New York is great and New York is awful--it's a love/hate relationship. I am amazed and horrified, charmed and then repulsed. I open my blinds one morning and see the Empire State Building surrounded by low clouds, the rising sun making its metal windows shine, and it is stunning, and I think " Ooh, I love NY," and then I go outside, take the subway, and step in some homeless guy's hurl and I'm like, "Ooh, I HATE NY," so it pretty much goes like that.
I just spent the day in the 5th Avenue and Park Avenue area, where all the ritzy stores are--you would not believe the window displays here--the Bergdorf Goodman ones I looked at today are just pure art--I will take pictures so you can see--sounds silly, but I'm serious--they're unbelieveable. The whole area is decorated for the holidays, and is very beautiful and very expensive. I was in the area checking out various salons, but was more distracted by the plastic surgery--you gotta see these Park Avenue socialites--their faces are pulled back so hard, their eyes are lifted so high, and their lips are so fakely plumped, they look like HIDEOUS--it's really hard not to stare--I took my camera to take pictures of the x-mas decorations, but what I really wish I could get away with photographing is the face lifts--Michael Jackson got nothin' on these women, and there are HUNDREDS of them--it's like being on safari and observing a strange looking pack of animals running around in their native habitat--weird.
Thursday, December 21, 2006
Thursday, December 14, 2006
No diary about being new to New York would be complete without talking about smells.
The smells of Manhattan--ah, the smells. Every day, there is a whole alphabet of smell waiting for you when you step outside. It doesn't matter what time of day it is, or even the time of year--the season and weather only determine an odor's intensity. Smells here are a constant you can count on, something about this city that will never let you down. This is my daily smell catalogue so far:
1) On the way to the dog run every day, several times a day; urine (maybe human, maybe canine, you never know--Patrick claims he can smell the difference--I can't), vomit (there are about a half-dozen homeless men living in doorways along my walk who drink a variety of things, from Hennessey to Mad Dog), dog shit, marijuana (I'm in Chelsea), car exhaust, a great fallafel cart on 24th and 6th, so it goes about like this, it almost has the rhythm of a pop song; urine, urine, exhaust, pot, pot again, vomit, dog poo, urine, pot, pot again, fallafel fallafel fallafel, BO BO BO, and now we are at the dog park so it's urine urine urine, especially if it's raining--the dog run becomes dog urine soup.
2) When riding the subway, it's: BO BO BO, fart smell fart smell fart smell, and then you get on a subway car, and it's BO BO BO, urine urine urine (be careful--don't sit in the seat with the pee puddle), weird food smell, almost like a burp, then BO BO BO (be careful, don't step in the drool puddle of the homeless guy sleeping on the floor of the car), pollution, pollution pollution when you get out of the subway car, and then BO BO BO, fart fart fart as you run for the exit to get up to the sidewalk for some "fresh" air. You reach into your purse for your little bottle of hand sanitizer, because half the time when you have to stand on the subway and you grab a metal hand rail, it's slimy, like somebody greased it with Vaseline--not an exaggeration--I HATE that feeling.
Even in the nicer areas of Manhattan the sidewalks are covered with black dots--it's gum I think, mashed down into smooth round spots that suck up grime and pollution and end up a very dark black. If I had a dollar for every one of them I see and walk on every day, it would be like winning the lottery.
And last, but not least, one of my biggest ickies--spit. Public spitting is RAMPANT here. People treat subway tracks like they are a spatoon. It just doesn't make any sense--the way people live here, they should take public health as seriously as religion. I feel a little like a character in a Charles Dickens novel in Victorian London, when they just threw their urine and feces into the streets. It isn't that bad here, but it's not so far from it either. This city is just ripe for an epidemic--I watch someone spit, then watch a mother pushing a baby stroller wheel right through it--ewwwwww--I might turn into one of those freaky people who run around wearing surgical masks and latex gloves all the time. If a terrorist released something in the subway system here, it would spread so long and so far in a matter of minutes, just because there are so many people. Scary.
If I was in charge of this town for a day, I would organize a cleaning day--I would hand out a surgical mask and gloves to everyone in Manhattan, and a scrub brush and a bucket of anti-bacterial cleanser, and then make each of them scrub a five-foot by five-foot square area outdoors. If everyone in Manhattan did that, say once a quarter, or was willing to pay a crew to do that, say once a quarter, and hose down the subways while they're at it, this island would be such a different place.
Here I am in New York, and my biggest fantasy so far is cleaning. Marth Stewart tapes her show a few blocks from my hotel--maybe I should pitch my cleaning idea to her show--ha. We will be moving to Brooklyn soon, where the air is cleaner, the horizon is more open, and it is far less dirty, so I will calm down some then, but still, wow is this place dirty. And smelly. One of many great things about the Midwest; when you are outdoors there, the wind and spaciousness usually protect you from the BO of others, and if not, it's not usually that hard to get upwind of someone gassy. But here, we are packed onto this island like sardines in a can--there is no escape. There should be BO police in Manhattan--if they can charge you $1,000.00 for not picking up your dog's poop, there should be a fee for being too stinky. A stank meter. I thought this being NY everybody would be so chic and amazing--there are lots of chic and amazing people, but there are also way more people who seem to think that a shower once a week or so is more than enough.
Obsessive compulsives and germ phobics should be sent to NY for treatment--if you live here, you just have to let go of any hope of being clean and just hold your nose and go.
The smells of Manhattan--ah, the smells. Every day, there is a whole alphabet of smell waiting for you when you step outside. It doesn't matter what time of day it is, or even the time of year--the season and weather only determine an odor's intensity. Smells here are a constant you can count on, something about this city that will never let you down. This is my daily smell catalogue so far:
1) On the way to the dog run every day, several times a day; urine (maybe human, maybe canine, you never know--Patrick claims he can smell the difference--I can't), vomit (there are about a half-dozen homeless men living in doorways along my walk who drink a variety of things, from Hennessey to Mad Dog), dog shit, marijuana (I'm in Chelsea), car exhaust, a great fallafel cart on 24th and 6th, so it goes about like this, it almost has the rhythm of a pop song; urine, urine, exhaust, pot, pot again, vomit, dog poo, urine, pot, pot again, fallafel fallafel fallafel, BO BO BO, and now we are at the dog park so it's urine urine urine, especially if it's raining--the dog run becomes dog urine soup.
2) When riding the subway, it's: BO BO BO, fart smell fart smell fart smell, and then you get on a subway car, and it's BO BO BO, urine urine urine (be careful--don't sit in the seat with the pee puddle), weird food smell, almost like a burp, then BO BO BO (be careful, don't step in the drool puddle of the homeless guy sleeping on the floor of the car), pollution, pollution pollution when you get out of the subway car, and then BO BO BO, fart fart fart as you run for the exit to get up to the sidewalk for some "fresh" air. You reach into your purse for your little bottle of hand sanitizer, because half the time when you have to stand on the subway and you grab a metal hand rail, it's slimy, like somebody greased it with Vaseline--not an exaggeration--I HATE that feeling.
Even in the nicer areas of Manhattan the sidewalks are covered with black dots--it's gum I think, mashed down into smooth round spots that suck up grime and pollution and end up a very dark black. If I had a dollar for every one of them I see and walk on every day, it would be like winning the lottery.
And last, but not least, one of my biggest ickies--spit. Public spitting is RAMPANT here. People treat subway tracks like they are a spatoon. It just doesn't make any sense--the way people live here, they should take public health as seriously as religion. I feel a little like a character in a Charles Dickens novel in Victorian London, when they just threw their urine and feces into the streets. It isn't that bad here, but it's not so far from it either. This city is just ripe for an epidemic--I watch someone spit, then watch a mother pushing a baby stroller wheel right through it--ewwwwww--I might turn into one of those freaky people who run around wearing surgical masks and latex gloves all the time. If a terrorist released something in the subway system here, it would spread so long and so far in a matter of minutes, just because there are so many people. Scary.
If I was in charge of this town for a day, I would organize a cleaning day--I would hand out a surgical mask and gloves to everyone in Manhattan, and a scrub brush and a bucket of anti-bacterial cleanser, and then make each of them scrub a five-foot by five-foot square area outdoors. If everyone in Manhattan did that, say once a quarter, or was willing to pay a crew to do that, say once a quarter, and hose down the subways while they're at it, this island would be such a different place.
