I know how annoying it is to check back again and again to a blog and find that the person isn't updating, so I'll give a quick rundown of what's been going on...
I'm working with a recruiter who is trying to find the right place for me... hahaha aren't they all.
Had a phone meeting with a company in CT for a position with the NYC design studio.
Met up with an old college friend who owns a printing company in Union Square. He's become quite the macher -- I was blown away at how successful and seemingly perfect his life seems to be, and had to squash that little voice inside my head that said, "You have done every single thing in your life WRONG."
Trying to match my inside to someone else's outside will only lead to suffering, right?
Went to da Burgh to visit my parents last weekend, and it was quite nice, actually. The Crazy burner was turned way down to low, and Mom was 100% there for the entire weekend so I had a really nice time. And it reminded me that as adults living in Therapy Nation that we almost feel OBLIGATED to turn our parents (or our memories of our parents) into monsters. You know what? My parents weren't monsters. They were deeply flawed human beings doing the best they could with what they had, which honestly wasn't much. And they were both absolutely delighted that I went to visit them last weekend.
So there you have it.
The job search continues...
Thursday, January 18, 2007
Friday, January 5, 2007
Just a Coupla More Things
Read "The Glass Castle." I really thought I was done with memoirs -- the latest got-tired-in-a-nanosecond genre -- but I read this in one sitting. I just hope Jeannette Walls doesn't turn out to be the next James Frey or Augusten Burroughs.
Still pending in the new book pile:
"The Lost" by Daniel Mendelsohn. A little scared to read this, maybe it will jerk too many of my tears.
"The God Delusion" by Richard Dawkins. You want to start a war of words -- or possibly fisticuffs -- in a bar? Tell someone, "Mary was nothing more than a girl in trouble who came up with a really good story." Better yet, challenge them with this, "Tell me, just where was Jesus between the ages of 18 and 30, and how come that part's been excised from these so-called gospels?"
Okay, let the pile-on begin, here come the "Oh, ye heretic," comments.
Still pending in the new book pile:
"The Lost" by Daniel Mendelsohn. A little scared to read this, maybe it will jerk too many of my tears.
"The God Delusion" by Richard Dawkins. You want to start a war of words -- or possibly fisticuffs -- in a bar? Tell someone, "Mary was nothing more than a girl in trouble who came up with a really good story." Better yet, challenge them with this, "Tell me, just where was Jesus between the ages of 18 and 30, and how come that part's been excised from these so-called gospels?"
Okay, let the pile-on begin, here come the "Oh, ye heretic," comments.
Internet Cafes, Some Good, Some Bad
So my G3 has been indisposed (meaning, parked under my old desk because I was too damn lazy to cart it home), and while I await its eventual return, I've been frequenting internet cafes, paying their usurious rates to log on.
The one in Hell's Kitchen at 49th & 9th -- not so good. Really bad radio station choice, the coffee fixin's area is nothing short of disgusting, and lots and lots of actor-types. You know who I mean -- they look at you with that alert, expectant look, diligently making eye contact because you never know when you'll get your big break. Plus, the neighborhood has gone nauseatingly upscale since I lived there -- and yet, as it has classed up, it's loathsomeness factor has multiplied a thousandfold. Maybe it's just that as more bars and restaurants have moved in, the oily O&M types are sticking around the neighborhood instead of heading to the Upper East Side or Hoboken, where they belong.
The one in the girdle factory in Williamsburg. Also not so good. In fact, filthy, filthy, filthy. The keyboards are so grime-encrusted that you feel like you need a penicillin shot after using one of their stations. Not to mention you get to rub shoulders with New York City's most loathsome creatures of all, the hipsters. I know, the word is already outdated, but how the hell else can you describe these irritating trust fund brats? I want to knock every single one of those stupid knit short-billed army caps off of every single one of their heads and personally take steps to remove those full-sleeve tattoos they've all had done in the last couple of years.
