The Office Holiday

This is the first time I'll ever be involved in Christmas in an office, or in New York, for that matter. In New York, the Rockefeller Tree is going up today. In the office, I plugged in this snowman that lights up in my computer. It changes from green to red to pink to blue and is wearing a glittery pink hat and scarf. Cheesy but bought during senior winter exams, which is why it's excusable.

We're planning this office party too. Not the kind people end up making out at, but the lunch and secret santa kind, which is, I think, far better. I have qualms about being invited to an evening event with my colleagues when alcohol is involved. Yes, it's cliche, but cliche because IT HAPPENS. Things get said and boom! Everything is out there and you can't look anyone in the face until well into March. So we're sticking with a lovely litte lunch and casual conversation.

In New York, I'll be seeing the Nutcracker performed by NYC Ballet, and the Rockettes Christmas Spectacular. In the office, we'll be getting some small token of affection in place of the traditional Christmas bonus. I'm excited about being in the holiday spirit in New York. There's a chance of snow on Friday and I can't wait to bundle up in scarf and gloves and have Boyfriend bundled up beside me. He's even showing his best side by going to the ballet with me. Whiel I understand that most guys don't like fairy tales or dance, it's important for them to suck it up once in a while and show some support for their girlfriend.

As far as decorations in my personal life are concerned, there aren't any. I don't really have room for anything, and I always hate having all these decorations that have to be packed up at the end of the year and put away in limited storage until next November. So my apartment remains bare,as I continue to look for the perfect things to go on my wall and prepare to redecorate and never leave my studio apartment because moving in this town is next to impossible. I can honestly see myself still living there in fifteen years.

But, back to the holiday spirit, which I have a lot of. I'm happy to say that November and December are my favorite seasons because of the anticipation of the warmth and love associated with family. Which is why every year my family ends up in inteernal war with each other and I always get sick from not having enough alone time. I'm thrilled to be far enough away from them to really enjoy the "true meaning" of the holidays.I might even find a caroling service at a local church before heading back to North Carolina in a few weeks. When I returned from Thanksgiving on Monday I was exhausted and dirty, but almost immediately went back out and down the block to get a manicure. That's how I know I'm truly settling in down here, choosing beauty over napping. I'm finally becoming more practical in the New York snese. I used to think that manicures were only things you should get if you were rich or for special occasions but my friend B is right. They're cheap and they make you feel three hundred percent better. My hands look better and stay softer, which is hard in the New York wind and rain. No, I'm not the type who will get them done every week but don't see a problem with every other week or once a month. People spend their money on all kinds of other crap.

That's another thing i've noticed about New York. Yes, people put more time, energy and money into things like manicures, massages, facials. But maybe it's because we don't have as much STUFF. When I was at home, walking around my parents massive house, and flying in over Raleigh and seeing the five to eight thousand square foot homes popping up, I wondered why they felt the need to live in such a huge space. Isn't it better to have a little less room in the bedroom and a little more time for spending with friends on the outside. People here only use their apartments for rest and the chance to escape the New York rush. But we certainly don't hole up for days in there. It's so much more refreshing, and healthier, to be outside, walking and breathing in the air and communicating with people and taking the time to visit places and see new things.

True, I can't really say how I"d feel if I had the Olsens apartment (5700 sq. feet) or owned a New York penthouse. But I find that I'm okay in a small space, living in less than 400 sq. feet, about a quarter of what I had when I lived in Chapel Hill. I really like my apartment. I enjoy cooking on my mini-stove and taking baths in a tub turned the wrong way. I think I would prefer to step out onto the Brooklyn Bridge looking like a million dollars as opposed to spending that much on a house. I also love that it only takes me about 20 minutes to thoroughly clean my apartment, and an hour if I get into the loft. So everything is always clean, or mostly.

So maybe it's not such a big deal to spend ten dollars a week or two on nails and have blank white canvases for walls. Which makes it okay that I don't have a tree, but have been humming carols for the last week.

Out of the Loop in Five Days

I exited New York City on time out of Laguardia on November 23 and arrived back in the city last night at 5:30 or somewhere thereabout. But in the time I was gone my reality was completely different and apparently I missed all kinds of things. My friend M spotted Orlando Bloom in her SoHo store last week, another friend returned to England and the weather went from wind chill in the teens to 60 degrees. But first I'll discuss being back in North Carolina.

Everyone was very excited to see me and to catch me up on gossip. One of my favorite local restaurants has closed because of a fued, some more friends from high school are married with babies, the neighbors found two little beagle puppies in a fox trap and decided to keep them. I almost completely ignored the national and international news, instead focusing on cleaning out my childhood room ( a project that will continue long into the Christmas holiday) asking questions about my nieces and nephew, trying to figure out why I had ever left this place, and then eagerly awaiting my return and escape to New York.

I miss my animals most of all, and my best friend B, who came over with her new boyfriend (though she's not calling him that because her divorce isn't finalized yet) on Saturday just to talk. We sat up for several hours, vaguely watching UNC lose 30-3 to Virginia Tech (DAMN HOKIES) and catching up on our lives. She's fully returned to North Carolina life, buying a house and settling into work in town, even dating someone local. It seems very easy and comfortable and is a hell of a lot cheaper than what I have going on up here. Her mortgage will be less than half of my rent on a three bedroom house with a garage. Her daughter is in kindergarten, her brother is in middle school.

