COMING SOON: myspace.com

I was going to write about myspace today but I’m getting tired. It’s a topic Ive been forming my opinion on for a while now and as I was walking out of the subway on Union Square West and 15th street today and overheard a MTA attendant on his cell phone telling some “ok, go to www.myspace .com, then type backslash blahblahblah” (I was now out of earshot) I realized that the damn thing really does have a major effect on people’s lives—and it also puts people who’ve never heard of it (not those who simply choose not to use it) on a completely different playing field. Ill get around to this soon. Sleep prevails now.
until then, I leave you with this http://adage.com/mediaworks/article?article_id=110524

wonders never cease

My bottle of contact solution has disappeared. Simply vanished without any explanation. I left a post-it note (the most efficient means of communication available. There’s a reason they’ve made software applications based on them) next to the mirror asking if anyone’s seen it. No luck so far.

I only have three weeks left in this grand city. Three weeks. Can you believe it? Time here goes SO fast. Although I guess I can say that about that last eight months or so of my life – suddenly the days doesn’t possess enough time to work, play, relax and sleep to my content, there’s always one area that suffer—usually two. I’m really starting to feel the crunch of time as august fifth gets closer. I still want to take my camera out to coney island and to Rockefeller playground. I still want to walk mid-town from east to west on a not-too-hot Sunday afternoon. There’s still a ton of shit I want to do. Mostly, I don’t want to leave this city yet. I miss grass and breeze and friends with porches, bbqs and beer, but I love running around, meeting random people from Ireland or Winnebago, making friends and creating enemies of people ill probably never see again. Emily and Kristin told me the other night that I always meet interesting people and make friends (and get free drinks) by meeting people through arguments. Looking back, its true – at least in this city. Everyone has an opinion on something and I like hearing what that is, whether I agree or not.

Im still so enchanted with the notion of being in a new city—actually, of being an outsider somewhere. I think it has to do with moving as a high school freshman. That’s a time in ones life when you’re forming an identity of your own, and I honestly think a lot of who I grew to be came from being the odd-man-out, I grew to make myself on that persona. Make sense?

I don’t feel like ive changed much this summer. If anything, ive realized how much I actually like the person I am have grown to trust my instincts and the choices I make more.

If I do move back here after graduation, I do know that I don’t want to live in Manhattan. I’d loose it eventually. I definitely rely on my weekly breaks to Brooklyn, where the streets aren’t filed with throngs of people and you aren’t begged for your money or your time or your signature literally every ten feet. Even beyond that, I realize how much day retreats out to Long Island, even if it is just to the beach that’s just as crowded as a Manhattan avenue, lift my spirits. I realize that I can never call somewhere without trees on the streets home for a long period of time (good think Brooklyn has trees). Its amazing how invigorating the scent of fresh-cut grass can be.

That all aside, there’s no way the thrill and constant going-ons of the uber-urban scene will grow tired. They might get old for a short period of time, but they’ll never loose their allure. Even today, in the 105-degree-heat-index weather (as I was wearing a long sleeve shirt to cover my sunburned body at work) as I was walking along ninth and tenth avenues (where id never before been) I was thinking of how much im going to miss this when im gone. I walked just north of the well-lit, ad-plastered debacle that is Times Square as I headed from a friend’s apartment on 8th Ave back to the subway after an extended happy hour spent barhopping to this little jazz bar illuminated by red-stained-glass covered lamps hanging above the worn, half-circle red leather both—creating a provocative blend of mod and dive--that serves free popcorn and hotdogs and services $7.50 pitchers of PBR on a regular basis. I realized that I am going to miss the pure romanticism that walking past such an influential part of modern American (popular) history instills in me every time I see the gaudy display of top-notch American showmanship and probably the most condensed location of American values one can ever come upon. Time Square really does have it all—fine theater and fine dining, strip clubs and dildo stores, five-star hotels and bed-bug infested apartments renting their uninhabitable lodging to unsuspecting tourists on Travelocity.com and other internet travel agents. I don’t think the history of this city will ever cease to impress me.

