Friday, May 18, 2007
"Has to be a Freak"
Yesterday I saw a show at UCB by a couple FOUND men celebrating their newest issue of "Dirty FOUND".
For anyone out of the FOUND loop:
http://www.foundmagazine.com/
After my new (or is it renewed… I did listed to it on NPR in my younger years) obsession with the "This American Life" podcast (http://www.thisamericanlife.org/Radio_Podcast.aspx) as well as my never-ending love for the documentary, finding FOUND pretty much rounds out my "things to humor/confuse/fascinate/help me understand that which makes us human".
As I mentioned, this was Dirty FOUND…. the XXX stuff that people have come upon and sent in. The show (or was it a presentation? ...it was on PowerPoint…. I'm going with "presentation" to make it official) included a multiple page manual found in a 9th grade classroom on how to orally please a women, prison letters with obscene Fred Flintstones sketched in the margins, blueprints on how to create the ultimate condom, "giving it away for free" posters, and photos, photos, photos (which included the "too dirty for the magazine" photo entitled "Pete's Hole" where "Pete" -one assumes that is his name as it is written across his ass in what looks to be sharpie- shows the photographer a cool bendy trick which allows for his own self pleasure… orally.)
I couldn't help but imagine the people who were discovering these things and what their reactions might have been. For some reason I feel like "Pete's Hole" was found by a group of Girl Scouts on the streets selling cookies or a kid who upturned it under his grandmother's couch cushions.
One can only hope.
All in all it was a great evening- friends, laughs, love (I totally fell in love with the "red hoodie boy" who works at the magazine… perhaps because of his slight resemblance to Ira Glass) and a cool PBR to wash it all down.
Monday, May 14, 2007
spring is for crazies
New York provides a strange net of anonymous solitude even at
(especially at) it's most crowded. I suppose this is a city survival
tactic. (You can't get all up and in everyone's bizznazzz. Think of
the chaos! Plus we're jaded and cool; we rock the "you can't do or
say anything to surprise me you mo-fo" attitude.) This "I'm in my
world, you stay pleasantly in yours" is taken to an extreme at times.
(Cite my friend who got shot in the back of the leg with a pellet and,
bleeding on the ground, received no help; also cite my strange
comfortability with the idea of dressing on subways. I have yet to
actually implement the idea of creating a makeshift dressing room on
days when I am running late; however, the notion that I am even
playing with the idea should say something. And yes, I did just
compare getting shot to titillating the N train.)
People can talk to themselves all they want, and even I (sane) have made a small habit of it. It's just strange on the street
when someone breaks out of their bubble and into your world.
There are only a handful of situations where one finds it appropriate
(more like expects) to have the wall broken. They are almost all
annoying but are as follows: 1) people with booklets (prayer, sales,
clubs, shows, promotions) 2) people with problems (think drugged out
crazy-in-the-eyes, food/money, here's a song and dance number 3)
leering men.
I'm actually going to stay with number three for awhile because I find
it the most offensive/hilarious, which tends to be a combination I'm
attracted to delve into. As the summer grows warmer, and as I am not
a Mormon, the men tend to find it more appropriate to be
inappropriate. I think most all of my female friends would attest to
the connection between increased temperatures as it relates to
increased cat calls.
Favorite Leering Men Line:
(As I'm on my cell phone talking to my mother, man approaches also on
a cell phone)
Big'n Tubbie: "Hey! Hey!"
Me, politely interrupting my kind and wonderful mother: "Yes?"
Big'n Tubbie: "It's my girlfriend on the phone."
Me:*quizzical, oh-how-nice-what-can-I-do-for-you look*
Big'n Tubbie: "She says you can come home with me tonight.YYEEEEAAAAAAA"
Me: *mortified*
My mother: "Who was that? Are you safe? Where are you??........."