Actually, being home I felt like nothing had changed. The house is still the same, the messy areas still messy, the clean areas still clean. My animals running around, several dvds spread out in front of the main TV. I was suprised. For some reason I felt like I had grown so much things would have changed but they are essentially the same. I read and watched movies and spent time with my cousins who came up from Atlanta, and my other cousins who are falling apart, slowly but surely. We went down to Wilmington to spend the day at the beach and I ate a ton of turkey and stuffing and didn't forget to go by Wal-Mart.

But, for some reason, flying into LGA last night, I felt a huge sense of relief to be coming back "home", getting away from the messes my family is in, and being my own anonymous person in the city. I love that. No one knows me from Adam, and I can be whoever I want to be. While I'm choosing to hang onto my southern heritage and may even move back there some day, I can say that new york definitely feels like home right now. When I came in and saw the latest issues of InStyle and US Weekly proclaiming that Jen posed topless (true) and Jessica is pregnant (unsure of truth) I was happy to be back in a city where this gossip makes a difference and people want to know what's going on on page six. I was also happy to be back in work this morning, where I am swamped with various activities and making phone calls like crazy and preparing things for publicity for tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. This is where I belong.

Turkey Day Travel

I've never had to travel far on Thanksgiving. During college, I would be out of class the Tuesday before, early if I played my cards right. I'd pick up my car, pack up laundry and other "neccessities" and be on the road before late afternoon, playing oldies or Christmas music, singing my head off, picking up Biscuitville if i timed my departure correctly. I used to love driving home for the holidays, passing Christmas billboards and pictures of pardoned turkeys on the way, checking out how the color was changing and preparing for dealing with my family. It was easy and fairly stress free except through Durham, famous for the destructive construction that has been going on for years and seems endless.

Pulling into the driveway, I would breathe a sigh of relief, finally home for the break, out of school for a brief period of time, though my backpack was always in the trunk of my car. I'd unload, put in some laundry and seek out whoever was home. Generally that meet Coco (our dog) and Prissy (my cat) investigating my arrival and sniffing out everything that had come with me. Last year, I brought along my other cat, Edie, so she wouldn't have to spend the holidays alone or with a pet sitter I couldnt' afford. Then the arguments with my parents would begin, over the cost of living compared to what i was spending, how fast I drove home, why I had brought whatever I had brought. We would eat dinner, I'd watch a movie in my childhood bedroom and then fall asleep.

Heading back would be the same relaxed attitude. The smell of clean clothes drifting from the backseat, Edie content and asleep beside me, NPR on the radio. I didn't care what time I got back to school, so i was never a honker or anything like that. Though I do get upset when people treat the road as their playground and cause accidents. Besides that, though, I would arrive at my house ready to clean some and go to sleep in my equally comfortable bed there.

But this will be the first time I'll be flying home for the holidays and I'm about to chicken out. Last night on the news there was a whole story about how terrible traveling out of New York will be this year, that Newark, Laguardia and JFK are ranked the worst airports in the country for holiday travel. Try that on for size, will you? I can hardly believe it, that going on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving is the HARDEST TRAVEL DAY OF THE YEAR. I definitely would have thought Christmas would be worst but apparently people want to feel more like Pilgrims than Santa.

So I'm expected to be at the airport two hours early (as compared to my usual breathless 40-45 minutes) and on top of that, once I'm there, I should expect delays. Which makes no sense to me but seems to be completely normal, at least according to the reporter. Get there early and then wait for God knows how long. What happened to O'Hare being the worst place to be? I remember transferring out there and thinking that I was in Hell and had confused it with plane travel. But LaGuardia? LaGuardia has never been much of a problem. It's such a dinky airport no one really wants to fly in and out of it, or so I thought. The thing that really gets me, though, is WHY people travel by plane over the holidays if it's just going to create an undue amount of stress. I have an excuse- I had no idea before I purchase my Non-Refundable Plane Ticket, and a little online message never popped up to stop me. Is that everyone else's excuse? Will I be surrounded by people who didn't know it was the worst travel day of the year? Who are just as self-absorbed as I am and ignore the news for the most part? If so I can see how we're screwed, but I can't believe that people would actually want to do it every year if it's really that bad. I guess that in writing out these fears I'm really preparing for the experience, but maybe it won't be so bad. I've got reading materials and a large bottle of Advil.

Blistery Blustery

I woke up this morning, again shocked into believing that New York is as cold as rumored when it wants to be. The actual temperature is expected to hit 43 degrees today but with windchill, we'll be lucky to feel like it's 33. Wow. Now I understand why people bundle up the way they do. Even baby carriages have this option where you pretty much stick your baby in a fleece bag and stick him/her to the baby carriage. Then you cover the whole thing in plastic. I'm impressed the incident of SIDs doesn't rise with all these plastic covered babies.

As for people, long down coats and HUGE scarves and hats are apparently neccessary. I mean huge coats and scarves. I have tried on several of the said coats, but am too vain to desire walking the New York streets appearing to be an oompa loompa with no fashion sense. Because that's what I look like in them. THey come down to my ankles and add roughly fifty pounds in the way of down and fluff. It takes me back to those snowsuits my mom used to put me in when I was a little kid, like the little one in "A Christmas Story". You remember how he can't move his arms? That's how I felt in the Burton SoHo store trying them on, turning around in circles in front of the mirror. So I left, on the search for something that wouldn't look ridiculous.

At least I began to understand what it meant to be cold in the city versus cold anywhere else. At home, I could hop into my car, which would be warm in a few minutes, or just stay inside. Here I have to go to work even though I feel not so great and would rather just stay inside, curled up with Sex and the City or a good book and some hot chocolate. What I am excited about is seeing the first snow here. It's wonderful to think of, that here we'll experience a white Christmas, even if it means wearing a few more layers.

