Sunny Day in Astoria Park
N Train to Ditmars...
Thursday, April 14, 2005
Wednesday, April 13, 2005
Suba
Haven't written in a while... a lot going on.
Just making a pit stop to tell you about a great place I found called Suba.
One of the many great things about this city is reading about some unique, new little hot spot, then calling up a few friends to go check it out. There are literally thousands of them - especially in the restaurant and lounge category.
My friend Joy, who I know from work, and Tammy, who I know from Joy - and I - have been doing this whole exploration thing once a month.
Actually, we've done it twice but we said we're going to do it every month.
Our first outing was Bikram Yoga. Joy picked the spot.
The Bikram class was interesting because Joy forgot to mention that 90% of the moves we would be doing required that one have razor thin hips or better yet, no hips at all. As a well developed Cuban woman, I was at a disadvantage.
As the moves got progressively harder, I was at a loss. The instructor would call out a position, which I didn't even quite comprehend; I would attempt to do it, see how pathetic I looked in the mirror and cry inside. Some of the manuevers she called literally made me stop and laugh. Others made me pissed. Why would anyone ever want to wrap one leg around the other and put their right foot on their left shin? What the hell is that? Don't forget about the mirror. Sheer masochism.
Tammy and I were the two newbies in the class so the teacher asked our names at the beginning. You know how these instructors like to say your name every so often to make you feel included? Well, she gave us a shout out alright. She kept repeating the same sentence over and iver again the entire class: "Great job Tammy, hang in there Damaris." It was pathetic. A few people came up to me at the end to offer condolences. "At least you stayed in the room the whole time," they said. That's how bad it was.
The room by the way, was kept at a steamy 101 degrees the entire 90 minutes. That's the thing about Bikram. I wish I would have known this too. Not only was this only my second ever Yoga class - was a 90 minute class, another detail Joy forgot to mention. I think she wanted to bring me down a notch or something.
Did I mention that Joy was a ballet dancer for 15 years so she has not ONE ounce of body fat and can do every single Yoga pose PERFECTLY? Another person came up to me after class and said - "Your friend is really good."
Are you getting the picture of what this was like for me?
We were supposed to go out to dinner after the class but Tammy and I were so sweaty and soar that we went straight home. My perfect hair day turned into a sweaty tribute to Chaka Kahn...
The following month Tammy wanted to do Pilates. That was better.
The best part of it was that Joy couldn't do many of the moves because of her ballet training. It was so much fun watching her squirm. I say much of this in jest because I adore her - but it really was kind of satisfying when the teacher praised me for doing the moves well. Apparently hips were a good thing in Pilates.
After the class we went to a place called Pure Food & Wine near Gramercy Park. It was a cute restaurant where every dish served was raw. They didn't even have an oven. The food was excellent... a bit microscopic, but excellent.
ANYWAY -- you've probably forgotten all about Suba by now because I went on a major tangent. Let me tell you about Suba!
After Bikram and Pilates, it was my turn to choose an adventurous outing.
I contemplated doing something really heinous like making Joy and Tammy go to a writing workshop to do in class writing but then I thought better of it.
I would show them how cool I was by planning a spectacular outing that did not involve humilitation for anyone.
I decided to nix the exercise crap altogether and just do straight up dinner.
I needed a place that offered something exotic and that's when I found SUBA.
According to their website Suba is a Latin Restaurant and Lounge like no other. I would have to agree.
It's a dimly light, trendy little spot in the East Village off of Delancey Street that offers a unique dining experience, even for Manhattan.
The moment I walked in the Latin music grabbed me. It was upbeat and modern with more of a latin techno feel. The decor was chic, subtle and very cool.
I could see that the restaurant had several levels so although I was already pleased, I was in for more.
Suba had a Tapas Lounge, a Skylight Room and a Grotto. Don't worry, I didn't exactly know what a Grotto was either. It was this amazing dining island sitting in the center of a pool of rippling water illuminated by 50 submerged lights. I took this description from their website because I would have called it a deck sitting on top of a bright pond thing.
I had never dined in a grotto before. It was spectacular.
The exact definition of grotto is an artificial structure made to resemble a cave (for any neurotics who think I was saying that a grotto is a pond).
Anyway, the place was amazing.
We enjoyed some tasty Mojitos, then ate poached shrimp with manchego rice & crayfish and apple ravioli. So good. After that we shared a plate of 12 hour braised short ribs for dinner. All I could say was wow. Next time I make short ribs I'm definitely going to make sure I braise them for 12 hours. Yeah.
I may be bankrupt but the experience was worth it.
Actually, considering what we ate and drank the bill was pretty reasonable. I spent 60 bucks.
Suba is a definite must-see and I'm sure I'll go back.
In addition to the great food and the grotto, they have weekly events - there's Dinner and a Movie on Monday Nights, Latin Fridays and Live Flamenco Sundays.
Tammy who has lived in New York for a very long time, was impressed. Score! Joy backed out at the last minute because she was feeling sick so she missed it. We almost cancelled the whole evening, but then Tammy and I decided to go ahead and I'm so glad we did.
The lesson of the evening, which seems to be a recurring one for me lately, is to go with the flow. Great things can happen when you do - and they did.
To experience SUBA for yourself - just click here: http://subanyc.com
Our next adventure will be a cooking class at Pure Food & Wine, the restaurant Tammy took us to last month.
We're going to learn how to cook raw food, or something like that...
Just making a pit stop to tell you about a great place I found called Suba.
One of the many great things about this city is reading about some unique, new little hot spot, then calling up a few friends to go check it out. There are literally thousands of them - especially in the restaurant and lounge category.
My friend Joy, who I know from work, and Tammy, who I know from Joy - and I - have been doing this whole exploration thing once a month.
Actually, we've done it twice but we said we're going to do it every month.
Our first outing was Bikram Yoga. Joy picked the spot.
The Bikram class was interesting because Joy forgot to mention that 90% of the moves we would be doing required that one have razor thin hips or better yet, no hips at all. As a well developed Cuban woman, I was at a disadvantage.
As the moves got progressively harder, I was at a loss. The instructor would call out a position, which I didn't even quite comprehend; I would attempt to do it, see how pathetic I looked in the mirror and cry inside. Some of the manuevers she called literally made me stop and laugh. Others made me pissed. Why would anyone ever want to wrap one leg around the other and put their right foot on their left shin? What the hell is that? Don't forget about the mirror. Sheer masochism.
Tammy and I were the two newbies in the class so the teacher asked our names at the beginning. You know how these instructors like to say your name every so often to make you feel included? Well, she gave us a shout out alright. She kept repeating the same sentence over and iver again the entire class: "Great job Tammy, hang in there Damaris." It was pathetic. A few people came up to me at the end to offer condolences. "At least you stayed in the room the whole time," they said. That's how bad it was.
The room by the way, was kept at a steamy 101 degrees the entire 90 minutes. That's the thing about Bikram. I wish I would have known this too. Not only was this only my second ever Yoga class - was a 90 minute class, another detail Joy forgot to mention. I think she wanted to bring me down a notch or something.