East Village. Now, most of my friends know that I am NO FAN of the East Village. Full disclosure, I didn't like it before it became "gentrified" - as much as dingy tenements parked next to the projects can be gentrified, so there was never much hope that I would ever like it. But, this little internet cafe at the corner of 1st Ave and 3rd Street, I dig. First of all, yesterday they were rocking serious Zeppelin, and what's not to like about that? And today, the 80's are the Sirius Satellite choice of the day. Again, what's not to like? After all, the 80's were the decade that gave us a shitty one-hit-wonder song with my name in it. The glass cases are full of scrumptious-looking goodies, and the coffee is quite good. And they have this one station, scrunched into a corner, where I have nearly total privacy. And if you want the real deal of full-sleeve tattoo art, the HA NYC clubhouse is just around the corner. I dare any one of Williamsburg's hipster class to go there and mouth off -- just once. Please. But pleeeeease -- make sure I'm around when you do it, so I can watch as they rearrange your face.
Yes, yes, I know, I need to get my own computer up and running again at home -- but honestly, I'm afraid if I do that, I'll turn into one of those complete introverts with dirty teeth and dirty hair, schlepping around in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with pizza grease stains all over it. Since that's my usual Sunday outfit to begin with, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to extend that into the weekdays.
And my last notation of the day, my old pal EmKay got a nice writeup in the Voice, the featured bar review of the week! Good for him, now will you people just go there and order a Cuban sandwich already? I'll be the one at the front end of the bar, sipping a nice red, reading a book, and tapping the bar in time to "When The Levee Breaks."
The one in Hell's Kitchen at 49th & 9th -- not so good. Really bad radio station choice, the coffee fixin's area is nothing short of disgusting, and lots and lots of actor-types. You know who I mean -- they look at you with that alert, expectant look, diligently making eye contact because you never know when you'll get your big break. Plus, the neighborhood has gone nauseatingly upscale since I lived there -- and yet, as it has classed up, it's loathsomeness factor has multiplied a thousandfold. Maybe it's just that as more bars and restaurants have moved in, the oily O&M types are sticking around the neighborhood instead of heading to the Upper East Side or Hoboken, where they belong.
The one in the girdle factory in Williamsburg. Also not so good. In fact, filthy, filthy, filthy. The keyboards are so grime-encrusted that you feel like you need a penicillin shot after using one of their stations. Not to mention you get to rub shoulders with New York City's most loathsome creatures of all, the hipsters. I know, the word is already outdated, but how the hell else can you describe these irritating trust fund brats? I want to knock every single one of those stupid knit short-billed army caps off of every single one of their heads and personally take steps to remove those full-sleeve tattoos they've all had done in the last couple of years.
East Village. Now, most of my friends know that I am NO FAN of the East Village. Full disclosure, I didn't like it before it became "gentrified" - as much as dingy tenements parked next to the projects can be gentrified, so there was never much hope that I would ever like it. But, this little internet cafe at the corner of 1st Ave and 3rd Street, I dig. First of all, yesterday they were rocking serious Zeppelin, and what's not to like about that? And today, the 80's are the Sirius Satellite choice of the day. Again, what's not to like? After all, the 80's were the decade that gave us a shitty one-hit-wonder song with my name in it. The glass cases are full of scrumptious-looking goodies, and the coffee is quite good. And they have this one station, scrunched into a corner, where I have nearly total privacy. And if you want the real deal of full-sleeve tattoo art, the HA NYC clubhouse is just around the corner. I dare any one of Williamsburg's hipster class to go there and mouth off -- just once. Please. But pleeeeease -- make sure I'm around when you do it, so I can watch as they rearrange your face.
Yes, yes, I know, I need to get my own computer up and running again at home -- but honestly, I'm afraid if I do that, I'll turn into one of those complete introverts with dirty teeth and dirty hair, schlepping around in pajama bottoms and a t-shirt with pizza grease stains all over it. Since that's my usual Sunday outfit to begin with, it wouldn't be much of a stretch to extend that into the weekdays.