The NYC Meat Market

I guess you could refer to it as the gym. I work out at the New York Sports Club, which boasts 37 Manhattan locations, spa services at some, yoga, pillates, kick-boxing and hip-hop dancing, among other popular classes. The gym itself is fairly normal, bright and sunny with lots of mirrors and tons of tvs. On each cardio machine you even get your own, an idea that in itself is brillant. So how is it someone isn't perfectly happy in three floors of high-tech equipment and fitness trainers all over the place?

For the most part I am happy. I've never been particularly large, but work out to keep myself toned and boost my circulation, and thus my thought process. It helps me wake up and stay strong and keep from getting sick. There are tons of great reasons to work out. On the other hand, there are tons of great reasons not to work out with models. That's right, models. Maybe I was just in a fantasy land, but I had the impression that models didn't work out at gyms, that they had their own special places to go so as not to make the regular people feel bad about themselves. And trust me, no matter who you are, you're going to feel the effects of being 5'4" and standing next to someone who is six inches taller and about twenty pounds lighter. I have to say I'm impressed that they are diligent about their workouts. For some reason I'd always imagined that they just snorted a lot of coke and never ate but I'm glad to say that's not true of all of them. There are definitely some models who are up at the same time I am and working out diligently. Though I have to admit if I were there size I would sleep in every morning and eat pancakes when I got up.

Another problem this creates for normal people is dating. FOr me, it's not an issue- my boyfriend hasn't set foot in a gym in ages. But for the average late 20s early 30s girl I imagine it's daunting to be up against people whose day job includes being in make-up and clothing ads. I see the way guys check every girl out but the way they check out the models with the wistfulness of boys in love. There is something ethereal about them. And it sucks that they still look pretty decent dripping with sweat. Besides that, things are good in there. there is the usual sexual tension that builds from men huffing themselves in pushing up ridiculous amounts of weight. Clearly it's a national thing. I used to think it was just college boys that were dumb enough to attempt lifting more than they actually could but it's grown men too. The noises that come from their open mouths are hilarious. There are probably lots of first dates that come from the NYSC. Maybe they could start their own dating service. Or they probably already had, I just don't know about it. But I wonder what it's like being a normal size and weight with yes, some problem spots and confronted with the future Claudia Schiffer or Heidi Klum. I know for me it shakes me to the core. At least until I leave and pick up a bagel, thankful that I can munch on whatever I want. No one at work will demand me to look photogenically perfect.

They're not Invisible but They May as Well Be

I have begun ignoring homeless people. When I lived in Chapel Hill I had a policy of giving them one dollar once, and buying meals for the homeless population on occasion. Here, however, I was so overwhelmed with the sheer number of people who did not have a home or chose to live on the streets I have started to become one of those people that ignores them. I get requests for money on a daily basis (when I barely have any myself) and at first I would tell them no, or offer them dinner, or do whatever to get out of it. Now I have a scowl I shoot them if they're being particularly harassing, but for the most part I just ignore them. I step over their living areas and around their signs and pets and keep going.

The way homeless people set up here is fascinating. They generally claim their own areas. There is a couple around the corner from me, a tiny girl and who I guess must be a friend or boyfriend who sit out on the steps outside the closed gallery on Spring between Mercer and Broadway every day. She's been there for a little over a month now. She spends the day reading or writing or drawing- she has charcoals and a sketchbook and she seems to be very good. I look at her when I think she can't see me and wonder what happened to her. Every day she drags this giant suitcase and bag full of everything she owns, probably and sets up her sign and a coffee cup and waits. The sign says:

I am Homeless. Every day is a STRUGGLE. Anything you can give will be a HUGE HELP.

Every homeless person has a sign. Hers, for some reason, affects me, probably because it's true. Everyday is a struggle. I never see her beg. She just sits and waits. People give her cigarettes and magazines and snack foods. Her face has become very dirty and I wonder when the last time she bathed was. Another interesting point, while we're on homeless people areas, is that they will often leave their things in a location for a half-day or several hours and no one messes with it. Books and clothes and everythign else. There seems to be some sort of rule regarding what you can and can't do and this is a can't do. You can steal from others, but not from other homeless people.

I love the fact that they have their own laws and rules, even as they scoot around what we call normal, sleeping in parks after hours and under steps and stealing food and anything else they can get their hands on. At least, that's a general assumption and honestly one I would be following right along with were I homeless. But here they don't. There are certain rules to follow, and those include leaving other people's stuff alone. I find it impressive in a place where people get stabbed over IPods. I like that there are codes to follow here.

On a more clever note, here are some Homeless signs I've encountered.

"I just want a beer. Why Lie?' (Times Square)
"Yeah, Me too." (guy beside beer man)
"if you don't have any change, you could at least hand over a cigarette." (girl on Sixth Ave)
"God is watching you." (Washington Square Park)
"I promise I'll pay you back." (Washington Square Park)
"No job, no money, no ticket to my honey." (Seventh Ave and 21st st)
"My parents kicked me out" (looked like a college kid)

Almost every homeless person here has a routine or a sign or something they're trying to do to impress upon us that our change would be well spent. There were two women on 3rd Street the other day singing acappella in the cold, show tunes ringing out around the bar crowd. I've discovered a whole other culture here in a city that boasts some of the richest people in the world, and also, as I have seen first hand, some of the poorest.

