It's an insult to my income not to enjoy New York

I was just rereading some of my old posts and saw something key. I wrote that I like being an outsider in a city. I think I need to amend that statement. What I should of said is I like looking at where I live as an outsider. Sometimes you really do have to leave what you know to remember to appreciate what you have. I spent the last week in California -- reporting in Sacramento, visiting a grammar school friend in Oceanside then college friends (one of whom I haven't seen for more than a year, it was great) in LA -- and remember what it was like to look at a city with fresh eyes. You get back that sense of energy and desire to explore that you loose after being in any one place for a while; you begin to become stagnant. Being out in California made me want to return to New York and look around with the same sense of curiosity I did that first summer I was here -- not even as an intern, but when I was out visiting before that. I live in New York City, dammit. This city is never stagnant; it's the person who becomes so. This city is full of accents and foods, shops and cultures, people and music and everything else you can think of. For me to not take advantage of this is a sort of insult--to the creatives, the creators, and even to my wallet. I'm not paying the rent I d strictly for the ability to work in magazines out here, I'm paying to live in New York fucking City.

(picture credit: http://img219.imageshack.us/img219/7885/skylinefk4.jpg)

At the same time though, being a working adult in new york is no different than anywhere else. in fact, it's probably more intense and more demanding, if I can say so without sounding like a pretentious ass. I definitely have friends in Chicago who work just as hard, put in just as many hours, and have done/are doing just as much bitch work as a new yorker in order to get where they want to be, and those are the friends who I know would have no problem surviving in the corporate world out here. I really can't say about my education friends, as I have no idea what the demands of their jobs are like. But back to the point: there comes a point where New York is just the city you live in. Just another place you buy toilet paper and do your dishes when the sink gets full and go out to bars and see shows when you're not working your 9-5, or something there about. Is that my excuse for being a "lazy" new yorker? Am I lazy, or has this city just become home? I still get a thrill out of picking out locations in new york movies that only someone who's live here would know. And isn't that just like being proud of being able to say "I've tried to climb the tower of cars in Wayne's World. Yeah, that thing is sitting is a suburban strip mall parking lot," right?

youtube and the 2048 election

I'm not really a youtubber. i don't usually spend time poking around the site--i usually prefer to let others (friends, digg, blogs) sift through all the shit out there for me then I just check out the cream of the crop.

but i did tonight -- my roommates and I spent a good hour watching "chipmunked" movie and video scenes on youtube today (this mean girls one is fucking hilarious. and my humps is pretty great, too). that lead to watching all the different dramatic chipmunk shorts (thriller, Casablanca, windows). but it all started because i'd never seen the clip of the newlyweds dancing to "i love big butts" at their wedding. now I'm not one to get sappy about weddings -- i really can't say i've imagined my wedding beyond how much the party afterward will rock and what kind of food we'll eat (and there will most definitely be an open bar) -- but that's fucking adorable. i'll know i've met the right guy when not only do we plan to choreograph our first dance to something like sir mix-a-lot, but that we actually go through with it, too. see, deep down I am a romantic.

but youtube ... but there's something about youtube that makes me uncomfortable. there's a lot of sad, sad clips on there. people dancing alone in front of their computers. people signing, dancing, thinking this is going to be their big break. i wonder how many collective hours americans ages 11 to 17 have spent learning the soulja boy dance? and then to do it in front of a webcam and post it to the internet. it's worse than watching reality tv. but i guess that's why people like audition outtake episodes for shows like american idol and whatever -- it's people making fools of themselves. i guess it's like how some people feel uncomfortable watching curb your enthusiasm.

i think of all the stupid shit and awkward moments in junior high and high school (basically before my friends and I started driving). some of those are captured on film, but at least with stills, you remember each episode how you want to -- it's personal, subjective. but with video and youtube, all those moments are forever documented. i definitely had some awkward moments hanging out in friend's basements that i prefer not to remember. hell, i can think of one video in particular -- me, my friend michelle my sister put on a "fashion show" and my cousin video tapped it -- that was a hell of a lot of fun making, and would be great to see in our living room sometime now that its 12 years later, but never on the internet. but i think that's going to change; today's youngsters are more accepting of that kind of exposure. almost welcoming of it. it's an acceptance of openness -- though not necessarily privacy invasion -- that's beginning to creep into this generation.

if a home video of obama dancing to the jackson five or hillary rocking out to cyndi lauper suddenly surfaced, everyone would have a field day. but i don't think that will hold true for the next generation. i think it will be interesting to see just how little "incriminating" or just plain old "embarrassing" videos will matter when today's 13 and 14 years olds are running for president.

80 pounds of laundry?! at once?

i despise doing laundry. that's why I have so many t-shirts and so much underwear. thank you, vicrotia's secret, for all those "free pink underwear" cards.

Should we date like we look for jobs? We go on interviews for jobs we don't necessarily want to get some practice under our belts for when the real thing comes around, so why not apply the same attitude toward dating? There's nothing wrong with a little informational interview, just a quick drink to see where you came from, how you got to the position you're in today, and hopefully I'll walk away with some information that will help me make an informed decision
about whether you're the direction I want to take right now. Is the timing right? The time commitment? Will I continue to learn and grow, or is this more of a vertical move?

Tonight, while I was talking about whether I was going to call take up a drunken-makeout-buddy's offer for a real date, my roomate says: "Erin. You HAVE to do this." And she brought in the job analogy. She also reads books titled "Life's a Bitch, then you Change Careers," so if anyone was going to take a business approach to the situation, it'd be her. But the woman's got a point: make the date, talk the talk and see what happens.

It's not like college anymore; there's not an abundance of time in which we can get sloshed off $11 30-packs four nights a week. People have careers to make and apartments to keep up and lives to live. And this city's fucking huge, so there's a whole proximity issue to factor in as well. But this city's also expensive, and there's the whole idea of an evening of free drinks to consider as well.