Seen one homeless person and you HAVEN'T seen them all

I’ve grown accustomed to seeing beggars and bums in the streets. There’s homeless people in New York just like there’s homeless people in Champaign or Chicago – the population is just more dense here so there are a lot more unfortunate people. I’ve also grown accustomed to just walking by—I always notice them, always feel for their plight – Usually. I have seen a woman begging for change with manicured nails and I know enough people who’ve seen someone beg for change with a fresh haircut then change into nice clothes and walk into a bar with a pocketful of drinking money.

But the majority of people I see on the streets are obviously mentally ill or came across some other hardship. Once I saw a woman with her nine- or 10-year-old daughter sleeping against her shoulder holding a sign reading “recently homeless. Please help.” That broke my heart. But today man. Today, as I was walking out of the station at Atlantic and Pacific Station in Brooklyn, there was an old woman, at least 60, begging for change. She sounded like the sweetest thing ever. She was in a tattered long denim skirt and rose- colored shirt worn thing. She held an almost empty Poland Springs water bottle as she called “Miss, some change? Miss? Miss” I walked by, as usual and I immediately felt like an asshole, a spoiled brat. Here I was, walking into Target about to exchange a pair of flip-flops because they stretched out on me too much and this woman’s fucked. No matter how broke I think I am, I am 1,000,000 times better-off than she. I wanted to turn around but for some reason I didn’t, I don’t know why. It’s bothering me right now. How on Earth did she get herself into that situation? Does she do drugs? Is her social security check not enough? Did someone, maybe a greedy daughter, swindle her out of her money? Was she taken advantage of? Where does she sleep at night without worry about being raped? Does she get enough to eat? Does she have any family? Anyone to talk to?

I kept pausing and thought about turning around, but I didn’t. I said ‘If she’s still there when I get back, I’ll buy her dinner.” But she wasn’t. I usually don’t give money to homeless people. I’ll throw some change sometimes, or if someone’s really entertaining, as I’ve described, and makes me laugh, or even just smile, I’ll open my wallet, but not normally. I guess it honestly just depends on my mood. I just feel really skeptical of people on the streets – maybe I just feel that way in order to justify my (for lack of a better term) selfishness. Maybe nonchalance is a better term.

I don’t know, there was something about this woman that really got to me today. I can’t get her out of my mind and I feel like an ass for not doing anything. I wanted to ask her why she’s on the streets and what I could do to help her get help. I always feel worse for the old, lonely women I see on the streets—yeah, I know life is rough for both sexes, but there are stats that prove life is harder, in my eyes, as a homeless woman.

Read the newspaper today? Michael Jackson has food poisoning.

He ate 10-year old weiner.

Without a doubt, the one train has the best on-train entertainment in the city. Times square and union station definitely take the prize for platform performers. I’ve seen break dancers; a family of five, mom, dad, and kids ranging from about four to twelve; a killer band with a trumpet, drums, upright bass and other random instruments; and a big black lady whose voice blew Whitney Houston’s out of the water—but nothing compares to the likes of Cody the Subway poet (who has reportedly been spotted numerous times on the one) and the other characters I’ve seen.

Heading uptown to 110st Friday night, a short, homely old man with a hunched back and short, wiry gray beard got on the train holding a small paper McDonalds cup full of change. He introduced himself in a garble of words, the only one of which I could make out was “I consider myself a performer” and proceeded to hunch down to eyelevel with a girl seated kitty-corner from me, look her dead in the eye and start in, in a scratchy voice that perfectly matched his character: “Oh woman oh woman don’t treat me so mean you’re the meanest old woman I ever seen.” He had everyone’s attention in an instant. He switched generations, grabbed a pole, and lowered himself to the ground chanting “a lean back. Lean back,. Lean back. Lean back” He worked in some Nelly, some Temptations, and some raunchy jokes about Michael Jackson, the pope and per-puberty boys (chooses any combination of the three) that I’d never before heard before making it down to me. Again, exactly at eye level, he points to me and sang: “did I ever cross youre mind? Anytime?” then to the girl my age next to me “did you ever wake up reaching out for me” and after a little Bryan Adams and r kelly’s seventh grade ballad “I believe I can fly,” I had to get off the train. By then I’d given him all the change that’d collected at the bottom of my bag. Considering the clasp on my coin purse sucks, it sounded like a good amount of money hitting his cup.