Last week I was walking around the City and the men were especially
nasty. It just so happened that later in the day I was with a very
large male friend of mine in the same neighborhood and all was
squelched. How horrid that men will not make comments as to not
offend another man, but when a woman is alone….. And what IS the best
way to deal with that?? Ignore? Get mad? Give the finger?? Anyway,
I will cease my Gloria Steinman rant, but still, it is quite
infuriating and just plain wrong.
To the crux of my story (which is actually very short and I am deeply
embarrassed on the incredible length it has taken for me to get here):
a few days back a well dressed, attractive, lawyer-looking, WASP-y
female in her upper thirties was on the train listening to her ipod.
She was belting, BELTING power ballads to herself. (Herself=everyone
on the train). Everyone was kind of giggling nervously and unsure of
how to react. This was a seemingly "normal" looking person, sane of
mind, not asking for money, barging her way into everyone's bubble.
People made eyes at each other; I made a soft comment to the person
next to me about American Idol. It was fun. It was interesting. I
was "with" the people on the train. It was all very communal, and I
liked it. I always have been very annoyed when the randoms barge
their way into my City bubble but this was a rare occasion. And
that's all. Yea to Amy or Brittney or Anne or Jennifer and her
Aerosmith. I tip my hat to you. Sing on sister, sing on.
Friday, May 11, 2007
ooo... it ends with a button!
The street around the corner from my office (27th between 7th and Avenue of the Americas) is lined with an array of small flower shops where one can find pretty much everything a-la plant: whole sale, specialized, pots and containers, bouquets, single stemmed, trees, bushes, etc, etc, etc.
At the beginning of spring I thought how unusual it was that they sold little patches of grass. I also thought it was odd how much I was attracted to it; now, in the dirty City, it seems so fresh and new. I actually contemplated its purchase and how nice it would be to have a bit of green in my room. I soon went on to question upkeep and how I would mow it (with scissors??) and decided to pass.
A few days ago I walked down the street to a familiar scent as bundles of long lilac branches in large barrels sat outside each shop. There truly isn't anything for me that so conjures reminiscent familial thoughts as the sight and smell of the lovely purple flowers.
I grew up with a lilac bush "fence" that divided our lot to the one next. The area under the bushes became a natural play place due to the location near my swing set as well as the way it created an organic fort in the sparse areas between each bush. For a few short weeks in the spring the plants would bloom and fill my yard with their potent scent. My father would frequently cut a large bouquet for my mother who would use it as a spring center piece as we would sit for dinner together every night as a family.
To me the flowers were a true symbol of love and friendship. They were free and easily accessible. All one had to do was take a bit of time and care to show a person how they felt about them, gifting them with flowers. It wasn't a money thing; it wasn't a store thing. It was a natural, from the earth, true and thoughtful gift.
I'm so mixed on seeing the bushes now for sale between the roses and tulips. It just seems wrong to me on some level. But I suppose for better or worse that's just New York. And even if it's next to a big pile of trash, I'm still going to smell the flowers.
Sunday, May 06, 2007
Equis Eat Your Heart Out
John (my good Syracuse friend and partner in sketch) and I decided to go to "Zoo" last week. There is something about this film that is incredibly sick and appealing at the same time.
True: In 2005 man dies of a perforated colon in Seattle after having sex with a horse.
Generally, while many people may be able to turn away from the horrific, I have always been unable to control my curiosity, especially when it comes to things that are slightly sick and completely unconceivable to the bourgeois class. Throw in a logistical challenge such as horse sex and I have to watch.
I've always been fascinated with trying to understand people and the circumstances in which they live (which is why I love the documentary genre in general). "Zoo" people are no exception. Who are they? What is their point of view? Are they lonely farmers? Completely nuts? Animal abusers? People who have a hoof fetish? Incredibly cheap folks who don't want to pay for dinner to get some lovin'?
As one can imagine, the movie was incredibly disturbing. True there is only one very blurry, very brief shot of actually human/animal intimacy. However, the audio interviews are put to reenacted film, which is beautifully shot, and the juxtaposition between a stunning composition and unsettling audio creates a nauseous dreamscape for the audience.