Brown Bag it in Gucci or Dolce

People in New York pride themselves on economical decisions. Like carrying their lunch to work instead of buying it everyday. Contrary to Sex and the City, no one in this place can afford to eat out every meal, with the exception of those working on Wall Street. THe rest of us eat out some and the rest of the time brown bag it, carrying our lunch to work along with bags, cell phones, etc. What is unique about this set up is the fiscally concious brown-bagger conspiciously carries her peanut butter and jelly sandwich in a shopping bag. Well, that's pretty fiscally and environmentally concious, too, you say? What if it's a shopping bag.

Some of the most popular and common choices include Sephora and Bloomingdale's bags, but I have seen everything else, even a Hermes lunchbag. You're telling me you can spend five thousand dollars on a purse and yet can't afford to spend money on lunch? I have to say I'm impressed with the distribution of money. Almost constantly I hear bits and pieces of conversation that center around food and the cost of cocktails. I have to admit I participate in this as well but to a different degree. It's more like I complain about the cost of food and then DON'T go spend thousands on clothes and accessories. I don't think I've ever lived anywhere else where carryiing your lunch was such a status symbol. Are the lunches in Prada better than those in Sephora? I doubt it. i imagine that essentially I'm carrying the same stuff in my LL Bean lunchbox (that's insulated, thanks!) I do find that I save my shopping bags here, and used to at home as well, to mark certain occurrences in my life. The first time I shopped at Bloomingdales, my only item from Tifffany's.

But I find it amusing and slightly ironic that the people here are happy to recycle by carrying their lunch in bags advertising a more extravagant lifestyle than is associated with general brown-bagging. This is not your typical blue collar lunch. These are serious shoppers that probably can't afford to eat out every day because their money is going to cover Bloomingdales and Louis Vuitton purchases. Or maybe they just go into the stores and ask for the bags. I wonder what kind of status symbol I would hold carrying my lunch in a grocery bag, per se, or old Belk's bag.

Across the Bridge

Sunday morning I was in my pajamas. Actually, since it was about 1:30 it was more like Sunday afternoon, and I was sitting at the table in my apartment eating pancakes and wondering where to go to get quarters for the laundry. One of my transplant friends called up and said, "We're getting ready to head down towards the Brooklyn Bridge. Want to walk across it?" I immediately thought about it, said no, and went back to munching on pancakes. Then I looked out the window. 61 degrees and sunny, a nearly perfect Sunday afternoon and I was still sitting in my pajamas? So I called her back and said, "You know what? I am going to come!". It sent me on a frenzy, running around trying to get dressed and spray myself with perfume so they maybe wouldn't notice that I hadn't showered and then putting a band-aid on the heel that randomly became blistered earlier this week.

Then I remembered that not only did I not have a metrocard, but I didn't have any money with which to get one. So I was again in a frenzy, rushing to the atm and stopping at a newstand for a bottle of water. By the time I waited for the train (after I had run down the wrong tunnel and ended up at the uptown train stop, then having to turn around and run back by the same police officers with a nosebleed ( did I mention I had gotten a nosebleed?). When I got to Chambers St. the first thing I did was to ask the cops there where City Hall Park was (where we were supposed to meet). When I got to City Hall Park I looked around for my friends and saw no one familiar, though I have to say there is a beautiful fountain located in this teeny-tiny park. I called C. and she said I should be able to see the Brooklyn Bridge. Looking around again, I saw no sign of the bridge or even the waterfront. I walked and asked three different people where Center Street was, stupid because those tourists had no idea what I was talking about but certainly would have known where the Brooklyn Bridge was.

Finally I walked half a block and boom, there it was. This rising metal structure in front of me with people crowding on it and below cars driving across it. It was a good moment. Sun's shining, light breeze blowing, the smell of the salt air from the river, and there were my buddies. or half of them. C said that the guys had gone somewhere to "chill" but she couldn't imagine where people "chilled" on Wall Street. Finally we gathered and set off. We had a slightly philosophical discussion on what it must have been like when the bridge was commisioned or even when someone decided to connect Brooklyn to Manhattan. We discussed the people that died making sure the bridge went up, high above the river on tiny metal scaffoldings when most people still couldn't swim. It was bone-chilling to look back and see Manhattan from that vantage, from the buildings to the empty space occupying the horizon where the Twin Towers used to be. When we got half-way across we stopped fora photo op and looked down, halfway between Brooklyn and Manhattan. Then we joked about moving there, in part to save on the outrageous rents that seem to follow our generation. I looked down the waterfront and saw people getting their wedding photos taken,, brides and grooms lined up on the dock waiting their turn. On the other side, in the Brooklyn Bridge park, small children were dots dancing around their parents who were nothing more than larger dots.

"I think the Verizon building has to be the ugliest building in New York." said my friend B as we were looking at Manhattan and getting all nostalgic, etc.

"Seriously?" one of the guys threw in.

"Yes. I think someone must have said, let's take this space and build the ugliest building we can think of." She was being dead serious and she was right. It was lines of cement broken up by lines of windows.

"If we painted it blue it would be seersucker." I pointed out.

That moment over and done with we ended up in Brooklyn. It was the first time I had ever been there and it was fun and whimsical, climbing on the rocks on the shore and watching somme little girl being entertained with a cat toy, seriously.

I had such a wonderful time I have decided to join the guys. They've begun spending their weekends exploring the city, riding different subway lines to get to places we probably wouldn't otherwise bother with. And while B is right in that we can spend the rest of our lives living here and thus don't feel a need to rush around with cameras and theater tickets, it is important that we leave our neighborhoods to discover other options. So I'm starting a type of log, where essentially I list places I go in New York, along with the general blog that I have here. Just so there is a record of where I'm going and if I'm really taking advantage of living in this amazing city.