Did I mention that Joy was a ballet dancer for 15 years so she has not ONE ounce of body fat and can do every single Yoga pose PERFECTLY? Another person came up to me after class and said - "Your friend is really good."
Are you getting the picture of what this was like for me?
We were supposed to go out to dinner after the class but Tammy and I were so sweaty and soar that we went straight home. My perfect hair day turned into a sweaty tribute to Chaka Kahn...
The following month Tammy wanted to do Pilates. That was better.
The best part of it was that Joy couldn't do many of the moves because of her ballet training. It was so much fun watching her squirm. I say much of this in jest because I adore her - but it really was kind of satisfying when the teacher praised me for doing the moves well. Apparently hips were a good thing in Pilates.
After the class we went to a place called Pure Food & Wine near Gramercy Park. It was a cute restaurant where every dish served was raw. They didn't even have an oven. The food was excellent... a bit microscopic, but excellent.
ANYWAY -- you've probably forgotten all about Suba by now because I went on a major tangent. Let me tell you about Suba!
After Bikram and Pilates, it was my turn to choose an adventurous outing.
I contemplated doing something really heinous like making Joy and Tammy go to a writing workshop to do in class writing but then I thought better of it.
I would show them how cool I was by planning a spectacular outing that did not involve humilitation for anyone.
I decided to nix the exercise crap altogether and just do straight up dinner.
I needed a place that offered something exotic and that's when I found SUBA.
According to their website Suba is a Latin Restaurant and Lounge like no other. I would have to agree.
It's a dimly light, trendy little spot in the East Village off of Delancey Street that offers a unique dining experience, even for Manhattan.
The moment I walked in the Latin music grabbed me. It was upbeat and modern with more of a latin techno feel. The decor was chic, subtle and very cool.
I could see that the restaurant had several levels so although I was already pleased, I was in for more.
Suba had a Tapas Lounge, a Skylight Room and a Grotto. Don't worry, I didn't exactly know what a Grotto was either. It was this amazing dining island sitting in the center of a pool of rippling water illuminated by 50 submerged lights. I took this description from their website because I would have called it a deck sitting on top of a bright pond thing.
I had never dined in a grotto before. It was spectacular.
The exact definition of grotto is an artificial structure made to resemble a cave (for any neurotics who think I was saying that a grotto is a pond).
Anyway, the place was amazing.
We enjoyed some tasty Mojitos, then ate poached shrimp with manchego rice & crayfish and apple ravioli. So good. After that we shared a plate of 12 hour braised short ribs for dinner. All I could say was wow. Next time I make short ribs I'm definitely going to make sure I braise them for 12 hours. Yeah.
I may be bankrupt but the experience was worth it.
Actually, considering what we ate and drank the bill was pretty reasonable. I spent 60 bucks.
Suba is a definite must-see and I'm sure I'll go back.
In addition to the great food and the grotto, they have weekly events - there's Dinner and a Movie on Monday Nights, Latin Fridays and Live Flamenco Sundays.
Tammy who has lived in New York for a very long time, was impressed. Score! Joy backed out at the last minute because she was feeling sick so she missed it. We almost cancelled the whole evening, but then Tammy and I decided to go ahead and I'm so glad we did.
The lesson of the evening, which seems to be a recurring one for me lately, is to go with the flow. Great things can happen when you do - and they did.
To experience SUBA for yourself - just click here: http://subanyc.com
Our next adventure will be a cooking class at Pure Food & Wine, the restaurant Tammy took us to last month.
We're going to learn how to cook raw food, or something like that...
Sunday, April 03, 2005
West Side Story
I spent the day at a screenwriting workshop on the Upper West Side today.
It was an all day class put on by the Gotham Writer's Workshop and it was excellent.
The instructor Doug Katz, started out by talking about the story.
Humans have always had a fascination with stories.
Cavemen told stories using carved drawings. The Greeks acted stories out on stage. Throughout all of history, every civilization has in some way or another passed on, recorded or acted out their stories.
The fact that so many people are willing to leave their lives for hours at a time and pay money to watch something that is not real speaks to our innate love of a good story.
That is what screenwriting is - telling a story.
The beautiful and artistic part about it is that the stories must be told in images. Thoughts and feelings can not be photographed so the writer has to create images that will evoke the feelings.
You can't tell the audience that your character is angry, you have to show them. This challenges the writer to come up with gestures and movements and dialogue that will help viewers to make connections in their minds. It is challenging and exciting and some writers are masters of the art.
The instructor simplified things for us and that helped me a lot.
Simply stated, a story is a journey with conflict.
It has a beginning, middle and end and at the end the main character's character has been tested and he has gone from one point to another.
If the character is better off at the end of the movie, that is a comedy. If he is worse off, that is a tragedy.
All stories are either comedies or tragedies and sometimes it isn't very clear as in the case of Saving Private Ryan.
In Saving Private Ryan the main character played by Tom Hanks dies. Is he better off or worse off? At first glance one might say he is worse off but this is not the case.
This character chooses to die for his mission. Throughout the movie he is portrayed as someone who is burned out and feels his life has become meaningless. He chooses to die for his cause and death gives hi life meaning. The character would say he is better off at the end of this journey and that makes this movie a comedy - even though everyone dies. I thought that was pretty interesting.
Another important thing is that a story can only have one main character or hero. These terms are interchangeable.
One person drives most of the action. One person is doing more heroic action. One person is on a journey and all of the other characters are peripheral to that (unless there are multiple stories going on at one time like in Magnolia and Traffic).
The instructor gave us 4 Questions to answer before writing a script:
Who is the main character?
What does s/he want?
What event changes everything?
Is it a comedy or tragedy?
This may seem really easy but it isn't always clear.
Here's a good example that was used in class.
The main character in The Titanic?
I thought it was Leo DiCaprio's character but I was wrong.
The main character was Rose.
Rose had the most heroic action. She walked away from an arranged marriage, she risked loving someone outside of her class, she saved Leo's life, she went on to live a happy and full life and she was better off at the end.
Although the story of the Titanic was a tragedy, James Cameron brilliantly chose to focus on Rose's story which was a comedy.
This was a great class.
Now let me get back to writing my story...
It was an all day class put on by the Gotham Writer's Workshop and it was excellent.
The instructor Doug Katz, started out by talking about the story.
Humans have always had a fascination with stories.
Cavemen told stories using carved drawings. The Greeks acted stories out on stage. Throughout all of history, every civilization has in some way or another passed on, recorded or acted out their stories.
The fact that so many people are willing to leave their lives for hours at a time and pay money to watch something that is not real speaks to our innate love of a good story.
That is what screenwriting is - telling a story.
The beautiful and artistic part about it is that the stories must be told in images. Thoughts and feelings can not be photographed so the writer has to create images that will evoke the feelings.
You can't tell the audience that your character is angry, you have to show them. This challenges the writer to come up with gestures and movements and dialogue that will help viewers to make connections in their minds. It is challenging and exciting and some writers are masters of the art.
The instructor simplified things for us and that helped me a lot.
Simply stated, a story is a journey with conflict.
It has a beginning, middle and end and at the end the main character's character has been tested and he has gone from one point to another.
