Becoming A New Yorker

Our First New Yorks

2011-09-01T21:10:00.003-04:00

Now it's her turn to take City Walks ... it's her First New York ...

Blogging and Biking

2010-06-16T01:33:00.003-04:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

Long before I began Blog-By-Bike ... or at least in the years prior (long is a relative term) ... I often lamented that some of my best writing is forever lost in the streets of New York City. I would be strolling in Manhattan or clinging to a pole in the subway and the perfect assortment and order of words would drift through my head. Despite silently repeating my self-acclaimed profound thoughts over and over, they were often lost before I could get pen to paper or fingertips to keyboard. I began carrying a miniature notebook in my purse just for that reason, and Helen now carries one on her bike. I will be, too, this summer in the hopes that less of my best writing will be forever lost with the ghost of my pedal strokes across North America.

In my first blog - dedicated to my journey of becoming a New Yorker - I wrote my opening post on July 1, 2006, when I was a month away from my big move to New York City. I had no apartment. No job. No corporate connections. I still felt like it was ok to order pizza from Dominos and had no knowledge of bodegas or that a hero is both Derek Jeter and a sandwich. No substantial comprehension of the subway. No Duane Reade card. I All I had was the hope that comes with knowing what you want. While some wondered why, I instead wondered the scarier question of why not?

In a book I read recently, Too Soon Old, Too Late Smart: Thirty True Things You Need to Know Now, there is an entire chapter dedicated to what Gordon Livingston, M.D. considers to be life's two most important questions: "Why?" and "Why not?"

"If people are reluctant to answer 'Why?' questions in their lives, they also tend to have trouble with 'Why not?' The latter implies risk," Livingston writes. "Steeped in habit and fearful of change, most of us are to some degree risk-averse. Particularly in activities that may involve rejection, we tend to act as if our sense of ourselves is fragile and must be protected. One would think that these fears would improve with age and experience; the opposite is usually the case."

Livingston goes on to say, "When presented with new things, the operative question may be 'Why not?' but people frequently defend themselves from disappointment by asking 'Why?' This can lead to the creative of endless excuses for not taking [chances]." Though he is specifically referring to intimate relationships in this chapter, one can apply this valuable insight to a variety of scenarios in life.

I'm a planner. I'm organized. I make lists. I use Microsoft Excel outside of the office to systematize an assortment of elements in my personal life. I did not go to a four-year university with the intention of becoming a "glorified secretary", but I think I'm now a pretty good corporate-NYC executive assistant because organization and planning come naturally to me. I enjoy paying my credit card bill in full each month. In fact, I get a subtle high from paying all of my bills on time and not being in debt. I have a diversified portfolio of mutual funds (modest in value though it may be), I contribute the maximum for company-match to my 401(k), and I had an IRA before I graduated from college. I wear sunscreen daily from May to September. I have a vitamin regimen that involves supplement intake three times a day. I've never been bungee jumping, and I'm reserving sky diving for my 70th or 80th birthday - when I won't be quite as disappointed if my parachute fails to open.

On the surface, I do not live an incredibly risky life. But I've never let risk stand in the way of something I want. Maybe it's because I had incorporated Livingston's declaration of the final and controlling paradox even before I read his definition on page 54: Only by embracing our mortality can we be happy in the time we have. It closely resembles my own personal vendetta with "time" -- fueled by my secret fear that I won't get to do everything I hope to do before I die -- that we must be grateful to be given the years of which others are denied so that the few they might have been granted were not lived in vain.

While reading Livingston's chapter on why and why not, I wondered why we are often more protective of our sense of self than we are of the time we have. We treat our feelings as if they are more fragile - when in fact "time" - which is far more delicate than our ego - is finite and incredibly, relatively limited. Is science not indirectly teaching us that our lives are nothing more than a blink of the cosmic eye in the vast, immeasurable universe?

Just as I fended the "Why?" questions that proceeded my move to New York City in 2006 - often with a shrug and a smile - I have also faced the raised eyebrows and wide eyes that have followed my announcement to cycle across North America in 2010.

I'll continue to approach most things in life with a "Why not?" attitude, but this summer - in this blog - with each pedal stroke and each published post, I'll be specifically answering the "Why not?" question of cycling 3,629 miles in 50 days. I suspect that it will have many answers. Those answers may not convince anyone else otherwise, but it will be my own personal record for reflection. I'll stop as often as I can to jot my thoughts in my little notebook, and I hope most of them make it to publication on my blog. Even if some of my thoughts are forever lost in the space and time between Oregon and New Hampshire, I know that the basic message to myself will not be.

Fields of Gold

2010-06-07T23:17:00.004-04:00

From a blog post written March 1, 2010, on (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

I have lived 11,000 days.

I began seeing years that Rickey never would when I turned 28 years old. It's difficult to comprehend that I am now older than he will ever be. That I am experiencing ages that he has not already lived first. That he was once three years older than me, and now, I am nearly three years older than he was when he died in 2003.

I often wonder if he will always feel older than me even as I continue to age ... or if my memory of him will begin to feel younger - the way teenagers seem so much smaller now than when I was 17. Since I will never see the wrinkles form in Rickey's face or hear the decades change his voice, will I one day view him as a 20-something kid ... while I look in the mirror and no longer recognize the old woman staring back? If I am granted the gift of time, what will it feel like to get older in a world in which he exists in some parallel universe where he doesn't age?

Walt, an old college friend, visited New York City last weekend. We were exploring a beautiful, snow-covered Central Park, strolling along pathways and trails and people-watching on various fields and quads. It was the perfect weather for enjoying snow. The temperature was cool and comfortable, but not warm enough to melt the 15-20 inches of fluffy, white layers that blanketed the park. The Great Lawn was riddled with snowmen, snow-women with anatomically correct acorns, and entire snow-families with little snow-dogs. There was even a remarkable likeness of the Marshmellow Man from Ghostbusters. The creativity was staggering.

I am reminded by the plaques on benches in Central Park that I am not the first - or even one of the few - to have experienced heart-wrenching loss. My favorite plaque, on a bench adjacent The Great Lawn, reads: Dad ... we will always remember you here. Playing tag and flying kites ... Hannah, Lucy and Henry.

Almost every hill was occupied by dozens of sledders or grated with crisscrossing sled tracks, the ephemeral hints of good times that had already been had. And when I see sleds, I am always reminded of Rickey. Of how, ten years ago, he spent the better part of an hour trying to sled down a hill at Western Carolina University standing on a lunch tray. His coveted prize? A kiss from me. A first kiss in that first winter of the new millennium.

The Western Carolina Men's Basketball coach would have been livid if he had known that one of his starting players had been trying to surf a snowy hill. That the hill had been dimly lit by the street lamps from the Helder Hall parking lot and sprinkled with baby trees and large rocks. And that his teammates, friends and I had looked on in amusement, laughing too hard to even think to stop him.

Walt and Rickey were both student-athletes. Though Walt played football, the two had known each other well during our days of purple and gold. As Walt and I trudged through the snow in Central Park ten years later and 700 miles away from our college stomping grounds, he shared the tales of Rickey's seven-month pursuit for the kiss that would eventually lead to a wonderful and rocky three-year college romance.

As I listened to Walt recount the stories, it was as if the snow around us melted away, unveiling a lush, green Central Park, and then the park itself slowly morphed into the beautiful, rolling hills of our Cullowhee campus. The memories were as crisp as if they were yesterday and as clear as if we were actually there - transported back in both space and time.

Walt laughed as he recalled a particular evening when the student-athletes were leaving study hall. Rickey had turned to him and asked, "What do you think of Katie? You think I have a chance?"

"You're Slick," he had replied, referencing Rickey's campus-wide nickname, "You're the man."

Dre, one of Walt's teammates on the Western Carolina Football team, added, "Slick, if you get Katie ... dog, I'll give you my entire refund check."

Months later, after Rickey got me, I vaguely remember hearing him say to someone in passing on more than one occasion, "Where's my refund?"

I can't actually remember if it had been Dre to whom he had often laughingly posed the question. I had never known what that meant, and I had never asked. Ten years later, returning to the present in New York, it felt unbearably bittersweet to choke back tears and swallow the resurfacing lumps in my throat as children shrieked with joy around us and families, friends and couples played merrily in the snow. Sometimes I can't remember Rickey's laugh and that makes him feel so far away.

Later that evening, Walt and I stopped for cocktails at a penthouse lounge in Midtown. More stories of Rickey came up, including another from the earlier days of our courtship. After eating dinner in Brown Cafeteria one evening, Rickey barged into Walt's dorm room in Benton Hall: "Walt, I messed up! I feel so stupid. I feel like a lame."

"What happened?" Walt asked. "What did you do?"