Here I am in New York, and my biggest fantasy so far is cleaning. Marth Stewart tapes her show a few blocks from my hotel--maybe I should pitch my cleaning idea to her show--ha. We will be moving to Brooklyn soon, where the air is cleaner, the horizon is more open, and it is far less dirty, so I will calm down some then, but still, wow is this place dirty. And smelly. One of many great things about the Midwest; when you are outdoors there, the wind and spaciousness usually protect you from the BO of others, and if not, it's not usually that hard to get upwind of someone gassy. But here, we are packed onto this island like sardines in a can--there is no escape. There should be BO police in Manhattan--if they can charge you $1,000.00 for not picking up your dog's poop, there should be a fee for being too stinky. A stank meter. I thought this being NY everybody would be so chic and amazing--there are lots of chic and amazing people, but there are also way more people who seem to think that a shower once a week or so is more than enough.
Obsessive compulsives and germ phobics should be sent to NY for treatment--if you live here, you just have to let go of any hope of being clean and just hold your nose and go.
Tuesday, December 12, 2006
This place is just so different from anywhere I have ever been that I find it really interesting ... I am e-mailing too many people way too much information, but oh well.
I've been to most of the major U.S. cities, but NY is different--I'm still working on exactly how. So far all I have is that it's not really an American city--it is, but it isn't--it's more of an international city--it doesn't feel American to me--it feels like its own little country, like it is its own little District of Columbia or something.
I think a lot of the people who live in Manhattan would like it if you had to get a passport to get on the island--we are offending a lot of people in Chelsea with our presence. It has been very clear from day one that Patrick and I are not anywhere near cool enough, in this life or any other future life, to live in Chelsea--we have a temporary visa, but we will never be granted permanent residence.
We can actually afford to live on the island, but this island hates animals, and children--they actually had to pass rental housing laws against discriminating against children here because so many property managers were doing it. I can understand the fashion students being that way--they are young and acting their age--but when the middle-aged and senior citizen types stick up their noses at my dogs and look at babies in carriages like they are monsters--it's just strange to me.
These people that think Manhattan is so great and they never want to leave the island--I can understand that to a certain extent, but at the same time I wonder if they understand how compromised their quality of life can be. Without a car, you are at the mercy of your surroundings--it's like being poor and living in a bad neighborhood in North Omaha or Kansas City--you are stranded in a sense--you have access only to what you can walk, or, if you can afford it, take a bus to, so that means you shop at overpriced drug and convenience stores because it may be hard, if not impossible, to get to a real grocery store, which by the way, doesn't really exist in Manhattan. There is one large Whole Foods grocery chain just across the street from my hotel that is only a year old, and was lauded in the local press as the second coming. Only one--on the entire island. Everything else is drug stores or tiny grocery chains that have limited selections and charge way too much. And I don't count Whole Foods as a real grocery store--it is a gourmet, high end food store for wealthier people.
Cultural life is definitely at its height here--it is fantastic to have so many choices every day of the week--but the mechanics of daily life can be a real grind.
I've been to most of the major U.S. cities, but NY is different--I'm still working on exactly how. So far all I have is that it's not really an American city--it is, but it isn't--it's more of an international city--it doesn't feel American to me--it feels like its own little country, like it is its own little District of Columbia or something.
I think a lot of the people who live in Manhattan would like it if you had to get a passport to get on the island--we are offending a lot of people in Chelsea with our presence. It has been very clear from day one that Patrick and I are not anywhere near cool enough, in this life or any other future life, to live in Chelsea--we have a temporary visa, but we will never be granted permanent residence.
We can actually afford to live on the island, but this island hates animals, and children--they actually had to pass rental housing laws against discriminating against children here because so many property managers were doing it. I can understand the fashion students being that way--they are young and acting their age--but when the middle-aged and senior citizen types stick up their noses at my dogs and look at babies in carriages like they are monsters--it's just strange to me.
These people that think Manhattan is so great and they never want to leave the island--I can understand that to a certain extent, but at the same time I wonder if they understand how compromised their quality of life can be. Without a car, you are at the mercy of your surroundings--it's like being poor and living in a bad neighborhood in North Omaha or Kansas City--you are stranded in a sense--you have access only to what you can walk, or, if you can afford it, take a bus to, so that means you shop at overpriced drug and convenience stores because it may be hard, if not impossible, to get to a real grocery store, which by the way, doesn't really exist in Manhattan. There is one large Whole Foods grocery chain just across the street from my hotel that is only a year old, and was lauded in the local press as the second coming. Only one--on the entire island. Everything else is drug stores or tiny grocery chains that have limited selections and charge way too much. And I don't count Whole Foods as a real grocery store--it is a gourmet, high end food store for wealthier people.
Cultural life is definitely at its height here--it is fantastic to have so many choices every day of the week--but the mechanics of daily life can be a real grind.
Monday, December 11, 2006
I am getting my first taste of becoming jaded as a New Yorker--today marks the 5th time since we have been here that there is a film being shot near our hotel--they block off all the parking, make the sidewalks nearly impassable with equipment, etc., and then act like they own said sidewalks and could chase you off if they felt like it, which is all fine, not the end of the world, but sometimes they run generators when they shoot at night--I don't know if they are for the lights, or to run the actors' trailers, or what, but the thing is, generators are LOUD, and multiple generators are REALLY LOUD. And the noise is amplified by the accoustics created by all the tall buildings. And they run the generators until about 4 a.m.--it's like living next to a commercial construction site where they only work at night. It's just crazy loud, and it's the kind of noise that if you do fall asleep in spite of it, you have dreams like you've died and gone to hell and were given a job in one of Satan's furnace factories--all hot and loud--just nuts. The kind of dreams where you wake up and are really relieved you were only dreaming.
There has been one exciting part--Patrick saw Colin Firth this morning when he was walking the dogs to the dog run--they are shooting this movie called The Accidental Husband. Colin Firth, Uma Thurman, and Isabella Rossellini are all sitting in trailers a block from me as I write this--so weird. The dogs are terrified of the generator noise at night, but they don't seem to mind all the equipment and stuff, because they get to pass the craft services table a couple times a day on the way to the dog run to poop, and they seem hopeful that one of these times someone is going to give them some food. The dogs are good cover too--you can pretend that you doing something legitimate--dog walking--when you are actually kind of star stalking.
There has been one exciting part--Patrick saw Colin Firth this morning when he was walking the dogs to the dog run--they are shooting this movie called The Accidental Husband. Colin Firth, Uma Thurman, and Isabella Rossellini are all sitting in trailers a block from me as I write this--so weird. The dogs are terrified of the generator noise at night, but they don't seem to mind all the equipment and stuff, because they get to pass the craft services table a couple times a day on the way to the dog run to poop, and they seem hopeful that one of these times someone is going to give them some food. The dogs are good cover too--you can pretend that you doing something legitimate--dog walking--when you are actually kind of star stalking.
Sunday, December 10, 2006
Some other things I forgot to mention about SNL--we watched the show that night after we got home from the rehearsal, and it is surprising how different the two shows can be--details big and small, which skits make it into the show and which don't--it's interesting. I found that the first show, the rehearsal, was funnier--for whatever reasons, with this particular show and cast, the second time around the lines weren't delivered as freshly--they were more rehearsed, more pat, if that's the word for it, and things that got a laugh the first time around fell flat during round two because they just weren't delivered the same way--it's really fascinating. I admired Annette and the entire cast--they would do their best and just move on--it takes a thick skin to do that. The show wasn't terribly funny--I think the cast is very talented--from what I saw, I'd guess that there is more of a writing drought going on right now than a lack of comedic ability on the part of the cast. I think Bening is amazing, and I have been impressed with every role I have seen her in, but if you watched her SNL show, she didn't seem to connect with the cast--she was acting to the camera, rather than them, and it seems that on that show, you have to do both. But what the hell do I know.
I also learned that the adage about TV adding pounds is visciously true--it's really startling when you are able to see this phenomenon for yourself--when you are able to watch people perform live, and then again on tape, this very shocking difference really comes home to you.