If the character is better off at the end of the movie, that is a comedy. If he is worse off, that is a tragedy.
All stories are either comedies or tragedies and sometimes it isn't very clear as in the case of Saving Private Ryan.
In Saving Private Ryan the main character played by Tom Hanks dies. Is he better off or worse off? At first glance one might say he is worse off but this is not the case.
This character chooses to die for his mission. Throughout the movie he is portrayed as someone who is burned out and feels his life has become meaningless. He chooses to die for his cause and death gives hi life meaning. The character would say he is better off at the end of this journey and that makes this movie a comedy - even though everyone dies. I thought that was pretty interesting.
Another important thing is that a story can only have one main character or hero. These terms are interchangeable.
One person drives most of the action. One person is doing more heroic action. One person is on a journey and all of the other characters are peripheral to that (unless there are multiple stories going on at one time like in Magnolia and Traffic).
The instructor gave us 4 Questions to answer before writing a script:
Who is the main character?
What does s/he want?
What event changes everything?
Is it a comedy or tragedy?
This may seem really easy but it isn't always clear.
Here's a good example that was used in class.
The main character in The Titanic?
I thought it was Leo DiCaprio's character but I was wrong.
The main character was Rose.
Rose had the most heroic action. She walked away from an arranged marriage, she risked loving someone outside of her class, she saved Leo's life, she went on to live a happy and full life and she was better off at the end.
Although the story of the Titanic was a tragedy, James Cameron brilliantly chose to focus on Rose's story which was a comedy.
This was a great class.
Now let me get back to writing my story...
Saturday, April 02, 2005
Extreme Mom
I just spoke to mom from the airport. She's on her way to Colombia for an extreme makeover. My mom is one brave woman. Came from Cuba at 12, married 4 times, fought through breast cancer and she's still kicking. You go mom!
*This is us at my brother Alex's wedding 3 years ago.
Friday, April 01, 2005
Les Camarades
In case you haven't made the connection, the titles of my posts refer to movies.
I thought it was a nice way to link my stories to other stories while expanding my knowledge of films, since screenwriting is the latest career change I want to pursue this month.
Les Camarades is the French title for an Italian film, I Compagni or The Organizer. It is Mario Monicelli's portrait of an early workers' strike at a Turino textile factory circa 1890.
Why didn't I just use the Italian title you ask?
Because the place I went to last night was called CAMARADAS.
Jorge, Christine and I went to hear a nuyorican band in Spanish Harlem. The location couldn't have been better.
To quote the website, "Camaradas el barrio is a worker's public house where camaraderie is built atop of a fine selection of wine, great beers from around the world, excellent music and an innovative blend of the tapas tradition with Puerto Rican cuisine."
In other words, Camaradas is where local nuyoricans grub and throw down.
The place was cozy, the food was tasty and the music was amazing.
We heard a group called Yerbabuena. They describe their performances as a cross between a jam in the park, a spiritual ceremony and a family reunion.
Their moves were not choreographed and their outifts didn't match but still they conveyed a wholeness and harmony in their music that was moving.
Whether bomba, plena or música jíbara, the jam was definitely interactive. They encouraged the audience to get involved and although some were shy at first, the depth of feeling in the performance gave viewers no choice but to dance for the drums.
Even I found myself unable to stay in my seat. After two songs I was making my way through the crowd so I could stand front and center swirling my hips. Suddenly I was Puerto Rican too.
There's something about the deep afro-caribbean beating of a drum that penetrates the soul.
For info about future performances or to get more information about Camaradas, el barrio click on Les Camarades above.
I thought it was a nice way to link my stories to other stories while expanding my knowledge of films, since screenwriting is the latest career change I want to pursue this month.
Les Camarades is the French title for an Italian film, I Compagni or The Organizer. It is Mario Monicelli's portrait of an early workers' strike at a Turino textile factory circa 1890.
Why didn't I just use the Italian title you ask?
Because the place I went to last night was called CAMARADAS.
Jorge, Christine and I went to hear a nuyorican band in Spanish Harlem. The location couldn't have been better.
To quote the website, "Camaradas el barrio is a worker's public house where camaraderie is built atop of a fine selection of wine, great beers from around the world, excellent music and an innovative blend of the tapas tradition with Puerto Rican cuisine."
In other words, Camaradas is where local nuyoricans grub and throw down.
The place was cozy, the food was tasty and the music was amazing.
We heard a group called Yerbabuena. They describe their performances as a cross between a jam in the park, a spiritual ceremony and a family reunion.
Their moves were not choreographed and their outifts didn't match but still they conveyed a wholeness and harmony in their music that was moving.
Whether bomba, plena or música jíbara, the jam was definitely interactive. They encouraged the audience to get involved and although some were shy at first, the depth of feeling in the performance gave viewers no choice but to dance for the drums.
Even I found myself unable to stay in my seat. After two songs I was making my way through the crowd so I could stand front and center swirling my hips. Suddenly I was Puerto Rican too.
There's something about the deep afro-caribbean beating of a drum that penetrates the soul.
For info about future performances or to get more information about Camaradas, el barrio click on Les Camarades above.
Wednesday, March 30, 2005
Strangers in the Night
An entry about a little organization that has taken my New York experience to new heights...
Here's a realization I had recently: moving to a new city in your 30's is hard.
My high school friends are back in Miami and most of my friends from college are settled, as in married and nesting.
Meeting and making friends after those school years are over is a whole different ballgame.
I'm not looking for the let's be on the phone 24 hours a day friend, just a few nice buddies I can have a beer with, watch a flick with or try the newest restaurant with.
My best going out buddy here was The Usual Suspect and we all know what happened to that friendship.
Here's a realization I just had: a sudden move to New York City alone during the winter is not something I'd recommend. The weather makes it harder to get out there.
But I did it and it was done.
I'm glad to say those first months are behind me.
Now spring has sprung. A time for new beginnings.
One of my new beginnings involved giving Netflix a rest and meeting up with a random group of strangers I met through Meetup.com.
You can click on Strangers in the Night up top to go directly to the website.
The first Meet Up Group I attended was the Latinos Doing Something With Themselves Meet Up. We went to NYU to see a kooky film about Juan Rulfo, a well known Mexican writer.
I'm happy to say the Meet Up was a complete success. I met 5 interesting latinos and we totally hit it off.
After the film we had some sizzling small talk over drinks at the Fat Black Pussy Cat near Washington Square. Then the Queens sub-section of the Latino Group had crepes and coffee at another cool little bar - Shade Bar on Sullivan Street.
And now it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to the Latinos Doing Something With Themselves Group...
Jorge, a 43 year old Colombian from Barranquilla who teaches Psychology at NYU and also does therapy and hypnosis in private practice. You know I'm gonna get hypnotized before this year is through.
Stephanie, a 27 year old Ecuadorian-Irish Social Worker who works at a middle school. Ecuador and Ireland? Beer and dancing - a natural friend for me.
Berta the organizer, a 30 year old Mexican-American writer. Another writer? The bond was instant.
Eddie, a 27 year old Mexican American paralegal who doesn't know if he wants to be a lawyer or a politician. Either way he's good looking and will eventually be loaded. Welcome.
