sunday, november twenty-sumthin before thanksgiving.

Things are running increasingly slower for me these last few weeks. I realized this a while ago, and have not been happy with it – my recent reticence to join in on happy hours and late nite roams, and even (gasp) finding myself this morning refusing to rise early enough to make it to our once-a-week pre-work farmers’ market down the block in the park. Mornings, in general, have gotten way tougher. Things have slowed. Less excitement. More perfunctory focus. More "to do" thoughts, and less "to do!" ones. It’s been an elephant in the living room kinda don’t-look-at-it-and-it-won’t-exist-and-life-goes-on kinda problem. You know those? But it’s been gnawing the haell outta me. And, just today, I was able to land some accusatory fingers towards some probable culprits.

1. (Our prime suspect) The Office Job. The return to the office life has definitely been taking a physical if not mental, emotional, and probably spiritual toll. Being in an office, in the same space, expected to be SITTING at the same desk (at the SAME DESK) for hours behind whateva the hell cubicle wall is is just totally not good for me. Maybe its not good for anybody, I dunno, and can’t speak for any others. But, just as my energies dwindle before dispersing after a good, crazy, busy livin spell as in GrrrlFest or running the engineering camps, I thrive in the quick pace, and dull out and lose it somewhat – or maybe pretty much -- it when life slows. Yeah. An, yeah, probably more so after these manic bursts of activeness I tend of welcome into my life. My own childless post-pardum depression crashes. Probably just in another one.

The office pace is way slower than both the waiting tables pace and the "on long overdue vacation" not-working pace (which, much to my surprise, i grew quite fond of. seriously. i thought i'd go nuts. but wow was i digging the not workin. yep. a big fan now.). And the energy I get from them for later non-work pursuits is way different too, Confined work can lead my energies to yearn for the following: alone time, comfort, sleep, playing it safe, exciting food (how boring). It’s not so cut and dry, you know, but working in non-confined space (or, uh, the not working) led to exploration, realizing that my pre-set limits weren’t, saying “what the hell” more, seeking out action, and making my own self comfortable. Simply said, if I was straight up wih myself, the frantic pace of the non-office suits me much better. The movement of the non-office suits me better. The access to windows and outdoors of non-office work suits me better. The shake up I give to the strictness and social order I hold myself to on some Capricornian levels of non-office work suits me better. Much, much better. Yeah, it’s true that the office work will pick up. And I won’t always haveta be at my desk – my stupid, walled in, windowless desk. But, for now, it’s soul sucking. And not at all pitching in at the vibrance department. It’ll get better fo sho, but sometimes, I’m just not patient. And offices, they just basically really suck. I’m not really lovin my job today, am I? No, no I am not. A hard way to end a Sunday/start to a Monday. Oh well. Que sera.

2. The No Book. Also on the list of culprits is that I finished my "Our Band Could Be Yer Life" book, and haven’t found a suitable successor. Since I got here, I was reading on the subway, in the park, in random bars and restaurants, before failing in resistance to my heavying lids in bed. And I was always looking forward to it when I wasn’t reading. The last two books, I was in love. That one and "Please Kill Me." Totally into them. And reading an awesome book brought a certain amount of curiosity out that far extended beyond the reading to other things. Now, not so curious. Not so fun.

3. The Absence of Smokey Treats. Augh! Also, I stopped smoking, and, maybe accordingly, have been ravenously hungry all the time. The plethora of new-to-me NY restaurants are very willing to step up and appease my rampant and indiscriminate hankerings. While I realize that eating is better for me than smoking, I just don’t thrive when over-fed. Call gendered social foul if you must; I know what works for me. And also, giving up smoking makes you all edgy and temperamental and fucked up anyway, right? Right. So that's probably not helping things any either.

Wow, reading back, I’m a real treat these days, huh? Yeah, well, November’s never really been my month. It’s usually when I wane most drastically. And, realizing this, I’ve gotta fight like hell to make December, January, February, and March less spiraling. Planning on doing so this year. Grrrr (looking very intimidating, and flexing muscles now)!