The way the SNL stage and studio looks so much bigger on TV than in real life, well, unfortunately, that applies to people as well. Gwen Stefanie looked fabulous in person, especially for just having had a baby--she was ever so slightly larger than usual, simply because of her pregnancy, but there are few women in North America who wouldn't be thrilled to look as good as she does post-baby at any time in their lives. When I saw the show later that night on TV, Gwen didn't look fat, but she did look larger than she really is--I guess a little puffy would be the best way to describe it. That is so unfair--it wasn't what she looked like at all in person--no wonder women in show business get complexes about their weight and go to extremes--having seen it for myself, it really is enough to drive even the most level-headed person at least a little crazy, especially women, who are held to different standards than men anyway. It's a very cruel fact of life--TV can take a perfectly nice ass and make it a wide load. Even Bill Hader, a male SNL cast member, looked a little chubby in a tight t-shirt in a skit with Annette Bening--but only on TV, not when I was watching it in person. Perhaps we need to apply our technological meddle to eliminating this video distortion-we could save a lot of psyches that way.
I also learned that the adage about TV adding pounds is visciously true--it's really startling when you are able to see this phenomenon for yourself--when you are able to watch people perform live, and then again on tape, this very shocking difference really comes home to you.
The way the SNL stage and studio looks so much bigger on TV than in real life, well, unfortunately, that applies to people as well. Gwen Stefanie looked fabulous in person, especially for just having had a baby--she was ever so slightly larger than usual, simply because of her pregnancy, but there are few women in North America who wouldn't be thrilled to look as good as she does post-baby at any time in their lives. When I saw the show later that night on TV, Gwen didn't look fat, but she did look larger than she really is--I guess a little puffy would be the best way to describe it. That is so unfair--it wasn't what she looked like at all in person--no wonder women in show business get complexes about their weight and go to extremes--having seen it for myself, it really is enough to drive even the most level-headed person at least a little crazy, especially women, who are held to different standards than men anyway. It's a very cruel fact of life--TV can take a perfectly nice ass and make it a wide load. Even Bill Hader, a male SNL cast member, looked a little chubby in a tight t-shirt in a skit with Annette Bening--but only on TV, not when I was watching it in person. Perhaps we need to apply our technological meddle to eliminating this video distortion-we could save a lot of psyches that way.
Patrick and I made it into a Saturday Night Live show last night. We got tickets to a rehearsal show--there's a rehearsal performance before every show--Patrick and I barely got in--we were the last two people who made it. We got up Saturday morning to stand in line at 6 a.m. to get stand by tickets that might or might not get us in. The weather is probably the only reason we got in--it was about 28 degrees Saturday morning, and to a lot of NY people, that's arctic cold, so the lines weren't as long as usual. They won't let you wait inside for tickets at Rockefeller Center any more because a few years ago, some people waiting in line vandalizing the building, and it is an incredible building--it's Art Deco--I know nothing about architecture, but it's so beautiful you can't not be amazed by it--that is one of the things that really knocks me out about Manhattan--there are just so many incredible buildings--it is hard to fathom the tons and tons of marble, gold, silver, and expensive stone, etc., that are on this relatively small patch of land.
The SNL studio itself is TINY--it all looks so big on TV, but the entire thing, including the balcony seating, is maybe half the size of the stage alone at Table Rock, if that. I have never been so close to famous people before--Alec Baldwin and Robert Downey Jr. were in the audience, and of course the cast and guests--I could have spit on Lorne Michaels if I'd wanted to--not that I did--but he stood right beneath us for a long time--he seemed a little crabby. From the balcony seats you look down on a swarm of people all building up and tearing down sets and moving giant cameras in the smallest space you can imagine--it's amazing nobody gets hurt. There are tons of people--there are even people whose sole job is to just stand around holding used cue cards.
Annette Bening comes out and starts the show, and it is just surreal--Patrick and I are so overwhelmed by our surroundings that we have trouble really listening and laughing and clapping when prompted--they have all these giant flat screen TVs hanging from the ceilings that have applause signs under them that flash when you are supposed to clap--even the applause signs are Art Deco. When you are in the audience, it is actually hard to see all of the show because they move from set to set, and sometimes cameras block your view, so you need the TV screens to see everything.
Gwen Stefani comes out to perform, and these teenage girls from Jersey that are behind us just go beserk--they were so hilarious with their accents: Ohhh my GGGAAWWWDD, would you just look at hehhhhr--she's so buuootifulll! Gwen, we love you! We'll see you on toouhhr! Oh my Gawd, she looked right at us!" They stood up while Gwen performed and did her whole routine with her, singing and all--they just went nuts. Gwen's exit was right beneath us, and as she leaves the studio the girls literally climb over Patrick and I--we were lucky enough to be in the front row--to hurl themselves over the balcony railing to give Gwen all these really tacky hand-made x-mas gifts they made her. Gwen was really sweet to them--she stopped and talked to them and let them hand down their gifts--if I were her I think I might be afraid to take stuff like that from strangers. While this is happening, I see this man start motioning wildly from the other side of the stage--it's Lorne Michaels trying to get the NBC pages to restrain these girls, but it's way too late--he comes rushing over and stands right beneath me, glaring up at the girls. I think he might have thrown them out, but it was actually the biggest laugh from the audience all night--it was very innocent--they were like kids at Christmas, so the audience just roared. It actually was quite surprising how close to these celebrities you can get--you have to go through a metal detector to get into the show, but anybody can get tickets to these shows, and if they make it in, they can do all kinds of things before there is really anybody close enough to stop them--it's kind of scary.
I was really excited to see the x-mas tree at Rockefeller Center--there are so many amazing holiday decorations in that area, on the storefronts, in the parks, etc., but I have to say that the tree was a let down--it looks okay at night because it has so many lights, but when you see it in daylight, it is a lot of limp, underwatered branches strung together and it looks pretty pathetic--ah well, can't have everything.
It is really amazing and interesting here, but it is also very snooty--everything is about status on the island of Manhattan--there are lines for SNL ticket holders, SNL VIP visitors, SNL stand by tickets, all sorts of levels and sublevels between VIP and "little people," and people here are very conscious of this and very into this game--even at the grocery store this morning, they made us wait until they were ready to unlock the doors, a good 10 minutes after the store was supposed to open. If someone can make you wait or boss you around, they probably will--it's all about power. Even on the SNL set--right after Annette Bening did her opening spiel, the second she was done an SNL staffer came running up and grabbed her by the arm and yanked her off the stage to hair and make-up--I could tell by Annette's face that she didn't appreciate it--it shocked me that someone would treat her like that--this staffer just grabbed her like a rag doll. This place is so much about status
that people will do odd and/or extreme things to feel important--the night security guy at the grocery store can feel like he is somebody because he can make a bunch of people wait in the freezing cold a little longer than they should have to, just cause. It's a crazy world, but fun to observe--very entertaining.
We are looking forward to moving to our apartment--Park Slope is a great neighborhood. We can stay in corporate housing until Feb. 15th--it is a nice high-rise extended stay Marriott, but it is tiny and not very homey, and it is in Chelsea, which is very bitchy--it's all obnoxious modern art galleries, the Martha Stewart Show, the Parsons School (Project Runway)--so basically the streets are full of mean fags and their even meaner fag hags, not any fun gays, and snotty fashion design students--it's fun to look at what they are wearing though--I get a free fashion show every day. It is just simply very clear that we are NOWHERE near cool enough to live in Chelsea, even temporarily, never have been, never will be ... we are living in the middle of as hip as it gets central, and we are polluting the place with our sweat pants, our Bud Light 12-packs, and our mutt dogs.
The SNL studio itself is TINY--it all looks so big on TV, but the entire thing, including the balcony seating, is maybe half the size of the stage alone at Table Rock, if that. I have never been so close to famous people before--Alec Baldwin and Robert Downey Jr. were in the audience, and of course the cast and guests--I could have spit on Lorne Michaels if I'd wanted to--not that I did--but he stood right beneath us for a long time--he seemed a little crabby. From the balcony seats you look down on a swarm of people all building up and tearing down sets and moving giant cameras in the smallest space you can imagine--it's amazing nobody gets hurt. There are tons of people--there are even people whose sole job is to just stand around holding used cue cards.
Annette Bening comes out and starts the show, and it is just surreal--Patrick and I are so overwhelmed by our surroundings that we have trouble really listening and laughing and clapping when prompted--they have all these giant flat screen TVs hanging from the ceilings that have applause signs under them that flash when you are supposed to clap--even the applause signs are Art Deco. When you are in the audience, it is actually hard to see all of the show because they move from set to set, and sometimes cameras block your view, so you need the TV screens to see everything.