I’ve also heard tell of break-dancers that do it in the train isles. Now there’s a bumper sticker for you.

you've seen one fireworks display, you've seen 'em all.

the things they can do with pyrotechics these days. I was expecting the grand finale to be "Shop Macy's Fourth of July clearance tomorrow"


Up until the firework display, today didn’t seem like fourth of july. And even then, without the possibility of going back home to light some work fireworks, I still didn’t feel any overwhelming holiday cheer. I watched Macy’s firework display over the East Hudson from the FRD highway -- there was no entry or exith from 14th to 42nd so spectators could fill the ramps. I went with a group of people and we laid some blankets. It surprisingly wasn’t very crowded, much less so than even the Kirkland fireworks, but that was mostly because there’s so many spots all around the city to watch them from that it didn’t matter. During the show, you could see camera flashes going off from the top of the Empire State Building and watch the light reflect off lower-midtowns skyline. We were fortunate enough to be seating within earshot of someone’s radio so we could here the proverbial stars and stripes soundtrack. There was this Asian guy next to us conducting with the show. At one point, he turned to us, gesturing upward with the tips of his fingers pulled together, and said “It’s alive! It’s alive!” He was magnificent. But I tell ya, if you've seen one firework display, seen ‘em all.

I did see a family coming back from the fireworks display, on their way to the train. Mom was pushing a stroller with a baby and the dad was smoking a cigarette and he and the oldest daughter, about six or seven, were throwing pops at each other. That’s the closest I came to seeing anything that resembled the way the fourth should be: baseball game on the radio in the afternoon, good music at night, family, a bonfire, lots of beer, fireworks and a grill. Then you’re set.

catching up: intro

Happy Fourth of July!

My favorite holiday isn’t the same in New York City as it as at home – whether I mean Urbana, Kirkland or Elmhurst doesn’t matter – there are friends, beer and barbeque at all of those locations. Sure, I can get beer here and I have friends here, but it ain’t the same. Fourth of July just isn’t right without some grass to hangout on and your own bottle rockets to launch (at each other). I’m making the best of it though. I spent the afternoon at the Metropolatian Museum of Art after a much-needed but greatly loathed morning of sleeping until 1 got my day off to a late start. I love sleeping in, and it’s ok once in a while, but I’d rather get up at a decent time then nap later—I feel I make better use of my time that way. And I love afternoon naps.

I know I’ve been pretty shitty about keeping this thing updated, but I was too busy playing reporter (check it out here, here and here) that when I finished the work I brought home, I just wanted to go to sleep. I was covering breaking news all week, something I haven’t done in a while, and it gave me a lot of insight into covering breaking/ongoing stories on the web—when does the story evolve enough to warrant another web post? What balance between editorial comment and actual news are you looking to achiece? Are you going to run the press release quotes everyone else is running or look for the unique angle? (the answer to that might seem obvious, but it’s more involved than that, really.) Is anyone actually going to read the frickin’ thing? It was such a rush, and I’m even more positive that I want to get into the grey area between magazines and online publications, right now I specifically want to work to help different medias cross-reference eachother and use all available outlets to taylor-fit their content and make it most useful to different sectors of their audience.

Enough of the boring shit though … I’m going to read for a while before the giant slew of people whom I’m going to watch the fireworks with arrives.