The Summer Wind, was coming in... from across...

somewhere that's not New York, that's for sure. What a shock it was to wake up this morning after several weeks of relatively warm weather and find that it was FREEZING outside. Not really, but close enough for me. When I woke up this morning it was 41 degrees, but the wind chill pushed it down into the 30s, and today it's expected to hit 50 with, again, the wind chill pushing it down about ten degrees. Something to look forward too. I picked up some wind-resistant gloves and they really do the trick on my poor little hands which are confused about why the blood won't circulate in them.

I think this is the part where I try to get used to the fact that things are changing weather-wise around here. I went out coat-shopping the other night, desperately trying to find something that will deal with any temperature and rain/wind/snow/ice issue I expect to encounter while living here. All my shoes are in the process of getting resoled and weather-proofed and I picked up some super warm socks. I will be prepared. When I spoke with my father last night he said that it was cold in North Carolina as well, a whopping 50 degrees. I was thinking, "As opposed to what?" As far back as I can remember that sounds pretty average to me but I stood, shivering outside a gallery opening and going, "Wow, Dad, that's pretty chilly!" thinking that my feet might fall off from being too close to the sidewalk.

Part of the problem, again, is the buildings, which are perfect for collecting and holding heat in the summer and then keeping everything cold and icy in the winter. It amazes me that after living here people will happily clear-cut several acres of trees to cement a driveway and put their house in the middle of a large lawn. Never before have I been so appreciative of how nature protects us. I wonder what New York looked like before it was completely developed. Was Saks surrounded by oaks? Tiffany's have a lawn out front with various bushes and birds? Not that there was any such thing at the time. Sadly enough the pilgrims wouldn't have appreciated either of those, but I like to think about them. I even wonder if it was better when the streets were mainly dirt and mud, if that helped absorb some of the temperatures. I imagine settlers carefully building in the shelter of firs and cedars, comfortably settling themselves among pine needles before hibernating for the winter. Now it's all cement. I understand that theoretically it's a good idea, and I've always supported cities going up rather than out. Looking at the mess Raleigh, Durham, Cary and Greensboro have become it's even easier to say, well, look at downtown, why didn't you try to keep everything important and central downtown? Where most towns have a dying main street, New York has a fabulous mid-town that has everything you could ever want in life convieniently contained within several blocks. Eight by Twenty-two miles holds a whole world of possibilities. No wonder some people never leave. Why would they? I'm reminded of a Sex and the City episode where Miranda dates a guy VERY briefly who had literally not left Manhattan in 16 years. Imagine staying in your town for that long. It's not like it was in 1785, when it was difficult and exhausting to travel even ten miles. Now planes trains and automobiles can take you whereever. And if you were raised on the Upper East Side, chances are you have the money to leave. But this particular man just didn't see any reason to leave, saying that "Everything I could ever need or want is right here." Bit of a closed opinion but apparently doable.

I can't imagine staying in one place for that long without even a week's vacation from the city. This summer I spent most of my time trying to invite myself to Hamptons timeshares and finding out who lived underneath a pool. One of my co-workers seems to have the best of both worlds. She and her family rent a Hamptons cottage during the summer and then during the early winter have a house in Massachusetts for skiing. I'm sorry to say I'm incredibly jealous with the opportunities allotted her during these times of escape. What I have to look forward to is getting out of this city back into North Carolina, to spend a week being hounded by family and friends on what it's really like to live in New York. The city with a golden image.

At the same time, I'm still not quite sure what living in New York means. For some people it means this is it. This is where they will raise their families, retire and end up. For others, they spend most of their New York time planning their escape to other places, to Vail or Aspen, Miami or on a cruise to "get out of the city'. i'm even amazed that after all the years I spent getting up here, I've caught myself doing the same thing. When nothing in this city stays the same for very long.

Alone in the Office

No one is here today but me. Seriously. Two people out at a funeral, a sick call-in and a dental appointment, and I have a SoHo loft space to myself for the day. It's kind of crazy, when you think about it. So most of the day I've been mentaly imagining what I would do with all this space, if I lived here instead of the one-room place I have in the West Village. The problem with lofts is that however big they are (and this one is probably close to 1500 sq feet), a lot of that space has little to no window access. Seriously there are four windows in this whole place, and on top of being an office, it's also a three bedroom apartment with two baths and one of those tubs that might be confused for a wading pool. So how do New Yorkers deal with the light issues in spaces like this that aren't commercial?

How do they deal with lighting in general? It's dark here by 4:30 and pitch by 6 and it's not even December yet. I've lately been feeling the affects of SAD. Naturally I am predisposed (like my mother) to be a little moodier when there's less light, but instead of electing to move somewhere like Honolulu, I elected to move to a Northeastern city where people are already bundled up outside and children are covered with plastic when in their strollers. Though, in theory, I could have made a worse choice, like Seattle and then commited suicide in a very dramatic manner, or started a rekindling of grunge.

So the past couple of weeks i've been working on solutions. One is to work insanely hard to keep excercising. Not only is this good for my butt (which I'm afraid is starting to suffer Office Chair Syndrome) but it's also been shown to help with depression. Then I'm eating as many fruits and veggies as I can shove down my throat. I'm not sure what good they'll do but apples always make you feel good, and according to my grandmother, also keep the doctor away. Handy seeing that I still don't have real health insurance and therefore am at the mercy of 10 million people + tourists' germs as well as taxicabs, which pose a potential death threat on any given day. God help the day I don't pay attention to the light and end up in St. Vincent's. And I'm also considering a sun lamp, one of those things that emit a large amount of light and are commonly used with Old people and in Finland. Random, I'm sure. But if twenty minutes under that thing daily can make me believe I'm secretly in Fiji, then I figure it'll be worth the investment. Beyond that, I have no clue what to do. Watch "Cool Runnings" and "Shag" while laying on a beach towel? Start doing yoga first thing in the morning facing east? Completely redo my apartment in a feng-shui layout to get out all the bad chi? I've dealt with this problem before but have to admit this is the first time I've ever been afraid of facing the winter season. Even the coats I've been looking at have only made me more aware that I'm living in a location where it's not uncommon for windchill to be -20 or worse. Now that's insanity.