But what it comes down to is how you want to spend your time. Go out with someone you're kinda interested in and see how it goes, or don't. Extra experience never hurt anyone.

too picky?

men with @aol.com e-mail address need not apply.

arsonist loose in the slope.

nothing brings a neighborhood together like a fire. especially when its garbage that was purposely set on fire and pushed into a parked park. and it's the third one. on three consecutive garbage nights.

earlier today, i noticed a charred suburu outback parked on the street a few houses down, on the other side. i asked the neighbor who lives there what happened. she wasnt' very friendly.

me: excuse me, do you know what happened with that car
her: yes
me: do you mind telling me?
her: the garbage caught on fire and caught the car on fire.
passer-by: yeah, there's another one down the street.
her: yeah, we know.
me: was it arson?
her: no. [annoyed with nosy questions from the young new kid on the block] it was just a fire.

so fast-forward to about 12:15. usually at this time, i'm on my computer, which is on my desk right next to the window overlooking the street. tonight, because i had my laptop in the living room to watch the bears, i was working on my bed. i heard the words "call 911" but thought it was just the gay guys next door who constantly fight and have called the cops one another on at least one occasion. then i smelled a bonfire, and i looked out the window. our garbage was flaming and had been pushed against the driver's door of a hatchback out front. i screamed to get my roommates up because i was worried the car was going to blow up -- there were about four bags of trash ready to go catch. one roommate slept through it, but the other called 911 while i looked for something to put the fire out with.

we realized we don't have a fire extinguisher. we will be making a trip to the hardware store first thing tomorrow.

while i was trying to fill the recycling bin with water (and realizing how painfully long it was taking. we'd be fucked if there ever was a fire), a neighbor came out with an extinguisher and put it out. the firetruck arrived a few minutes later.

the lady from earlier was out -- i think she likes to consider herself head of the neighborhood watch -- as were a few other neighbors. they think a local homeless guy is responsible. there have been two other garbage/car fires on the block, all on the past three garbage nights. from what i was told, he's been living in an alley around the corner for the last four years and the owner of the building kicked him out -- it was the super who was letting him stay there. apparently, he's not too happy about the recent gentrification of the neighborhood that caused him to loose his home, so he's been setting cars on fire.

right now, the cops are outside and a few neighbors are still lingering. i just heard her ask "so you'll be making extra rounds around her tonight." after a little back and forth, i heard him say "don't call the deps. they won't get here for two, three hours. that's what 311s for. just call 311, say "suspicious male" and hang up." makes you feel real safe, huh? well in that sense, there's no doubt burning trash and cars is a lot less unsettling than drivebys and rapists. i guess that's why im in park slope, and not in harlem.

after the fireman came, made sure the fire was good and out, they just left the mess there for the residents to clean up. i thought that was kinda weird -- doesnt it seem like the fire department should also clean up the mess, since it's on public property. the city can fine us if our garbage is out before 5 pm, but ... i guess it's not their responsibility, but it just seems weird to me.

of all the nights for me to not work at my desk ... there's no way i would have missed it if i hadn't been on my bed. i'm like jimmy stewart when im sitting here -- staring out the window is a lot easier than writing sometimes. but yes, the journalist in my grabbed my camera as kristin called 911. in my mind, i was thinking "ok, if this is arson, maybe the way the bags are burning in this still will be a clue!" i'm a product of a generation obsessed with youtube and law and order reruns.

half of me wants to stay up, turn off my light and stare out the window to see if the perp comes back. if he's as nutso as the neighbors say he his, im sure he'll ride by (he gets around on a bike) sooner or later. the cop said he doesn't doubt that he'll light another one tonight, to which neighborhoodlady replied: "no, that doesn't fit his pattern. one a night." but considering i have to be at work--and be bright and chipper!-- by 9am, i dont think that's the best idea. check out my security-cam style photos below. forgive the quality -- i had to up the exposure and brightness to get any details.

and I'm back

I really like sugary, store-bought lemonade from the carton. And poly-cotton blend shirts.

photos

The G.W. Bridge -- two blocks from my place

Washington Heights mural.

Fort Tryon. Yep, that's in Manhattan.

Wilderness meets urbanlife. Kinda.

My doorbell is literally a bell.

and I'm back.

I finally took time to slow down and get my life semi-together today. I'll have been here two weeks tomorrow, and I feel like I've been here forever -- or for only a day. Either way, while it's not "home" in the sense of the homes I've known for the past four and a half years (Kirkland, Urbana, Elmhurst), it feels like home.

A few people have asked if it feels weird to live here, and really, the easiest way to describe it is to say it feels like I actually moved here last June, left for a semester to finish my degree, and now I'm back.

Funny, I was just skimming my last post and I definetly said I don't want to live in Manhattan if I move here after graduation. Well I moved to Manhattan. Except now, rather than living in the transportation/cultural/artsy hub of the city, I'm way, way, WAY uptown in Washington Heights and I love it. My neighborhood is much more like a neighborhood than 14th Street was. No surprise there, considering I'm almost to the tip of Manhattan. (The northern most street is 220th. I'm at 180th. take a look.

I'm just south of two huge parks. Fort Tryon Park (which, might I add, was first designed by the Olmsted Brothers, if you haven't read the book already, do it dammit) and Inwood Hill Park. I think these parks are going to be my sanity. When I set out to explore the area last week, The Meters playing through my headphones and the wind calm enough to walk comfortable for a few hours, my first destination was The Cloisters--a collection of medieval art owned by the Met--at Fort Tryon. A few minutes into the park, you can immeaditly forget you're in Manhattan. In fact, when you look over the Hudson, if you ignore the passing cars on the West Side Highway below you, it's like being on the water somewhere. Except instead of sail boats, there's ugly barges. And instead of a distant vanishing point where water meshes with sky, it's Jersey. Whatever.


Walk a few blocks east and the area becomes more hispanic. Lots of wholesale bedding stores (drapes, curtians, all the stuff you'd find at a "white sale" at a Bed Bath and Beyond or wherever) and the typical street junk (it's a little junkier than the stuff in midtown and downtown though ... much more plastic tinkets, much less unique artwork). Walk west and you can only go about two blocks before you hit the Hudson River. The Hudson is strange. It's not very wide, and I've never lived anywhere where you can see a different state on the other side. It kind of reminds me of looking over the Illinois River, but the Ill river, I think, is bigger. A block to the south is the George Washington Bridge. Yep, I live by a bridge. It's pretty damn exciting. I marvel at it every night when I walk up the stairs from the subway and see it, brightly lit, shining in it's glory, dutifully transporting motorists, cyclists and whomeever else between Jersey and the Island. God I love steel. As soon as it gets warmer, I'm going to talk a walk to Jersey. I like saying that.