Rickey was so distressed and seemed sincerely agonized that he had ruined any chances with me whatsoever as he grumbled: "I told Katie that I like her hair."

"So?" Walt replied. "She has nice hair."

"No," Rickey moaned. "I guess you had to be there, but I feel so stupid. So stupid!"

I laughed and laughed as Walt retold story after story over the flickering candle light of the Manhattan lounge. Some I had not heard before. As I listened to the things I had never known that Rickey had done or said, something inside began to hurt. The other lounge guests danced and chatted, completely oblivious to our private moment in the corner. The flashing lights of Times Square danced through the elongated windows and bounced off the sparkling walls. I could feel the tears stinging the corners of my eyes, trying to squeeze their way through the laughter. I'm always unprepared for those moments, when the stories bring Rickey painfully close, and I'm suddenly struck by how much I miss him.

Memories have a way of transcending time. It takes you back and puts you in the moment. When you can share those moments with an old friend, it's almost as if you can vividly relive it through reciprocal recollections. The ability to bring the memory back to life through multiple accounts is what makes the transcendence lucid.

Yet it breaks your heart over and over to relive certain moments that you can no longer share with the people who were in them. Those are seconds of what I call "re-realization", when I am reminded that the stories are all I have left. Those few seconds always ache with simultaneous comfort and grief. I crave the high of remembering times gone by and, at the same time, scorn the low that comes with its finality. Nostalgia becomes an inescapable drug that soothes the surface while mutilating within.

There is comfort in being able to recall a memory with someone and knowing that they remember ... or in being able to tell them that you're sorry and having the reassurance that they know.

But when the memory involves someone, who is no longer here, the memory becomes surreal, and it's pure anguish to re-realize that you cannot just call him up and say, "Hey, remember when ..." When you can't just let him know that you are thinking of him, when he'll never know that you are sorry, when over six years go by and he can't have any idea of how much you have been missing him ... that slices your soul.

It's the same deep ache that consumes me whenever I have the instantaneous, blissful urge to tell Rickey something immediately before I remember that I can't. After six years, six months and 27 days, that's the ache that I've begun to realize is never going to ease.

Realizations like that have a way of making time feel incredibly, excruciatingly, agonizingly finite.

I was batting back tears and trying in vain to swallow my emotions with my martini as Walt evoked a few more stories I had never heard. On another occasion, Walt had dragged a desk chair into the hallway of Benton, where Rickey was seated, receiving a quick line-up. Under the buzz of the clippers, he was visibly troubled by a rapidly approaching Valentine's Day: "I don't know what to do, Walt. I want to do something different."

Some of the other football players - within earshot through their open doors - began to make jokes, calling Rickey "Valentino", but he didn't care and continued to lament out loud: "Whatever I do, it's gonna be different."

"I think that was the year that Rickey took me to see Hannibal," I said, pulling myself out of another ten-year old apparition of Cullowhee, and rejoining Walt in the present in Manhattan.

"Well, that was definitely different," Walt replied, shaking his head and chuckling before the sincerity returned to his tone. "But he was so taken with you. It's very rare to see someone who is truly taken and doesn't care who knows it. Rick never tried to play it cool when it came to you. He was all in."

I never tire of the stories, even if I've heard some of them more than once or twice. Even if I hear them ten times, I'll never tire of sitting around and hearing them again and again. Of trying to feel close to Rickey and finding laughter. Even though it hurts.

"Do you ever wish we could go back and do it all again?" I asked.

"All the time," Walt said. "All the time."

Time.

It's a glorious yet burning constant. Rickey has been gone for 343 weeks. 2,403 days. 57,672 hours. 3,460,320 minutes. 207,619,200 seconds. Six autumns. Six winters. Five springs, and five summers. It has been six years, six months and 27 days since my last chance to tell him that I miss him. And I'm sorry.

I'm sorry, and I miss him.

I Own This City

2010-05-17T13:09:00.001-04:00

There are so many owners of New York City.

I am one.

Here is another.

The Value of a MetroCard

2010-05-16T16:18:00.013-04:00

When I'm not speeding through subway turnstiles at my "New Yorker hurry-up-and-wait" pace, I'm going to start picking up MetroCards.

Here's why.

... My new ~~means of income~~ hobby means that I should probably consider carrying hand sanitizer - even though I'm that person, who will hang onto a pole in the train, exit the subway, buy an apple from a fruit vendor on the street and start eating it immediately. I truly believe that my immune system is awesome because of this.

Letters to Our Younger Selves

2010-05-05T22:03:00.000-04:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

Ellyn Spragins and I first connected when she commented on a blog post in which I had included a copy of a letter to my younger self that I had written in 2008. It was inspired by a contest in Marie Claire magazine that was based on Ellyn's books. I never actually entered the contest, but two years later, my letter led to a personal invitation from Ellyn to host one of the inaugural "Letters to My Younger Self" Parties. After I agreed, she sent the invitations, party kit, a free copy of her latest book to reference at the party, which had a personalized inscription from Ellyn to me, and swag for the gift bags (which included products from Neutrogena, Trish McEvoy and Suze Orman). Virtually all I had to do was be a host. And since I organized a potluck picnic, I spent less than $100 on pens, gift bags, champagne, orange juice and disposable cups, plates and eating utensils).

In a note to the party hosts on March 6, 2010, Ellyn mentioned that there would be nearly 50 LTMYS Parties taking place across the United States during the week of April 30-May 2 - an initiative that she is developing into a product associated with her books. Among us, she noted, were dear family members, treasured friends, neighbors, readers, attendees and organizers of her speeches and Letters to My Younger Self Seminars - women spanning age ranges from their twenties to their sixties.

And so it came to be that seven of my 20- and 30-something girlfriends gathered in Central Park on Sunday, May 2, for our own LTMYS Party - a picnic brunch with discreetly-contained mimosas (hey, Mayor Bloomberg said it was ok) and delicious snacks (most notably, lemon-artichoke pesto and sliced baguettes from Zabars). We shared our potluck snacks, drank premium orange juice spiked with cheap champagne (except me since my bicycle training rides are getting longer), enjoyed small talk and laughter, and then listened while three friends read aloud from Ellyn's book - letters by Diane Von Furstenberg, Bobbie Brown and Barbara Walters. Finally, under the cool shade of a large tree at the north end of Sheep Meadow, we began our own letters. Except me again. I just continued eating since I had already written a letter to my younger self and posted it on my blog ... hence the reason I am holding a laptop in our group photo.

Adrienne

Bianca

Casandra

Keisha

Kelly

Liz

Mayra

And me ...

Dear Younger Self,

You won’t have what you thought you'd have by your late-20s. But you’ll be happy. You’ll have a 350-square foot apartment in Manhattan. A MetroCard. A job as an executive assistant surrounded by amazing women. You’ll have great friends, New York, phone calls from mom, Vodka sodas, Lox cream cheese and bagels.

You’ll realize something new about yourself often. You won't seek to constantly reinvent yourself, yet you might not ever really know everything about you because different parts of you will change – sometimes frequently. This should probably bother you, but it won’t.

You’ll wish you were wittier, and you’ll be a sucker for a sense of humor. You won’t fall in love easily, you won’t get attached easily, and you’ll have to be both of those things if you’re going to get jealous easily; you’ll be able to thank a military-brat upbringing for that. You will be nominated for the "Most Friendly" Senior Superlative at your second high school, and you’ll be a "relatively nice" New Yorker 10 years later. But you’ll have a dark side, and you generally won’t trust those who don't. You’ll like to step back and absorb certain moments so that you can remember the details; you’ll do that most often when your friends are laughing.

You’ll crave cliché “Sex and the City” moments because it’s how you once pictured your life – minus, of course, the Manolo Blahniks, Upper East Side brownstones, and voluminous consumption of Magnolia Bakery cupcakes without gaining a pound. Your narrative thoughts and meaningful conversations won’t be set to background music, but you’ll have the fantasy in syndication and the real thing right outside your window. You won’t worry that your life is becoming a cliché because there will be a reason that you are not the first to live life the way you’ll choose to live it. And you’ll want to be Melanie Griffith at the end of Working Girl when she calls her best friend and says, "Guess where I am right now."

Good and bad things will happen. And you'll have regrets. A few will stay with you always. So embrace varying levels of disappointment so that you’ll recognize rapturous joy. Floss your teeth regularly. Take chances. Don't settle for what’s easy; seek what’s worth it. Take random walks in this city. Look for sights you can't believe, listen for sounds that tug at your heart strings, savor the feelings that take your breath away. Eat more fruits and vegetables; drink more water. Allow yourself to be swept off your feet regularly. Save money and spend wisely. Live like Anthony Hopkins in Meet Joe Black so that you can wake up one morning and say, "I don't want anything more."