So, yep. Now, I have all of these edgily displaced craving for the excitement that was my life roaming New York and being free of many of my self-imposed social conventions my first month in town. And, in my hungers and comfort yearnings, I see myself trying to fill a gap that lessening the level of good crazy livin has left.

Or maybe im just settling in. (I throw that out, but don’t believe that I would settle in anyplace so awesome that i was to be in for a limited time so very warily. Or that i would settle in this uncomforably to anywhere, really.)

Either way, I know that those plan B fillers aren’t gonna cut it. And i’ve got some antidotes planned. I’ll let you know how they’re working!

On a side note, work today had its moments. Sunday brunch is always crazy busy. Only two servers work the entire restaurant, divvying up the tables down the center room. Brunch runs from 11-4, and it’s straight up nuts. Usually, tips are way good, but, without fail, there’s a time or two each Sunday when the other server and I are sure the other is gonna lose it and walk out or start throwing plates of food at the tables, or pull out an arsenal. Something. It gets packed, and very demanding. Today, I totally had one of those moments. I learned long ago that the things that end up causing stress at restaurants are so much better off forgotten than dwelled upon or rehashed, but, perhaps let the lesson be that if one chooses to devote their attention in stressed out ways to something out of your control like maybe the amount of time one's food is taking to get out of the kitchen, one is choosing to lose their own free time to the land of bad thoughts and tension. And, if this is what one needs to do, maybe one should not choose to go to a busy brunch restaurant. Unless one is from the “brunch as high-tension drama” school. In which case, cmon back again next week, table 114! (i work the otha side next week. Everyone else was lovely today.) I’m gonna quit soon. Got enough work on my plate. And, despite the above rant, the probs not with the non-office job 1 vs the office job 2. It’s my overall attack. I’ll get better.

On another side note, lots of people have said they were gonna come visit me here. I really want to get a visitor sometime. I miss hosting people. And I miss my friends and my sisters. Would totally love to have someone here to wander with. Maybe that’s my comfort urge speaking. But I duncare. Lemme know if you wanna come visit!

Ok. Signing out from the Lotus down the block and cross Houston again. Happy beginning to the short holiday workweek, yall. Horray for three-day weeks! Heep heep, hareee!! Heep heep, haree!!! (that's what they say in Holland instead of "hip hip, horray!")

tuesday, november 16.

Oh -- and im staying in town over the Thanksgiving break to walk and wander far and wide schedule-free, take care of Roo over in Brooklyn, and go to the Macy's parade with my far-from-home flatmate. Parade, sharade, you know? Never really been into them. But, except for Urbana's sweet and teeny Labor Day parade i went to with Grrr last spring, i haven't been to one in a long time, so, who knows? Maybe i am now a fan?

Lemme know if anyone's gonna or wantsta be around NY for the weekend. im excited for it.

Ok. Tuuuuesday. Out!

monday, november 15.

Heyya!

Ah! Check out this week's Strong Bad. http://homestarrunner.com/sbemail117.html Sooooo good. "Let's make this moment be the symbol of our lives. We'll pawn yer dad's computer and we'll sail to paradise. You're a girl, or maybe a waaaa-gooon filled up wid paaaaan-cakes." Strong Bad is genius.

So, i'm starting to do a little writing for Pamphlet, this on line publication Jenny Southlynn and Ed Birch have been putting together. ive got a light local interview sumthin sumthin going up there this week. It ended up fun. And i think i gave people the wrong address to it earlier. It's www.pamphletpress.org . Dunno when it's gonna be up, but word is it's gettin there. Yep.

Ok. Big stuff Monday. Well, not really, but it was a nice one. Nearly 70 today. Beautiful and breezy with a bold, obstanate sun glaring off the buildings throughout the long afternoon. "That's right," i thought! "Keep fightin, lil sun!" The long underwear and fancy sock supply is staving off winter chills pretty well so far. These 70 degree mid November days help a bunch too. Went to a Chomskey lecture after work. And, today, i finally claimed my midtown subway stop.