So I wait, curled under a Carolina fleece I picked up on a whim my senior year, when I suddenly became convinced that I would never see as much blue and white again. It's true, I don't see that much blue and white, but when I do it's always a welcome diversion and a reminder of great times at UNC. Never thought I'd say that either. Last year at this time I rolled my eyes at the people who said this was the best time of my life and couldn't wait to grab my diploma and make a run for it. Now I sometimes actually DREAM about Tom's cooking at the ADPi house and spending whole afternoons reading on the deck of my HOUSE. That's right, before the room I actually lived in a whole, albeit small, house. Those days seem like a dream.

Do I love living in New York? Absolutely. I swear there isn't a better place to be young and "fabulous". But there maybe is a better place to be poor. And a better place to deal with harsh winters. Like hibernating in a cave with bears. Even though I must admit that my former boss (a lawyer) pointed out to me once that the reason my face tended to get so red in the summer was that I had Nordic, therefore, Artic skin, that was used to several feet of snow and cold all the time. And I keep thinking about my grandma, who was born in Sweden and raised in Vermont. So how did I end up with such a poor constitution, and will I ever adapt? Everyone keeps saying you get used to it, you get used to it, the same way you get used to hot, humid summers. I guess we'll have to wait and see if I become a snow-bunny or if I end up huddled in front of the gas stove.

East Side

I've become a Neighborhood Snob. Last night I attended a reading in the East Village, at Mo Pitkin's House of Satisfaction on Avenue A. I was actually a little afraid for the first time in quite a while. It was dark and dingy, full of garages and warehouses with parking lots surrounding the area. Mo's was situated under neon lights in what looked to be the safest haven in that area. Thinking about how New York is laid out it amazes me that walking ten blocks could so completely change the neighborhood and atmosphere that much. I went from the cozy claustrophobia of the West Village to suspicious looking men on dark blocks with no children or dogs or old people (fixtures I am used to at this point in the Village).

I became more and more hesitant as I went along, trying to put on a brave front but inside being the shrinking violet. By the time I got to Mo's, I was practically jogging towards the entrance, freezing because on the way home from work it was quite warm and I had abandoned my fleece in exchange for a vest, which I regretted by the time I hit Fourth Avenue. But as I was wandering around I was walking faster and faster to avoid the strange men in black (like people here really wear any other color) and keep my torso semi-warm. The weather here continues to shock me- I'm really not used to sudden twenty degree drops.

But it made me curious about what had happened with the east side. A few years ago, I remember it being very trendy and clearly there were plenty of bars and venues to support said trendiness but there was not a whole lot of residential traffic. Then I remembered a recent article in Metro NY, a small newspaper I pick up in the mornings on the way to New York, that was all about how the bars in the East Village were upsetting the residents, that there were more fights and a lot more noise at four in the morning than there used to be. Their request was that a certain distance be foreseeable between bars and restaurants, that there had to be fifty yards. Less choice would equal less drunkeness, in the residents eyes. I don't blame them. I love that my own apartment is on the courtyard side, and I can crawl up stairs past the LIon's Den next door and by the time I reach my abode, can't hear anything. Except my guitar playing neighbor has now taken to playing music twenty four seven. He turned it on at some point last night and when I woke up this morning it was still playing. But what do you say when you live in a neighborhood that is both thriving and safe, where there are plenty of bars and yes, no parking, but its worth it in exchange for the comfort i get from passing the same people day in and day out on the street.

Upright Citizens

Boyfriend and I had a great weekend. It was relaxing and languid compared to last weekend's Wedding Hell. We laid around a lot of the time, he watching football, me reading or writing, went on a couple of walks, and finally decided to do some kind of activity on Saturday. He suggested the Upright Citizens Brigade, located in Chelsea in this teeny tiny theater that reminds me of college theaters. It was cheap ($8), easy to find and we were bored. So we went up there and had such a good time. The theater is where Amy Poehler got her start, and Matt Walsh and several other semi-famous people that you kind of nod your head and go "oh yeah..." when someone brings them up.

It was improv based on various audience suggestions, music (provided by the audience) and what I assume to be their own inspirations. It was short, sweet and mostly funny, all of which could be appreciated, since I hadn't felt very well before we went out but perked up once I was out. Sometimes it really does just take some fresh air and lovin' from the Boyfriend to make a day much better.

But what made this particularly interesting was that they called themselves Upright Citizens. Clearly this was a mockery of what was to be an upright citizen, but it still made me wonder. What is an example of an upright citizen? I used to believe that this could be represented by the people we chose to represent us, but I really don't want to think that George W. Bush speaks for the whole, or even half of the United States. I want to think that we are better than the fuel we seek. But maybe we aren't. Maybe we are the figures they represented on Saturday, rulers who beheaded musicians and mothers trying to kick out their thirty-five year old sons. Even as we laughed, I wonder if the nagging feeling was in anyone else. Is this really who I've become? Is this who I'm going to become?