Gwen Stefani comes out to perform, and these teenage girls from Jersey that are behind us just go beserk--they were so hilarious with their accents: Ohhh my GGGAAWWWDD, would you just look at hehhhhr--she's so buuootifulll! Gwen, we love you! We'll see you on toouhhr! Oh my Gawd, she looked right at us!" They stood up while Gwen performed and did her whole routine with her, singing and all--they just went nuts. Gwen's exit was right beneath us, and as she leaves the studio the girls literally climb over Patrick and I--we were lucky enough to be in the front row--to hurl themselves over the balcony railing to give Gwen all these really tacky hand-made x-mas gifts they made her. Gwen was really sweet to them--she stopped and talked to them and let them hand down their gifts--if I were her I think I might be afraid to take stuff like that from strangers. While this is happening, I see this man start motioning wildly from the other side of the stage--it's Lorne Michaels trying to get the NBC pages to restrain these girls, but it's way too late--he comes rushing over and stands right beneath me, glaring up at the girls. I think he might have thrown them out, but it was actually the biggest laugh from the audience all night--it was very innocent--they were like kids at Christmas, so the audience just roared. It actually was quite surprising how close to these celebrities you can get--you have to go through a metal detector to get into the show, but anybody can get tickets to these shows, and if they make it in, they can do all kinds of things before there is really anybody close enough to stop them--it's kind of scary.
I was really excited to see the x-mas tree at Rockefeller Center--there are so many amazing holiday decorations in that area, on the storefronts, in the parks, etc., but I have to say that the tree was a let down--it looks okay at night because it has so many lights, but when you see it in daylight, it is a lot of limp, underwatered branches strung together and it looks pretty pathetic--ah well, can't have everything.
It is really amazing and interesting here, but it is also very snooty--everything is about status on the island of Manhattan--there are lines for SNL ticket holders, SNL VIP visitors, SNL stand by tickets, all sorts of levels and sublevels between VIP and "little people," and people here are very conscious of this and very into this game--even at the grocery store this morning, they made us wait until they were ready to unlock the doors, a good 10 minutes after the store was supposed to open. If someone can make you wait or boss you around, they probably will--it's all about power. Even on the SNL set--right after Annette Bening did her opening spiel, the second she was done an SNL staffer came running up and grabbed her by the arm and yanked her off the stage to hair and make-up--I could tell by Annette's face that she didn't appreciate it--it shocked me that someone would treat her like that--this staffer just grabbed her like a rag doll. This place is so much about status
that people will do odd and/or extreme things to feel important--the night security guy at the grocery store can feel like he is somebody because he can make a bunch of people wait in the freezing cold a little longer than they should have to, just cause. It's a crazy world, but fun to observe--very entertaining.
We are looking forward to moving to our apartment--Park Slope is a great neighborhood. We can stay in corporate housing until Feb. 15th--it is a nice high-rise extended stay Marriott, but it is tiny and not very homey, and it is in Chelsea, which is very bitchy--it's all obnoxious modern art galleries, the Martha Stewart Show, the Parsons School (Project Runway)--so basically the streets are full of mean fags and their even meaner fag hags, not any fun gays, and snotty fashion design students--it's fun to look at what they are wearing though--I get a free fashion show every day. It is just simply very clear that we are NOWHERE near cool enough to live in Chelsea, even temporarily, never have been, never will be ... we are living in the middle of as hip as it gets central, and we are polluting the place with our sweat pants, our Bud Light 12-packs, and our mutt dogs.
Friday, December 08, 2006
We have secured an apartment in Park Slope, a beautiful suburb of Brooklyn that is no longer a commute for Patrick than he had in Kansas City.
We were really nervous we wouldn't get it--apartment hunting here has been a real eye opener, and not just because prices are so high--it is a very anti-pet city. We didn't think we would that much trouble finding a place--we just figured with our four-legged family, we would have to pay more--but many places we looked at or considered wouldn't even consider one pet. The places that would consider taking our babies were mostly depressing little dumps that reminded me of what I lived in and didn't mind in college, but would have a hard time with now.
So we got really lucky, and are very relieved. It is the first floor of a brownstone, and has a little back yard and is just a few blocks from Prospect Park, which is great for the dogs--it is the best dog life in the NY area--it's the only park that has off-leash hours--it even has a dog swimming pond--it will be fun to take Betty and Barney to that and see how they react.
We were really nervous we wouldn't get it--apartment hunting here has been a real eye opener, and not just because prices are so high--it is a very anti-pet city. We didn't think we would that much trouble finding a place--we just figured with our four-legged family, we would have to pay more--but many places we looked at or considered wouldn't even consider one pet. The places that would consider taking our babies were mostly depressing little dumps that reminded me of what I lived in and didn't mind in college, but would have a hard time with now.
So we got really lucky, and are very relieved. It is the first floor of a brownstone, and has a little back yard and is just a few blocks from Prospect Park, which is great for the dogs--it is the best dog life in the NY area--it's the only park that has off-leash hours--it even has a dog swimming pond--it will be fun to take Betty and Barney to that and see how they react.
Tuesday, December 05, 2006
New York makes me feel very small. New York makes me feel insignificant. This isn't necessarily a bad thing. When you are an above average fish in an average pond you don't feel really big, or really small--you just feel comfortable--you aren't bottom of the barrel, and there isn't much of a top, so you don't have to try very hard. New York makes a Midwesterner like me uncomfortable because it makes me question the point and value of my existence. I don't know multiple languages, I haven't traveled the world, I don't have multiple degrees from important schools, or unique life experiences--all the things that so many of the people around me have. I feel too average, too boring, too unaccomplished, to share the streets of Manhattan with so many amazing people. I feel anxious because I feel inferior, but again, somehow it's not a particularly negative thing--it just is what it is. There is inspiration and motivation to be derived from these feelings. There is opportunity for real growth here. I've never had to try that hard at anything to be slightly above average. I've avoided really challenging myself--I take the easy route, sticking to what I know will make me feel confident, if not superior. I was comfortable where I was, and even pretentious enough to think I was bored. Now I am somewhere where one can never be legitimately bored, or even particularly superior. I can sink, or I can learn to swim. I can let myself feel hopelessly lost, or I can grow the fuck up and build a new life for a new person, someone I would like to be.
Monday, December 04, 2006
We have been caught up in an apartment hunt for the last week, and it has been an eye opener, but I think we have gotten lucky--Patrick found a 3-bedroom apartment on the first floor of a brownstone that has a little backyard, which is great for the dogs. It's also a few blocks away from Prospect Park, which is the best park in the NY area for dogs--it has off-leash hours and a swimming pond for dogs. There are great biking and hiking paths, so it will be good for us too.
The apartment is in Brooklyn in a neighborhood called Park Slope--I absolutely love it--it is block after block of beautiful brownstones, and lots of funky shops--the neighborhood has prevented almost all franchises from taking space there, so the shops are pretty mom-and-pop--they have a huge food co-op that we are going to join if we get the apartment.
Manhattan is a trip--we can afford to live on the island, but no one wants to deal with our babies--we have literally been told to either get rid of the cats or get rid of the dogs, because we can't have both. There are a lot of high rises, especially new ones in the financial district around the WTC site, that are actually pretty reasonable--they are still coaxing people back into the area since 9/11--but they are full of snotty hipsters, the kind of people that just annoy me on sight. There are a lot of people on this island who don't like animals--they look at Patrick and I like we are walking crocodiles on leashes--how sad to be so far removed from animal contact that you are truly afraid of a 30-pound dog who just wants to lick your hand.
I definitely want to live in Brooklyn--it has more of a neighborhood feel--people aren't quite so pompous, pushy, and in an insane rush, and they actually smile occasionally. And the air is so much better. Manhattan is beautiful and amazing, but it is filthy. I can feel it on my skin, in my eyes, on my throat--I feel slimed after being out and about for only a few hours. I wish I could get on a giant, city-wide bullhorn and order everyone on this island to clean--it is just shameful. This is such a remarkable and unique place, and people treat it like it's one big trash can. Little things knock me out--down by the GM building, where the Today show is filmed, there is a two-block department store, Bergdorf Goodman, that has all of its first-floor windows lined in garland for the holidays. Real garland--thousands of dollars just in boxwood--and that's just one store--it is these things that really get to me--how much beauty and art there is even in the window displays, but it's all in such sharp contrast to the trash and grime when you look down--weird.