When you write this letter, you still won’t know who you are exactly, but you’ll realize it and be ok with it. And you’ll see that the only thing that matters for any of us in the end is that we once existed. So laugh more, love more, live more. Because you can.

Love Always,
Your 28-Year Old Self

P.S. And when you're 30, you'll cycle across North America [2010 revision].

UPDATES:

Tory Johnson's May 5th interview with Ellyn Spragins on ABC (You might see someone else you know - albeit briefly!)
Ellyn's blog post: Letters To My Younger Self Parties!
More photos from the other inaugural LTMYS Parties are available on Ellyn's website.

The Breakfast Club Socials

2010-05-04T23:31:00.004-04:00

My friend Keith is hosting a bowling event in New York City.

Sunday May 9th
the BLOCK ASSOCIATION invites you to
"ROCK & BOWL" -Bowling Party w/Concert
@ Brooklyn Bowl -61 Wythe Ave, (betwn N.11th & N.12th St.)
Williamsburg, Brooklyn (L train to Bedford Ave.)
6pm-12am (or beyond)
Showtime 8pm
Performing Live:
Game Rebellion, Melene, + Man On Earth
Hosted by Silky Valente'
FREE ADMISSION!
Music by the BLOCK HEADS
(the M Report, the Ahficionados, & Soundproof Intl.)
Booking a b'day? Hit BREAKFASTCLUBSOCIALS@gmail.com

Click here for more information.

One Difference Between the City & Everywhere Else

2010-04-15T15:24:00.000-04:00

From CityWendy's "The Big Day":

"Hey, you know what the difference is between a 40th birthday party and a 30th birthday party? At the 40th, half your guests have to get home early to relieve the babysitter. That's ok; more Sangria for us!"

And that's because we live in New York City. Back in North Carolina, that's largely how the 25th birthday party works.

New Blog Post!

2010-04-01T16:54:00.000-04:00

April Fools!

I would write my own "apology post" about lack of new content on Becoming a New Yorker, but since most bloggers inevitably have a post like this, I'll link to Stacy Morrison's apology instead.

It's just easier.

The Katie Project

2010-02-08T19:20:00.004-05:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

My boyfriend thinks I'm just like Julie Powell. That's what I get for encouraging him to watch a romantic comedy.

Between basketball practice, team meetings and publicity events associated with the bj-league in Japan, he is fairly isolated during his downtime - namely because he doesn't speak fluent Japanese. Because of this general seclusion from direct American contact, he is easily swayed to consume any media that is produced in English.

"It was a good movie," Terrence said - something I'm sure he'd be less eager to confess if I had physically dragged him into a theater to see Julie & Julia myself.

"And Meryl Streep was adorable," he admitted - an opinion he was less reluctant to divulge since he has a widely-known affinity for cuteness (Side note: Julie never actually called Julia Child "adorable"). If you ever want to make a 6'9" heterosexual male melt, just send him a link to any "cute kitten" video on YouTube. He also thinks tall, awkward women are more appealing that short, cute women - which was another factor that made this movie an easy sell.

And then he added, "And you are just like Julie."

"What about me is just like Julie?" I asked. "Give me adjectives."

"Just like she is," he replied. "You saw the movie. I'm not going to go crazy typing it all out, but you act like she does." [I suppose I should also clarify that this entire conversation took place via AOL Instant Messenger.]

"Neurotic?" I probed.

"Yes."

"Obsessive?"

"Yes."

"Redundant?"

"Yes."

I paused, realizing that I had not come up with one endearing adjective to describe Julie.

"Focused," he typed, "And female."

"Thanks for putting a positive spin on this," I typed back.

I'm not sure what kind of picture this paints for anyone who might be reading this blog without ever having met me - especially if one already has a mental perception of a 30-year old, half-Filipina, half-White woman, who is tall for anyone of Asian decent, with a long torso, short arms, long legs and small, exactly-the-same-size feet (an apparently abnormal trait), as determined by the pro bicycle fitter at R&A Cycles a few weeks ago. When I shared my measurements with a coworker at job #1, who is four inches shorter than me, we compared arms and mine were, indeed, even shorter than hers. I can't believe I never realized that I have short arms before, but my disproportioned measurements actually make sense. I am exactly what happens when you mix average-size White genes with much smaller Asian genes: long torso, long legs, short arms, small hands, small feet.

I suppose there are some similarities between us, which may be few to mention - since I don't know the actual Julie Powell anymore than anyone can claim by simply judging a Hollywood dramatization of someone else's life. However, we both live in New York City. We both consider moving from one New York borough to another (a span of mere miles) like changing planets - or, at a minimum, I totally related to the relocation scene at the opening of Julie & Julia.

We both like to eat (though I can name essentially everything that I know how to cook, which someone once told me - as I proudly listed them off - is not actually a good thing). We both work in cubicles - at least until her writing began to turn a profit. We both blog. Anyone, who regularly posts their thoughts on the Internet - with the hope and assumption that someone out there is going to care - is comprised of some level of narcissism. We both use hobbies as a channel for self-exploration; case in point: the blogging we both do ends up being more about ourselves than the hobbies. She has a "Donation" button on her blog The Julie/Julia Project, an avenue for others to make charitable donations to a non-charitable, self-absorbed cause.

We both enjoy writing and attempt - more often than socially accepted in literary academic circles - to make run-on sentences charming. I check my blog everyday for new comments, which - not unlike Julie in her early blogger years - also serves as a daily reminder that my mother is likely one of my only regular readers. And I relish any opinion that anyone might make an effort to share, openly accepting the occasional backlash it may incur, as I'm sure Julie has had to learn, since - through blogging - we indirectly welcome the equal advantage and risk of having people tell us what they really think. The aptitude to be simultaneously vulnerable and thick-skinned is also a characteristic that Julie and I certainly must share.

I suppose one of our likely-many differences (outside of stating my obvious lack of a dominant gene for red hair; then again, based on a few Google images, neither does she) is that she hates the subway more than I do (I still enjoy how my knowledge of it and familiarity with it make me feel like a New Yorker), and she drops the F-word in her previous and current blog more often than I would ever have the courage to use it to color my own writing - mostly because I know how much it will disappoint my parents, who will now be disappointed to learn how much I actually enjoy including it in my daily vernacular. The main advantage Julie has over me is that she began blogging random, inane thoughts before they became cliché.

And why does any of this matter? For no more reason other than this was a topic of conversation that took place today ... a day in my life ... and the ever-evolving developments of The Katie Project.

No Can Without Will

2010-02-07T17:48:00.006-05:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

I am sitting on the toilet in our bathroom, the only place in the apartment where my roommate and I can consistently "borrow" wireless Internet from our neighbors. After nearly two days, wallowing in my self-pity party, pouting at both jobs, and soliciting money with shameless plugs on Twitter [DONATE HERE], I am deciding here and now to drag myself out of the financial funk that I've been in all weekend. So what if I underestimated my cycling attire needs by nearly two grand or if I was off by another thousand for bicycle equipment? I've come a long way - and with a lot of love and support from family and friends - and that's too much to be proud of to focus on what's still lacking.

I cried once back in 2006, after surviving my second weekend with a second job at a casino in western North Carolina. Much like now, I had created a goal that required more than my single income could provide. It was the cry of frustration that often ensues when a single person enters into the exhausting world of dual employment. Even those of the heartiest character can have moments of weakness. The determining factor is what results from these moments.

Four years later, I didn't waste energy on tears this time. If I have learned anything about time, I've learned that it passes. It passes whether you throw a tantrum, wallow in self-pity or whine and complain. It doesn't wait for you to realize that you're wasting it. It doesn't allow a replay if you regret not taking a second to just be in the moment. The only thing you can control is what you do as it passes. Much like in 2006 - if not exactly - the sun still rises and sets, the moon continues through its phases, the seasons change. Whether I work my ass off at job #2 all weekend or spend it relaxing, another Monday morning at job #1 still comes. And I'd rather be a little bit closer to my goal each time it does.

Not too long ago, I played devil's advocate with a friend regarding a debate over disabled parking privileges. Imagine if you needed to use that permit, I had said to her, what would you give to not need it? What would you give to be able to just walk on your own from the last space at the very end of the lot?

I decided to take my own advice and appreciate the fact that I can. I can pleasantly answer phones, reply to emails, schedule meetings and manage endless piles of receipts to expense at job #1. I can smile and serve overpriced cocktails at job #2. I can gratefully work two jobs in an economy where many people are imagining what they'd give for just one. I can appreciate that I am in a position to finance frivolous dreams when there are others who just want to survive. Whenever I'm having a rough time, I eventually remember to try to search for some perspective.