Christina, a 27 year old Puerto Rican-American who teaches kindergarten and mentors young latinas. She encouraged us all to mentor a latin student - heart of gold. Love 'er.
And me, a Cuban American transplant from Miami just trying to enjoy the journey.
In that first night we talked about our careers, love lives, disdain for marriage (especially since we are all single) and about things we would like to do as a group.
When someone in the group declared that monogamy was unnatural, I knew I was home. I love non-conformists.
Berta told us her mom recently passed and her boyfriend of several years recently left. She's the organizer ok? You thought you had a reason to stay home and be depressed, think about that?!
It'll be interesting to see how the group grows and changes and how our friendships evolve.
The Queens sub-section which is Me, Jorge and Stephanie went out for a movie Sunday night. We took in the new Woody Allen Flick, Melinda and Melinda. Remember how I said I just wanted a group of friends I could catch a movie with? Ahhhh... just what I needed after 4 frigid months in the city.
So if you're in a new place and want to hook up with some people who share your interests, I recommend Meet Up.
Don't stay home and watch the Apprentice, get TiVo and get out there.
Life beckons AND you never know who you might meet!
Here's a realization I had recently: moving to a new city in your 30's is hard.
My high school friends are back in Miami and most of my friends from college are settled, as in married and nesting.
Meeting and making friends after those school years are over is a whole different ballgame.
I'm not looking for the let's be on the phone 24 hours a day friend, just a few nice buddies I can have a beer with, watch a flick with or try the newest restaurant with.
My best going out buddy here was The Usual Suspect and we all know what happened to that friendship.
Here's a realization I just had: a sudden move to New York City alone during the winter is not something I'd recommend. The weather makes it harder to get out there.
But I did it and it was done.
I'm glad to say those first months are behind me.
Now spring has sprung. A time for new beginnings.
One of my new beginnings involved giving Netflix a rest and meeting up with a random group of strangers I met through Meetup.com.
You can click on Strangers in the Night up top to go directly to the website.
The first Meet Up Group I attended was the Latinos Doing Something With Themselves Meet Up. We went to NYU to see a kooky film about Juan Rulfo, a well known Mexican writer.
I'm happy to say the Meet Up was a complete success. I met 5 interesting latinos and we totally hit it off.
After the film we had some sizzling small talk over drinks at the Fat Black Pussy Cat near Washington Square. Then the Queens sub-section of the Latino Group had crepes and coffee at another cool little bar - Shade Bar on Sullivan Street.
And now it gives me great pleasure to introduce you to the Latinos Doing Something With Themselves Group...
Jorge, a 43 year old Colombian from Barranquilla who teaches Psychology at NYU and also does therapy and hypnosis in private practice. You know I'm gonna get hypnotized before this year is through.
Stephanie, a 27 year old Ecuadorian-Irish Social Worker who works at a middle school. Ecuador and Ireland? Beer and dancing - a natural friend for me.
Berta the organizer, a 30 year old Mexican-American writer. Another writer? The bond was instant.
Eddie, a 27 year old Mexican American paralegal who doesn't know if he wants to be a lawyer or a politician. Either way he's good looking and will eventually be loaded. Welcome.
Christina, a 27 year old Puerto Rican-American who teaches kindergarten and mentors young latinas. She encouraged us all to mentor a latin student - heart of gold. Love 'er.
And me, a Cuban American transplant from Miami just trying to enjoy the journey.
In that first night we talked about our careers, love lives, disdain for marriage (especially since we are all single) and about things we would like to do as a group.
When someone in the group declared that monogamy was unnatural, I knew I was home. I love non-conformists.
Berta told us her mom recently passed and her boyfriend of several years recently left. She's the organizer ok? You thought you had a reason to stay home and be depressed, think about that?!
It'll be interesting to see how the group grows and changes and how our friendships evolve.
The Queens sub-section which is Me, Jorge and Stephanie went out for a movie Sunday night. We took in the new Woody Allen Flick, Melinda and Melinda. Remember how I said I just wanted a group of friends I could catch a movie with? Ahhhh... just what I needed after 4 frigid months in the city.
So if you're in a new place and want to hook up with some people who share your interests, I recommend Meet Up.
Don't stay home and watch the Apprentice, get TiVo and get out there.
Life beckons AND you never know who you might meet!
Tuesday, March 22, 2005
A Tale of Two Siblings
So my brother Paul came to visit for 10 days.
Paul is 11 months older than I am. Actually for about 16 days we are the same age, a fact that really bugged him when we were kids (that and the height thing). His birthday is on December 21st and mine is on December 5th. I’ll give those of you who care a minute to figure this out…
He is an actor.
Whenever I say this people always ask me if he’s a working actor, so I’ll elaborate. He’s a real actor. He’s done several national commercials, a few notable plays and a pretty darn good movie that was already sold for distribution. He has a naked butt scene in the film; which was kind of funny to watch.
Oh yeah, he also played Brad in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. That was another night of family fun – mom and I taking in Paul’s love scene with the sweet transvestite, grunts and all. If you knew my mom you would know that I felt more awkward than she did. God, I love my family.
He’s hasn’t stopped working since he took acting on full time two years ago. As you can imagine we are all very proud of him. I’m convinced he’s going to top the A-list one day. In fact, I’m certain of it. I’m his sister and that makes me a completely biased source, but I can see he’s got talent.
More than talent though, he has that special ingredient every successful actor needs. He’s self involved. I hope he doesn't get offended by this, but it's true. I’m sure Tom Cruise was like this too.
When we were little he used to watch Animal Kingdom (the 70’s version) and disappear into his own little world for hours. I would be talking to him and it was like he didn’t even hear me. He was completely cut off from the outside world. It always amazed me. Even back then I knew he had a gift.
It may sound like I’m being sarcastic but I really believe this will be an important ingredient in his success. Singleness of focus is a must in the entertainment industry. The ones who make it make their career their number one priority (and families back them up.)
Anyway back to the visit…
He didn’t like New York very much, I could tell. How could I tell? My mom told me he said he didn’t like New York very much.
He liked the city and the theater scene, but the weather was bringing him down. It didn’t help that he came during one of the colder weeks of the season. It hasn't been easier for me either as we all know.
During his visit we did get to spend some really good time together though. We feasted in Chinatown and took in the Museum of Natural History. Then I got round 3 of the New York mega flu and the outings came to a halt.
For some reason he’s one of the few relatives I can talk to about my interesting dating patterns without getting defensive or moody. I think it’s because he doesn’t worry about me. He knows I’m quirky but has faith that I’ll find my way.
Or maybe he’s just not paying attention? Could it be that he was off in his own little world and he didn't hear me when I told him I was stuck in a pattern of commitment-less encounters?
Hmmm? Naw.
Anyway, during work on his last movie the producer/director came to the end of the film and did not have an ending.
Paul called me and asked me to write the ending, which I happily did.
I finally got to see the finished product during his visit and I have to say it turned out pretty well.
I'm a highly self critical writer and apparently my brother knows me well.