Patrick and I had a nice Thanksgiving just the two of us--we went to the Macy's parade and cooked a big meal--it was nice--it's funny--our corporate housing "suite" is the size of our living room, dining room, and foyer mashed together. Chelsea, where our hotel is, is very hip and cool--home of the super cool gays and their trusty, even more glamourous fag hags--Martha Stewart tapes her show here, the Parsons School (Project Runway) and the Fashion Institute are here, so you can imagine what is running around the streets here--bitchy fashionistas. Then there's me and Barney and Betty.
The apartment is in Brooklyn in a neighborhood called Park Slope--I absolutely love it--it is block after block of beautiful brownstones, and lots of funky shops--the neighborhood has prevented almost all franchises from taking space there, so the shops are pretty mom-and-pop--they have a huge food co-op that we are going to join if we get the apartment.
Manhattan is a trip--we can afford to live on the island, but no one wants to deal with our babies--we have literally been told to either get rid of the cats or get rid of the dogs, because we can't have both. There are a lot of high rises, especially new ones in the financial district around the WTC site, that are actually pretty reasonable--they are still coaxing people back into the area since 9/11--but they are full of snotty hipsters, the kind of people that just annoy me on sight. There are a lot of people on this island who don't like animals--they look at Patrick and I like we are walking crocodiles on leashes--how sad to be so far removed from animal contact that you are truly afraid of a 30-pound dog who just wants to lick your hand.
I definitely want to live in Brooklyn--it has more of a neighborhood feel--people aren't quite so pompous, pushy, and in an insane rush, and they actually smile occasionally. And the air is so much better. Manhattan is beautiful and amazing, but it is filthy. I can feel it on my skin, in my eyes, on my throat--I feel slimed after being out and about for only a few hours. I wish I could get on a giant, city-wide bullhorn and order everyone on this island to clean--it is just shameful. This is such a remarkable and unique place, and people treat it like it's one big trash can. Little things knock me out--down by the GM building, where the Today show is filmed, there is a two-block department store, Bergdorf Goodman, that has all of its first-floor windows lined in garland for the holidays. Real garland--thousands of dollars just in boxwood--and that's just one store--it is these things that really get to me--how much beauty and art there is even in the window displays, but it's all in such sharp contrast to the trash and grime when you look down--weird.
Patrick and I had a nice Thanksgiving just the two of us--we went to the Macy's parade and cooked a big meal--it was nice--it's funny--our corporate housing "suite" is the size of our living room, dining room, and foyer mashed together. Chelsea, where our hotel is, is very hip and cool--home of the super cool gays and their trusty, even more glamourous fag hags--Martha Stewart tapes her show here, the Parsons School (Project Runway) and the Fashion Institute are here, so you can imagine what is running around the streets here--bitchy fashionistas. Then there's me and Barney and Betty.
Monday, November 20, 2006
Manhattan is dirty dirty dirty. No bulletin there, but WOW--dirty dirty dirty. Some of the subways are extra disgusting, and many parts of them are rusting/disintegrating away. The smells are many and constant--some wonderful, like flower stands and fantastic food, and some awful, like the smell of urine and filthy standing water . It is sensory overload for me, so I can't imagine what it must be like for my dogs. There is so much pollution--whenever we go out, especially when we take the subway, within an hour I feel like I need to shower again. I am super clean since we got to Manhattan--I bathe twice a day to not feel slimed. The city wouldn't be so dirty if people picked up after themselves. Many people don't bother with trash cans--just throw whatever you are done with on the ground. That's a shame--people who are fortunate enough to live in or visit this remarkable and unique place should show it the respect it deserves.
Manhattanites are a little precious. Few people exercise basic etiquette on the street. Manners and kindness are not a priority. I wouldn't say most people are truly mean--just very self-serving and self-absorbed. It's a type of courtesy to pretend no one else exists when you are packed together, a way of maintaining your privacy and that of others, but it is taken too far--it's as if these people have taught themselves not to see anyone else, so they bulldoze their way along. They also don't stop to smell the roses, so to speak--a cute puppy, pretty flowers, a smiling baby--few pause to enjoy their surroundings--it's just rush rush rush to the next thing. There are so many amazing sights and stores, remarkable people and things to do. Storefronts change overnight. But Manhattanites seem to pride themselves on not reacting to anything, or being visibly impressed by anything. They don't smile much either. I wouldn't say people here are unhappy, but you really can't tell--faces are like closed doors, expressionless, and eye contact is avoided.
So, attention New Yorkers--love your city. Reward it for the one-of-a-kind sights, smells and sounds it gives you every day. Put your trash in a can, clean up your pet poo, stop abandoning belongings on street corners. And please, please, please stop spitting in public. The subway tracks are not a spatoon. People who live in conditions like ours should take public health as seriously as religion.
Manhattanites are a little precious. Few people exercise basic etiquette on the street. Manners and kindness are not a priority. I wouldn't say most people are truly mean--just very self-serving and self-absorbed. It's a type of courtesy to pretend no one else exists when you are packed together, a way of maintaining your privacy and that of others, but it is taken too far--it's as if these people have taught themselves not to see anyone else, so they bulldoze their way along. They also don't stop to smell the roses, so to speak--a cute puppy, pretty flowers, a smiling baby--few pause to enjoy their surroundings--it's just rush rush rush to the next thing. There are so many amazing sights and stores, remarkable people and things to do. Storefronts change overnight. But Manhattanites seem to pride themselves on not reacting to anything, or being visibly impressed by anything. They don't smile much either. I wouldn't say people here are unhappy, but you really can't tell--faces are like closed doors, expressionless, and eye contact is avoided.
So, attention New Yorkers--love your city. Reward it for the one-of-a-kind sights, smells and sounds it gives you every day. Put your trash in a can, clean up your pet poo, stop abandoning belongings on street corners. And please, please, please stop spitting in public. The subway tracks are not a spatoon. People who live in conditions like ours should take public health as seriously as religion.
Sunday, November 19, 2006
We are in NY. We made it. It was a crazy trip--Patrick and I have some really strange road trip karma or something.
We started out fine Wednesday morning, then hit a torrential rain storm by Columbia, MO, that was the northern tip of a storm system so bad it produced tornadoes in North Carolina and Alabama. The wind shield wipers on high were going so fast and hard they kept hitting the weather stripping on the driver's side of the windshield really hard--something we didn't realize until it came loose and almost flew off the car. We couldn't get it back on--poor Patrick was standing in a downpour trying to snap the plastic back on--didn't work, so we threw it in the back and prayed for the windshield not to leak.
The tarp covering our luggage was shredded by the storm's winds by the time we reached St. Louis, so we replaced it with a larger, stronger one that kept coming loose and flapping for several feet above our car like we were flying our own flag. That must have been fun for everyone driving around us. We stopped in a town outside St. Louis for more bungee cords--no bungee cords in that entire town, and we ended up buying twine. That didn't help--we stopped every half hour, trying to tie the tarp back down in the downpour--Patrick was soaked through, and I was wet, and coupled with Barney and Betty being in the car with us and needing to get out to do business every couple of hours, we were a wet, smelly mess by afternoon.
When we got to Indianapolis, we had dinner at Patrick's brother's house, then hit a Best Western--we didn't want to stay with my brother-in-law because we were such a mess, and the dogs were pretty freaked. This Best Western was suburban, but apparently at night it becomes a hooker crack house--the guests were scary, especially the ones hanging out in the parking lot watching us unpack. We dragged everything on top of the car into the hotel room and discovered that the tarp had not kept out all the rain--about 20% of our clothes, all of it our nicer things of course, were wet. So we laid things out to dry and crawled into bed. Patrick wakes up in the middle of the night to the sensation of water, and thinks one of the dogs wet the bed, but no, it's not a dog, it's the roof--we are on the top floor of the motel, and the roof is leaking. The roof is leaking BAD--a drywall seam is splitting, and the drywall is bulging down--we thought it might drop on us.
So we decide to get the hell out of our motel first thing in the AM, no shower, no nothing--we repack our stuff, with extra new bungee cords this time, and set off--we marathon drive it all the way to Harrisburg, PA, only stopping for gas and to let the dogs do business. At a gas station in Ohio, this elderly lady with one long, scary tooth on the top right side of her mouth--I am not making this up--approaches our car to pet our dogs, and starts speaking in a heavy accent we were not able to place. "Pretty pretty dogs--what names?" We tell her their names. "Pretty pretty dogs--you roll window up now--they get out and run away or maybe DIE!" I am in the driver's seat. Patrick leans over and says "Roll the window up and drive--NOW!" So we get out of Ohio, which is very pretty and clean, by the way, and nobody just hangs out in the left lane on the interstate--love that.