If gratitude for what I do have and "glass half full" analogies just aren't cutting it or whenever I have a classic case of the "mean reds", Stiles Farmer's Market on West 52nd Street is my own version of Breakfast at Tiffany's. Just the sight of all the fresh produce one can buy for a dollar can cheer most of my mild emotional ruts.

And in Bikram yoga, the instructor often talks about bringing yourself into the room, being in the moment, and moving onto the next pose, even if we are too tired, simply because we can.

And when I am too sore and exhausted to push my bicycle over another hill this summer, I will. Because I will know that I can.

Celebrating My 10,958th

2010-01-19T22:02:00.004-05:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

I received the following email today from City Wendy:
Hi Katie, Happy, happy belated birthday! I saw on twitter that you're starting your third decade and I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you're actually in your fourth decade! But don't worry -- it only gets better!! Hope you're doing well, Wendy

"By golly, you're right," I replied - because that's the kind of corny lingo I like to throw into conversations with friends. And because I'm an obsessive-compulsive, semi-perfectionist, I'll be revising any erroneous "third decade" references in previous blog posts. Standby for said corrections.

I closed out my third decade with an intimate evening among girlfriends at Brasserie 8 1/2 on Sunday, January 17 - my last night in my 20s. I had received a 50/50 offer from the Patina Restaurant Group, which you can also (currently) obtain by clicking here or here. The birthday gift certificate entitles the bearer to spend $50 and get up to $50 (alcohol excluded, of course) at a variety of Patina Group restaurants (some location exclusions apply). One hundred dollars-worth of food for $50? Yes, please. I made reservations for a party of six in Brasserie 8 1/2's lounge area and we ordered $100-worth of table shares from their Bar & Lounge Menu. At $25 for any combination of three table share items, we enjoyed a pretty nice spread. The Mac & Cheese and Goat Cheese Croquettes were strong favorites.

On Monday, January 18 - the Martin Luther King, Jr. Day Observance - more widely-known as my birthday, I treated myself to sleep-in until 11:30am, went to the gym with my roommate Bianca, and then dragged her to Brooklyn for my second trip to R&A Cycles, where - with the assistance of an Al - I may have narrowed down my bicycle selection for a final purchase! After leaving the bicycle shop, with much of my burden of indecision lifted, we hiked (literally) to Grimaldi's, where my pre-determined birthday eating route was foiled by the two-hour line outside of the famous pizzeria. We settled for Water Street Restaurant & Lounge and were pleased with the overall selection, though I did continue to pout through the appetizer course about not having my favorite pizza. The day was redeemed, however, when a stop next door at Jacques Torres and Bianca's birthday-date-drop to the sales clerk, resulted in five free chocolates.

Throughout the course of my day, I also vowed that I would celebrate my birthday in days, moving forward and moderately inspired by something a recently-partially-paralyzed Orson Hodge said on last Sunday's episode of Desperate Housewives:
"Please roll me over! Please help me off the toilet! Please! Please! Please! That's the life I'm facing now; having to ask people for help, for everything. Do you know how hard that is? Every morning I wake up at five; you get up at 6:30. For an hour and a half, I lie there, staring at the bedroom door, fantasizing about how lovely it would be - how excruciatingly lovely it would be - to get up and make myself a cup of tea one last time. No 'please'. Just hot water and tea."

Later, I learned that I am not the first to embrace this philosophy of formally celebrating my birth and my existence by the day. It made it a lot easier to wake up at 5:40am for my weekday six o'clock gym session this morning. To get up and yawn through the fatigue and get going ... because I can.

The highlight of my birthday - while I regret that the highlight had to be significantly monetary in nature - was several donations from family and a close family friend - the latter being one who is practically family. Given the rate that I have been burning my metaphoric candle (a.k.a. my body) at both ends, their financial contributions toward my cycling tour were received with immeasurable gratitude and immense relief. I spent three-and-a-half days out of the office last week [job #1], trying to recover from a severe cold. And - given the fact that I had grossly overestimated how much I would make cocktail serving in the poor state of the economy [job #2] - I've been stressing over my need to scale down my evenings at the lounge to one night per week. Between two jobs, I am considerably behind in finalizing my bicycle purchase and heavily committing to the physical training and conditioning for my transcontinental ride.

So the best birthday gifts of all came with zeros this year ... or rather, on my 10,958th day - but I also know that those zeros were motivated by love.

Forever Young

2010-01-17T16:57:00.003-05:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

"... Without a wrinkle in today 'cause there is no tomorrow, just some picture perfect day that lasts a whole lifetime. And it never ends 'cause all we have to do is hit rewind. So let's just stay in the moment, smoke some weed, drink some wine, reminisce, talk some sh**, 'forever young' is in your mind. Leave a mark that can't erase neither space nor time. So when the director yells cut, I'll be fine ..."
- Jay-Z featuring Mr. Hudson, "Young Forever"

Last month, I was cat-sitting at my [job #1] boss's apartment in the East Village while she and her husband spent their holiday in Costa Rica. The first weekend of my two-week stint, a snow storm hit the entire east coast, from North Carolina to New England. It left behind the magical, white Manhattan wonderland that barely lasts a day before city traffic turns everything into murky slush. I was enjoying this wonderland, strolling along with Jay-Z's "Blueprint 3" album playing on my iPod. It's funny how random songs on your playlist sometimes create the perfect soundtrack to your day.

I walked through the quad of my boss's apartment complex and the opening bars of Jay-Z's "Young Forever" began to hum. As I approached the front door, two adorable, little Asian girls were cautiously descending from the stoop. At the bottom of the steps, the older of the two little girls raised her face to the sky and flung both arms into the air as she began to run.

As I turn 30 years old tomorrow, this is the random slice of time that I've chosen to define the start of my next decade.

"Snow! Snow!" the little girl squealed as her smaller sister, running behind her on the freshly shoveled walkway, copied her motions and repeated joyously, "Snow! Snow!"

"Forever young," Mr. Hudson sang to the private soundtrack in my ears, "Forever young ..."

Over and Over Again

2010-01-06T02:12:00.000-05:00

I had a dream that I had an opportunity to travel back in time. It's a recurring dream that I've had several times over the years. The scenarios and locations vary, but the scene is generally the same. They're nearly spot-on remakes of fights Rickey and I once had.

I "awake" suddenly in my 21-year old body, nearly ten years younger. I feel my legs storming away from where Rickey is standing about 30 yards behind me. It is dusk in Cullowhee. The street lamps are already on. I immediately remember this moment back in 2001. I know exactly where I am.

Rickey and I were arguing in the freshmen parking lot across the creek from the track at Western Carolina University. I was walking away, my arms swinging in anger. In actuality, I don't know how long he stood there, probably watching me walk away. Or maybe he had turned around and taken the long way back to Leatherwood Hall, as I had stomped to Helder.

This time, I am no longer upset. My 30-year old mind, grief-stricken from over six years of regret, slams my 21-year old legs to a halt. I spin my younger self to turn and face him. He is still standing there and initially appears shocked to see me stop. And then I run. I run and I run. I run like I have never run before. Tears streaming down my face, my hair whipping behind me. And I leap into his arms, nearly knocking him backward.

The dream is so real. I can feel the warmth of his body and the smoothness of his face as my cheek presses against his. I can smell him. A familiar mixture of cologne and laundry detergent. I can feel his arms wrap around me. His embrace is familiar, safe. I feel like I can't get close enough to him. I have longed for a moment like this for so long.

"Why didn't I do this before?" I sob.

"It's ok," he replies, in a calm tone. "You were angry."

I begin to shake uncontrollably as I cry. He hugs me tighter.

"It's ok," he says again. "I was angry, too."

"I'm so sorry," I cry. "I'm so, so sorry."

"We said a lot of things that we didn't mean," he says.

And then, the parking lot around us begins to fade, the street lamps become balls of fuzz. The world blackens around us.

As a dim light began to glow in the darkness, I awoke, blinking into the soft glimmer of a street lamp shinning through my bedroom window on West 51st Street. And behind it, I saw the twinkling lights of the Time Warner Center, towering silently in the night. A taxicab honked. A car door slammed. In the distance, someone shouted a quick farewell. And below my window, the sound of horse hooves clopped along the street as it pulled a carriage home from Central Park.

2010

2009-12-31T16:02:00.003-05:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

It seems ironic - if ironic is the right word - that tonight I'll be bringing in 2010 holding a tray of drinks, four years after I swore I would never do it again. It's as if all of my biggest goals are destined to involve multiple jobs and a drink tray [job #2].

Monday, January 1, 2007: Terrence and I arrived in Times Square at 3:30pm and were filtered into one of several dozen corrals. Strict rules were in place, such as no alcohol, lawn chairs or space heaters. Though the rules didn't seem to be strictly enforced - everyone seemed to abide accordingly. I'm sure it had something to do with the thousands of NYPD and FDNY officers, police dogs and occasional machine gun-ish weapons.