For days after I viewed the film I continued to think about it with an almost physically reaction of repulsion in response. There is just something so horrifying about a man bleeding to death by a large horse tearing his insides apart.
However, even after all of that, I am incredibly glad I saw the film and whole hardily recommend it.
Another thought on the movie.
Tuesday, May 01, 2007
Her Face is the Map of the World, Is the Map of the World
It has been such a long time since I blogged. Ug. So busy.
Why? What have I been up to a quizzical mind might ask?
Well, let me sum it up in four words: work, work, work, work.
I have been continuing my job as Ugly Betty meets The Devil Wears Prada. I don't believe I have shared my employment stories, but if you have seen either of these fine pieces of entertainment you pretty much have a good idea of what my employment responsibilities entail. They run the gamete from trekking across the city to find a certain pair of black designer pumps, hanging up jackets, and signing children up for summer camp to dealing with high end fashion editors and designers, creating client presentations, assisting in planning events, etc. etc. etc.
When I was being trained I was told, "Ms. Boss {not her real name} HATES exclamation points. Never use them in your correspondence. Just don't EVER, EVER use them." (Oh punctuation censorship!)
I work from 9 to 6 with a one-hour lunch.
IN. MY. DREAMS.
I get in at 9 (except today when she wanted me to meet early… then she didn't show up until 11:30). I hardly get a chance to eat; it's a dream when I get a working lunch. I never, never get out of the office at 6… it's more like 7…or even later. Then, even after I leave, the cell phone is still fair game. Twenty-four hour access people.
Today I arrived at work and was told I would be assisting on an event beginning at 6 PM. Because I was unaware, I was in the incorrect apparel. I got a full Devil Wears Prada style makeover will the sample closet at my fingertips. KT Turnstall's "Suddenly I See" (opening to The Devil Wears Prada) got stuck in my head as I tried on a couple little black designer dresses.All in all I actually really like my job. Something with that much pressure works well with my personality. I like anticipating a person's needs and staying on top of the game. My boss is a very strong but fair woman. She knows what she wants and refuses anything less. I really respect that. She also is quite smart, definitely not a flaky fashion diva.
And lets be honest. If I'm getting paid, cell phones aren't being hurled toward my head, and I'm not being called fat on a daily basis I'm game for the time being.
Thursday, April 05, 2007
home sweet home
After a stint of reported glorious weather, Minnesota greeted me with snow and freezing temperatures.
My parents left today for New Zealand/Australia leaving me and my siblings.
Happy Easter.
Wednesday, March 28, 2007
that's life
I occasionally get this really odd feeling, which becomes more prevalent when I've recently moved. Right before I wake up or fall asleep, stuck in the between of pseudo-consciousness and unconscious, I get a complete faux-sensory experience of being in one of the many beds from past bedrooms. I can literally picture myself in the bed where I slept in Redwood, at my Grandma's old farm, in my bed in London, and at my multiple sleep holes in Syracuse. I wake up confused because I have so perfectly tricked myself into thinking I was waking up in one of them. I can feel the orientation of the bed, can picture how I felt in it, and have an expectation as to what I should see when I first open my eyes. This is especially true when I wake up to domestic doings or people talking in another room; it reminds me very much of living together with my large family in Redwood or being at my Grandma's house. It makes me nostalgic and a little sad. I will never be in those beds again nor will I be in the circumstances that put me there. Perhaps it's strange that my underlying sadness of growing up can be boiled down to a bed, but these are the things that seem to get to me more than anything else in my growing up, moving on/moving out young adult experience.
Tuesday, March 20, 2007
what you don't want to see on the NYC subway...
One fully dressed Fireman.
Yes. On the N train. As it was pulling out of the 57th street station. One of the worst things one can see boarding a subway car in New York.
Three FULLY DRESSED firefighters boarded MY SUBWAY CAR, looked like they were searching for something, then got off suddenly. The train was stalled for five, silent, panic-filled minutes before it pulled away from the tracks.