The weather clears and we make good time and we start to relax. Patrick offers to set up a movie for me on his laptop--we are at another gas station. He puts the adapter in the cigarrette lighter and instantly it starts smoking--huge cloud of smoke--almost like dry ice at a Halloween party--fills the entire car. So, we air out the car and throw away the adapter. We drive on the interstate with the back windows open a few inches for the dogs to get fresh air, since the car still smells like exploded battery. Betty actually manages to get her whole head out the window and gets scared and pulls back and gets stuck and starts choking. She gets loose before we can even get to her, and we are freaked out because of what could have happened and because of the tooth lady's words--weird.
The best thing that happened on the road was in Ohio--two huge double rainbows happened post storm that were absolutely beautiful--we have never seen two rainbows side by side, or that big or colorful and bright. They were amazing--just gigantic, and so brilliant. We decided to take it as a good sign, because we were feeling in need of one by then.
We get lost a couple times, drive away from a gas station with our gas cap hanging down the side of the car, stuff like that, but finally make it to the Holland Tunnel. We pass throught the tunnel into Manhattan and promptly get lost--it takes us about 20 minutes to find our hotel. All the cliches about Manhattan traffic are true--it is the most insane thing I have ever experienced on the road. People drive like they have a death wish and pedestrians hurl themselves into the street like they want to die young. We were almost hit twice just getting to our hotel. If we end up living in the city, we are getting rid of our car--there is no reason to drive in Manhattan--your feet and/or the subway get you everywhere faster. The only reason to drive on that island is if you have taken out a huge life insurance policy on yourself because you have decided you just want to end it all.
It was a silly trip, but we made it intact, and the city is amazing. We went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art Saturday, and I saw so many famous pieces of art that after a few hours I felt like my head would explode. Let the tourism begin.
We started out fine Wednesday morning, then hit a torrential rain storm by Columbia, MO, that was the northern tip of a storm system so bad it produced tornadoes in North Carolina and Alabama. The wind shield wipers on high were going so fast and hard they kept hitting the weather stripping on the driver's side of the windshield really hard--something we didn't realize until it came loose and almost flew off the car. We couldn't get it back on--poor Patrick was standing in a downpour trying to snap the plastic back on--didn't work, so we threw it in the back and prayed for the windshield not to leak.
The tarp covering our luggage was shredded by the storm's winds by the time we reached St. Louis, so we replaced it with a larger, stronger one that kept coming loose and flapping for several feet above our car like we were flying our own flag. That must have been fun for everyone driving around us. We stopped in a town outside St. Louis for more bungee cords--no bungee cords in that entire town, and we ended up buying twine. That didn't help--we stopped every half hour, trying to tie the tarp back down in the downpour--Patrick was soaked through, and I was wet, and coupled with Barney and Betty being in the car with us and needing to get out to do business every couple of hours, we were a wet, smelly mess by afternoon.
When we got to Indianapolis, we had dinner at Patrick's brother's house, then hit a Best Western--we didn't want to stay with my brother-in-law because we were such a mess, and the dogs were pretty freaked. This Best Western was suburban, but apparently at night it becomes a hooker crack house--the guests were scary, especially the ones hanging out in the parking lot watching us unpack. We dragged everything on top of the car into the hotel room and discovered that the tarp had not kept out all the rain--about 20% of our clothes, all of it our nicer things of course, were wet. So we laid things out to dry and crawled into bed. Patrick wakes up in the middle of the night to the sensation of water, and thinks one of the dogs wet the bed, but no, it's not a dog, it's the roof--we are on the top floor of the motel, and the roof is leaking. The roof is leaking BAD--a drywall seam is splitting, and the drywall is bulging down--we thought it might drop on us.
So we decide to get the hell out of our motel first thing in the AM, no shower, no nothing--we repack our stuff, with extra new bungee cords this time, and set off--we marathon drive it all the way to Harrisburg, PA, only stopping for gas and to let the dogs do business. At a gas station in Ohio, this elderly lady with one long, scary tooth on the top right side of her mouth--I am not making this up--approaches our car to pet our dogs, and starts speaking in a heavy accent we were not able to place. "Pretty pretty dogs--what names?" We tell her their names. "Pretty pretty dogs--you roll window up now--they get out and run away or maybe DIE!" I am in the driver's seat. Patrick leans over and says "Roll the window up and drive--NOW!" So we get out of Ohio, which is very pretty and clean, by the way, and nobody just hangs out in the left lane on the interstate--love that.
The weather clears and we make good time and we start to relax. Patrick offers to set up a movie for me on his laptop--we are at another gas station. He puts the adapter in the cigarrette lighter and instantly it starts smoking--huge cloud of smoke--almost like dry ice at a Halloween party--fills the entire car. So, we air out the car and throw away the adapter. We drive on the interstate with the back windows open a few inches for the dogs to get fresh air, since the car still smells like exploded battery. Betty actually manages to get her whole head out the window and gets scared and pulls back and gets stuck and starts choking. She gets loose before we can even get to her, and we are freaked out because of what could have happened and because of the tooth lady's words--weird.
The best thing that happened on the road was in Ohio--two huge double rainbows happened post storm that were absolutely beautiful--we have never seen two rainbows side by side, or that big or colorful and bright. They were amazing--just gigantic, and so brilliant. We decided to take it as a good sign, because we were feeling in need of one by then.
We get lost a couple times, drive away from a gas station with our gas cap hanging down the side of the car, stuff like that, but finally make it to the Holland Tunnel. We pass throught the tunnel into Manhattan and promptly get lost--it takes us about 20 minutes to find our hotel. All the cliches about Manhattan traffic are true--it is the most insane thing I have ever experienced on the road. People drive like they have a death wish and pedestrians hurl themselves into the street like they want to die young. We were almost hit twice just getting to our hotel. If we end up living in the city, we are getting rid of our car--there is no reason to drive in Manhattan--your feet and/or the subway get you everywhere faster. The only reason to drive on that island is if you have taken out a huge life insurance policy on yourself because you have decided you just want to end it all.
It was a silly trip, but we made it intact, and the city is amazing. We went to the Metropolitan Museum of Art Saturday, and I saw so many famous pieces of art that after a few hours I felt like my head would explode. Let the tourism begin.
Friday, October 20, 2006
We are now 4 weeks out from our move date. My husband and I are both in a weird place--excited and edgy. Going to the gym helps. Going out for cocktails doesn't--alcohol doesn't really take much edge off the anxiety, it just makes us both lippier, and when you're already jumpy, that can spell stupid fight over nothing that we both feel bad about the next day, which just compounds the anxiety. People tell us that if we weren't a little scared/nervous about moving, then we would really be idiots, and I believe that's true--it makes me feel better anyway.
When my father asked me how I felt about the move, I told him I was excited and nervous, and a little intimidated. He actually scolded me, telling me he doesn't believe in that kind of thinking--he doesn't allow himself to be intimidated by anything or anyone. Such a pompous ass. And a flat out liar too. His entire life is a study in, among other things, self esteem issues. It's such a nice, warm moment between parent and child when parent asks child a question, the child answers honestly, and the parent takes that sincerity and emotionally smacks child across the face with it. One of the last things he said to me is that this move could be really good for me--IF I am able to develop the right attitude, and IF I really give it a chance. He often does this whenever I have good news to share--I think he finds it difficult to be happy for others when they experience good fortune, even when it comes to his own children. He frequently manages to make me feel as if I don't deserve whatever good has happened, and that chances are I will probably fuck it up.
The majority of our family has been supportive and encouraging. I should know by now what to expect from my parents. I am not telling my mother and her husband until right before we leave because I don't want to be driven more insane than I already am. She will pick the whole thing apart, question our every decision, and be at the house every day telling me how to manage everything. I am even telling her we are selling our house, which we are not, to keep her from hounding our renter while we are gone. Like my father, she pecks at her children with constant criticism and judgment--words of love or praise are a special occasion for my father, and when they come from my mother, they are usually drug induced. They both seem perpetually disappointed in their children, as if we just never measure up. The funny thing is, if any of us kids "measured up" to our parents, we'd be alcoholics, prescription drug addicts, and suffer from depression and multiple personality disorders. And we'd beat our kids and emotionally terrorize them. So it's a good thing we're turning out to be such disappointments.
