i saw the boss today

lest you think i mean the forever-awesome bruce springsteen (who probably does not shop at balducci's on the uws, as i think he has some kind of working-man's palace in jersey), i actually "who's the boss"'s TONY DANZA. i feel like tony danza is a punchline, not a famous person buying fancy cake and overpriced produce that you happen to be behind in line. what's funny is that i walked up behind him and thought "that man looks vaguely familiar--he looks like tony danza! but no, he's too short to be tony danza" (who is absolutely one of those people referred to only by first and last name, never as simply "tony".) i also thought he looked too young to be tony danza. i actually have no idea how old tony danza is, but i think he's probably kind of old, and he looked maybe 40 at the oldest in person. really tan and fit. and beautiful eyes, which i find really strange. (i am not a girl who moons over tony danza's dreamy eyes, usually.) anyways, the cashier was like "is that--" and i said "i know right?! i think it's tony danza!" and she said yes, yes it was.

this filled me with an odd sort of glee, as i trudged back to work. i don't really care about tony danza or his work or his life, but i take a silly sort of pleasure in the fact that we shop at the same gourmet market on occasion.

up in the sky! it's a bird! it's a plane! it's...

i think i'm in love. s and i have this joke (well, i have it. he sort-of laughs) that it's a good thing i don't work with jim halpert (and that he doesn't technically exist), or i would pull a pam on him. so it's not a good thing for my darling that dave eggers actually is real and clever and wonderful. but it is a good thing for him that i will never meet dave eggers, and that even if i did, he would probably ignore me. (which is generally how i feel about people who are so achingly cool.)

anyways, reasons i love dave eggers, in a semi-chronological order, eventually getting to a new york-related point:
+ s gave me "a heartbreaking work of staggering genius" to read and i was in love with it (and we had just started dating, and i thought "if this boy can give me this book, he is the one for me".) it was like reading a book that i want to write, and might even try to write, but i will never be able to write. because i cannot even describe it properly. but i did not want the book to end. ever. and i wanted to crawl inside it and live in it. in his life, even the hard parts. because the beautiful parts (made more beautiful by his prose) are so damn beautiful.
+ mcsweeneys, a periodical he co-founded and edits, is in general simply wonderful. it has a midas touch. and i want to own pretty much everything they publish ever.
+ the real reason my previously secret unrequited love is now being confessed: brooklyn superhero supply co. which is, of course, a cover-up. (those smart supers!) it's just a few blocks from us, and the first time we walked past it they were closed, but we vowed to come back. the second time, they were open and hosting a scrabble tournament. it was like walking into another world--everything is taken seriously (i took pictures, they are on the computer that has decided it no longer likes the internet), from the cloning fluid on sale to the fake identity kits (also available for purchase.) and it feels like you are in on the secret. it felt like a giddy twilight zone, a world you only ever imagined in childhood come to life.
+ it is, of course, for children, which is why i loved it so much. brooklyn superhero supply is a front for 826NYC, a non-profit that helps build creative and expository writing skills. dave and co. founded 826 valencia in san fran (the original is fronted by pirate supply), and now it has spread nationally, and is bringing words to children in new york, boston, chicago and seattle, among others. i ask you, how can you not love a man who promotes childhood literacy? through workshops and tutoring and summer programs and in-school events, they bring a love of reading and writing to children, and help them to discover their inner superhero.

i have been missing the feeling of being involved in my community recently (starting to volunteer was my one new year's resolution.) i filled out the application tonight.

in blog.mode

i had a completely peaceful, relaxing weekend. we spent saturday lazing around (as i believe i detailed in my last post on that lazy saturday.) yesterday we headed up east to the met museum (thanks again, mom, for those memberships!) being a member of the musem is wonderful, especially on a day like sunday, when every single tourist in nyc is clamoring to see the temple of dendur (thanks, project runway, for featuring the met!)