Speaking of the subway, my apartment is also very convinent in that sense; I'm a block away from the A train, which, when running express (until eleven p.m. or midnight on the weekdays and whenever the hell it feels like it on the weekends), takes about 20 minutes to get to Columbus Circle (59th Street) and about 40 to lower Manhattan. If I get a job at Hearst (cross your fingers), it would rock because there's an entrance/exit from the Columbus Circle stop right into the Hearst Tower. Way to think ahead William Randolph.

On the job front ... I've had three good interviews this week, some more promising than others and some (not necessarily the same "some") more desierable than others.

And, I now have HBO on demand. And a DVR. All the Sex in the City, Curb, Lost, Scrubs, The Wire and Sopranos I could watch (although I have yet to get into the latter two. I've only been here two weeks).

Check out photos of the ’hood on Flickr. The blogger uploading tool isn't cooperating.

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.

best. day. ever.

i'm completly exhausted but I have to just make a quick note of this before I write it up this week.

Today was, to date, one of the best days ever.

I pitched a few ideas for the website, that were very well liked, 1 or 2 I get to write, the other 2 were assigned out (thank god, I don't have time to do them all). I'm writing the opening piece for a section of september's issue. I started fact-checking my first article. I got a cell phone to take home and test for a few weeks and ...

...i went to the yankees game as the guest of a big corporation and they sat us in box seats to the left of homeplate and served us free food (including hot dogs and tomato and feta salad, two of my fav foods) and free beer. on top of that, everyone got to spend an inning watching from the company's seats in the very front row right behind third base. i was down there for the bottom of the seventh when the braves hit a foul ball. a-rod was playing third, he picked up the ball, threw it to the third base coach, then pointed at me to give it to me. so now I have the ultimate yankees souvineer. how fucking awesome is that? forgive me for being so starry-eyed tonight, but it was such an amazing day. I guess i was on TV because when I got back up to the box, which had three HD TVs with the game on, everyone knew I caught it - they all saw me on TV.

best. day. ever. for real.


photo captions (top to bottom):
1. the view from the clubhouse
2. my view from the field
3. ...now of the outfield

More stories on PM's blog

a few more bylines...
Virtual Pet Prefers Real Walks
New System Gives Runners a Dashboard

time machine: send me back to coney island, circa 1926

a weekend of parades it was. Saturday there was coney island's famous mermaid parade, which was a festive gala of women in pasties, shiny colors and body paint. today there was the pride parade, which was impressively large and full of rainbows and drag queens and everyone else. both days it rained though, which didn't exactly set the most festive mood. Today's sprinkles and almost steady mist weren't nearly as disruptive of yesterday's flash floods. luckily, the skies held out for most of the mermaid parade but after half an hour after it ended they opened up and drenched the old amusement park.

coney island was exactly what I wanted it to be: run-down, out-dated, old and tired. i literally got chills up my spin when the Q train passed Brighton Beach and I had my first glimpse of the Cyclone with my own eyes. Of course, I've seen the historic wooden rollercoaster on the discovery channel but it was much more impressive in real life. I have this very vivid memory from when I was first allowed to have a TV in my bedroom. My uncle sold me his old 19" RCA he got from the union sometime (it had a united airlines wing-span logo stuck on it)--he sold it to me for real cheap because my parents, as always, didn't want me to have something for nothing. So I saved up and put it in my room at 225 Cayuga on this blue square trunk that I found in my garage. This was back when my room was COVERED in magazine clippings and sponge-painted walls so the place was very busy. I had it wired into my computer and stereo and there were speaker wire, phone cord and extension cords strung all over the place. Anyway, I remember laying in bed, which at the time was a wood frame painted white that my dad and I built together, cuddled up in my navy blue Venture comforter, watching a show on the history of roller coasters. That's when I became enamored with the Cyclone. This was probably seventh grade. I had already done my 4th grade Illinois State Project on Chicago's Riverview Park and had grown up going to Six Flags and hearing my dad and aunts and uncles and their friends talk about spending their childhood at Riverview. It was right next to Lane Tech (where my uncle pete went to high school).


The Viper at Great America is modeled after the Cyclone, which I didn't get to ride this time because of the rain, but I plan on going back MANY times. I did ride the Wonder Wheel, a ride at Deno's Wonderwheel Amusement Park (The Cyclone is at Coney Island is technically a neighborhood at the tip of Brooklyn. There's a beach, a boardwalk and a strip of run-down shops, more amusement rides, carnival games, hot dog stands and the like). The Wonder Wheel was a lot more hardcore than I expected. We took a swinging cart, of course, assuming that "swinging" meant the occupants could sway it back and forth. It really means that unlike the stationary carts, these do some fast little mini-dives every once in a while. The first one really took me by surprise and was a huge thrill. It’s hard to describe. It was amazing to see the beach and the boardwalk from that high. Even though it was cloudy and windy and crappy, the beach was full--there were even some crazies in the freezing water--and throngs of people crawled the boardwalk between rows of ring tosses and pop-the-balloon stands. I could perfectly imagine women in heels and flapper dresses and ladies in petticoats carrying parasols walking around the park, taking a ride on the extraordinary new Wonderwheel (which was finished in 1922 and has been accident-free for it's entire life) with their new beau. its so odd to look at the evolution of community entertainment. in its time, coney island was affordable family fun that everyone could enjoy. I’m struggling to think of the same kind of destination nowadays. yeah there are traveling carnivals and places like aquariums, but its not the same.

God, I'm so nostalgic, even for things I didn't experience.

So yeah, I'm totally and completely bewitched by Coney Island. I'll post pictures eventually, although I didn't bring my camera because of the rain, so they'll be nice 1.3megalixel cell-phone quality.