To our right was a metal barricade and one of three large stages; to all other sides of us were a group from Australia, four reunited high school friends who now live in Illinois and Kentucky, a couple from South Florida, and half a dozen foreigners who I am going to venture to say were from an Eastern European country.

I might have been the only current resident of New York City within a 3-mile radius of Times Square - as my coworkers had warned when they tried to talk me out of my New Year's Rockin' Eve plans.

"Do you really want to stand in the cold for 10 hours surrounded by millions of tourists?" one of my colleagues had asked. The truth is that New Year's Eve in Times Square is one of those things that I had to do at least once in my life. I'll probably never do it again, but it was something I had to do, and I had to do it this year. It's the way I wanted to bring in my first year in my new home - even if I wasn't actually going to be bringing it in with any of my new neighbors. Terrence was not exactly feeling my New Year's Eve celebration plans either, but he didn't make me ask him more than three or four times before he gave in.

We waited approximately 8 1/2 hours for roughly fifteen minutes of celebration. While not every minute of anticipation was jam-packed with excitement, the evening was filled with live performances, hourly fireworks and periodic showers of confetti. McDonalds waited until the corralled masses were on the brink of insane hunger and then appeared in the streets to take orders for delivery. After five hours, we gladly paid $16 for a Big Mac meal and a 2-Cheeseburger Meal with hot cappuccinos.

Though many would argue that the countdown to the New Year and subsequent few minutes of cheers, song and celebration are overrated simply due to the wait time involved, I have to admit that the simultaneous countdown to 2007 and the cheering, the singing/humming of "Auld Lang Syne," and the jumping with glee in Times Square were approximately five minutes of pure joy for me.

I brought in 2006 in a smoky casino in North Carolina holding a tray full of drinks and watching the guests around me jump up and down, blow horns, and kiss and hug each other. It's weird how you can feel completely alone in a sea of people. My only solace that night - one year ago - had been to picture myself in a year somewhere in New York City. So it had to be Times Square tonight. My New Year's Eve had to be better than last year. For me.

10 ... Monday-Friday with an administrative 8-5 in NC
9 ... weekends spent serving beverages in a casino
8 ... waitressing on weeknights in a crab shack
7 ... selling my car and furniture
6 ... packing my belongings into a stow-and-go minivan
5 ... driving all night up the east coast and arriving in hell
4 ... sleeping on an air mattress in the South Bronx for 3 months
3 ... temping at my first job in the city
2 ... tiny studio apartment for $1000 a month
1 ... being able to say everything - from the moment I decided I was really going to move to New York to waiting in Times Square for the ball to drop - was worth it

Tonight I was again in a sea of people, but for a few brief moments, I felt like I was one with everybody. It's so cliché but the sheer, non-alcohol influenced happiness was absolutely surreal. For the first few minutes of 2007 - despite what hardships may follow - we were at peace with ourselves, our lives and the world.

Immediately after "Auld Lang Syne," Frank Sinatra's voice floated over the square as confetti drifted in loops and swirls to the jubilant bodies below.

Start spreading the news
I'm leaving today
I want to be a part of it,
New York, New York
These vagabond shoes
Are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it -
New York, New York
I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps
And find I'm king of the hill, top of the heap
These little town blues
Are melting away
I'll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there
I'll make it anywhere
It's up to you,
New York, New York.

I sang along at the top of my lungs, completely off key, and half swaying off beat and half jumping up and down, waving my long, red balloon, and thanking my lucky stars for this night.

Back to the future ... my entry into 2010 won't be as fabulous as my first New Year's Eve in New York City, but I'm hoping to make 2010 a hell of a year.

2009-12-17T17:42:00.002-05:00

New Posts Saved in Draft Coming Soon to "Becoming a New Yorker"

... And a few newer posts here.

Concrete Jungle Where Dreams are Made

2009-12-12T16:59:00.003-05:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

I love that New York City let's you be whoever you are or want to be or whoever you don't know you are or didn't know you wanted to be. Whatever your personal cliché may be, New York City let's you own it without mass judgement.

Last night, while watching club-goers dance around me in the Midtown lounge of the infamous job #2 (existing in my own personal infamy, of course), I stood solo with my empty drink tray and watched a group of gay males lively conversing at their table. I was particularly drawn to one of the men in the group. He was wearing a hint of black eye liner that was better applied than I have seen on most women. With his man purse confidently slung over his shoulder, he returned from smoking a cigarette on the open balcony, lightly bouncing in his gait and bobbing his head, keeping perfect time to Beyonce's "Get Me Bodied". You go, boy, I thought. Be you. Own it and know you're fabulous. And don't appear to care whether any of the rest of us recognize it or not.

And - if I believed in signs (rather than in chaos and coincidence) - as if to affirm my thoughts on the grandeur of New York City, the opening beats of Jay-Z and Alicia Keys' "Empire State of Mind" began pulsing the walls and floors of the lounge. I was reminded of City Wendy's blog post from November 4th:

Since Jay-Z's "Empire State of Mind" was released in September and certainly since he and Alicia Keys played it before game two of the World Series, it's become an instant anthem for New York City. On warm afternoons when I keep the windows open, I hear it playing in cars passing by on the street below all day long. Sometimes the lyrics blasting from the cars almost match exactly where they are in my own living room. In New York, concrete jungles where dreams are made of/ there's nothing you can't do, now you're in New York!

Yesterday I grabbed my iPod and went for a 4 1/2 mile walk to Union Square and back, down 9th Avenue, across 36th street to 6th Avenue, down to 25th street and over to Broadway. It was a sunny afternoon, but the skyscrapers blocked my view of the sky and shaded the streets. At intersections, I turned my head up, caught some sun peeking through space between buildings, turned Jay-Z and Alicia up. These streets will make you feel brand new/Big lights will inspire you, let's hear it for New York! ...

... Heading back up Broadway I passed Stacy London from "What Not To Wear," a show I watched almost daily until a couple months ago when I got bored of it. She saw me see her and we had that moment I've had so many times now with celebrities when they realize they've been recognized. There's a whole unspoken conversation in that moment that basically goes like this:

Me: Are you...?
Celeb: Yeah, but please, I'm sorry, I don't feel like talking to anyone right now.
Me: Okay, don't worry, I'm not a freak or anything.

And then, depending on what I think of the celebrity, I usually smile or nod or even do a little wave. Sometimes the celeb smiles back.

After I got home Drew and I took a cab up to the UWS to have dinner with his pops. I brought my iPod along, and gave Drew one earbud and kept the other for myself. I played "Empire State of Mind." Drew looked at me, nodded and smiled. We both looked out the window toward the bright lights and all the stories, Jay-Z singing a love song to New York in our ears.

- City Wendy, "It Damn Fun Being a New Yorker", Nov 4, 2009

I can't believe I really want to spend $15,000 to be somewhere other than here for 50 days.

Lamentations of a Part-Time Cocktail Server

2009-12-07T21:22:00.003-05:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

"'Joe'? 'Just call me Joe'? As if you were one of those stupid 22-year old girls with no last name? 'Hi, I'm Kimberly!' 'Hi, I'm Janice!' Don't they know you're supposed to have a last name? It's like they're an entire generation of cocktail waitresses."
- Meg Ryan, You've Got Mail

There is no "PC" way to convey my feelings on the subject of this blog post. And the following sentence is not meant to debase any aspect of the food and beverage service industry. But I hate being treated like a career cocktail server. That is not to say that cocktail serving cannot be a compelling and lucrative career, nor is it unwarranted of the dignity and respect commanded by other industries. Furthermore, I'm not exactly saving babies as an executive assistant (a.k.a. glorified secretary) during the workweek.

However, it takes a lot of self-restraint and humility to remain respectfully silent while being reprimanded for making the vice president of the hotel (in which the lounge is located) wait a whole five minutes for a club soda. A club soda, I might add, that I did not realize the vice president's guest had ordered with his Glenfiddich because his guest's accent was so thick.

I am also annoyed by being constantly subjected to the consummate power trip of one of the night managers. His indirect, subtle applications of purposely imposed inconvenience - while not necessarily inappropriate - unfailingly remind us that he is authorized to exercise his authority over us. His condescending replies to staff inquiries, deliberately delayed responses to staff requests, and negligence regarding over-staffed scenarios (e.g. too many servers on the floor during off-peak hours) make me want to say trite and contrived things like, "My salary at my day job [job #1] is probably twice your night manager rate; I just need a weekend job [job #2] because I can't simultaneously afford my ridiculously expensive Midtown Manhattan apartment and my frivolous 8-week, $15,000 vacation."

But you can't say things like that without sounding like a complete tool and getting fired.