Yeah. ive been taking all kinds of lines to work in the morning. The Bleeker Street 6 to 33rd, or to 42nd, the 2nd Ave. F to 34th, or the 2nd Ave V to 34th or the F or V to 42nd (ends up, those two go to the same place). The names of the lines are nutty. And all of the stops except for 33rd Street lets you off to a mess of possible exits. It's crazy. So, you can get off at the F train's 34th Street stop, and find yourself spit out into the Manhattan Mall on 30th Street, or onto 32nd Street and 6th Avenue. It's a pain in the ass, especially considering that the Manhattan Mall, in addition to being the last place i would want to go in New York, is really, really hard to find your way out of. (Not to mention also being jarringly flashbacky to some less than positive days of yorn.) An lemme telljou, garfrien, finding jurself dazed and totally lost-ed in the mall's basement foodcourt in your fancy work cloth-es after roaming four floors past a gajillion freaking stores selling shawls and otha disposable fashionista wear at 9 in the morning does not a good day start. Nuh uh, it does not. To this day, i still haven't found the fricking 34th Street exit for the 34th Street stop.

But, Friday, after previously only finding the 40th Street and the 42nd St/5th Ave exits, i landed somehow outside of the F/V line's 42nd Street stop exit on 42nd Street and 6th Ave.. Wow. It's dreamy. Shoots you out on the edge of Bryant Park --a block-sized park that flows out from the back of the majestic midtown manhattan public library.

The park consists of a large lawn "quad" surrounded by a sculpted grey-white concrete block terrace. A fat, orange-lit fountain is at one side of the park, proud stairs slope upwards into the library on the other. The terrace is lined in shrubs and flat, green slat benches. All this is nice, presenting such a striking open respite from the surrounding storefronted skyscrapers and torrential waves of shoppers.

But the best part of the park is the chairs.

Single green wooden slat folding chairs and a good number of tiny folding tables wait clustered on the north side of the quad in the mornings behind a sign reading "The Lawn is Closed." i walk by them on my way to work. By noon, though, it seems, the sign is taken away, and the now occupied chairs have been individually grabbed by folks and scattered wherever the sun hits the park. Pairs of people eating lunch together on the small tables and solitary readers randomly fill the terrace and fleck the lawn. Interestingly, the park is always very quiet, and everyone faces south into the sun in a silent mass homage to the last warm rays of light.

In the evenings, less people are around, but the air is noticably charged. Under heavy dusk dimness, couples meet there, whispering to each other over clasped hands and long looks on the benches in the shadowns, embracing greetings on the park edges, nuzzling each other against the back fences. Single people sit in chairs staring out across the lawn. Rare open spaces occupied in private ways.

The southern edge of the lawn is bordered by a corridor of pale, giraffe-neck-like, enormous and graceful trees gently lit by warm lights spilling out from neighboring office buildings. What an amazingly stark contrast they are in front of the detailed architecture of the city. Walking through them, i heard waltz music. They made me want to spin with my head back, arm up, trailing loose strands of silver stars from my fingertip. i know it sounds stupid. But i don't care. i love those trees. And they're gonna be so the shizzy when it snows. Oh, beautiful park.

So, as of today, that's become my train stop. It's such a good one. So regal and reserved in the morning. Magically gauzy and borderline scandalous after 5 on my way out of the work day. And a whole hellufa lot better than the mall.

Yeah huh. Ok. Nuff for now. i am so full from happy hour with my flat mates over delicious Belgian beers and long awaited moules frites (mussels and french fries) at Vol De Nuit over offa Washington Square Park on NYU's campus. Uhhh. All physical powers are being called to aid in digestion. Hope all is well with all!

xo

monday, november 8.

Yeah, so people call my house in all kinds of languages. One of my roomies is from Amsterdam, and the other works with Central Americal groups, so, while i can usually tell generally whether someone's speaking flemmish or spanish, sometimes, i end up leaving a "hey, someone called in some other language. check the machine" message for both of em after listening to the answering machine. i just got home from work a couple minutes ago, and answered the phone to someone with broken sentences through a very thick accent who asked me if i speak Chech or Slovakian. i said no, to which a long pause came, after which he replied with a genuinely startled and quite clear "You speak NO Slovak?" Well, er, uh... no. LET IT BE KNOWN: I SPEAK NO SLOVAK! and, you know, im pretty ok with that.