[the worst drink in the history of the universe]
I was pretty disgusted, however, with the $10 a pop buy one, get one Daiquiri. First off, don't trust any alcohol that's buy on, get one free; especially if it's served in a plastic blue yarder bong cup. I knew this from the start but decided what the hell, im on coney island. the stand that was selling these drinks was located right across from the "dancing lady," a mechanical puppet that danced when you paid a quarter. (see what I mean about evolving entertainment?) they had three flavors: blue, yellow and red. they were supposed to be mango, fruit punch, strawberry, respectively, but three of us each got a different flavor but they all tasted like shit. the same shit. it was seriously the nastiest drink i've ever had. i literally chocked down the first one during a nice walk on the dirty beach (i was barefoot until I counted three giant shards of glass) before heading back to the stand to redeem my free drink. I'd already figured out that the "fruit flavor" was really just Kool-Aid powder with double-the sugar (slushee mix without the slush) but I had to ask what kind of rum they were using because it was one of the strongest daiquiris I've ever had. So the guy, who had two different size eyes and wore a lot of 'bling' around his scrawny neck, pulls out a bottle of Wray and Nephews Overproof Rum, the same stuff Len had warned be about in Jamaica, only to bring me a flask of it because I just had to try one of the strongest and possibly one of the most vile alcohols on the planet. it's like pure alcohol and these guys were filling like the first four or five inches of the tube with it. The second one did go down better (wonder why).

We brought the drinks on the subway because it started raining so hard and the woman across from us asked "so have you learned your lesson now?" she said that on her first trip to coney island, she'd been suckered into the same drink.
Hell yes I learned my lesson.

game time

ew. just woke up to crappy, soggy, humid weather. last night i was really concerned with being in brooklyn by noon for the mermaid parade, but now that there's no sun to soak in, just drizzle, i'm not so worried.

So I'm spending the morning playing flash games. Here's some cool shit I've found:
The Bow Man Game This is like the old Gorillaz game for QBasic (Mo, I know you used to play that with me). One and Two player options.
A Gorillaz-inspired Chipmunks parody. From the same guys as above.

Actually, these guys have a lot of good stuff. Visit NaTa2 at http://www.nata2.info/.

3-D Pong from All Things Flash.

today, I ate a pickle.

friday [06 23 06]

ahhh ... my neck hurts from a few minutes of head banging a la wayne's world to some chicks karaoke-ing (yeah, I’m using it as a verb) bohemian rhapsody at the bar last night.

After the intern-alumni reception—which was in fact a lot of good hors d’oeuvres, decent wine and successful networking—the interns and some of last year’s alumni went to NYU’s White Horse to drink overpriced Budweiser and sing karaoke. I graced the patrons with a little bit of the Salt N Pepa and after one song, I couldn’t get enough of the microphone. For the first hour or so, basically the only people in the bar were with our party, so I had nothing to be embarrassed about (except my superb signing voice). Actually, another intern, Elizabeth, can sing pretty fucking well and blew everyone else away as did some other random chick. It actually was a lot of fun – it was the first time I got goofy (not too drunk though) since I’ve been here – lots of dancing to Tupac and singing along with Bryan Adams. Ahh college.

Today was my day off. Man, I can’t believe that June’s almost over already. Seriously. It feels like I’ve been here for a few days while at the same time it feels like home (without my family and friends). I remember back on my first day when my supervisor told me about getting today off, it seemed so far away back then. Low and behold, it’s come and gone. And while my plan was to see museums and Broadway, the weather was shitty and I had some writing to do so I didn’t even leave the dorm (save a walk to the gym) until two. I did have a good time wandering the village. I was looking for affordable yet cute vitange stores and while i did come across some great places (one had a collection of barbie dolls and playboys from way back when among other useless crap), I also come across other "retro" stores that sell $200 used dresses--not designer--fromt he 80s and 90s. The nerve. really. They even had "vintage" leggings (leggings, in case you didn't know, are all the rage under miniskirts and shirts that really should be worn with jeans. not leggings, but jeans.) that sold for $35. Why the fuck would you pay $35 for a pair of faded black strech pants when you can get a new pair made out of the exact same material at forever 21 (NY's cheap shopping haven beileve it or not) for $10.

The amazement that went along with my first days in new york was fading, not gone, but dissipated. Back then, even though the weather was as hot as it was today and my bag was as heavy as it was today, the newness of the city and the change of being here was like an IV of adrenaline straight into my heart. Now it’s more like a NoDoz when my eyelids start getting heavy. That doesn’t mean that I’m any less enamored with nyc than I was before—I’m just looking at things through a different eye than I was when I got here.

Taking advantage of that unplanned and natural lead in, I have been getting pretty artsy lately if I do say so myself. I picked up new charcoals and paper today but it started raining almost immediately after I left the store so I didn’t get to go to the park and sketch like I wanted to. Next time.

I had the best sandwich ive had in a long time today. It was a fresh mozzarella with basil, tomato and olive juice on the best bread I’ve had in nyc – seriously, it was. So fluffy and tasty. The sandwich was about three inches high, most of it’s mass created by three large slices of fresh, water-stored mozz. It could have had more tomatoes and basil, but it was still one of the best things ive eaten this summer. I found this sandwich at a little restaurant on 2nd Ave down around 6th or 7th street. If there was more space to it, it would have been like a small-town diner. Old men walked in and greeted the entire wait staff (of 2) by name and was handed a plate of his regular, no order exchanged.

By the way, the sandwich was served with a pickle. I ate it. All of it. I don’t know why I ate it or what prompted me to take the first bite that tasted like the Chinese cucumber appetizer they serve for free at Miko’s back in Urbana. It tasted like just like a salty cucumber, which I liked. I think I decided to take a bite because it still looked like a cucumber and not like a pickle. I bet they made it on site from fresh cucumbers in the owner’s wife’s garden. It only makes sense.


mo and tiffany bought their plane tickets to come visit me the weekend after fourth of july. im so fucking excited. it means a lot to me that they actually took the time to get their shit together and come visit ... manhattan better watch out. they thought it was bad when the muppets took over, now wait until twangswinkberg shows up.

Judge gives Cubs custody of 7-year-old

COURT RULING, Chicago Illinois, May 8, 2006

Chicago, Illinois (AP) - A seven year old boy was at the center of a Chicago courtroom drama yesterday when he challenged a court ruling over who should have custody of him.

The boy has a history of being beaten by his parents and the judge initially awarded custody to his aunt, in keeping with the child custody law and regulations requiring that family unity be maintained to the degree possible.

The boy surprised the court when he proclaimed that his aunt beat him more than his parents and he adamantly refused to live with her. When the judge suggested that he live with his grandparents, the boy cried out that they also beat him.