After we watched the film he said:
“Your ending and your writing literally elevated the caliber of this movie Damar.”
It was one of the nicest things my brother ever said to me (aside from telling me that his friends say I'm hot).
It was great having you here Paul.
Tinsel Town beckons…
Paul is 11 months older than I am. Actually for about 16 days we are the same age, a fact that really bugged him when we were kids (that and the height thing). His birthday is on December 21st and mine is on December 5th. I’ll give those of you who care a minute to figure this out…
He is an actor.
Whenever I say this people always ask me if he’s a working actor, so I’ll elaborate. He’s a real actor. He’s done several national commercials, a few notable plays and a pretty darn good movie that was already sold for distribution. He has a naked butt scene in the film; which was kind of funny to watch.
Oh yeah, he also played Brad in the Rocky Horror Picture Show. That was another night of family fun – mom and I taking in Paul’s love scene with the sweet transvestite, grunts and all. If you knew my mom you would know that I felt more awkward than she did. God, I love my family.
He’s hasn’t stopped working since he took acting on full time two years ago. As you can imagine we are all very proud of him. I’m convinced he’s going to top the A-list one day. In fact, I’m certain of it. I’m his sister and that makes me a completely biased source, but I can see he’s got talent.
More than talent though, he has that special ingredient every successful actor needs. He’s self involved. I hope he doesn't get offended by this, but it's true. I’m sure Tom Cruise was like this too.
When we were little he used to watch Animal Kingdom (the 70’s version) and disappear into his own little world for hours. I would be talking to him and it was like he didn’t even hear me. He was completely cut off from the outside world. It always amazed me. Even back then I knew he had a gift.
It may sound like I’m being sarcastic but I really believe this will be an important ingredient in his success. Singleness of focus is a must in the entertainment industry. The ones who make it make their career their number one priority (and families back them up.)
Anyway back to the visit…
He didn’t like New York very much, I could tell. How could I tell? My mom told me he said he didn’t like New York very much.
He liked the city and the theater scene, but the weather was bringing him down. It didn’t help that he came during one of the colder weeks of the season. It hasn't been easier for me either as we all know.
During his visit we did get to spend some really good time together though. We feasted in Chinatown and took in the Museum of Natural History. Then I got round 3 of the New York mega flu and the outings came to a halt.
For some reason he’s one of the few relatives I can talk to about my interesting dating patterns without getting defensive or moody. I think it’s because he doesn’t worry about me. He knows I’m quirky but has faith that I’ll find my way.
Or maybe he’s just not paying attention? Could it be that he was off in his own little world and he didn't hear me when I told him I was stuck in a pattern of commitment-less encounters?
Hmmm? Naw.
Anyway, during work on his last movie the producer/director came to the end of the film and did not have an ending.
Paul called me and asked me to write the ending, which I happily did.
I finally got to see the finished product during his visit and I have to say it turned out pretty well.
I'm a highly self critical writer and apparently my brother knows me well.
After we watched the film he said:
“Your ending and your writing literally elevated the caliber of this movie Damar.”
It was one of the nicest things my brother ever said to me (aside from telling me that his friends say I'm hot).
It was great having you here Paul.
Tinsel Town beckons…
Friday, March 04, 2005
The Usual Suspect
I told her she could stay until my brother came from Miami, but I couldn’t take it anymore. After 5 days of tension I asked her to leave.
“This is not easy for me,” I said. “But tomorrow morning when I leave for work, I want you to leave with me and give me my keys.”
Needless to say, it was a rough night.
I had just kicked my homeless, penniless, unemployed friend to the curb knowing it was about 30 degrees outside. This was not what I had in mind when I told Jackie she could crash at my place for a while. Damn.
Jackie is (or was) my whimsical, unpredictable, “I’m up for anything, anytime” friend. She was the friend who lived with reckless abandon and gave me permission to do the same every once in a while. The one I couldn’t live with and… never should have tried to.
Don’t get me wrong, spending time with her was always fun. Jackie was the best person to go to a bar with hands down. On a good night she could walk into a place with 4 crinkled dollars and a crooked smile and leave with a major buzz and a few phone numbers. On a bad night she could nurse one beer for hours, a skill she perfected last winter.
She was also a great conversationalist. She could spend hours spinning stories about her photography projects, her wild sex life and her crazy, foster mother in Ohio.
She was passionate and noble. She had ideas and ideals that she loved to espouse at length while waving her hands around to show you she was searching for just the right words. She was upset about The Gates because the money should have been used for the poor, she said. “A big waste of money; completely disgusting."
And then there was the little move.
Every now and then she would spring into a little dance just to let you know she was thoroughly delighted with herself.
The last time I saw it was the day her landlord was going to throw her furniture out on the street. Even though she didn’t know what she was going to do, she was standing at my kitchen counter, doing a chalk drawing for class, sipping wine and doing the little move. It was her way of saying, I’m not worried about anything and I’m happy just the way I am so fuck you la la la.
That's when I started getting worried.
It was the little move and the Independent Film Channel. The calm way she watched indie film after indie film despite her situation was troubling.
On day 4 she was off shooting pictures for her latest class project, a modern take on biblical narratives. Was she worried that she hadn’t found anyone to move her furniture or found a new place to live? Nope. Was she looking for a job? Nope. Jackie was off in Brooklyn taking pictures of Ghetto Jesus and Hoochie Mary. She borrowed one of my kitchen knives for added effect. Don't ask...
Later that night she wanted to use my cell phone. I heard her convincing some guy to move 20 boxes for her the next morning. Apparently she had a network of helpers. Thin walls... I thought it was smart of her not to mention the boxes were in a 5 story walk up. Poor guy.
By day 5, I was simmering beneath the surface, but I thought we were in the clear. She found a cheap apartment in New Jersey.
Despite the hair in the drain, the parmesan cheese drippings in the fridge and the fact that I was now sneaking away to eat – maybe we would make it through the stay without a rift? Jackie had had a rough life and I wanted to help her out. I didn't particularly like the way she was doing things, but it was her life and - to each his own. We were definitely too different to live together, but maybe we could remain casual friends?
Then, that night it all came crashing down... over a buck fifty.
She wanted to see the apartment in Jersey and she was probably going to take it, but she didn’t have $1.50 for the PATH Train to go check it out the next morning.
I was still kind of pissy about the parmesan so I didn’t say a word or offer to give her a few bucks, like I had so many times before. Come to think of it, I had offered and paid quite a few times before...
Wait a minute, was I being punk'd?
I went to take a shower and the steam loosened my mind.
Was she lying to me? Was her tax return really on its way? Was her nutty mom who she hadn't seen in years really sending money? Was she spinning stories? Something didn't add up.
I came out with new resolve.
“If you don’t have $1.50 for the PATH, how are you going to get the apartment if you like it?” I said.
The question hung in the air. I could almost see the thought combinations racing through her mind.
“Well I do have money; I just didn’t want to use it for that,” she answered.
Huh? Do I even want to hear the explanation that goes with this, I thought. No, I don't.
Silence.
Was I accusing her of lying, she asked in disbelief. Did I think she was a user or something? How paranoid, please.