Now, I have a suggestion for our people of fire fighting to soften the image, put people more at ease. Things would have been a bit more pleasant if this was the official uniform: 
He could have boarded by subway train any day.
Sunday, March 18, 2007
oh brother
One week of work down.
After the first day I freaked out when I realized I had to go in the next day....and then the next day...and the next day, etc.
I am not made for regular employment.
However, I think this place might be the best for me if I have to work somewhere. I like a fast paced environment, and I feel a little bit important because of all the clients' comings and goings. (I mean when you speak to Roberto Cavalli on the phone you don't want to fuck anything up. I like that pressure).
My home life has been interesting dealing with the boys. (Twins, friends from Syracuse) I feel like I have two brothers. And for any of you who have brothers you know they can be a bit..... how do I saw....annoying. ESPECIALLY when you are trying to watch Oprah and someone pulls out PhotoBooth on their Macbook.
Photographic evidence:
Watching Oprah...wanting to relax.
Robbie not liking the subject matter of "Actresses ageing in Hollywood"
The annoyance begins...
and continues.
Until we reach the crux of our relationship.Tuesday, March 13, 2007
for my court case, just in case, i be insane
Current mood: weird
I don't like to feel "stuck". If it isn't apparent already, I become very antsy and frustrated in life quite easily, especially if I'm away from my hobo-fluid lifestyle. This "stuck" feeling always seems to manifest itself in a big purge: chopping off my hair, losing weight, throwing out perfectly good items.
I am trying my best, yet again, not to take sheers to my head. I refuse to do it.
Now, in retaliation of not accepting the "hair cutting challenge", I seem to be going crazy.
I give you proof:
After a 16 hour day in uncomfortable, heeled boots, I was waiting for the N or W train at Lexington Ave to go home. I was exhausted. In my right ear I heard a thick, Latina voice state, "Every three years since I was nine- Three years, three years, three years." EXCEPT NO ONE WAS THERE. I mean it was clear as day (true I was completely out of it and overtired.. but still...I heard it).
Instead of thinking I was crazy like a normal person, I thought "Hmmm... how interesting." (Further proof of being a complete nut case). I took out a pen and paper and went with it. In the next 30 seconds I wrote on both sides of a Washington Mutual brochure in tiny scrawled writing:
Every three years since I was nine
Three years, three years, three years
My mother lost her mother
I eventually lost mine
Every three years
three years at a time
Every three years I cut off my hair
Extract, shave, clip, clean
And every three years my mother cries
Every three years at a time
She saves my hair
but throws out the teeth
Nails kept taped in a book page crease
And every three years
they are thrown away
purge, starve, dark, died
And every three years
I truly can see
Every three years at a time
I looked at it. What did this mean to me? What sort of Nostradamus- like message could I extract from this spontaneous, unconscious garble ?
Like awaking from a coma, I suddenly came to my senses.
IT MEANT I WAS COMPLETELY INSANE.
I had written a "poem" based on a Latina "voice".
A LATINA GHOST MADE ME DO IT.
I'm not sure what exactly to think of this whole event... any words from the wise?
(P.S. Words will only be accepted by real mouths attached to real bodies. Thanks.)
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Workin' Girl
I've been interested in exploring PR for a creative firm for awhile now. I think I would be good at it- thinking out of the box, working with creative people, planning events, making everything lovely. I think it really takes advantage of my Libra-ness.
so......
I GOT A JOB!!
I am starting a position at a fashion PR firm, C&M Media, beginning on Monday. I am assisting one of the publicists with both PR and personal arrangements (ie Devil Wears Prada...we'll see how that goes.)
The company focuses on Italian designers; I'm just praying for a free handbag.
Although I am salaried, it's not large. I do get a reevaluation 6 months after I begin to discuss a raise, and I also get health insurance after 3 months.
Anyway, it's a start.
And that's all I need.
Tuesday, March 06, 2007
Anna Nicole part deux
My friends from Syracuse (and now NYC) have put together an actually well done video and totally offensive Anna Nicole Smith Tribute song.