When my father asked me how I felt about the move, I told him I was excited and nervous, and a little intimidated. He actually scolded me, telling me he doesn't believe in that kind of thinking--he doesn't allow himself to be intimidated by anything or anyone. Such a pompous ass. And a flat out liar too. His entire life is a study in, among other things, self esteem issues. It's such a nice, warm moment between parent and child when parent asks child a question, the child answers honestly, and the parent takes that sincerity and emotionally smacks child across the face with it. One of the last things he said to me is that this move could be really good for me--IF I am able to develop the right attitude, and IF I really give it a chance. He often does this whenever I have good news to share--I think he finds it difficult to be happy for others when they experience good fortune, even when it comes to his own children. He frequently manages to make me feel as if I don't deserve whatever good has happened, and that chances are I will probably fuck it up.
The majority of our family has been supportive and encouraging. I should know by now what to expect from my parents. I am not telling my mother and her husband until right before we leave because I don't want to be driven more insane than I already am. She will pick the whole thing apart, question our every decision, and be at the house every day telling me how to manage everything. I am even telling her we are selling our house, which we are not, to keep her from hounding our renter while we are gone. Like my father, she pecks at her children with constant criticism and judgment--words of love or praise are a special occasion for my father, and when they come from my mother, they are usually drug induced. They both seem perpetually disappointed in their children, as if we just never measure up. The funny thing is, if any of us kids "measured up" to our parents, we'd be alcoholics, prescription drug addicts, and suffer from depression and multiple personality disorders. And we'd beat our kids and emotionally terrorize them. So it's a good thing we're turning out to be such disappointments.
Friday, September 22, 2006
Am getting excited. Have been reviewing live music dates online, and other events, and NYC has something we want to see and do every minute of every day. It's sensory overload--so so much to offer, and all the time, no stopping, no cultural, artistic, or musical droughts, ever. Is that possible? Of course it is, but I have never lived in the midst of such abundance. Can I handle it? Will my head explode?
Am worried about my dogs. NYC will be even more overwhelming for them than for us. Can they handle it? Will their little heads explode? Will I get used to having to pick up their poop? Yet another luxury of living in the Midwest--we have enough room, enough space and land, and fewer people and dogs, that we don't have to scoop poop--yet. We have been told to buy these special little baggies that are sold in pet stores--they let you pick up the poop, then reverse the bag and close it--the people I am descended from would think a special bag for dog poop is hilarious, and even funnier to them would be the people who would pay money for such a thing.
Am worried about my dogs. NYC will be even more overwhelming for them than for us. Can they handle it? Will their little heads explode? Will I get used to having to pick up their poop? Yet another luxury of living in the Midwest--we have enough room, enough space and land, and fewer people and dogs, that we don't have to scoop poop--yet. We have been told to buy these special little baggies that are sold in pet stores--they let you pick up the poop, then reverse the bag and close it--the people I am descended from would think a special bag for dog poop is hilarious, and even funnier to them would be the people who would pay money for such a thing.
Tuesday, September 19, 2006
Am feeling sad about leaving my house. I am excited to go to NY--my husband and I both will be better for it--I just love my house. Rough as it is--it's a massive fixer upper--we have put a lot of sweat and tears into it in the last 8 years. The first floor is finally almost complete, and now we are leaving. We are renting to a friend who I love like a brother but who is a dirty, dirty boy. Dirty dirty Iowa farm boy. My white bathroom will be gray when I get back. My floors will be scratched and stained. The house will smell like stinky man and cat piss.
He is taking care of our 4 cats for us while we are gone. He loves animals and will give them plenty of attention, but the cleaning part worries me. Will he wash the blankets in their sleeping baskets at least once a month? Will he change their litter boxes out every week and clean up after their hair balls and "accidents," or will they be allowed to dry like little sculptures on my hardwood floors? Will he brush them when they are shedding? Yikes. I need to just not think about it, because it will make me sick.
I have started preparing an instruction manual for him. I know that's really psycho and obsessive, but I just can't help myself. He doesn't know about it yet. He will roll his eyes at me. I don't care. It will probably be about 50 pages long. But dammit, he is getting a sweet rental deal, so the least he can do is not turn my home into a crack house.
He is taking care of our 4 cats for us while we are gone. He loves animals and will give them plenty of attention, but the cleaning part worries me. Will he wash the blankets in their sleeping baskets at least once a month? Will he change their litter boxes out every week and clean up after their hair balls and "accidents," or will they be allowed to dry like little sculptures on my hardwood floors? Will he brush them when they are shedding? Yikes. I need to just not think about it, because it will make me sick.
I have started preparing an instruction manual for him. I know that's really psycho and obsessive, but I just can't help myself. He doesn't know about it yet. He will roll his eyes at me. I don't care. It will probably be about 50 pages long. But dammit, he is getting a sweet rental deal, so the least he can do is not turn my home into a crack house.
Friday, September 08, 2006
The State of New York has pissed me off already. I have to apply to the state for PERMISSION to take their state cosmetology board examinations, both practical and written, because I happen to only have been a licensed hairstylist for 3, as opposed to 5, years. I have to go through my industry's equivalent of the SATs AGAIN! And do so in New York, which of course will have a vastly different written test and practical exam than the ones I originally took. So I am basically starting all over again, as if I had just graduated from hair school. ARRRRGGGGGHHHHHH.
The State of NY doesn't have what is called reciprocity with the State of Kansas, meaning they don't accept a Kansas cosmetology license as being the equivalent of their own, even though Kansas requires 1500 hours of education to receive a license, while NY requires only 1000. NY cosmetology students go to school for about 6 months--Kansas students are in school for a year, but I have to retake the NY cosmetology tests to prove that I am qualified to slap hair around in Manhattan--please. It's a scam--it's a revenue producer for the state--it has to be, because when I asked what other states NY does have reciprocity with for cosmetology licenses, the answer was Arkansas and Alaska. I AM NOT KIDDING. How convenient is that--how many hairstylists move from Arkansas and Alaska to NY every year? There is a fee for applying for permission to take the NY tests, a fee for a temporary license that allows me to work as a hairstylist while I am studying for the tests, fees and material requirements for the tests themselves, and finally, a fee for the cosmetology license itself if I pass the NY exams. Wonderful.
The written test isn't a big deal, but the practical exam is a nightmare--you are in a tiny room with a zillion other really nervous people for about 3 hours in total silence--you are not allowed to speak or do anything unless the state cosmetology board inspectors tell you you can. You do a basic haircut in silence, you roll a perm in silence, you make pin curls and finger waves in total silence, and all the while inspectors are walking circles around you staring over your shoulder, grading your every move. It's enough pressure to cause a spontaneous attack of Tourettes Syndrome. Can't WAIT.
Screw it--I can handle it--bring it on NY--is that all ya got?
The State of NY doesn't have what is called reciprocity with the State of Kansas, meaning they don't accept a Kansas cosmetology license as being the equivalent of their own, even though Kansas requires 1500 hours of education to receive a license, while NY requires only 1000. NY cosmetology students go to school for about 6 months--Kansas students are in school for a year, but I have to retake the NY cosmetology tests to prove that I am qualified to slap hair around in Manhattan--please. It's a scam--it's a revenue producer for the state--it has to be, because when I asked what other states NY does have reciprocity with for cosmetology licenses, the answer was Arkansas and Alaska. I AM NOT KIDDING. How convenient is that--how many hairstylists move from Arkansas and Alaska to NY every year? There is a fee for applying for permission to take the NY tests, a fee for a temporary license that allows me to work as a hairstylist while I am studying for the tests, fees and material requirements for the tests themselves, and finally, a fee for the cosmetology license itself if I pass the NY exams. Wonderful.
The written test isn't a big deal, but the practical exam is a nightmare--you are in a tiny room with a zillion other really nervous people for about 3 hours in total silence--you are not allowed to speak or do anything unless the state cosmetology board inspectors tell you you can. You do a basic haircut in silence, you roll a perm in silence, you make pin curls and finger waves in total silence, and all the while inspectors are walking circles around you staring over your shoulder, grading your every move. It's enough pressure to cause a spontaneous attack of Tourettes Syndrome. Can't WAIT.