i wanted to see the costume institute, as it was closed the last time i went. currently they are exhibiting blog.mode, which seems like a random assortment of pieces from the collection (a few old dresses, a bunch of new stuff), though perhaps the theme was something like "it made people talk!" as they combined a dior new look dress with a necklace that included vials of semen. (made by simon costin, who i wish i could have studied while i was at school. his jewelry art pieces are really fantastic. and very informed by art and art history and literature and philosophy.) anyways, now i am meta-blogging, i suppose, as blog.mode had a "blog bar" set up in the middle of the exhibit so that after you looked at all the pieces you could comment on the curator's explanations. from what i understood, it was meant to be about the way technology is such a huge part of our lives and now everyone can express themselves more readily and blah blah blah. it was an interesting idea, but it didn't make for such an interesting exhibit. even though we saw some fabulous pieces by issey miyake and vivienne westwood and olivier theyskins, we just didn't have much to talk about after we left. and it's not like i went with the wrong boy; s always has lots to say after project runway.

we then spent a couple of hours rambling through the met, which i think is the best way to see the museum. since we don't have to pay, we don't have to cram the entire thing into a day and i don't get nervous that we're going to miss something and never get to see it again, so we can do things like wander through the european decorative arts galleries talking about how comfortable the sofas might be. the met is currently under more construction that i would like (i think i have another year to wait on the american wing garden, and two more years until they re-open the islamic art galleries, which i just cannot wait to see) but i understand, and i certainly thank phillipe de montebello for all of his hard work.

apres-museum, we headed down to union square to catch a movie. every year i am bound and determined to watch all the oscar nominees and i usually fall short by one or two but this year i am particularly bad, so i have been resolved to see at least another before the ceremony. last night we saw "there will be blood" and of course i had heard nothing but good about it and of course i was not at all surprised when it lived up to my expectations. it is a slow film (in the best way, that the story-telling is not rushed or conventional), and a quiet film (save for some explosions), and it is full of tension with little release, and daniel day-lewis is again of one the best things in the whole world. we dissected the plot and the characters and the story on the train home and both agreed it was an excellent film. and such an incredible score. the music i felt was like another character at times. s felt it mirrored the internal stuggles of daniel plainview. (we both agreed it totally sounded like the opening sounds to lost at some points.) sometimes i am surprised when films are nominated for oscars; in this case i most certainly am not.

today was errands and more lazing and then s went off to work and i stayed home to read the new yorker. is it possible that i am ready to go back to work? i guess i like having some structure to my days; this has felt like a real vacation.

"gutterball" sounds totally inappropriate

but in a fun way!

last night i met s, his workmates, the roommates, and eventually some college friends of the roommates at the gutter bar, which, as it sounds, is a bar with bowling. which is the best idea ever in my opinion. i LOVE bowling. like a lot of things i find hilarious and a lot of fun, i am super bad at bowling (which generally ups the hilarity on my part, and the eye-rolling on the part of my companions.) i don't necessarily want to get better, either. i've had lots of people try to coach me and it's a no-go. i am particularly bad without bumpers. oh yeah, and after a few beers.

we took the train after work, and had to wander through williamsburg, which to me usually looks like a set from a movie about hip kids living down-and-out lives. which i guess it is, and is why it appeals so much to people who are not me, who hyperventilates about walking alone down streets of what look like abandoned warehouses. i mean, i wasn't alone last night, but still. anyways, the gutter bar looks like another abandoned warehouse until you get inside and then it looks like a sweet bar. four of us were earlier (by about two hours) than everyone else, so we drank beer and told jokes and watched the place fill up. the bar and lanes are divided by old windows (it sort of looks like an old auto shop) and they have eight lanes, which means there is a bit of a wait. which also means that you get progressively more likely to be bad at bowling as the pitchers flow. there was something like eight or nine of us by the time our number got called, so we decided to bowl in loose teams. well, s and i bowled as an acceptable team, r. love and camp bowled alone, i think cole and brian also went solo, and dsil (my other roommate) occasionally let some cute girl throw it into the gutter. we were all uniformly pretty bad (i mean, no one even broke 100), but it was pretty hilarious watching us. i kept waiting to throw a ball that would skitter cartoon-style across the lanes and down someone else's gutter. i really need those bumpers, man. and speaking of bumps, i am the dumbest. i bowled some horrible bowl, and slank back to my seat and, trying to be funny, went to put my head in my hands and instead cracked my head against the chair. it hurt so bad that i actually cried. in the bar. (i have never cried in a bar before. i'm not that kind of girl.) i awoke this morning with a doozy of a bruisey (ha ha ha! i made that up this morning. so maybe there was some kind of head trauma.) but it makes me laugh now, not cry, so i think i'm gonna be ok. anyways, these are the kind of nights i need more of. i had a lot of fun, talking and drinking and laughing and meeting new people and bowling and making a fool of myself.