World Without Weekends

2009-10-01T21:00:00.000-04:00

From (my other blog) Blog-By-Bike:

There are a lot of different worlds in New York City. About 8 million or so. In mine, weekends no longer exist. Even after just one month working two different jobs, I already feel like I'm going into human interaction overload. I've always been one who valued alone time. Now I crave it. Perhaps 10 months of craving isolation will amplify the worth of the open road across North America next summer.

In the meantime, I am trying to find balance in my new world of dual employment - in two jobs that are as distinct in roles as they are in attire. It is slightly frustrating and sufficiently humbling to go from a corporate environment, where I am a relatively respected upper-level executive assistant, to "entry-level" cocktail server. Monday through Friday, my knowledge and experience in the inner workings of the company are often sought in coordinating a variety of tasks, projects and events. On the weekends, I shed my pantsuits and pencil skirts for a push-up bra and minuscule shorts. While my expertise was held in significant regard just hours earlier, a bartender is now making little attempt to hide her irritation that it's taking way too long for me to remember what garnishes a Summer Wind versus a Sinfully Gin.

But there is something wonderfully cliché about serving cocktails on the top floor of a high rise building in Midtown, overlooking the bright lights and excitement of Times Square. On Friday and Saturday evenings, I trot out of my four-floor walk-up apartment (real estate speak for "fifth floor sans elevator") in Hell's Kitchen, with its exposed brick walls and rickety fire escape, and walk north on Eighth Avenue. Dressed in a brown hoodie drawn over my freshly flat-ironed hair and matching sweatpants concealing my revealing cocktail serving outfit, I stop by Starbucks and order a grande skinny vanilla latte to fuel the caffeine rush for my 11-hour shift.

Fridays are tough. After eight hours in the office, dealing with the wear and tear of executive assistant busy work, meeting coordination, travel management and expense reporting, I have roughly an hour to get home, darken my eye makeup, change clothes and roles, and reset my mind from professional corporate woman to demure cocktail-toting vixen. I ascend the elevator to the penthouse of a Midtown hotel, where the lounge and rooftop bar already have the inaudible hum of simultaneous conversations. Music by Jay-Z and Biggie blare from the lounge's DJ booth while the giant billboard of Sean "Diddy" Combs - which has become a staple where Broadway crosses Seventh Avenue - is framed in the floor-to-ceiling windows of the hotel's southern exposure. If you are at all partial to hip hop, it's a constant reminder of the quintessential hustle through the struggle of New York City.

When the lounge slows down between the happy hour rush and the nightlife crowd, I find myself staring at neighboring penthouse apartments and often catching the silhouettes of their occupants illuminated inside. Sometimes I think about how little the $15,000 that I'm trying to save to cycle across North America must seem to people like them. It's hard not to envy Manhattan's elite - to covet thy neighbor's paycheck and penthouse.

But most of the time, I crave the New York City clichés. The cozy walk-up apartment above congested, street-level bars. The quaint, tree-lined neighborhood with hidden gourmet gems just off the beaten path of Times Square. And the little transplant New Yorker with a small presence and big dreams, asking if you want your martini on the rocks or straight up.

I Made It In New York City

2009-08-28T19:10:00.010-04:00

What am I going to do next?

I am going to cycle across North America next summer.

And to do that, I have a second job (again) ... because of those little things called priorities.

Yay.

New York, New York

2009-06-29T20:47:00.011-04:00

My dear friend Adrienne wrote a paper for her Communication and the New Economy class at the University of North Carolina at Greensboro. She emailed the paper to me with a little note: "... I hope you find it entertaining."

I had no idea that my life had been referenced in the subject matter: "New York, New York". I was more than entertained.

“Start spreading the news, I’m leaving today. I want to be a part of it - New York, New York. These vagabond shoes, are longing to stray. Right through the very heart of it - New York, New York.” (Kander, 1977)

For as long as I can remember New York City has been the place where fashion, theatre and artistic hopefuls flock to become a part of the cultural class that nurtures the New York City economy. As an undergrad, I participated in many of my universities musical theatre productions and became friends with many of the musical theatre degree seekers at our university. Many of these individuals are still close friends of mine and one thing about them has yet to change. They all are living for the day that they can move to New York City and become members of the creative class. It is as if the only place you can truly become a successful member of this class is New York City. Their professors encourage them to perfect their skills so that they can compete with other hopefuls in the city. They graduate with a degree in dance, theatre or art and as soon as they can sell all of their personal possessions and book a flight, they are on their way to New York City. More often than not, these same individuals end up working two or more jobs, auditioning on their days off, subletting a room from a stranger in a Brooklyn apartment, far from the Manhattan lifestyle they came seeking. Is it not possible to “make it” anywhere else? I believe it is, but like Currid says, “The “walkability” of New York’s streets and neighborhoods makes run-ins possible between those offering artistic skill sets and those needing them” (Currid, 2007 p. 9).

A good friend of mine, Katie [last name erradicated], made the decision to move to New York City five years ago after realizing that she was turning 25 years old and still had not moved away from the small town our undergraduate university was settled in. She decided to get a second job as a server at a casino in Cherokee, NC and save the money for the move. A year later, she sold her car, rented a minivan and drove to New York City. She slept on a friend's couch for three months and landed a job at [company eradicated] as a temporary worker. The temporary job led to a full time position and she is now the executive assistant in their advertising sales department. Because of her job, she has had numerous run-ins that have led to career advancement and even a guest spot on [television show eradicated]. Katie has the kind of handwriting that people pay for when it comes to event invitations. In the case of [company founder's name eradicated], she was looking for someone to hand-write placecards for a company project. [Company founder's name eradicated] saw a memo Katie had written to a co-worker and liked it so much that she asked Katie to hand-write the said placecards. I have a hard time believing that this could have happened had she moved to Memphis or Nashville. Whether we agree with Currid (2007) or not, she is correct when she says that the odds of making connections that can advance you artistically or culturally are far better in New York City than other United States cities. Katie is one of the lucky ones. If you google her name, the first thing that comes up is an article about how her move to New York City has been the ideal situation. For Katie, New York City has lived up to the expectations Currid (2007) writes of. Unfortunately, other friends of mine have not been as fortunate.

In chapter 6 of the text, Currid (2007) discusses gatekeepers within the cultural class. Reading this chapter immediately made me think of the television show Project Runway. Every week, Fashion model Heidi Klum tells the designers how in the world of fashion, “one day you’re in and the next you’re out.” Currid (2007) refers to this when she says that tastemakers, certifiers and peer reviewers pick who the cultural and artistic “winners” are. Small groups of people determine your fate. Too many people, this does not exactly seem fair, but I know individuals who have dealt with this harsh reality, specifically when it comes to breaking into the Broadway scene. As an undergrad, I worked under Terrence Mann, who originated the role of Rum Tum Tugger in Andrew Lord Webbers, Cats. While working with him, I would often hear him say, “It’s not the talent, it’s the type.” You can have all of the talent in the world, but if you do not look the way the “gatekeeper” wants you to look, you are out and someone else is in.

I do not think there will ever be a day when New York City is not a breeding ground for the cultural class. People will continue to flock there in hopes of becoming members of this class and the more people that come; the more money will be spent in the city and the wealthier the city will become. As desired as membership in the cultural class is, it can be difficult to get there and be successful. Many cultural class hopefuls end up as “starving artists”, working and waiting on that big break. I cannot help but wonder if these same people would be struggling the way they are if they had moved to a city like Nashville or Atlanta. These cities are known for their up and coming cultural class and the cost of living is far less than New York City. People make it to the highest ranks of the cultural class via these cities as well, but I believe people are in love with the idea of being able to say, “I made it in New York City”. Even I must admit that it has a nicer ring to it than, “I made it in Atlanta”.

I'll find my own words to close out my three-year chronicle of "Becoming a New Yorker", but I could not agree more with the final statement of Adrienne's essay.

Oh, and she got an A.

How Do You Deal With a Mooch in NYC?

2009-06-25T22:33:00.030-04:00

... Hopefully, better than I am.

The Scenario
The Mooch moved to New York City from Arizona in the last week of December in 2008. The Mooch shares a full-size bed with my roommate, who has been a close friend of hers since high school. The Mooch does not allow my roommate's own dog sit on or sleep in my roommate's own bed in the apartment for which The Mooch does NOT share equal financial responsibility. The Mooch's best friend lives in Harlem, but - regarding location - our Hell's Kitchen apartment is more convenient for The Mooch. The Mooch still lives with us (note the date of this blog post).

