />
<b>"The nation's chicken industry is having a difficult year. Chicken producers are struggling with higher costs of running their business at the same time that consumers are buying less meat.<br /><br />This has created a glut of chicken products in the market.<br /><br />Total chicken production in the first half of 2011 rose 4% compared to the same period a year ago, while demand for chicken has cooled, according to the National Chicken Council.<br /><br />Consequently, retail prices for chicken product have dipped.<br /><br />The Department of Agriculture, keenly aware of these issues, announced Monday that it will make a special purchase of up to $40 million of chicken products, which the government will then donate to federal food assistance programs such as soup kitchens and its national Feeding America programs."</b><br />
<br />
This is beyond absurd. Essentially, we're giving handouts to factory farms because fewer people want to/can afford to eat their products?</div>
<div>
<br />
If the chicken farmers were restaurant owners in this fine city, those fuckers would be out of business. Instead, we're the ones footing the bill, which, in a sickening twist, is fed back to the most vulnerable.<br />
<br />
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: center;">"A chicken in every pot and a car in every garage." - Herbert Hoover's 1928 presidential slogan. </span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<span style="text-align: center;">"Gross." - me, 2011, after reading that slogan.</span></div>
<div style="text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
</div>Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-52015440256636128.post-63457037855723039482011-09-01T22:58:00.003-04:002011-09-01T22:59:21.939-04:00For a pleasant commute, follow the crowd<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lt1Ov6YciD4/TmBFRnGcBDI/AAAAAAAACrU/dEaVLJCnAAA/s1600/Screen+shot+2011-09-01+at+10.52.54+PM.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="219" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-lt1Ov6YciD4/TmBFRnGcBDI/AAAAAAAACrU/dEaVLJCnAAA/s320/Screen+shot+2011-09-01+at+10.52.54+PM.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div style="text-align: center;">
"eeny, meeny, miny, moe"</div>
<br />
If you've spent any time in a city, you likely know the incessant waiting for the train and the way excitement builds as you hear a faint rumbling in the distance. The next thing you know, your heart is pounding, endorphins flood your body, and an almost empty train car stops directly in front of you.<br />
<br />
"It's destiny! My lucky day!" you marvel to your clever self, boarding the train with confidence. You happened to miss all the other crowded cars and found the perfect spot! Look, there are seats all around! But the second you enter, the doors close in and the sinking feeling sets in. It's too late. What is that <i>smell</i>??<br />
<br />
Lesson #45: when riding the subway, <b>don't</b> choose the least populated car. Groups of people have a funny way of avoiding undesirable things, like train cars without Air Conditioning in the summer, without heat in winter, trains with loud proselytizers, foul smells, and so on. Take their lead, and join the more populated train cars. If you do choose a bad car, move at the next stop. (I'm not going to recommend the illegal, yet highly exhilarating, moving between subway cars. at least not in writing.)<br />
<br />
Almost every time I've boarded the one empty car, there's a very clear reason no one else is on it. Create a little mystery in your life by not boarding that car, and not looking back. Well, if you really want, board the next car over, and peer through the window to see if you can figure out the issue. It's likely more fun than dealing with said issue. But I repeat, stay where you are and revel in your good choices, should you remember this lesson.Anonymoushttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10298836625727838002noreply@blogger.com2