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Doot de doo. Earlier on, i was taking the subway back from 42nd Street on my way home from work. It's a big stop there -- yknow, kinda like their Grand Central Station. Oh, that's actually what it's called. i'm a mess of disjointed and randomly placed larger city information these days. Yeah, so when i entered the GCS building, i could hear this pained screech cry out every 15 seconds or so that echoed down the marbled hallways for a good coupla minutes before i actually crossed the sender's path. It was coming from a guy who was on the ground with his legs bent out from under him in these weird contortions. He was obviously messed up on sumthin, but didn't seem in pain, and was just looking around, putting effort into holding his head up, and issuing periodic screams. The shopkeepers in the food stands and book shops looked down the hallway to him a couple of times as i approached, but no one went to him, or called anyone. Everyone went about their business. People walking to their trains rounded the corner breezing past him, some glancing a look at him, most, not. Eyes turned ahead, they all walked on. Yeah, me too. Why? Well, honestly, he was beyond any help i coulda offered, but, still, that's what you do, you know? Not just here, but everywhere. But it's just that, here, there's so much stuff going on everywhere, tons of input. So much beautiful, amazing, awful, emotive, painful, exciting stuff everywhere. im guessing that a bunch of things just need to get deemed "too much to deal with" and get tuned out in order to keep clicking along. And what's that end up doing, i wonder? i've seen some good in it forcing choice making. If you can't say what you want, don't even leave the apt, missey. This is no place for the wishy-washy or the easily thrown. Too many options. Too brisque of a current flowing around you to stay still too long deliberatin. Helps focus in on doing whachu wanna do. But, you know, i wonder about the casualities. We'll check back in on that.

Lastly, even earlier today -- check this out -- i met the dude from Super Size Me. i was like George Bush getting to meet John Wayne. i was giddy. My first star sighting, and zow it was a good one! Woulda sucked to have had it been Leonardo or Britney or stupid brow-furrowed Hugh Grant or that mean idiot Donald Trump or sumone like that. Went back to my office and wrote about it. Herezit:

Eeee! I just met that Morgan guy who did the Super Size Me movie out on the street while walking around on lunchbreak. Trailed him for a about a half block down the street trying to get a look at him from the side to no avail (with the theme to mission impossible playing in my head. "Dum dum dumdum, Dum dum DAdum, Dum... actually, That's the Way Love Is from 80s dance club fame was in my head. Damn drugstores!). Yeah, so catching up was hard. He’s pretty svelte and quick these days without the mickeydees weighing him down, it seems. So i jaywalked thru midtown traffic with him, all the while checking him out. “It’s him… nah, it’s not him… no, its him… no, uh, is it him?..” until I dropped back a bit and saw the buttons on his backpack – one with a pic of W with a red ‘no’ line thru it, and the other, a mcdonald’s logo with OBESITY in the box where it normally says “over a billion sold” or whateva. That was the kicker. (im sure, by that point, he was thinking that i was gonna try to knock him down and steal his wallet or sumthin.) So i went “scuse me, but are you the person who did Supersize Me?” he stopped and said yeah, he was. He was totally nice, and was like “Yeah. i'm Morgan whateverhislastnameis" (i blanked it out cause i was starstruck i think). i introduced myself, and told him the film was sooooooh awesome, and thanked him for his work, that it was great great great. Then i lied and said i do a zine (i have been starting one so not a huge lie and i have done em in the past. i know, it's still a lie. i duncare.), and asked if i could interview him for it, maybe over email. He said “sure. i’d love to.” i'm sure it was his nice way of being like, “yeah yeah, wacko. Just lemme get on with my day, crazy lady,” but whocares!? im gonna email him. i was pretty much a huge dork, but how cool is that?? Tres tres cool. i was like on drugs afterwards.

Chalk one more up for “NY rocks.” It's winning big so far.

Didn't see any of the marathon yesterday. Was working. Got a new nickname there from a coworker: Eli. Doesn't mean nothin, but nicknames, you know, they could be worse.