i worked six days this past week, swapping friday for sunday, so i am now in the midst of a glorious three day weekend. hooray for presidents! which means that today is like a free day, so it is totally ok that i slept in, ate a bagel, watched project runway, took a nap, took a shower, and am now sitting here, reading and blogging. s is working until 9-ish, and then i think we are going to a movie. tomorrow we are going to the whitney, i think (unless we go the free route and hit up the met) and monday my friend's band is playing at the knitting factory and i have promised my attendance. these three days promise to be lovely, so i in turn promise more updates. do you have weekend plans?

in honor of st. valentine

things i am loving about new york right now:

the public transportation. the subway might be grungy and occasionally held up "by an earlier incident" (umm, clarify please), but i love not having to own, pay for, drive or park a car. i can go anywhere, anytime. and it is great.

the food. from a $2 slice to a $100 meal, from the farmers market outside my office on thursdays to the new gourmet market in my neighborhood, from comfort food to exotic cuisine, new york keeps me fat and happy.

the culture. i can't wait for the new cai guo-qiang show at the guggenheim that i got to watch getting installed. (the art historian in me was nerdily over-excited to witness that.) i get to go to the knitting factory monday to see my friend's band play. with a three-day weekend (i am trading sunday for tomorrow), i plan on dragging s to a museum and a movie and maybe an opening.

the people. i realized today that while i really miss my college friends, and i like that i sometimes get to see the people i know who also moved here, i am so glad i chose to strike out on my own. i know a lot of people who are still hanging out with the people they have always hung out with. and while i miss the security of old friends, and i certainly do not begrudge anyone the chance to continue to see each other, i am excited to be making new friends who don't already know the stupid, embarassing things i have done. they just get the joy of discovering all new mortifying moments with me.

the freedom. new york doesn't care who i am, which means i can become exactly who i want to be.

the boy. we had a lovely valentine's day. i made a fancy-schmancy dinner while he chatted with me in the kitchen, we ate out on the ping-pong table (ooh, moving up in the world), we snuggled and watched lost and ate strawberry trifle. he makes this city more bearable when i want to pack it all in, and he makes this life a little brighter when it seems to have lost its glow. i love you, fuss. no, you're the greatest.

i love you too, blog. what do you love?

elevator music?

last night, after a particularly long day (though fruitful, as i got to take all of the leftover wine home!) we were waiting on the 66th street platform and a flautist was playing solo from the beatles songbook. it veered between recognizable and not, though i do think the songs sound better in full-band form. these are just the sort of random moments i only have here in this city full of every kind of person.

(flautist: a person who plays the flute, which i only clarify because the ten-year-old in me is giggling over the fact that it sounds like something else. that's the same part that thinks it is sort-of funny that i have to say "pianist" all the time at work.)

anyways, that boyfriend who always has to work does not in fact have to work tonight, so i am done with blogs and we are going to hang out. hurray!

oh, and thank you to all who wrote the very kind, not-at-all rip-shreddy comments on my previous post. keep reading, and i will try not to disappoint.

an exercise in optimism

i prefer being friends with smart people, especially smart women. i would rather talk to you than get drunk with you, and like it when we disagree because that brings up real discourse; i can actually learn something new.

my friend jay is a very good writer. and she is also a real thinker; she loves ideas, books, art, film, music, fashion. (just go read the blog, ok?) but she recently posted this, which i really want to respond to. in large part because i am one of those happy people she so fully distrusts.

updated: if you do not want to read about me, skip down to the last two or three paragraphs.

i want to start by re-iterating my goals for this blog, my exercise in optimism. i think too often we move to new york, mobilized by some romantic ideal about the city and what it means for our creative or innovative or professional lives. and then we deal with the daily grind of packed public transportation and bodegas that only take cash and paying a lot for a very little space and the aggressive disappointments of working too hard for too little money. (unless of course, you are lucky and can live in a larger lap of luxury than i will ever experience.) and so our new york blogs begin to reflect that wearing down or wearing thin, and instead of remembering why we did this to ourselves in the first place, what motivated all of us to seek out new york, when there are so many other places we could have chosen, we begin to give in to the crank, the whine, the complaint.