Screw it--I can handle it--bring it on NY--is that all ya got?
Sunday, September 03, 2006
I've been on a packing spree. We are all but completely packed. I've had some moments. I got misty going through my books and choosing which will go with me and which will be stored. I have never been separated from them. Having all of them with me, and easily accessible on some shelf, is something I have always taken for granted.
Making a three bedroom house life fit into a Manhattan studio is tricky. What can we do without? What do I have room to bring that will help me feel like I still have my home, and my previous life, with me? Packing away your life is an emotional roller coaster ride. Moving from a home to an apartment feels like a step backwards. It won't really be my home, just some place I am staying. I remember the day my husband and I moved into our house 8 years ago. For the first time since leaving home for college, I was really home again.
There is something, though, that actually feels good about the whole process. I have learned how little we actually need in order to live. We are streamlining. I have learned, not surprisingly, that we have way too much CRAP. Where did we get all this shit? Why did we buy that stupid thing? What was I thinking dragging home all the fixer-upper furniture/knick knack junk that sits in the basement and the garage, that I actually paid money for? I am about to throw in a dumpster no less than 20 'projects.' The more room you have, the more stuff you buy--you start down that road and you don't stop--a personal indoor suburban sprawl, so to speak.
You can easily live with less than half of whatever you have right now.
Making a three bedroom house life fit into a Manhattan studio is tricky. What can we do without? What do I have room to bring that will help me feel like I still have my home, and my previous life, with me? Packing away your life is an emotional roller coaster ride. Moving from a home to an apartment feels like a step backwards. It won't really be my home, just some place I am staying. I remember the day my husband and I moved into our house 8 years ago. For the first time since leaving home for college, I was really home again.
There is something, though, that actually feels good about the whole process. I have learned how little we actually need in order to live. We are streamlining. I have learned, not surprisingly, that we have way too much CRAP. Where did we get all this shit? Why did we buy that stupid thing? What was I thinking dragging home all the fixer-upper furniture/knick knack junk that sits in the basement and the garage, that I actually paid money for? I am about to throw in a dumpster no less than 20 'projects.' The more room you have, the more stuff you buy--you start down that road and you don't stop--a personal indoor suburban sprawl, so to speak.
You can easily live with less than half of whatever you have right now.
Saturday, September 02, 2006
This is what I have learned so far about telling people we are moving:
1) There is no way to tell people you are moving to a big city without sounding like an asshole. How do you say you are moving to a place like NY without sounding like you are bragging? You can't. No matter what I say, or how I say it, this is the way it feels when the words come out: 'I am moving to a big and important city, and you ARE NOT.'
2) When you move back home from a large city, people often assume that you did not do so by choice. You left NY, LA, wherever, and crawled back home because you are a LOSER. My husband and I have been barraged with theses types of stories. At the end of them, the people telling them say something like, 'Of course, that won't be the case with the two of you ...' We aren't sure how long we will be in NY, so when we do tell people we are going, we decided to say that it is only for a year or two. I hate to admit it, but my pride dictates that the one-year disclaimer be added to the moving sentence. Maybe I can't say we are moving, or moving back, without feeling like an asshole because I AM an asshole (sigh).
3) It seems EVERYONE has an NY story--a visit, or they lived there 10 years ago, and they have to tell you all about it, and give you lots of useless and/or outdated advice.
4) A lot of Midwesterners are as prejudiced against people from both coasts as many coasters are against Midwesterners. Said coasters think Midwesterners are dim-witted conservative hicks, and said Midwesterners think coasters are loud, lazy, and arrogant.
So, we're not telling anybody else we are moving--we're sending a mass e-mail after we are gone.
1) There is no way to tell people you are moving to a big city without sounding like an asshole. How do you say you are moving to a place like NY without sounding like you are bragging? You can't. No matter what I say, or how I say it, this is the way it feels when the words come out: 'I am moving to a big and important city, and you ARE NOT.'
2) When you move back home from a large city, people often assume that you did not do so by choice. You left NY, LA, wherever, and crawled back home because you are a LOSER. My husband and I have been barraged with theses types of stories. At the end of them, the people telling them say something like, 'Of course, that won't be the case with the two of you ...' We aren't sure how long we will be in NY, so when we do tell people we are going, we decided to say that it is only for a year or two. I hate to admit it, but my pride dictates that the one-year disclaimer be added to the moving sentence. Maybe I can't say we are moving, or moving back, without feeling like an asshole because I AM an asshole (sigh).
3) It seems EVERYONE has an NY story--a visit, or they lived there 10 years ago, and they have to tell you all about it, and give you lots of useless and/or outdated advice.
4) A lot of Midwesterners are as prejudiced against people from both coasts as many coasters are against Midwesterners. Said coasters think Midwesterners are dim-witted conservative hicks, and said Midwesterners think coasters are loud, lazy, and arrogant.
So, we're not telling anybody else we are moving--we're sending a mass e-mail after we are gone.
The Pros of Moving to New York:
1) Career development
2) Cultural and social stimulation
3) Getting far away from pain-in-the-ass "friends"/family
4) Conquering a big pile of fears and insecurities by being forced to face them
5) A fresh start--we have the chance to be more discerning about who we allow into our lives
6) No more yard work
The Cons of Moving to New York:
1) Leaving my kitty babies behind
2) Leaving my sweet little house and huge back yard behind
3) Leaving my comfort zone behind
4) Leaving fresh air and clean water behind--New York is fucking FILTHY (no offense)
5) Paying triple our monthly mortgage in rent
1) Career development
2) Cultural and social stimulation
3) Getting far away from pain-in-the-ass "friends"/family
4) Conquering a big pile of fears and insecurities by being forced to face them
5) A fresh start--we have the chance to be more discerning about who we allow into our lives
6) No more yard work
The Cons of Moving to New York:
1) Leaving my kitty babies behind
2) Leaving my sweet little house and huge back yard behind
3) Leaving my comfort zone behind
4) Leaving fresh air and clean water behind--New York is fucking FILTHY (no offense)
5) Paying triple our monthly mortgage in rent
Friday, September 01, 2006
My husband and I are moving to New York soon. I am equal parts excited and terrified.
We are both Midwesterners--my husband was born and raised in St. Louis, and while I was born in New Jersey, I was raised in Nebraska. I met my husband in Kansas City, where we both have lived for more than a decade. We own a home in a Kansas suburb of the city, and have 4 cats and 2 dogs--right now the plan is the dogs are going to NY and the cats are staying home. We are renting our house to a friend, who will take care of the kitties, which makes me feel a little like Meryl Streep's character in "Sophie's Choice"--not really, that's a tasteless exaggeration, but it is strange to even think about, let alone choose, which of your "children" you will take with you, and which ones you will leave behind.
My husband is being promoted and transferred by his ad agency, and I am along for the ride. I am a hairstylist, primarily a colorist, and I love the idea of experiencing my profession practiced at the level of a Manhattan salon. It would be an amazing learning experience. The question is--can Dorothy swap Kansas for Manhattan? And survive, let alone thrive? We will find out. I started this blog to chronicle this huge life change for my own enjoyment, and to help me cope with it, so if anyone reads this and is bored out of your mind, I apologize, but blogging is free, and therapy isn't.
We are both Midwesterners--my husband was born and raised in St. Louis, and while I was born in New Jersey, I was raised in Nebraska. I met my husband in Kansas City, where we both have lived for more than a decade. We own a home in a Kansas suburb of the city, and have 4 cats and 2 dogs--right now the plan is the dogs are going to NY and the cats are staying home. We are renting our house to a friend, who will take care of the kitties, which makes me feel a little like Meryl Streep's character in "Sophie's Choice"--not really, that's a tasteless exaggeration, but it is strange to even think about, let alone choose, which of your "children" you will take with you, and which ones you will leave behind.
My husband is being promoted and transferred by his ad agency, and I am along for the ride. I am a hairstylist, primarily a colorist, and I love the idea of experiencing my profession practiced at the level of a Manhattan salon. It would be an amazing learning experience. The question is--can Dorothy swap Kansas for Manhattan? And survive, let alone thrive? We will find out. I started this blog to chronicle this huge life change for my own enjoyment, and to help me cope with it, so if anyone reads this and is bored out of your mind, I apologize, but blogging is free, and therapy isn't.
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