Been listening to that new Saturday Looks Good to Me album thanks to Darin who gave me an extra copy he had (thanks Darin). First listen thru was nothin great, but luckily the stereo in the common room has this nonstop replay action, so i got to give it another chance without even having to be generous. Glad i did. Some good stuff. Lovin that last song. The whole album's reminiscent of the Partridge Family, the Beach Boys, culottes, Belle and Sebastian, 69 Love Songs, and beach blanket bingo-esque movies, with a mighty spash of beehived underaged women at cocktail parties, muttonchopped boys in wood-paneled basements, and the starry clear autumn skies of the deep woods. It's refreshingly light! Also been hooked on Fugazi's The Argument that Spence gave to me (thanks, Spence). Crazy good. So different that otha Fugazis. Beautiful. With harmonies even. Crazy. Lovin on Supergrass' I Would Coco, Cat Power, Unwound, Geoff Farina, old old dancehall Ray Charles my bro and law gave me a while back that i've been hopelessly addicted to since getting here (thanks, Bill!), and, you know, lots of 80s dancepop. Yum. Oh! and i finished that Our Band Could Be your Life book. So, so, so good. im totally proud of myself for finishing books these days. Was always splitting my attention between a few and never finishing nuthin. It's a new trend im digging. Reading kicks ass these days. i could totally just wander around town reading and writing all day now. What a weird place to start settling down some. Hey -- i said "some."

So, yeah. That's about it for now. Still fighting the cold. But its getting more, uh, productive, and im getting less worn out by it. Gonna go downstairs to listen to the bartender dj tonite, and meet up with a new friend for a coupla drinks. S'been a fine Monday. Yaa, there's the phone ringing now. Gonna go get it. I SAID I SPEAK NO SLOVAK! Ok. Over and out for now, lovies.

xo

november 3, 2004

Whoo hooo! Welcome, Post #1!!!! Here we go:

“Hail to the thief: We didn’t vote for him.” The election was settled earlier this afternoon, agonizingly announcing that we have four more years of Bush administration corporate cronyism-, fat-cat backscratching-, and dumbing down of the populus for the sake of party-progress-guised-as-politics ahead. Placard signs disclaiming any responsibility for this decision stand at attention against restaurants and bars all over Alphabet City today. “Come drown your sorrows with us.”

A little about the majority of southern New York City for those on the outside: folk are way Democratric and way not into Bush in these hare parts. Despite the highly effective campaigns to demonize her character throughout the country, Hillary Clinton was actually voted into office here. I’ve been frequently startled by the local press, which very overtly critiques Bush and his administration’s policies. Last week’s Village Voice cover contained a full-color drawing of Dubya holding the Statue of Liberty in his arms, teeth marks in her neck, and blood dripping from his fang-ed mouth. And the Voice is not alone in their slant. Other papers do similar things with words. Also, New York is teaming with public and community radio stations. They, along with some of the really bad-good “hot songs of the 70s & 80s” stations that I listen to (“Show Me, Show Me, You Really Love Me,” “Waterfalls” by TLC, “Lady’s Night“ by Kool n the Gang… oh yeah.), have been anti-Bushing over the airwaves since i arrived. Wheat pasted Kerry-Edwards posters and those weird posters with celebrities in shirts that say “VOTE OR DIE” plaster so may of the brick building walls and construction barriers throughout the lower east side. Eavesdropping on casual conversations in elevators and between real “grown ups” in the hallways of my new place of employ’s Midtown skyscraper office returned “Bush sucks soooo much! Look at this policy of his! Look at this war*-related atrocity he’s responsible for!” conversations in at least 20% of all conversations over the past two weeks, and 100% of the conversations involving politics (hey -- don’t challenge my stats – i work in research). And, wearing my otha hat, waiting tables last night, people would periodically either ask me or give me entirely unsolicited updates of how “we’re” doing in the election. New York City is a liberal bastion. It’s tightly woven into the culture. It’s awesome.