After considering the remainder of the immediate family and learning that domestic violence was apparently a way of life among them, the Judge took the unprecedented step of allowing the boy to propose who should have custody of him.

After two recesses to check legal references and confer with child welfare officials, the judge granted temporary custody to the Chicago Cubs, who the boy firmly believes are not capable of beating anyone.
###

breathe deep...

Today is a nice, brief half day of in-office work. I spent the morning helping people pack up and responded to some mail then I took off to the International Toy Building on 5th and Broadway for what was probably my coolest press event so far. The floor I was on was literally a child's dream. Video games, dolls, trucks, RC airplanes, water guns, kites ... it was so fucking cool. Kind of like FAO Schwarz without the crowds cool.

I got to play with some new kids games most of which will be on the market in the fall ... all confidential information though (yeah right, like someone's going to tell me confidential information). As soon as I finish this, I'm going to write it up for the PM blog but before that ...

... I'm definitly starting to get a little panicky about the magazine industry again. tonight I have a networking dinner to go to and just thinking about it makes my blood pressure rise. see, im fine with the whole "networking" thing if im on my own and just out there meeting people randomly or being introduced through a friend-of-a-friend deal, but when there's a room full of interns trying to make an impression on a room full of industry folks, it kind of makes my skin crawl. I offered to take a half-hour shift working the door, but there was no longer any help needed. damn, got the email too late.

I was just reading the Ed's Girl on the Hunt blog and the blogger said something that got me thinking: "I didn’t talk too much (thank God)."

Yeah, probably one of my biggest problems: I talk a lot. When I'm -cough- networking, I like to think I am preceptive enough to know when to shut up and want to speak up, but you never know with this industry. the tricky thing of it is that each person is SO different - some want to hear all about you. some only want to talk about themselves. some are great listeners, some have great advice...you have to feel it out with each person.

even writing this out now is making me feel better because I really don't think I have much to worry about - the other night i went out for drinks with the office and by nine o'clock it was just me, another intern and some of the younger staff. One guy laid it out for us (us being the interns): "This is how you fucked up and this is how you fucked up." My fuck-up was pretty minor in the grand-scheme of things -- I called the art dept the graphics dept -- and I was told i'd redeemed myself just fine. in fact, i was told that i i had a good attitude, was a good worker and could easily end up as an eic if i wanted, which boosted the ego WAY up.

well see how it goes ...

what a sickly little child

If you'd like to donate to help this poor little thing get proper medical care, please click below.

"What kind of Asian am I?" the game.

Do you know you’re bloodtype? Seriously. I don’t and it’s definitely something I should. Leave a comment if you do.

Saturday afternoon Union Square was filled was artists, gardeners and cheese makers selling their wares and conversing passersby. I met an artist who bummed a cigarette from me and told me step-by-step how he created a lot of this works, which were mostly photo transfers and other manipulations. It inspired me so on Sunday I took my Canon A70, my dad’s old camera, out to Brooklyn and we’ll see what comes out. I really don’t want to get film developed here though because I like the way Woodman’s in Rockford prints their film, but I think I’m going to have to give in and find someplace.

My weekend actually started out pretty slow. I kicked it off with a veggie burrito and a couple of dos equiss in the back room of a NYU Mexican joint that was crawling with a mélange of NYU students, families and tourists. While the front of the place is well lit with round wooden tables and bar stools, the back room, the bar room is covered in neon paint lit with glowing black fluorescent bulbs. Music cranked through the nearly blown speakers but I can’t even remember what it was because it just sounded like noise. Damn good burritos though. And cheap.

The night eventually took me, along with two other girls, to the Beauty Bar. I like that place – it’s cute and trendy but not too cute or too trendy – hipsters without the attitude, only the style. Their music is always good and their drinks are reasonably priced – and there’s always interesting people to talk to although this particular venture didn’t exactly bring about the most fascinating company. First, let me say that I don’t know how I’d get along without Tiffany’s “How to tell apart different Asian ethnicities” lessons. For the third time in NYC, an Asian guy asked me “What kind of Asian do you think I am?” And honestly, this was the first time I was wrong – and that’s because he was half-Philipino, half-Indian and the Indian blood definitely dominates his genes. He then wanted to play the “guess how old I am” game, which is so fucking lame (and I have no idea why so many people I meet in NY ask that damn question). So anyway, this half-Indian, half-Philippino dude—Dave, 26 years old—comes up to our table and starts talking about David Bowie—he said his 18-year-old sister just came back from her first year at college and hung a huge subway poster of David Bowie in her room, even though she’d never listened to him before college. We explained to him the hipness of liking David Bowie in college and he took that as an invitation to sit down.

Right then, as if sitting down was the cue, his two buddies came and sat down and each paired up with one of us girls … 1-2-3 let’s swoop in for the kill! But the best is yet to come: Dave starts launching into this spiel about how he’s a goal-oriented person, works hard for what he has, blah blah. He was, like, pitching himself to me. But that’s STILL not the best part. Meanwhile poor Kristen, right next to me, is getting personality tested by one of the other dudes:

Q:You’re in a field . There’s a cube in the field. Describe the cube
A:uhhh, weird but ok. It’s silver and shiny and rotating on one corner. Each face is divided into a 4 x 4 grid.
Q: Now there’s a latter in the field. It can be anywhere. Where is it?
A: Uhhh….lying on the ground next to the cube. It’s on of those great extendible ladders that fold up into itself.
Q: Now there’s a horse in the field. What’s he doing?
A:Ok, no more, This is fucking weird.
(ps those were the answers I gave when Kristen gave me the test on the walk home

Turns out the cube represents how you view yourself; the ladder, your friends; the horse, relationships.

So after about five minutes, when we realize that these guys are not just being friendly, hell, they’re not even looking for some quick ass--they want lifelong relationships--we bail. We didn’t even get free drinks out of the deal (they were drinking Red Bull because they don’t drink alcohol). Please put me out of my misery if I'm in my mid- to late- twenties and trying to meet people by discussing my work ethics.