One warning: they definitely weren't musical theater men.
Well done boys, well done.
Monday, March 05, 2007
bed borrowed and totally sketch: my craigs list odyssey
I have been on a craigs list kick to find some sort of furnishings (bed, desk, side table, dresser... what I have deemed my "necessaries" when it comes to a bedroom environment).
I had one requirement: cheap.
Today I was fed up in the search and decided to jump on a posting as it read:
"really GREAT furniture for practically NOTHING!!! - $40 (Upper East Side):
can't stand my ex, so I can't stand my furniture... but it's REALLY AMAZING! black Ikea couch (like new) it WAS $400... ikea full bed with wood frame and mattress... it WAS $600 for frame and mattress... lime green stained dresser, TV stand AND corner wall picture frame holder (very cool)... STAPLES computer desk... ORIENTAL RUG (goegeous) it WAS $400...I'm giving all of this stuff away for $40 per item... just need it gone! It's a 4 floor walk up so if you can get it out, then you can have it for PRACTIALLY NOTHING!!First to e-mail me gets it! Thanks!!"
I called and she said I could have the bed, dresser, and a side table if I came tonight. Great.
Now the biggest problem: a moving "team". I had two hours to locate some sort of transportation and came across this lovely craigs list posting:
"MAN WITH MINI VAN AND HELPING HAND +CHEAPEST ON CL+LAST MINUTE MOVER:
HELLO I'M A MAN WITH A MINI VAN AND HELPING HAND HERE TO ASSIST IN ALL YOUR MOVING NEEDS. I'M AVAILABLE FOR YOU LAST MINUTE MOVING AND LABOR FOR A GREAT PRICE. I'M AVAILABLE FROM 8AM TO 11PM 7 DAYS A WEEK. I HAVE THE BEST PRICE YOU WILL FIND FOR YOUR MOVE.EXTRA MEN AVAILABLE IF NEEDED AND LAST MINUTE MOVE FREINDLY. SO GIVE ME A CALL NOW TO GET YOUR THINGS MOVED NOW. "
Again in the heading: cheap.
I have found if you aren't willing to pay things tend to be a bit sketch.
The moving "team": two twenty something urban fellows in a blue Plymouth. The four floor walk up: five floor walk up. Woman selling her stuff: still a woman selling her stuff but manically unhappy about her ex-boyfriend.
Although the mattress was a bit dirty and the bed frame had cat scratches in it, it was, very much, cheap. I would take it.
After the land lady bitched (and BITCHED) about the noise the move was making (as well as the apartment dweller not recycling) and grabbing some extra pillows and frames, I decided I had gotten enough to finally make my room a bit "roomy".
As the young men drove me and my things to my home in Queens, I texted Paul. "It's okay, but if I don't come home in an hour call the cops."
Home and $200 poorer (half in the actually things, half in the moving) my room is shaping up nicely thus proving once again that in my life and hopefully yours cheap does not mean lack of classy chic.
Thank god for craigs list.
Wednesday, February 28, 2007
If I Can Make It Here
Well, I'm now in New York.
I've been walking all over the city wanting to puke and cry at the same time. I AM OVERWHELMED. I landed last night, slept on the floor (for four hours) got up at 6 am and traversed the city. I had four long and excruciating interviews. I have three more tomorrow and another on Friday. I do not have a bed yet. This is horrid.
I miss my mother.
Although I take her teachings with me.
As we were leaving Fergus Falls my mom pinched my fingers between the car and my luggage as we were loading the car. As I was whimpering she stated, "Well at least you didn't get them chopped off." This is the response for any hard time. Don't feel well? "At least you aren't getting tortured in some underground army base." Don't like the food? "At least you aren't eating weird insects." My mom can think of the worst possible scenario and throw it at any slightly uncomfortable one. This way one always can think of any situation they are in and think, "Well it's not that bad." You aren't getting tortured, you aren't being eating alive. You are fine. You are actually really quite lucky.
My friends, I am having a hard time in New York.
But I could be in Darfur.
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