and i wanted to avoid that. this blog is my reminder of what brought me to this place, helps me look beyond the things that get me down (and there are things--i am no pollyanna) to the things that bring me back up. and for me, those things are times with my friends, my boy, a funny story from my commute, the chance to experience something new (great art, contemporary music, delicious if overpriced food), and even sometimes the things that i could do anywhere. like watching tv. i like lost. so sue me. i put my stories out here, on this blog as a reminder to me (and anyone else who stumbles on this, though i think usually it's just for me) that there is magic in this overwhelming city. and that i will find that magic, that it will brighten my days. that i will overcome my disappointments, my tired feet, my empty wallet, my sloping bed, my ten-hour days, my boring fridge, my nights alone, my nights in, my nights out.

this blog is not all of me. it is the part of me that i like best, however. the part that is inspired by life, by the world around me. the part that wants to try new things, go new places, meet new people. this me still knows why she came here in the first place, why she lives with this boy, why she works at this job, why she knows that while it doesn't feel like it now, she will make a difference in the world. and so if this me is the only one you know, i can understand why i seem a little naive. like maybe i don't understand how the world works. or that i am "bourgeois." this is what i have chosen to record for myself, this is what i want to remember about this period in my life. i mean, i will remember it all (and i am pretty good at holding onto sleights and disappointments), but this is what i am keeping a record of.

so i apologize if i seem like i am bragging about how great my life is. i can understand why you might think you wouldn't like me. that i am not cool enough, that i wouldn't be fun to take out on the town. so in the interest of fairness, to show you that i am not happy all the time, here are the things that get me down:

my boyfriend works two jobs. one is an unpaid internship in the field of his dreams (an unpaid internship with no finite end, i might add), the other an hourly gig that pays the bills while he slaves at said internship. this means that i only get to see him when he kisses me goodnight at 3 am, when i kiss him good bye at 8 am, and on friday nights and saturday afternoons. (this is only recently, however. we spent a few months long-distance, and it was not easy. in fact, it was awful.) so if you thought the crazy hours i refer to meant he was raking in some finance money or legal practice cash, think again. i haven't seen him in the daylight since last saturday. and that sucks. a lot. and the only reason i put up with it is because i love him so damn much.

i have a very nice job, but it is not what i want to do. it is only sort-of the field i want to work in, and while i like my immediate co-workers, i often disagree with things that happen. and i get yelled at a lot. not by my bosses, but by upper west side moms who are really angry that i left them voicemails they didn't listen to about canceled private lessons. i have to say "i'm sorry" a lot, which is exhausting. and i work long days and i don't get paid enough. i don't complain about it on here in part because i get a lot of venting done on the ride home with my work friends, and in part because i don't think it is interesting. everyone's job sucks sometimes, and who wants to listen to that?

i live with four boys, whom i like very much, but they are messy. and while the kitchen isn't so bad, i don't think anyone has ever vacuumed the living room. where there is a ping-pong table instead of one of the dining variety. our bedroom has no heat and is often a different temperature than the rest of the house. it used to be a porch, and it slopes down towards the windows that don't close all the way. i often have to listen to my roommates talk about fucking girls from bars. (and while i know a lot of this is in jest, and they don't have great records since this hasn't happened since i've lived here, it is enough machismo to make a girl awfully glad that she has someone already. even if she won't see him for three more days. even though they live together.)

i am thin-skinned. when "steevel" posted my first anonymous comment (which i could quote to you verbatim), about how much my boyfriend and i are ruining new york, i felt sick. when i got yelled at for the fourth time on thursday, after working two days by myself (poor mk was home sick), and i was describing it on the phone to the boyfriend i just wanted to be held by, i cried. i have spent a lifetime feeling badly because people have not liked me, and it bothers me. and i completely admit it. i shouldn't care what other people think of me, but i do. and i know when you don't like me. i know when you think i am dumb, or unattractive, or terminally uncool. i have enough practice, thanks to middle school, to know when you don't want to be my friend, and that's why you don't call me back. and i care. a lot. not enough to change who i am, just enough to get hurt.

so if you think my blog is sappy instead of uplifting, if you think i am naive instead of an optimist, if you think i am bragging instead of sharing, i am sorry you feel that way, but i am not sorry that i feel this way. and these are things i REFUSE to apologize for:

i AM an optimist. i always look for the good in people. i often get hurt, but i don't stop looking. and i like that about myself.