But today, the faces on the street are somber. The eyes of passer-bys are kinder and more seeking than typically seen, and the faces are decidedly glum. Today, the city trudged along, its normal briskly clicking speedball pace halted by this rare confrontation with the slower realities of the rest of the nation outside of the city borders. “Do you serve Anhuiser-Busch?” someone asks the bartender at the Lotus bar. “Not anymore!” he says, half joking. But everyone is talking about it. Around me right now at 8:33pm Wednesday, November 3, 2004, everyone, EVERYONE, at every table and barstool is talking about it. And drinking. Copiously. Everyone is resigned. Everyone is pissed. No one is incredulous or outraged. But there is absolutely no lightness, no looking past the problems for the sake of moving on, no living on the surface above it all for New Yorkers today. Today, everyone is carrying a weight, everyone is preoccupied with annoyance and worry and a loosely caged frustrated lack of control. It’s the overwhelming gravity of a situation that they know and have realized as long while ago, but, that, on the island of Manhattan, haven’t had to really face or come to terms with. The realization of the overwhelming fuckupedness and extreme effective genius of their country’s conservative political propaganda machine that has been constantly gnawing at the edges of their ire for four years, but that now demands to be confronted. Today, the gnawing has moved out from the pushed-aside background to claim center stage. And, as a result, today, yesterday's peter pans are forced to question their flying powers in mid air, and tumble back onto the harsh earth; the mighty are humbled, the indomibitable hang their heads as they feel the coldness of outside limitations. Today, New York City is painfully sporting one hell of a toothache.
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* Talk about the “war” we are in pisses the haell outta me. America is not “at” war. We declared a greed- and public relations –inspired “war” on “terrorism.” Back under Daddy Bush’s reign, we had a “war” on drugs. That one went well, huh? Well, anyway, nobody said we were really “at war” then. Cause we weren’t (good thing too, cause we got our asses kicked.) Now, though, we do. We are not “at war” now, dammit. We need to cut the loose vernacular. It’s making quick and easy links to protectionist fear, which fuels protectionist policies. It’s not helping.
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When i finished this post, i packed up my bag, and brought my bottles to the bar on my way out of the Lotus. A man sitting at the bar by my emptied bottles stopped me. “Excuse me,” he said from a very tan and chisled face with open, wildish eyes and some kind of accent. “i don’t mean to be offensive or rude with what i would like to say,” he begins. “Are you gonna be offensive or rude with what yer gonna say?” i asked, kinda defensive, kinda amused. “Well, no, but, when i saw you coming… earlier, you were surrounded in green, and do you know how the green light is often not very flattering.” He said this more as a statement than a question. i was wearing a green shirt, but "light"? i guessed he was speaking of the light from my computer that i was typing on in the darkened room whose flattering or not-flattering properties i knew nothing of, though i nodded still, now a little more defensive than amused, but hangin in there. “Well,” he continued, “i saw you in the corner, and you looked peaceful and so beautiful in that green light. i hope you are not offended.” i told him i was not, wished him a good night, and thanked him for saying so. Things like that happen all the time here in New York. People say stuff like that on the street when yer wearing a hat, or some funky shoes. Respectful stuff, though. It’s always so respectful when someone pays notice to something. Or, at least, most of the time it is, and those times stand out.

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A random democratic Texan i ran across at the next joint voluntarily noted the slowness of the city today. A nearby bartender agreed. Triangulation, folks. A little outside affirming of ideas. We've got qualitative research at its best goin on here in the off-hours.
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On another note, Halloween happened earlier this week. For the third year in a row, Elvis lived again (four years ago, it was santa). And, this year, Elvis worked brunch at Kate’s, and was tipped very well for his swagger and natural all-American, bulging-bellied, Vegas-styled charm, well,thankyouverymuch. It was a good day. So much so that, on the way to the Brooklyn-bound F train that would take Elvis to the Brooklyn "Kid and Dog Halloween Parade" to meet up with Roo, the soccer player (he’s a dog), my bro in law, the referee, and my sis, the awesomely coiffed and pastel sweatsuited soccer mom, after work ended, Elvis didn’t mind one bit stopping to arm windmill/hip swivel not one, but two times to the mass “hey Elvis” calls launched from smokers out front of bars. Keeping true to form, Elvis ended up very lost in the new area of NY, and, much to her dismay, also ended up dropping her beloved huge silver bikerElvis sunglasses in the midst of the increasing directional disorientation. But, while the parade had ended by the time it was found (also pretty true to form), the finally located happy family members and close knit groups of boyantly jubilant, home-bound costumed people and pets that crossed Elvis' widely wandering paths up and down the leaf covered streets and sidewalks of Park Slope were so warm and entertaining that nothing really felt missed in the end. A very good Halloween for Elvis (thankyouverymuch).