I didn't budge. More silence.
Next came tears.
It wasn't her fault she got fired, she said. What did I expect her to do?
It was a long, silent night.
No indie films for her.
No sleep for me.
The next morning I watched her rolling here suitcase down the street, doing the little move…
“This is not easy for me,” I said. “But tomorrow morning when I leave for work, I want you to leave with me and give me my keys.”
Needless to say, it was a rough night.
I had just kicked my homeless, penniless, unemployed friend to the curb knowing it was about 30 degrees outside. This was not what I had in mind when I told Jackie she could crash at my place for a while. Damn.
Jackie is (or was) my whimsical, unpredictable, “I’m up for anything, anytime” friend. She was the friend who lived with reckless abandon and gave me permission to do the same every once in a while. The one I couldn’t live with and… never should have tried to.
Don’t get me wrong, spending time with her was always fun. Jackie was the best person to go to a bar with hands down. On a good night she could walk into a place with 4 crinkled dollars and a crooked smile and leave with a major buzz and a few phone numbers. On a bad night she could nurse one beer for hours, a skill she perfected last winter.
She was also a great conversationalist. She could spend hours spinning stories about her photography projects, her wild sex life and her crazy, foster mother in Ohio.
She was passionate and noble. She had ideas and ideals that she loved to espouse at length while waving her hands around to show you she was searching for just the right words. She was upset about The Gates because the money should have been used for the poor, she said. “A big waste of money; completely disgusting."
And then there was the little move.
Every now and then she would spring into a little dance just to let you know she was thoroughly delighted with herself.
The last time I saw it was the day her landlord was going to throw her furniture out on the street. Even though she didn’t know what she was going to do, she was standing at my kitchen counter, doing a chalk drawing for class, sipping wine and doing the little move. It was her way of saying, I’m not worried about anything and I’m happy just the way I am so fuck you la la la.
That's when I started getting worried.
It was the little move and the Independent Film Channel. The calm way she watched indie film after indie film despite her situation was troubling.
On day 4 she was off shooting pictures for her latest class project, a modern take on biblical narratives. Was she worried that she hadn’t found anyone to move her furniture or found a new place to live? Nope. Was she looking for a job? Nope. Jackie was off in Brooklyn taking pictures of Ghetto Jesus and Hoochie Mary. She borrowed one of my kitchen knives for added effect. Don't ask...
Later that night she wanted to use my cell phone. I heard her convincing some guy to move 20 boxes for her the next morning. Apparently she had a network of helpers. Thin walls... I thought it was smart of her not to mention the boxes were in a 5 story walk up. Poor guy.
By day 5, I was simmering beneath the surface, but I thought we were in the clear. She found a cheap apartment in New Jersey.
Despite the hair in the drain, the parmesan cheese drippings in the fridge and the fact that I was now sneaking away to eat – maybe we would make it through the stay without a rift? Jackie had had a rough life and I wanted to help her out. I didn't particularly like the way she was doing things, but it was her life and - to each his own. We were definitely too different to live together, but maybe we could remain casual friends?
Then, that night it all came crashing down... over a buck fifty.
She wanted to see the apartment in Jersey and she was probably going to take it, but she didn’t have $1.50 for the PATH Train to go check it out the next morning.
I was still kind of pissy about the parmesan so I didn’t say a word or offer to give her a few bucks, like I had so many times before. Come to think of it, I had offered and paid quite a few times before...
Wait a minute, was I being punk'd?
I went to take a shower and the steam loosened my mind.
Was she lying to me? Was her tax return really on its way? Was her nutty mom who she hadn't seen in years really sending money? Was she spinning stories? Something didn't add up.
I came out with new resolve.
“If you don’t have $1.50 for the PATH, how are you going to get the apartment if you like it?” I said.
The question hung in the air. I could almost see the thought combinations racing through her mind.
“Well I do have money; I just didn’t want to use it for that,” she answered.
Huh? Do I even want to hear the explanation that goes with this, I thought. No, I don't.
Silence.
Was I accusing her of lying, she asked in disbelief. Did I think she was a user or something? How paranoid, please.
I didn't budge. More silence.
Next came tears.
It wasn't her fault she got fired, she said. What did I expect her to do?
It was a long, silent night.
No indie films for her.
No sleep for me.
The next morning I watched her rolling here suitcase down the street, doing the little move…
Thursday, March 03, 2005
Escape from New York?
I moved from Miami to New York in the dead of winter. If one more person asks me if I’m crazy, I’m going to scream.
The truth is, I was just kind of looking into the opportunity and before I knew it, I was on a plane.
I work for a national organization in my adult, day job and my friend Melissa, who is convinced that New York is the mecca of singledom, sent me the listing. Couldn’t hurt to check it out, I thought. So I did. Little did I know my boss and “would be’ boss were close friends.
In a matter of weeks I was packing up the contents of my cubicle in Miami and clearing out of grandma’s crib.
Now I’m setting up my cubicle in Manhattan and settling into Astoria.
I went from Key Biscayne to Lexington Avenue.
Am I crazy? AHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Initial impressions?
Things here move really fast.
If you hesitate for an instant when paying for a meal or swiping your metro card, people want to dismember you. Have your card and your money ready and keep in step, otherwise, be prepared to endure laser beams of hatred.
When walking on the sidewalk, it’s best to keep a steady rhythm and walk with firm resolve. Again, hesitation is a clear invitation for scorn – especially in Times Square. Times Square is another article in and of itself. Most New Yorkers avoid it.
Small talk in the check out line it not necessary in most places. The sheer volume of people going in and out of most establishments means that no one cares about your recent relocation. A lot of people just moved here. Who cares? Mass transportation means minutes matter. Save the cute anecdotes for Florida people.
Umbrella Etiquette
Is completely unnecessary…
When it rains, the sidewalks are packed with umbrella toting walkers. Even though you’re sharing the limited space with a small army, don’t worry about hitting someone with the metal spokes of your umbrella. It is best to hold your weapon firmly, keep moving and allow the other people to worry about themselves. They will adjust. Thinking of others only complicates things for everyone.
Shoes
Invest in a comfortable pair of walking shoes and carry work shoes in a tote from day one. I made the mistake of getting all dressed up for my first day at the office. I was dying to wear my high heeled, knee high, Anne Klein black leather boots. Why was my new boss laughing at me?
By the end of the day, the three middle toes in my right foot had merged into one large mass of flesh. My big toe and pinky were laughing at the others, but the joke was on pinky because her nail fell off two days later. Fortunately, the pain subsided after about 3 hours when the blood stopped running. Later I mustered the strength to stop into the local CVS for 4 boxes of band aids and a cutting instrument.
Walk ups
It seemed like a good idea when I came to see the apartment before I moved? Now my 4 story walk up is an instrument of torture, psychological as well as physical. As I look around the beautiful 1 bedroom digs with sparkling wood floors, I can’t help but think about the fact that everything in here was carried up by me. No wonder I lost 13 pounds.
The disturbing after thought is that anything else I plan to purchase has to be lugged up 4 flights by me; hence the sparse furnishings. I’ve gone from asking myself can I really afford this to, do I really want to carry this?