i WANT to share what makes me happy. i am hoping that you will share right back. or discover something new.

i will NOT post the things that frustrate me on this blog. this is my one-time major over-share. i want you to know i am human. but this is not what this blog is for. this is my one place to remind myself of the good in life, in people, and in this city.

i am not lying to you when i say that i am happy. i am not covering anything up. happiness is not the only emotion i feel, but it is the one i choose to share. i think it is more interesting to be friends with someone with a passion for life. my life has never been easy; i have dealt with a lot of things that i would have preferred not to. but they do not color the rest of my life. i will not walk into every new friendship or relationship or experience thinking that it will turn out just like the last one. i want the best from everyone and everything; i don't always get it. more often i don't get it. but i never stop expecting it. i believe in people, i believe in life, i believe in love. and i know that means i will probably never write the kind of book that people discuss while drinking black coffee and wildly gesticulating in some corner cafe. (if that even still happens.) i will never paint a portrait that distorts and distends, that creates a whole new kind of art. (in large part because i cannot draw. but i can appreciate such art. i mean i wrote my thesis on female performance artists, i can admire and understand and critique such things.) i will never write music that makes the theatre riot. (go look it up. stravinsky.) because i make things for me, things that appeal to me, and you've probably guessed by now that i am not a particularly dark girl.

which brings me to an actual critique of jay's piece about art and happiness. or art and contentment, i suppose. (and congrats to anyone who has made it past my inane blatherings about myself to the part that even vaguely resembles something intellectual.) i disagree with the posit that to make great art, you must be melancholy. i think that that is a dangerous idea. as someone who has lived with and loved clinically depressed creatives, i think it is false to suggest that to make great art you must be sad. desirous of change, yes, interested in "the darker emotions and facets of human nature ...[or working] at discovering what it actually means to be human and to ask difficult, ugly questions about what the hell we're all doing here", yes. definitely. i think most art is motivated by a quest for understanding the world around us. but why must this also mean depressed? as an art historian (which i totally get to call myself now that i have a degree and everything), i am afraid of the argument that to be truly great you must also be profoundly depressed. and it is an argument we make all the time. snobber even brings up the classic example of van gogh (saying "now, that is not to say i am for psychosis, although i think sometimes it helps"), as the "good" kind of psychosis. van gogh made art while healthy and unhealthy. he was more inspired by japanese prints than by his deep mental illness. in fact, he and family members felt that his health got in the way of his art. and he himself sought treatment, wanting to get better, treatment that (obviously) did not end up helping him. i feel that too often in the art world (and the music and film worlds) we are compelled to say "if only they could have gotten some help. what a tragedy they died, what great art did we miss out on?"

i am not an advocate for medicating or changing anyone. and maybe this is not a great argument, as i have not yet worked out what i am for. all i know is that i am angered by the idea that a happy person cannot make great art. if i am extrapolating, jay, i apologize, but i disagree with what i understand to be your theory: that a "happy" person has no desire to search, to understand, to question. that to wish to better understand the world or change the world, you must also be depressed. i think it is because you and i define happiness differently. i think that for you, it is an incomplete emotion, a shallow one, that masks something deeper. (and the deeper, you believe, is sadness.) but to me, sadness is an inert emotion, one that says "i have given up on this." i don't like to feel sad because i do not like to wallow. i do not seek out things that make me sad (but i do deal with things that make me sad. i do not ignore them--i think that is unhealthy.) i seek out the things that give me joy, the people that make me smile, the experiences that inspire me. if something makes me sad, i want to find a way to change it, i want to solve the problem. i think that great art is a struggle, the struggle to understand life and the world around us. but i think that people can desire that struggle even if they are not sad.

anyways, i have been typing for too long now. i would love to hear your comments. even if you want to rip me to shreds; i can take it. it might make me cry, but it will also probably make me happy.

spotted on the train

a scottish cop (a scopsman? aha ha ha ha.) full new york blue on top, FULL kilt and regalia on bottom, including spats and those horse-hair purses and a skirt and little star-bead chain. i think he must be really committed to his scottish heritage, because otherwise i can't imagine he would put up with all the ribbing down at the precinct.