Saturday, ha. Well Saturday was an utter failure, at least the first half. All week long the weather forecast called for sunny skies near 80 degrees. Perfect beach weather. Saturday morning, 8:00 am rolls around. I wake up to my text message beeping because I was supposed to meet Kristen in the lobby at 8—turns out my alarm was still set for M-F only and I was lucky she thought to try to wake me up. We run to Whole Foods to pick up $1.50 muffins for breakfast and do $80 cash back (haha love the $200 cash back limits in
Manhattan) before hurrying to catch the R train to Harold Square where we then had to run over to Penn Station to find Emily at the Long Island railroad and before boarding the Long Island Rail Road to Jones Beach.

This whole time, the sky is grey and not looking very promising, but we all assume (hope) it’s going to burn off as the sun comes out. No such luck. After the $15, subway/train/bus hour-and-one-half-long commute out to the state park/beach created by Robert Moses (bad-ass mother fucker) in the ’20’s, the skies were still gray and the airs were much cooled by the shores of the Atlantic. We tried to tough it out, laying out with blankets covering our bodies to keep warm, but once the pesky drizzle started we were done. Back on the LIRR, back to Manhattan.

Of course, once back in the city, the fucking sun comes out and it’s hot as hell. That’s when I went to the art festival in Union Square where I also picked up some veggies and cheese to finally make a real dinner. Molly was with me and we had a deal worked out—she got the wine and desert, I made the dinner. I made pasta with onions, garlic and green peppers in the sauce (let me tell you – its hard to make pasta and sauce with only one, tiny sauce pan. I had to leave the noodles heaped and overflowing on a double thick paper plate on the counter as I cooked the sauce) and we had a grand ‘ol time. After some wine and pre-partying with the roommate and her friends, Molly and I went down to Bleaker Street in search of some good comedy over which we could enjoy our buzz.

That we found … and some other stuff as well, but I have to get to bed.
Till tomorrow….

Well the Shake Shack is a little shack place where ...

So I've been told that I have to try this place because it's the only place to get a decent Chicago dog in NYC. Now, with a ShackCam site like this, I HAVE to check it out.
The only bad side: no chocolate malts -- a very necessary accessory to a good hot dog.

Oh, all the ways to make money: Crackheadz Gone Wild!

Ha! There are times when something like this would def. come in handy.

Graduate with a degree in computer hacking.

BYOB phone booth

New Trend: Product Placement in novels.
As a writer, you're entitled to do whatever you want - if you want to change you words from "lucy found a blanket on sale at the market" to "lucy scored a killer deal on a blanket at Bed, Bath and Beyond" - that's your perogative. As a reader, I'm not ok with that. At all. Sure, a starving artist has to make money, but there are ways that this can be done in a more tasteful manner, like in the Betty Baldwin example. Anyone else?

Of road-trips and employment

A few miles south of Soledad ...

College grads and those soon to graduate have been know to utter things like ‘the real world’s scary” and “getting a job’s scary.” I’d have to disagree. The nine-to-five aint looking so bad. Its money in the bank — like, a real 40-hour paycheck. You never have to worry about working weekends at your shit-eating retail or food service job. I mean, even at those you’re going to have to work most weekdays AND weekends to get 40 hours, so why not have two days each week you can rely on having off. It’s a chance at insurance and paid vacation too.

The sucky part, the truth about the “real world” that scares the shit out of everyone, is not having that flexible shit-eating job that lets you take off a week and a half to drive to a festival halfway across the country – they can work you 80 hours and it won’t cost them a dime what with bi-weekly pay periods and a tendency to not follow fair labor laws.
It seems like everyone around me has left to go somewhere this weekend. A majority of the people I hang out with are at bonaroo right now. Even people I work with have left for festivals. Another girl I just talked to is driving down to Georgia – it makes you miss those drive-thru-the-night, crammed-in-a-car road trips that are only afforded by the luxury of minimum-wage employment.


So while many of my acquaintances are off traipsing around the country in semi-stolen mini vans eating ganja brownies, I hung out in my dorm room and watched some lost. Season one, episode twenty, Do No Harm. Again, I was watching it with the kid below me who’s watching the show for the first time and is really into it, which is cool because im getting a chance to pick up on anything I missed. But really, the biggest thing I notice is how much friggin’ better the first season was. In everyway. Cinematography. Story. Dialogue, sound. music. Especially music. Really, I don’t think they lived up to their rep. I think they set the bar too high and couldn’t quite make it the second time around.

But before I entered nerdworld, I had a great, home cooked dinner at the home of a former intern and alumna of a friend’s school. I actually met this woman a week ago at a different event and she told me then that she wanted to have a few of the interns over for dinner night – I really didn’t plan on holding her too it. But sure enough, she invited four of us over to her place and cooked mac and cheese and a delicious salad with homemade strawberry dressing (followed by delicious, thick-as-fudge Mexican brownies with a goo of dulce de leche coating the top). We talked a little about journalism and mags, but mostly about told stories of the most creative panhandlers and most ballsy panhandler-imposters we’d ever seen.

The most creative bum ive met was a gentleman who went by ‘cody the subway poet.’ Now this man walked onto the 1 train one night when molly and I were heading uptown for $1.50 pibbers. He introduced himself and asked if we’d mind if he recited some poetry. So there he stood, an elegant black man with a peppered beard, standing tall in alligator shoes, a slick black beret atop his buzzed hair, wearing a slightly mismatched suit in a dark color with a jazzy blue wing-collared shirt underneath. He began his show and my god was he a captivating performer! He spoke directly at people, changing his tone, his inflection, gesturing wildly with his arms and stepping around with his left foot while his right stayed anchored on the unsteady train floor. After two poems spanning three stops, he took off his hat and said “I am temporarily homeless because I temporarily lost my motivation,” could you help me out? I gave him two bucks. I had four on me but I wanted a beer. He was the first panhandler I opened my wallet to.

Gah. There’s this sickening, screeching, continuous nails-on-chalkboard whine coming right into my window from somewhere in this crowded sky.

tsk, tsk

President Bush poked fun at a blind man at a press conferance yesterday.

What a good sport: "Wallsten said he thought that was a pretty good line. And his only complaint is that the president didn't answer his question at the news conference."

follow up

the billboard I showed you earlier is on the north east corner of this building ... this is what's on the north west corner.
In case you can't read the numbers ...


interesting ...

blinding by the light, revved up like a douche between the motor and the white

hey, i don't pretend to know the words.


the sun setting over manhattan.