The Error
The direct fault I carry in this situation was believing that the best friend of The Mooch - and mutual friend of ours - was completely out of line for initially wanting to charge The Mooch $600/month to share the mutual friend's $1200-studio in Harlem. I wrongfully thought that the mutual friend was trying to take advantage of The Mooch's unstable relocation situation and wanted to profit from having The Mooch stay with her. In all actuality, the mutual friend was fairly requesting upfront that The Mooch assume equal financial responsibility for the space they would have shared. She was well within her rights - as both a New Yorker and as a friend.

However, my roommate and I - initially and foolishly finding it harsh to charge The Mooch immediately upon her arrival in the city (even though millions of other NYC transplants begin paying outrageous amounts for a roof over their heads the moment they change their zip code) - offered to let The Mooch stay in our Midtown apartment under the following conditions:
1) She could stay with us as long as she needed.
2) She could sleep in my roommate's bed (with my roommate) regularly; she and her boyfriend could sleep on my couch whenever he wanted to stay over; she and her boyfriend could use my room whenever I was out of town as long as they washed the sheets before I returned.
3) She should start contributing financially as soon as she could.

Number 3 was where we went wrong. The Mooch moved in the last week of December in 2008. By May 2009, she had still been unable to secure full-time employment, yet refused to consider waitressing, retail or other gigs not befitting "a recent college graduate." By June 2009, she had been living with us rent-free for five months.

Things I Now Know Since The Mooch Moved in Six Months Ago
1) After one month - or even just two weeks of staying in our $2500-month, 600-square foot, two-bedroom apartment in Midtown - The Mooch was no longer a guest; she was living with us.
2) Once she began forwarding her mail and listing our address on West 51st Street as her own - The Mooch was no longer a guest; she was living with us.
3) Once I began overhearing her tell friends on the phone, "I'm back at my apartment now," - The Mooch was no longer a guest; she was living with us.
4) Once she began asking me and my roommate if her out-of-town friends could stay at our apartment during their NYC visit - The Mooch was no longer a guest; she was living with us.
5) Once The Mooch stopped allowing my roommate's own dog into my roommate's own bed - The Mooch was no longer a guest; she was living with us.
6) I should not have assumed that The Mooch would have a personal sense of self-accountability for the space she shared with us.
7) I should not have assumed that this said self-accountability would compel The Mooch to feel responsible for contributing to the rent within 1-2 months (maybe even three, tops).
8) I should have been clear on my expectations instead of assuming that The Mooch had the same sense of personal responsibility that I have (e.g. when I slept on an air mattress for three months in the living room of my best friend's $1000-South Bronx, two-bedroom apartment, I contributed $200/month toward their rent, bringing their equal portions to $400/month each, and I took it upon myself to keep toilet paper, paper towels and other "communal items" fully stocked over the three months I stayed there).
9) The Mooch once tried to pretend that she didn't know we were out of trash bags, even though someone had emptied the trash can half way to make more room instead of buying more trash bags (and my roommate told me that she had not touched the trash). The Mooch also often acted like she didn't have to buy more toilet paper because she bought the "last round". She'd rather substitute travel tissue paper, napkins and paper towels while waiting for me or my roommate to get the next round of TP, which always made me want to scream, "Dude! You live here rent free! We shouldn't be taking turns buying the toilet paper; you should always buy it!" But I didn't.
10) My roommate and I are enabling The Mooch to have no sense of urgency to find permanent, full-time employment, to have no need to pick up a second part-time job after finally obtaining a full-time job with a low salary in late-May, and to take a week of unpaid leave from said low-salary employment to go on vacation with her boyfriend to Aruba in June. Rather than help her develop into a proud, independent New Yorker, we allow her to spend her money frivolously instead of paying a fair portion of the rent. Meanwhile my roommate and I continue to make careful decisions and sacrifices in order to sustain our lives in New York City. We are enabling The Mooch to do things that most middle- and lower-income people cannot do when they first relocate to New York City.
11) The Mooch moved in with my roommate and I just six months after we began our $2500-month lease on West 51st Street. Just like the mutual friend in Harlem was within her rights to expect rent immediately from The Mooch upon her relocation from Arizona, we would have been within our rights to ask her to split our $3000-broker fee three ways and divide the monthly rent fairly between us. If we had known that The Mooch was going to end up staying over half a year (not to mention the $5000-security deposit and first and last month's rent that my roommate and I paid up front), we would have expected an equal contribution.
12) I was wrong for denigrating the mutual friend for wanting to charge The Mooch half the rent on her $1200-Harlem studio.
13) I am a coward for blogging about this instead of telling The Mooch how I really feel.

Things The Mooch Does Not Know That We Know
1) The Mooch, who relocated from Arizona, is using my roommate and I to live closer to her boyfriend, who lives with his parents in Long Island. She doesn't want to contribute financially to our current living situation because she wants to save money while waiting for him to be ready to move into an apartment with her. So she is using us to be closer to him and foster their relationship until he is ready for cohabitation.
2) When The Mooch goes shopping with another mutual friend, that mutual friend reports back that The Mooch throws away her receipts, shopping bags and boxes and hides her new purchases in a large purse or tote bag because she doesn't want my roommate and I to know she has been shopping.
3) After searching craigslist job postings for about 20 minutes a day, she walked leisurely around the city throughout most of the spring months, with Starbucks coffee in hand, accompanied by the same mutual friend mentioned in #2 - instead of visiting more temp agencies, going door to door with her resume, and looking for jobs (however, she knows that we know not to even ask her to consider the food service industry even though we live in the heart of Hell's Kitchen and mere steps from the plethora of restaurants on Ninth Avenue).
4) The Mooch bought her boyfriend a $350-camera for his recent birthday, but led us to believe that she could only afford to bake him a cake.
5) The Mooch had just learned of her boyfriend's disloyal indiscretions a few weeks prior to his birthday - thus proving that she'd rather buy her cheating boyfriend a present than pay rent to her more-than-generous friends.
6) We were willing to do more for The Mooch than her own family was willing (case in point: her own brother and his new wife live on the Upper East Side and would not have allowed her to crash with them for half a year, rent-free).
7) The Mooch doesn't want to live in New York City. She wants to be a merry, little housewife, and her current boyfriend is the best - and maybe only - shot she'll ever have at achieving her marital, baby-making dreams.*
8) People who really want to succeed in New York City are willing to wait tables or fold T-shirts in a GAP or do whatever it takes to be self-sufficient. She is not one of those people. She shamelessly continues to take advantage of a generous living situation despite the fact that I am making it clear that she has worn out her welcome.

To be fair, The Mooch is relatively easy to live with. She is clean, she didn't often leave her stuff all over the apartment (though I often tidy up after her), and she is generally friendly. However, I initially became irritated when my roommate expressed her frustration to me regarding The Mooch's response to a possible receptionist position at the engineering firm where my roommate is an executive assistant: "I didn't move to New York City to be a receptionist." And I further lost my patience with our living arrangement when we asked The Mooch to begin paying $300/month on June 1 and she replied that she would rather pay $200.

To continue fairly noting the occurrence of events, The Mooch did end up taking the receptionist position at the end of May 2009, but not without some strong encouragement from my roommate. And The Mooch did begin paying $300/month on June 1 after I made it clear that it was not negotiable. But to be completely blunt, I don't know how The Mooch failed her NY teacher's licensing exams this month when she has supposedly been studying for the last six months - sans the responsibilities and long hours associated with full-time, or even part-time, employment. Maybe she should have spent less time walking leisurely around the city with Starbucks coffee.

I don't know what to do even though I know what I need to do. But even though she has it in her heart to completely take advantage of our generosity - and potentially permanently tarnish her close friendship with my roommate - I don't have the heart to tell her that I think she's a puerile, manipulative, indolent sloth - to put it lightly.

Help!

Dear Abby ... [sigh]

*No offense to current baby-makers; I totally want to be a baby-maker one day, but I refuse to use my current so-called friends in order to achieve my eventual, long-term dream of family life. Or step on my friends for any other reason, for that matter.

Looking in the Mirror

2009-06-20T12:53:00.024-04:00

It was pointed out to me in comment on a post dated June 1, that my blog used to be interesting but has become lame. The comment certainly did not send me spiraling into depression. I did get out of bed the next day without a second thought of it until I later signed into my Blogger account. To be honest, I was surprised that someone actually followed my blog long enough to have had an opinion of when it was good.

However, being one who never shies from self-introspection, the comment made me wonder if my life had, in fact, become lame. Rather than be offended, I took it as an opportunity to explore what my blog was becoming ... since my blog is ultimately a reflection of what I was becoming.

This blog is written primarily for me with the intention that my older self will be the main audience. My motivation behind the blog was never to gain Internet fame or to garnish a book deal. It has served its purpose of documenting my own transition from North Carolina to New York City and the subsequent day-to-days. So I have no apologies that I want to remember what my body looked like at 29 or the sight of my friends enjoying a day on a Long Island beach.