It's easy to say no in the early twenties, but I can feel my idealism changing from when I was thirteen and would pick recylcing out of the trash and yell at the girls using aerosol hairspray in the bathrooms. I remember how solid I was in my beliefs, unashamed when I turned down cigarettes at the Middle School Dance and protested to start a recycling program. Mom told me once that my science teacher said I was the smartest student he had ever had and I thought I was going to be a doctor in Africa saving people that were dying of silly diseases like dysentary and pox, inflictions Americans haven't died of in years. So what happened? In my quest to become an "upright" citizen, did I lose the freedom of thought and duty along the way?

We laugh at our old selves as we shed those skins to become our new selves. We make fun of the way we used to dress, the people we used to have crushes on, the desire to be accepted and part of a crowd that was probably ridiculous and definitely exclusive. But when did I lose that sense of self that used to drive me? I very clearly remember how proud I was of a science fair project that won first place in the county in ninth grade, and how my biology teacher actually let me do my own thing most classes because I was already advanced. But by the time I got out of high school, my science grades had become Cs, or at best B's, and I certainly wasn't anything special any longer.

What happens to us as we grow? Do we dumb ourselves down to fulfill the expectations held for us? Even me, the feminist environmentalist, no longer has posters of Endangered Species on the wall or aquariums in my room. I'm completely different now, reading and writing most of the time but sometimes even finding myself tired of that. Did I secretly want to be dumb? Would it have made a difference if I had stayed involved in math and science instead of turning towards the safety of english and history, facts that were already set, themes that had already been figured out. I stayed involved with various groups during college, but pushed aside and eventually stopped doing the photography that I loved, stopped yelling at people who threw away their recycling as opposed to helping their future grandchildren. It seemed so small and insignificant that it no longer seemed worthwhile.

And that's the saddest part. Watching this small group of people mock what we take for granted, funny as it may be, struck a chord within me about the selves that we lose on the way to being ordinary. So often we push back what makes us unique and do 180s to get away from what we're most talented in. The people that stick with it, no matter what, ignoring the pressure to conform, are considered weird and oddities, eccentrics. And if, after all this, America really isn't so accepting, then what are we fighting for?

New York Habits

I've begun essentially using the same route to walk to work and back, and because I'm consistent with time, I've finally begun to notice the people around me who are out and about at the same time. On the way to work I pass the preschoolers first, then the guy with three bulldogs, then the old couple with one little white fluffy dog and a Wall Street man who always seems to be trying to hail a cab on Laguardia. I go by a short Hispanic man who hoses off the front sidewalk of L'occitane every morning and the construction workers just taking their first breaks on Prince Street. I like this familiarity, smiling at these people I don't know and yet know so much about.

On the way home, I pass by the psychic woman (who was watching a rerun of Will and Grace last night, worn tarot cards laying in front of her, cigarette smoke pushing up towards the neon sign that advertises her services) and the flower woman, who I bought Iucky bamboo from when I first moved onto my block and who is always wrapping up bouquets for God knows who. They fascinate me. I wonder about them, about what kind of apartment they live in, about whether the psychic lady can afford her rent or the flower woman her cigarettes. I've also begun using the same corner store to get laundry quarters and small bits of weekend food, the same teller in the mornings I get cash out or make a deposit. It fascinates me that we know each other so intimately and yet they have no idea what my name is or what building I live in or what I do with my weekends. The same way I know so much and yet so little about them.

I love the old couple. I always want to stop them and ask how long they've been married and how they have stayed so happy. Becuase they very much appear to be. She always seems to be dancing around him, holding his hand or his arm while gesturing with the other and telling some story or another. I can't help but smile. Because we all want that, to be that intimate with someone always and not grow out of it or allow it to fade. Sometimes I even pass the same people on Broadway- bored, young nannies mixed in with the tourists who are forever snapping pictures, this woman who seems to be constantly shopping, the guy who runs the hotdog stand on the corner. It's nothing if not these routines that make the city feel smaller.

When I first came up here to look at apartments, my mother asked a broker we were using what she thought about the city being so big. And she said that your neighborhood becomes your home, that you become used to the bagel man and coffee shop and use the same newspaper and magazine stands. They get to know you. I'm reminded of a scene in Sex and the City where Miranda calls the same Chinese restaurant so much the girl has her order by heart and doesn't even need to hear it. This is why people live here. Because while those people know what you eat and where you do your laundry, you are in the safety of not having to share anything beyond that with them. Sure they can speculate over what kind of person you are, how much credit card debt you carry or what 's in your refrigerator, but they don't know for sure.

There truly is safety in numbers. With so many people moving around the city at a constant ebb and tide, it's easy to become lost in the masses, but also easy to fall into routines you may not in a smaller place. Or maybe it's just done without conciousness, awareness of how it should be. I like all the people that I see out in the street on Friday mornings or on Sunday afternoons, but what I like most is that we have an understanding. We don't talk or stop or pry into each other's lives. We are simply aware of our own prseence in an infinite world and then we keep walking.

The Theme was Mardi Gras

I realized last night that I forgot to discuss the Greenwich Village Halloween Parade we went to on Monday night so figured I should go ahead and do that now, before I forget what it was like. One of the most interesting aspects of living in the Village is that half of the time you don't know who is in costume, and who dresses like that seriously. There are so many transsexuals/vestites down here that I wasn't sure who to compliment and who to leave alone. I didn't dress up for it. After the wedding I was way too tired to even put on half the costume. So I dressed as myself in jeans and a fleece and went out with friends who were also dressed as themselves. We went to eat at Dojo Restaurant, this great little Japanese place that also serves burgers. Very odd combination, but who am I to judge? It's also one of the cheapest restaurants in the Village, which makes it very appealing to us.