The dream complete

William Randolph Hearst bought the New York Morning Journal in 1895 with his rich Mama's money after running the San Francisco Examiner for a number of years to pay off a gambling debt he owed his daddy (1). The man was a little eccentric - think Citizine Kane, which was based on him - but he was a good, if ruthless, business man. He often hired complete staffs of other newspapers in order to get the best journalists in the city working for his name. He basically invented "yellow journalism" - exagerated, unreliable and sensationalized news - although the term itself comes from a comic he ran called the Yellow Kid, which spawed comics as we know them today (the notion of comics themselves was idea Hearst stole from Pulitzer, publisher and editor of the New York World).

in 1927, Hearst errected the building you see at the bottom of the tower, the pedastol, as the base for what was to be the home of all 12 of his magazine. It was finished in 1928 and the 6-story pedastol was eventually supposed to hold an enormous tower. However, the stock market crashed and Hearst found his pockets empty - he had many of his publications repo-ed - so the tower was never constructed.

However, about 80 years later, the Hearst Corporation has decided to follow their creator's dream and build the tower - which is the first certified Green Building in NYC (although I hear they don't recycle). Most of the interior of the original structure has been gutted and although I haven't seen it, all the press I've read praises the new palace over and over again. When filled, the tower will house all 20 Hearst magazine titles and other corporate offices as well.



(1) Wikipedia - just the debt part though, I knew the rest

to end it all, some pigeons. darn things.

garbage day in NYC

I work abotu 6 blocks from Central Park so I go to the south end sometime to relax and get out of the city. I love the old sign here.




My office building reflecting the building across 53rd.





(above two) The subway stop at union square. I can ride any of the yellow trains to work. I've been trying to walk home (I work on 53rd, I live on 14th) for exercise and so I can see more of the city. Today, I walked down 5th Ave - tomorrow, 6th.



Ew. It sucks when its hot on garbage day. It looks like this everywhere and smells like 609s' kitchen x 10.

c'mon now

The Senate this morning is debating a constitutional amendment banning same-sex marriage, even though supporters concede the measure doesn't have enough votes to win. "I don't believe there's any issue that's more important than this one," said Republican Sen. David Vitter.
Tuesday, June 6 - CNN

Yeah, compared to gay marriage that war on terror over in iraq is nothing. education? chicken shit. Those pesky storms that keep developing in the gulf? Just your garden variety thunderstorm -- New Orleans is still largly uninhabitable anyway so who's it going to hurt?

Afterall, a child having two mommies is a MUCH bigger problem than a child who doesn't know his father because he died while the kid was still in the womb.

who cares about feeding the hungry when there's myspace out there?

Pentagon sets its sights on social networking websites

Nice to see our tax dollars hard at work. Maybe they're trying to determine just who in the world really has the most facebook friends. Or maybe the Pentagon National Security Agency just wants a reason to check out hot chicks making out on myspace all day.

way to go AP

The AP recently put out the first good example of new media journalism I've ever seen from the age-old organization earlier this week. The Hurricane Simulator is an excellent example of how journalists can use flash to enhance their boring wire stories that usually don't keep people after the second graf. Is the AP finally realizing that the Internet isn't an enemy?

everything's a competition in the glossy world

read about my cafeteria

organ players and dragon slayers

I haven't seen a movie theater with a live organ player in about a dozen years. im sitting here, in another tab, bouncing ideas off tiffany about theater designs for her architecture class and I suddenly remebered back to York Theater in good ol' Elmhurst and the organ player they used to have on Sunday afternoons. Now, of course, this was back when York was a third-run theater and it cost $1.75 to see a show (boy, I sound old - like I should be speaking of "talkies" old) -- that's such an interesting part of film history that's almost completly vanished in our generation. Really, there aren't many marqueed theaters left, at least that I know of, that are still functioning movie theaters, let alone theaters that employ organ players. I guess the giant theater chains thought dancing Fandango puppets are a suitable replacement for real, live organ music. Hell, they don't even have the dancing candy anymore (which I just tried unsucessfully to find on the internet). Ahhh ... the good old days

I'm famous

My article is on the PM blog!

and it was actually on the front page on Monday.

Bigtime.

bbq and bonnaroo

[sunday] 06 10 06
i bought bright red lipstick yesterday. i went to sephora and after ignorant saleswomen passed me around like the wine spritzers they share after work, i found this amazing chick who knew exactly what i was talking about and helped me find the prefect shade. ill put up a picture when i wear it. i feel so 1940s glam when i have it on.

i spent the day at a bbq festival in madison square park. the lines for food were really long, but worth the wait. some of the best baked beans id ever had - hell, a girl from tennessee who said "I drank the bbq sauce that was came out of my mom's teet" even agreed with me. there was also free music all afternoon, including an amazing new orleans jazz band that played a little of everything - jazz, blues, zydeco, funk - it was awesome, even those i was one of the dozen or so people in the who damn place really dancing around and have a good time.

it definitly made me desperatly want to be one of the lucky ones going to bonaroo next weekend. i meet some other guy who went to bonaroo the year before last, but he said he left early on sunday because of the rain. pussy.
(he was referring to the same rain that formed the lake of shit/puke/urine water we all waited so paitently in)

i also had the best meal of my life since ive been down here. after the bbq fest, molly and i went down to brooklyn to visit emily, which is becoming my sunday ritual. i REALLY love her neighborhood, her apartment, everything - i'm pretty sure i want to move to brooklyn after i graduate - or at least that summer, it sucks moving in the winter.

but back to the meal - we went to a peruvian resturant in park slope (a neighborhood in brooklyn) where we were served plantain chips as a free appetizer. there was a lot of seafood on the menu, but i opted for a half chicken with a baked sweet potato and fried plantain - and of course I sampled emily's and molly's food as well. the portions were huge, which is always a plus because now i have lunch, and probably dinner, tomorrow. it was delicious.

here's my interesting fact for the day: weed delivery services -- think half baked -- are how people get their shit in nyc. amazing.

some photos

This one's for you, tiff.



The naked cowboy in times square. I'm working on getting a frontal pic for the ladies. ow!