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On a more personal level, following last week's last-minute mad dash from the east cost to the midwest (aaaaah) back to the east coast, right back to a long Sunday shift waiting tables, then right into a new job, i have come down with a doozy of a cold. Can’t really pin point where it’s based, but, if i had to guess, it’s coming up from somewhere deep and evil in my chest. Feels like stuff is going on down there. My lymph nodes in my throat have already been taken out, and i am pretty deeply into one of those winter weary, whole body achy, phlegm-a-comin sicknesses. And it's forboding. My least favorite feeling. Have been cutting way, way back on smoking since moving out here, and haven’t taken a puff since getting back from CU five days ago. Also been packing my after-work hours with lots of to-do work, from walking clear across Manhattan in search of the UPS office to pick up packages before they're returned to sender and carrying big boxes of the goods from the far west side to the far east side back home, to working my slow-as-haell election day 6 til close shift at the restaurant after the 9-5 day in the 'scraper (where i can see the Empire State Building out the window. It's less than a block away. i'll write more on the amazingness of the city from the 13th floor in a lata post). But, yea. Been burning those candles da-own this week. Maybe that’s part of the issue. We'll see how things progress. Right now, though, i am feeling a little blue to be starting my first week of work meeting the peopo in less-than-tip-top shape and resulting worn enthusiasm. But, i'm fighting it with a heaping helping of denial, clementines (yum, clementines), and water. Summoning up the up "coke-eye" energy when introduced to folks, and, luckily, being given lots of down time to read materials and settle in this week. i'm holding out for Saturday, when i plan to just sleep in, go to the park to finish my book, eat a big lunch, then siesta. Oh, how i love the siesta. Very much love in my heart for the big lunch/siesta combo. Can't wait.

Ok. Here's a quote from somewhere around me in the last week regarding, i think, NY -- “Nobody cares here what you do. Nobody cares if you play music. Shit, nobody cares if you wear a freshly dead gopher over yer left shoulder walking down the street, or if you are surrounded by cops and on the ground. You do what you do, and don’t look to othas to help. At least this is how it seems to work in some circles here.”

And a last little sumthin -- It is getting colder here. With the "no smokin in public places" ordinance, it’s pretty common to see people holding unlit cigarettes talking to others in a bar. Though it is still illegal, i have found a few places where, later into the night, the bartender allows smoking. It’s nothing to bank on – it’s all totally based on the personal discretion of the bartender. Either he (it’s always been a he) lights up, or the nod is given to one close asker from the otha side of the bar, in which case, the approval is given, others ask if they can join in too, and once a critical mass of at least three has been reached, cigs appear like wildfire throughout the bar. As a result, the the room gets louder and quicker almost immediately. It's like being at a basement party when the parents go to bed -- a confined group of carefully guarded outlaws-at-heart letting true colors show, and, in the tiniest most fleeting way, bonding together over an unveiling of a shared sin and the possibility of taking a role in the scandalous new secret ahead. A limited amount of small tumblers filled partly with water are given out to the charter smokers as ashtrays that they generally share with others. Unfailingly, someone asks the bartender if they sell cigs (uh, don’t ever do this in NY), a few folks run down the street to one of the many all-night corner fruit stand/flower market/convenience stores to gear up, people smoke and drink away as the edges of compartmentalized isolation that seem to rule interaction here are allowed to blur a little bit more, and the night, she continues to ramble on.

ok. Signing off formal Post #1. Add some comments, won'tcha? i'll write more later!

xo
aimee