We walked back towards my apartment, and since I'm only a couple of blocks away from where the parade was taking place we quickly ran into the crowds. I will say Kudos to the NYPD. They were fabulous- no angst, no unneccessary yelling, and they were even joking around with the costumed people. There were little kids out and about and people who had dressed their dogs in costume as well or dyed them or something along those lines. It was insanity. I read in the paper that about 2 million people participate in the parade each year, making Chapel Hill's measly 75,000 look just that. We were squeezed and pushed along, kind of back and forth on West 4th Street and just watched as the costumed moved along. The way it worked was there were floats and marching bands that would come along, and in between them, costumed citizens would also walk, waving. I saw a "safari" group complete with a giant giraffe, JetBlue who had apparently allowed about twenty people to dress out as little white and blue airplanes, a fabulous Zebra man, just to name a few. But many of the costumes did involve cross-dressing and this is where the lines became a little blurry. Because I wasn't quite sure who was doing it just for Halloween and who did that every night in the Village.

I did think, however, that I would make a list of my favorite costumes, not in any particular order, just as I think of them.

1) Da Looterz- this was a guy in a 'fro wig, large rain boots, pushing a cart with a TV, clothes with the tags on, and OJ in it
(The political theme this year really did revolve around Katrina, which I suppose was a branch of Mardi Gras)

2) Mary Kate- how do you NOT appreciate a skinny boy dressing out in "dumpster chic" clothes (that probably legitamately came from a dumpster as opposed to Roberto Cavalli), huge bug-eyed sunglasses, and a Starbucks cup, screaming at his friends that he couldn't eat dinner with them, he was ANOREXIC. It was amazing. He had this great long, greasy looking blond wig with a kerchief on it or something.

3) Centaur from MidSummer Night's Dream- We are pretty sure this guy was on acid or ex. He danced around with those little Buddhist chimes, and was wearing a nude body suit with hair glued on it and little horns on top of his head. He had also grown out his facial hair. He danced up and down 4th street for about an hour that we saw before we left, and I have no clue if he had friends with him.

4) A Pimp- Yes, this is generally considered unoriginal but this guy had 10" platforms (glitter, of course), a huge velvet hat, full length red velvet and fur coat over his velvet pantsuit with plenty of bling and a beautiful cane that could double as a scepter. He also had the walk.

What made this event so great was the festive mood. Everyone was thrilled to be out, it was a beautiful and surprisingly warm night and we were okay being crowded in the streets. Bars were spilling out of their doors but no one had gotten too drunk yet, or that we noticed, and the marching bands were really well coordinated. That's one thing I can say about New York that can't be said about any other place in the world. It throws a party like you would not believe. And it throws them with every holiday. I mean, how many other places celebrate holidays like Columbus Day and Brazilian day by shutting down the main sections of Mid-Town and closing Public Schools? It's amazing that with all the bad things that happen, murders, war, car wrecks and cab drivers, New York rises above it all by celebrating anyway.

Leaving the Windows Open

Yesterday I went back to my apartment for lunch, had a nice quiet uneventful sandwich and salad, and then left to walk back to work. When I came out there were three fire trucks, and four SWAT team vans. Seriously. I've never seen SWAT team members that close up before. They had shields and were surrounding my block on three sides that I could see. When I went through they rushed me through to where some other pedestrians who had, until that point, been minding our own business. They were all staring up at a neighboring building, and watching with interest as two guys talked to the police with shields pulled.

I asked someone what was going on (since I'm a have to know kind of girl) and they informed me that there was a man with a hostage inside the building. Something different and exciting happens here everyday. I have to say I was a little surprised but someone passing by had already guessed what was happening, and while continuing to walk said to her friend, "Typical. This place is going downhill so fast it's a blur." Not kidding. So then I tried to be the unassuming pedestrian and walked into CVS to pick up my picctures from the wedding. Then I really did become witness to something. The woman in front of me wanted to pick up her 1 hour photos and they weren't ready. She said this was the third time she had come by and it had been three and a half hours since they were dropped off. The guy working the register had a fairly strong accent so it was difficult to understand what he was saying but it sounded like he was saying that he didn't really care. Well, when she got wind of this she wanted the national reps called and wanted me to be a witness. I was just trying to pay for mine and get out of there and htinking that I was going to try to remember next time that angry customers mean LEAVE for hte rest of us, unless we want to become involved. I have to wonder how this would have been handled in the South. Would we have yelled and screamed? Or would we have smiled and asked if there was a problem and nicely suggested not charging for the said photographs. But in New York it becomes a yelling and screaming type of situation.

Last night I had the windows open because my heater is on full blast and currently it's gone up to almost 70 degrees here in the city. So you either have to live in a sauna or open the windows. Because I'm not paying for the steam used to heat up my apartment, I choose to open the window and set up a fan in front of it. But lately I've been afraid to leave it open while I sleep. Except last night I thought it would be the night. I was getting ready for bed, had closed the window shade with the window open and was finishing up a Tuesday night program. But then the news came on, and with it a story about a man pretending to be a firefighter who not only set off smoke bombs, but had a replica badge he used to get inside a woman's apartment, drug her, and then rape her. On that note, I went out to look at the fire escape (my window opens on to it) and realized I was still too paranoid to leave it open overnight. So I closed it and again had trouble sleeping in the hot environment. But when you have people taking people hostage and pretending to be firefighters IN YOUR NEIGHBORHOOD, I thought maybe my paranoia wasn't so paranoid after all.