The Weather
A topic I could write about for hours…
Never mind that the lack of sunlight has drained the color from my entire body and now the only hues on my face are from acne blemishes that were formerly masked by my year-round Florida tan; there are treatments for that.
Never mind that I have had the flu 3 times this winter and the flu here is like an industrial sized, super aggressive flu that when combined with a 4 story walk up and two daily subway rides to and from work leaves you sapped of energy and completely bed-ridden; I like sleep.
Never mind it gets so cold, that by the time I reach my apartment in the evenings I have no feeling in my hands or feet; I don’t use them much after work anyway.
I have cabin fever!!
After living in South Florida for 20 years, a Northeast Winter is a hell of a shock.
Yes, the first snow was breathtaking. The hush that fell over the city as the flakes floated down was nothing short of poetic. The fluffy white mounds piling up in the park were beautiful. The kids playing outside and all of that crap…
But it’s still cold. I’m tired of wearing turtlenecks and boots every day. I’m tired of seeing black North Face coats on the subway. I’m tired of trying to find scarves that blend with my yellowish green complexion. I’m tired of pretending it’s not so bad.
When is it going to END?
Do I want to leave? No I just want to be able to enjoy the city without freezing my ass off.
Hey wait a minute? I just realized something. I don’t want to leave, I just needed to vent about the cold and stop pretending I was ok with it. Maybe I am a New Yorker after all?
I bitched and moaned about the city for an hour, but I still love it and want to stay. Cool.
The truth is, I was just kind of looking into the opportunity and before I knew it, I was on a plane.
I work for a national organization in my adult, day job and my friend Melissa, who is convinced that New York is the mecca of singledom, sent me the listing. Couldn’t hurt to check it out, I thought. So I did. Little did I know my boss and “would be’ boss were close friends.
In a matter of weeks I was packing up the contents of my cubicle in Miami and clearing out of grandma’s crib.
Now I’m setting up my cubicle in Manhattan and settling into Astoria.
I went from Key Biscayne to Lexington Avenue.
Am I crazy? AHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Initial impressions?
Things here move really fast.
If you hesitate for an instant when paying for a meal or swiping your metro card, people want to dismember you. Have your card and your money ready and keep in step, otherwise, be prepared to endure laser beams of hatred.
When walking on the sidewalk, it’s best to keep a steady rhythm and walk with firm resolve. Again, hesitation is a clear invitation for scorn – especially in Times Square. Times Square is another article in and of itself. Most New Yorkers avoid it.
Small talk in the check out line it not necessary in most places. The sheer volume of people going in and out of most establishments means that no one cares about your recent relocation. A lot of people just moved here. Who cares? Mass transportation means minutes matter. Save the cute anecdotes for Florida people.
Umbrella Etiquette
Is completely unnecessary…
When it rains, the sidewalks are packed with umbrella toting walkers. Even though you’re sharing the limited space with a small army, don’t worry about hitting someone with the metal spokes of your umbrella. It is best to hold your weapon firmly, keep moving and allow the other people to worry about themselves. They will adjust. Thinking of others only complicates things for everyone.
Shoes
Invest in a comfortable pair of walking shoes and carry work shoes in a tote from day one. I made the mistake of getting all dressed up for my first day at the office. I was dying to wear my high heeled, knee high, Anne Klein black leather boots. Why was my new boss laughing at me?
By the end of the day, the three middle toes in my right foot had merged into one large mass of flesh. My big toe and pinky were laughing at the others, but the joke was on pinky because her nail fell off two days later. Fortunately, the pain subsided after about 3 hours when the blood stopped running. Later I mustered the strength to stop into the local CVS for 4 boxes of band aids and a cutting instrument.
Walk ups
It seemed like a good idea when I came to see the apartment before I moved? Now my 4 story walk up is an instrument of torture, psychological as well as physical. As I look around the beautiful 1 bedroom digs with sparkling wood floors, I can’t help but think about the fact that everything in here was carried up by me. No wonder I lost 13 pounds.
The disturbing after thought is that anything else I plan to purchase has to be lugged up 4 flights by me; hence the sparse furnishings. I’ve gone from asking myself can I really afford this to, do I really want to carry this?
The Weather
A topic I could write about for hours…
Never mind that the lack of sunlight has drained the color from my entire body and now the only hues on my face are from acne blemishes that were formerly masked by my year-round Florida tan; there are treatments for that.
Never mind that I have had the flu 3 times this winter and the flu here is like an industrial sized, super aggressive flu that when combined with a 4 story walk up and two daily subway rides to and from work leaves you sapped of energy and completely bed-ridden; I like sleep.
Never mind it gets so cold, that by the time I reach my apartment in the evenings I have no feeling in my hands or feet; I don’t use them much after work anyway.
I have cabin fever!!
After living in South Florida for 20 years, a Northeast Winter is a hell of a shock.
Yes, the first snow was breathtaking. The hush that fell over the city as the flakes floated down was nothing short of poetic. The fluffy white mounds piling up in the park were beautiful. The kids playing outside and all of that crap…
But it’s still cold. I’m tired of wearing turtlenecks and boots every day. I’m tired of seeing black North Face coats on the subway. I’m tired of trying to find scarves that blend with my yellowish green complexion. I’m tired of pretending it’s not so bad.
When is it going to END?
Do I want to leave? No I just want to be able to enjoy the city without freezing my ass off.
Hey wait a minute? I just realized something. I don’t want to leave, I just needed to vent about the cold and stop pretending I was ok with it. Maybe I am a New Yorker after all?
I bitched and moaned about the city for an hour, but I still love it and want to stay. Cool.
Tuesday, March 01, 2005
Escape from New York?
I moved from Miami to New York in the dead of winter.
If one more person asks me if I’m crazy, I’m going to scream.
The truth is, I was just kind of looking into the opportunity and before I knew it, I was on a plane.
I work for a national organization in my adult, day job and my friend Melissa who is convinced that New York is the mecca of singledom, sent me the listing.
My exact position was open in Manhattan. Couldn’t hurt to check it out, I thought. So I did. Little did I know my boss and “would be" boss were close friends.
In a matter of weeks I was packing up the contents of my comfy cubicle in Miami and clearing out of grandma’s crib.
Now I’m setting up my cube in Manhattan and settling into Astoria.
I went from Key Biscayne to Lexington Avenue.
Am I crazy? AHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Initial impressions?
The Pace
Things here move really fast.
If you hesitate for an instant when paying for a meal or swiping your metro card, people want to dismember you. Have your card and your money ready and keep in step or endure laser beams of hatred.
When walking on the sidewalk, it’s best to keep a steady rhythm and walk with firm resolve. Again, hesitation is a clear invitation for scorn – especially in Times Square. Times Square is another article in and of itself.
Small talk in the check out line is not necessary in most places. The sheer volume of people going in and out of most establishments means no one cares about your recent relocation. A lot of people just moved here. Who cares? Mass transportation means minutes matter. Save the cute anecdotes for Florida people.
Umbrella Etiquette
Is completely unnecessary.