i so rarely see a full kilt. even when i was in scotland, i don't think i saw a kilt. i love kilts. what wonderful male formal wear.

new modern

every once in awhile we get to do things that are totally out of the ordinary, and tonight s and i enjoyed just such an experience. i got tickets to "fred sherry plays zorn" through my work, an hour plus of experimental modern cello music. i played the cello for about eight years and i love the instrument--it has a sound like the human voice, and it truly sings, from the low low dug out notes and to the ethereal high harmonics--but this was the cello like i had never heard it. the first piece "777" was three cellos playing simultaneously, occasionally in unison (which was always a pleasant surprise) but usually out of synch, careening from low to high and sliding back down, with aggressive pizzicatos and delicate tremolos. it was so unusual i couldn't help but smile. the trio for piano, violin and cello was my favorite; john zorn (the composer) described it as inspired by andre breton (an artist i have studied and am intrigued by) and with the goal of being lyrical and french. it sounded like the soundtrack to a dream, but a dream that cannot decide if it is good or bad. it was intense music, sometimes achingly sweet, sometimes jarring and suspenseful. i really enjoyed it. the third piece was dedicated to the artist joseph cornell, whose work i really admire and enjoy, but the piece was not my favorite of the three. the works were peppered with discussion between fred sherry, the cellist, and john zorn, the composer (moderated by charles wuorinen, another modern composer, who came off a little like an overeager professor.) oh, and it was at the guggenheim, which happens to be my most favorite museum in nyc. (they were working to install a new show while we were there which i cannot wait to go see.)

i like stretching myself, experiencing new art forms, learning something instead of just going through the daily motions. (you know, like being the reason nyc sucks now.) it was a totally wonderful night, the kind of magical night i could only have in this city in which something new is always happening.

date night

i know you're totally sick of me talking about what i've gotten to eat recently, but restaurant week ends tonight, so bear with me.

i love my boyfriend. a lot. (so much so that i teared up on the train last night as i headed down to meet him, thinking about how much i love him.) but he works crazy hours and i have a weird weekend, so i don't get to see him as much as i might want to, so i was extra excited when we made plans to go out to dinner at the mercer kitchen last night to celebrate our three year anniversary (technically on monday, but i have a feeling we'll make it through the weekend.) i left work early and stood on the street waiting for him. it still makes me smile to see him walking towards me, makes me smile even larger to see his smile when he sees me. he's a handsome boy, my boy, and we looked good last night. maybe like we even belong in some fancy soho restaurant. mercer kitchen feels special (even without tablecloths, as s teased me.) we sat downstairs, below ground, in a cozy dining room with bricked walls and mirrors and candles and soft conversation and single lillies in vases and wonderful cucumber-mint martinis. we toasted our three years together with speeches and smiles. for dinner (i know you're reading for the food, not the love) we forewent the restaurant week menu and both had the butternut squash soup with black trumpet mushrooms. they bring you a plate with a bowl on it with tiny green onions and mushrooms and cubed squash in still-life and then they pour the pureed soup into your bowl table-side from a silver samovar. soup never felt so special! (also: absurdly delicious. oh my gosh. two great soups this week.) s was a major fan of his roasted chicken and mashed potatoes ("almost as good as grandma's", he pronounced, high-praise from a boy who often talks about his grandma's mashed potatoes) and i enjoyed my thin italian pizza. it was a lovely dinner.

and this is how i know we are perfect for each other: we decided to skip dessert to make it home in time to see the season premiere of lost. it took forevs, between the r train and its bajillion stops on the way to the f (though we got to hear the sweet sounds of the subtations! i love them! and they gave s fist pounds for his girlfriend! who gave them a dollar.) we were invited to various viewing parties, but my wicked cold (thanks, workday fever) kept us in, which led to some last-minute panic. the hd projector, for all its magic, is not attached to any kind of television cable, so we had to take camp's tv out of another roommate's room and using RABBIT EARS (which had to be adjusted and foiled and ohmyGOSH this is 2008 and we have an hd projector and we are watching tv with rabbit ears), we were able to get our picture. and s got dessert in the end (i had prepared these little gems for the occasion, albeit with a few changes.) it was a wonderful night.

i still have the cold, however, and have already sneezed on my blanket, my hands, and my sweatshirt. don't worry, i washed all of them.