Kathy, in the blue, was the mom of the bunch. She was a hoot.



Some kid jumped the fence in left field and ran across the field - he made it all the way to right field before he was tackled by overweight security guys. good shit.



Joey, part of the family from the Bronx. He saw me picking up cups to bring home (hey, I still refuse to buy kitchenware) and offered to give me $20 to buy some at Kmart. I refused due to my good manners. Seriously though, this family was great.



I find it really ironic that they have to put the lyrics to God Bless America on the screen, but not Take Me Out to the Ballgame.



Kristen and I leaving the game.




Kristen, Me Vanessa at the Beauty Bar a block down from my dorm. Happy hour is from 4 - 9 and you can ge a manicure and drink for $10. The nail paitning sucks but a hand massage is always welcome.



The Chicago Tribune ran this photo on their front page a few years back. Good advertisment. [times square, a few blocks south of my office]

girl power ... for real

[thursday] 06 08 06
Yesterday I stopped the subway doors from closing with my body. I felt like such a bad ass. A few of us interns were coming back from a meet ‘n greet happy hour thing at an over priced bar (wouldn’t you think they’d pick someplace cheap considering it was an event for interns, many of whom aren’t paid?) and we were too busy talking to realize we had reached our stop. At the last minute, I looked up to see a 14th Street sign tacked to the pillar on the platform just as the doors were closing. I jumped up, sprinted to the door and pushed out with all my mite until I hear the “da-ding” that means an obstacle is preventing a door somewhere on the train from closing. The sound of success — that obstacle was me.

I’m mentally and emotionally drained. But I have a lot of recapping to do and maybe writing will clear my head. I apologize if this isn’t the most eloquently written entry. Tuesday I went to the Yankess-Red Sox game – Kristen came with me, more for the experience than the baseball game, and I don’t think she was disappointed.

Let me tell you somethings about Yankee Stadium.
1. You can’t get toppings on your hotdogs. Just packets of ketchup and mustard. Even though they have grilled onions back there for the sausages they sell, they refuse to put it on a hotdog.
2. They don’t serve beer in the bleachers. You can’t even go below, buy a beer and drink it inside. The whole bleacher seating section is separate from the rest of the stadium. It’s literally a separate entity.

There’s absolutely no excuse for number one. Number two, however, I came to understand why. The Yankee’s bleachers are different from Wrigley’s. The back row stands up against the wall and heckles fans—verbally and physically—of the other team the entire time. They yell shit and throw shit and I can only imagine that they’d get more physical if they were allowed to drink for seven innings. By the third inning, the entire back row was kicked out of the game – only to be refilled by a new row of people. Then that group was thrown out. They cycle then repeats itself a few times. It was pretty entertaining, especially since it was the greatest rivalry in baseball. They didn’t let people in wearing Red Sox Suck shirts, which I thought was kind of stupid (prior restraint is illegal, even in the case of T-shirts, If I could remember that far back to Helle’s class I could site the exact case. I’ll get back to you).

Even with the lack of beer the game was a great time. I of course wore a Cubs shirt so that made for interesting conversation from the minute I got on the subway in times square through the ballpark and all the way back to union square that night. My response to why I like the Cubs to everyone who asked “we serve beer in the bleachers.” No one could argue with that. I was sitting behind the flagpole, which incidentally is right where Melky made the amazing catch to keep Boston from pulling ahead and possible winning the game. The next night, at that meet ‘n great, they were airing the game during the scheduled game’s rain delay and I was able to pick myself out in the crowd when they showed the play – I was the only on in Cubby blue. It made for another good conversation with my fellow barstool patrons who were sick of shaking hands and “I’m _______. I’m interning at ___________. How about you?” (that got old after two minutes).

Back in the bleachers, I made friends with a family from the Bronx. They bought me hotdogs and shared their peanuts with me. It was fun to have someone to talk shit with as I was rooting for the Sox and they for the Yankees. The mother, Kathy, was funny as hell and the father and uncle were jokers too. Good people.

Work’s been keeping me very busy. Yesterday, I brought tapes home to transcribe and today I work from 9-8. I did, however, get to leave the office for a couple hours to attend the L’Oreal Women in Science Fellowship awards ceremony. It was very empowering. I know that sounds corny, but its really the only way I can describe it. The fellowship awards $20,000 for a woman doing post-doctoral research in any science or medicine related field. The reason they target post-doctoral scientists is because that’s the point in their career many women drop out of the field in order to become mothers. They addressed the issues so many women deal with regarding motherhood and career choices. For example, how can I be a good mother if I’m doing field research in southern Chiapas, Mexico six months out of the year? How can I be a good scientist if I’m not doing field research as much as I should be in order to raise my children. One woman, the scientist I interviewed for the pop mech blog (I’ll link to it when its online), specifically thanked her boyfriend for supporting her while she spent two years in Mexico – and now look at her, getting this amazing award and doing amazing things (this woman specifically researched the effects of hurricanes on shade-grown coffee plantations. This was only because she’d been researching the biodiversity of different types of coffee fields – shade-grown, treeless and in between – for eight years then Hurricane Stan hit the area she was studying). It really made me think about what I want in life, career-wise and family-wise. Women today are lucky in the sense that we don’t have to fight for our education. Yes, there’s still discrimination in the work force and in education, but it’s not like it used to be. Older women scientists, many who paved the way for the women they were awarding to get to their position, presented all the awards. Of course, if a woman wants to put her career on hold, or even end it totally, in order to make a family, that is absolutely fine and is by no means succumbing to the “female role” — it’s the fact that she has a choice in the matter that counts.

At the luncheon I sat next to a woman who’s putting together a Science Festival in Manhattan in 2008. She gave me her card and told me to call her if I decide to move to Manhattan because she’d love to have me on her team. She’s the president and CEO of the organization. I put myself out on a limb and gave her my card (ha, I love that I can do that, even though it’s a buzz card) and offered to do any stringing on the UIUC campus for her. She accepted.

I found some dudes a few floors below who watch lost and smoke. I felt like I was back in Evan’s living room. I'm still staying off the lost message boards, even though my supervisor at work is always trying to send me links to spoiler sights.

Tomorrow’s Friday, thank god. I bought myself New York City’s Best Dive Bars and I’m going to test some out tomorrow. Good night.