When it rains, the sidewalks are packed with umbrella toting walkers. Even though you’re sharing the limited space with a small army, don’t worry about hitting someone with the metal spokes of your umbrella. Hold your weapon firmly, keep moving and allow other people to worry about themselves. They will adjust. Thinking of others only complicates things for everyone.
Shoes
Invest in a comfortable pair of walking shoes and carry your work shoes in a tote from day one.
I made the mistake of getting all dressed up for my first day at the office. I was dying to wear my high heeled, knee high, Anne Klein black leather boots. Why was my new boss laughing at me?
By the end of the day, the three middle toes in my right foot had merged into one large mass of flesh. My big toe and pinky were laughing at the others, but the joke was on pinky because her nail fell off two days later. Fortunately, the pain subsided after about 5 hours when the bleeding stopped. Later I mustered the strength to stop into the local CVS for 4 boxes of band aids and a cutting instrument.
Walk ups
It seemed new and exciting when I came to see the apartment before I moved; now my 4 story walk up is an instrument of torture, psychological as well as physical.
As I look around the beautiful 1 bedroom digs with sparkling wood floors, I can’t help but think about the fact that everything in here was carried up by me. No wonder I lost 11 pounds.
The disturbing after thought is that anything else I plan to purchase has to be lugged up 4 flights by me; hence the sparse furnishings. I've gone from can I afford this to - do I want to carry this? What was that number for Fresh Direct again?
The Weather
A topic I could write about for hours...
Never mind that the lack of sunlight has drained the color from my entire body and now the only hues on my face are from acne blemishes that were formerly masked by my year-round Florida tan; there are treatments for that.
Never mind that I have had the flu 3 times this winter and the flu here is like an industrial sized, super aggressive flu that when combined with a 4 story walk up and two daily subway rides to and from work leaves you sapped of energy and completely bed-ridden; I like sleep.
Never mind it gets so cold, that by the time I reach my apartment in the evenings I have no feeling in my hands or feet; I don’t use them much after work anyway.
I have cabin fever!!
After living in South Florida for 20 years, a Northeast Winter is a hell of a shock.
Yes, the first snow was breathtaking. The hush that fell over the city as the flakes floated down was nothing short of poetic. The fluffy white mounds piling up in the park were beautiful. The kids playing outside and all of that crap…
But it’s still cold. I’m tired of wearing turtlenecks and boots every day. I’m tired of seeing black North Face coats on the subway. I’m tired of trying to find scarves that blend with my new yellowish-green complexion. I’m tired of pretending it’s not so bad.
When is it going to END? I want to be outside!!
Do I want to leave? No. I just want to be able to enjoy the city without freezing my ass off.
Hey wait a minute?
I just realized something.
I don’t regret moving. I just needed to vent about the cold and stop pretending I was ok with it.
Maybe I am a New Yorker after all?
I bitched and moaned about the city for an hour, but I still love it and want to stay... cool.
If one more person asks me if I’m crazy, I’m going to scream.
The truth is, I was just kind of looking into the opportunity and before I knew it, I was on a plane.
I work for a national organization in my adult, day job and my friend Melissa who is convinced that New York is the mecca of singledom, sent me the listing.
My exact position was open in Manhattan. Couldn’t hurt to check it out, I thought. So I did. Little did I know my boss and “would be" boss were close friends.
In a matter of weeks I was packing up the contents of my comfy cubicle in Miami and clearing out of grandma’s crib.
Now I’m setting up my cube in Manhattan and settling into Astoria.
I went from Key Biscayne to Lexington Avenue.
Am I crazy? AHHHHHHHHHHHH!
Initial impressions?
The Pace
Things here move really fast.
If you hesitate for an instant when paying for a meal or swiping your metro card, people want to dismember you. Have your card and your money ready and keep in step or endure laser beams of hatred.
When walking on the sidewalk, it’s best to keep a steady rhythm and walk with firm resolve. Again, hesitation is a clear invitation for scorn – especially in Times Square. Times Square is another article in and of itself.
Small talk in the check out line is not necessary in most places. The sheer volume of people going in and out of most establishments means no one cares about your recent relocation. A lot of people just moved here. Who cares? Mass transportation means minutes matter. Save the cute anecdotes for Florida people.
Umbrella Etiquette
Is completely unnecessary.
When it rains, the sidewalks are packed with umbrella toting walkers. Even though you’re sharing the limited space with a small army, don’t worry about hitting someone with the metal spokes of your umbrella. Hold your weapon firmly, keep moving and allow other people to worry about themselves. They will adjust. Thinking of others only complicates things for everyone.
Shoes
Invest in a comfortable pair of walking shoes and carry your work shoes in a tote from day one.
I made the mistake of getting all dressed up for my first day at the office. I was dying to wear my high heeled, knee high, Anne Klein black leather boots. Why was my new boss laughing at me?
By the end of the day, the three middle toes in my right foot had merged into one large mass of flesh. My big toe and pinky were laughing at the others, but the joke was on pinky because her nail fell off two days later. Fortunately, the pain subsided after about 5 hours when the bleeding stopped. Later I mustered the strength to stop into the local CVS for 4 boxes of band aids and a cutting instrument.
Walk ups
It seemed new and exciting when I came to see the apartment before I moved; now my 4 story walk up is an instrument of torture, psychological as well as physical.
As I look around the beautiful 1 bedroom digs with sparkling wood floors, I can’t help but think about the fact that everything in here was carried up by me. No wonder I lost 11 pounds.
The disturbing after thought is that anything else I plan to purchase has to be lugged up 4 flights by me; hence the sparse furnishings. I've gone from can I afford this to - do I want to carry this? What was that number for Fresh Direct again?
The Weather
A topic I could write about for hours...
Never mind that the lack of sunlight has drained the color from my entire body and now the only hues on my face are from acne blemishes that were formerly masked by my year-round Florida tan; there are treatments for that.
Never mind that I have had the flu 3 times this winter and the flu here is like an industrial sized, super aggressive flu that when combined with a 4 story walk up and two daily subway rides to and from work leaves you sapped of energy and completely bed-ridden; I like sleep.
Never mind it gets so cold, that by the time I reach my apartment in the evenings I have no feeling in my hands or feet; I don’t use them much after work anyway.
I have cabin fever!!
After living in South Florida for 20 years, a Northeast Winter is a hell of a shock.
Yes, the first snow was breathtaking. The hush that fell over the city as the flakes floated down was nothing short of poetic. The fluffy white mounds piling up in the park were beautiful. The kids playing outside and all of that crap…
But it’s still cold. I’m tired of wearing turtlenecks and boots every day. I’m tired of seeing black North Face coats on the subway. I’m tired of trying to find scarves that blend with my new yellowish-green complexion. I’m tired of pretending it’s not so bad.
When is it going to END? I want to be outside!!
Do I want to leave? No. I just want to be able to enjoy the city without freezing my ass off.
Hey wait a minute?
I just realized something.
I don’t regret moving. I just needed to vent about the cold and stop pretending I was ok with it.
Maybe I am a New Yorker after all?
I bitched and moaned about the city for an hour, but I still love it and want to stay... cool.
Saturday, February 12, 2005
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