And my last notation of the day, my old pal EmKay got a nice writeup in the Voice, the featured bar review of the week! Good for him, now will you people just go there and order a Cuban sandwich already? I'll be the one at the front end of the bar, sipping a nice red, reading a book, and tapping the bar in time to "When The Levee Breaks."
Thursday, January 4, 2007
Slacking
I know employment experts would probably swat me across the nose with a rolled-up newspaper for not putting my nose to the grindstone as hard as I probably should, but I'm taking it easy on myself for the moment. I mean, I haven't had a freakin' vacation in three years! So I'm cutting myself a break.
I'm not sleeping particularly well, but sleeping until I wake up is amazing. I love it. I love it so much that I almost wish I was one of those blockheads who can sleep until noon. But I'll take 7:30 -- gladly.
Waking up with the realization, "I don't have to go to that place ever again," is sweet bliss. I roll around in my bed like a dog in dirt on a hot summer day every morning. Remembering that I'm shut of the black energy of that place is the first happy moment of the day.
I finally, finally, finally have the time to redd up my apartment properly, and gosh, have I accumulated a lot of crap! There is nothing more satisfying than toting another black garbage bag down the stairs. In eight or nine more years, I should have the zen space I've dreamed about.
So far, here's what I've accomplished:
- started dialogues with three headhunters about finding me new gig.
- turned in my expired Colorado driver's license -- four years after leaving Colorado. Funny, when I left NY in 2001, I went to the Summit County DMV within my first week of being there and practically threw my NY Driver's License at them. And that one had a really cute picture.
- signed up for NYS unemployment for the very first time. Pretty easy, considering. You can now do it all online and with one simple phone call.
- watched approximately 19 hours of the VH1 "America's Next Top Model" marathon, interspersed with approximately 23 hours of the various "Law & Order" franchises. I don't know who I find more weirdly compelling, Tyra Banks or Vincent D'Onofrio. And every time I see Christopher Meloni, I remember the time I saw him in a restaurant in NYC. When I said, "I know him from television," my companion said, "I know him from gay porn." So now, when I look at Elliott Stabler, I think, "you know, he does look kind of porny."
So, all in all, I figure this is kind of half-vacation, half-I-don't-know-what. Call me a slacker.
My Japanese mother would be appalled. My American father would understand.
I'm not sleeping particularly well, but sleeping until I wake up is amazing. I love it. I love it so much that I almost wish I was one of those blockheads who can sleep until noon. But I'll take 7:30 -- gladly.
Waking up with the realization, "I don't have to go to that place ever again," is sweet bliss. I roll around in my bed like a dog in dirt on a hot summer day every morning. Remembering that I'm shut of the black energy of that place is the first happy moment of the day.
I finally, finally, finally have the time to redd up my apartment properly, and gosh, have I accumulated a lot of crap! There is nothing more satisfying than toting another black garbage bag down the stairs. In eight or nine more years, I should have the zen space I've dreamed about.
So far, here's what I've accomplished:
- started dialogues with three headhunters about finding me new gig.
- turned in my expired Colorado driver's license -- four years after leaving Colorado. Funny, when I left NY in 2001, I went to the Summit County DMV within my first week of being there and practically threw my NY Driver's License at them. And that one had a really cute picture.
- signed up for NYS unemployment for the very first time. Pretty easy, considering. You can now do it all online and with one simple phone call.
- watched approximately 19 hours of the VH1 "America's Next Top Model" marathon, interspersed with approximately 23 hours of the various "Law & Order" franchises. I don't know who I find more weirdly compelling, Tyra Banks or Vincent D'Onofrio. And every time I see Christopher Meloni, I remember the time I saw him in a restaurant in NYC. When I said, "I know him from television," my companion said, "I know him from gay porn." So now, when I look at Elliott Stabler, I think, "you know, he does look kind of porny."
So, all in all, I figure this is kind of half-vacation, half-I-don't-know-what. Call me a slacker.
My Japanese mother would be appalled. My American father would understand.