But if someone in cyberspace cared enough to offer a critique on the alleged progressive lameness of my blog, I had to at least be willing to take a look in the mirror and see if it was because I was losing my motivation to effectively document the world around me … or if my life was indeed becoming lame. And maybe it had.

I had been too busy trying to keep up with life in NYC to actually blog regularly about it. I guess I was no longer just an observer. I have been shamelessly backdating posts (which will continue through my last official post dated July 1, 2009) because I'm often too tired from long hours in the office or the night club. I've had too much going on at work to use lunch hours to people-watch some 20-odd floors below in Bryant Park. I use my Sundays to recuperate instead of taking my beloved city walks. And even deeper than that (or maybe shallower), I was surrounded by namedroppers, who revered night club promoters as if they were Gods, and arranged their social calendars around celebrity birthdays and music album release dates. I was beginning to covet designer exclusives and embrace materialistic ideals. Regardless of what any random reader thought about me, I was beginning to dislike what I saw in the mirror.

Anonymous’s June 1st post comment did not ignite my need to rediscover my true values, but it reaffirmed a slow change within myself that had already begun – though a little less consciously. In preceding months, I was becoming bored with the New York nightlife scene. All the things that were so exciting before were losing their luster. I was partying less and exercising more, giving up alcohol (though not entirely), much to the seemingly utter dispair of several friends. I was eating better and reading up on politics and personal finance. I even opened some mutual funds. And having achieved my goal of establishing a life in New York City by my New Year's Eve 2007 deadline (e.g. rent an apartment, secure employment, make friends to brunch with) - and having survived over the last three years, it is time for a new initiative as my 30th birthday approaches in January of 2010 and a new blog that will likely shed my cyber anonymity since everyone I care about already knows about this one anyway.

I’ll still spend the next few months, wrapping up “Becoming a New Yorker” with the continual shameless backdating of posts until the blog is complete on its previously intended end date of July 1, 2009 - the third anniversary of my first post. Backdating can’t be worse than leaving a blog unfinished altogether, I suppose. I can't say that I'll be able to suppress my new love for designer handbags. As shallow as it sounds, walking to work in Manhattan in a trendy outfit and designer bag in tow makes me feel good about not having spent my 20s having babies.

Regardless of the positive changes I succeed in making or the negative ones I knowingly choose to ignore ... in the end, I will have a record of my first three years in New York City – of my life … the good, the bad, the ugly, and even the boring … of becoming a New Yorker.

Hotpads' Rent vs Buy Heat Maps

2009-06-09T15:38:00.000-04:00

Gotta love Thrillist New York for its colorful, politically-incorrect, slightly offensive yet always hilarious summaries of all things New York. In a simultaneous renter's and buyer's marketed created by Fannie and Freddie - if they didn't take you under with them, Thrillist New York has reviewed a handy tool:

New York's high-priced housing presents a conundrum: start mailing hefty mortgage payments to a bank, or resign yourself to abetting your Ukrainian landlord's enviable lifestyle of hookers and kasha. Pick your poison with Hotpads' Rent vs. Buy Heat Maps.

A new, financially dispiriting tool from an established rental site, HP's maps counsel whether you should rent or buy via color-coded hoods: from light blue for steal-worthy purchasing opps (Jersey City, Forest Hills), to green for market average (Murray Hill, UES), to red for rent-worthy digs, e.g., SoHo and West Village (Manhattan's gated clubdivision). The site's calcs are automatically done via esoteric math wizardry, i.e., avg cost of ownership / estimated annual rent -- a formula that's confounded many a couch-surfer's TI81. To further assist your hopeless quest for shelter, HP plots icons for thousands of current listings, each clickable for photos and details, which even include moving solutions and storage units (there's an affordable option for you).

HP also provides additional real estate heat maps, like Household Income, Foreclosures per Household, and Median Age, thus illuminating another conundrum: how to get into the low-priced hood beset by a cabal of rent-control beneficiaries who just. Won't. Die.

See your options unfurled at HotPads.com

All in My Head

2009-06-07T23:31:00.001-04:00

There are two dates that strike a nerve with me every year: June 7 is the day Rickey was born; August 3 is the day he died.

I was reading the tweets of loved ones & strangers who recently lost a friend of theirs. In times of tragedy and loss, I'm always struck by how life goes on. I perused their tweets about missing their friend and their seemingly cheerful and unrelated daily goings-on within spans of less than 24 hours ... I suppose it all goes on for all of us at one time or another. And it will again.

But when will I stop trying to make connections out of coincidences?

I needed today to be a good day. And it was ... outside of my head.

City of Perspectives

2009-06-02T23:53:00.003-04:00

When I think of evolution, I think of birds and dinosaurs, prehistoric man and opposable thumbs. I don’t often apply the theories of evolution to everyday life or my progression through age. But I was struck yesterday by the notion of a constantly transforming New York City as I dipped out of my apartment building in Hell’s Kitchen and trotted down the front steps.

New York City is a very different city to a variety of people. I blogged about my relocation from Harlem to Hell’s Kitchen last year and was amazed by how the landscape of the city transformed within a mere six miles. Of course, there are the obvious and beautiful surface-level ethnic differences. Anyone can witness them by venturing from Chinatown to Little Italy to Harlem. There is the New York City for the native, the transplant and the tourist. But there are deeper levels of constant transformation that took me three years to consider or even notice.

There is the New York City of the train commuters, the ones who can often tell which stop is next – not by the conductor’s announcements – but by the bends and curves of the subway tracks, by the segments under seemingly constant construction or by the barely visible graffiti along the tunnels. They know where to wait on the platform so that they can exit the train near a stairway to the street or a connection.

There is the New York City of the pedestrians, which I became when I moved to a walk-up in Hell’s Kitchen with a 10-block commute to a Midtown office building. We are the ones who would rather walk 30 blocks than wait for a train or bus. We know where the shortcuts are between streets – for example, one could cut through buildings from W 50th Street down to W 46th Street between Sixth and Seventh Avenues and grab a coffee in the tunnel between W 47th and 48th, across from the old studio for The Morning Show with Mike and Juliet.

There is the New York City of drivers, the ones who know the parking rules and which avenues and streets to avoid during rush hour. I became cogitatively aware of this difference yesterday when I trotted down the front steps of my apartment building and was stopped by a man who was trying to figure out the parking rules on my street. I realized that though I have lived on this street for over a year, I had no idea how long he could park outside of my building nor did I have any insider information on the best parking in the area. I couldn’t imagine how different my street might look from behind the wheel of a car. And the backseat of a taxicab does not count.

There is the New York City of the financially elite, who live and work in the upper altitudes of the Manhattan skyline. Their perspective dwells at a birds' eye view and through the back seat of a sleek black sedan or limousine.

Many New Yorkers can transition between any of the above at any given time, but just as many are partial to one particular form of transportation - which ultimately designates the New York City they know. It seems to be a trivial point to debate, but the mode of transportation one uses to get around the city probably forms their versions of New York City more than anything else. Everything influences the mode - residence, career, money, lifestyle. All determine how we interact with the city and thus determine our perspectives.

New York City is a landscape of evolution from its skyline to its culture, but the most personal evolution of all is the New York City of perspective.

ShopNYC - Episode 1

2009-06-01T21:37:00.002-04:00

I am so excited about Natasha's first episode of ShopNYC!

Read more on Natasha's ShopNYCTours blog.

A Year Ago Today: Sex and the City: The Movie ... Life and the City: The Reality
Two Years Ago Today: Phone Photo Ops - Date Night

Photo Ops - Long Beach, NY

2009-05-31T20:49:00.005-04:00

The view over my shoulder.

And the view to my right.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Once in a Blue Moon

"Things I Love" Thursdays - Side Walk Flower Stands

2009-05-28T13:26:00.002-04:00

I love walking by sidewalk flower shops in Manhattan. It's like aromatherapy in the streets.

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today:
Memorial Weekend Highlights
Sunday Mornings in Manhattan

The Return of Fleet Week

2009-05-27T13:09:00.002-04:00

From the web pages of East Village Idiot - So funny that I've had to repost it or link to it every year during Fleet Week. I have to say that I continue to be disappointed each year that sailors aren't swarming the streets in the abundance portrayed on an episode of "Sex and the City," but men in firefighter gear continue to have a similar effect.

Without further ado is the warning issued on May 24, 2007, by the East Village Idiot:

Men of New York City,

For the next seven days, you will have a mortal enemy. He is desperate to get laid. In a head-to-head battle, he will always get the girl. You will spend months trying to get into a woman’s pants, and he will get into them in one night. You will wear your very best designer clothing to impress a woman, and your enemy, in his standard-issue polyester uniform, will take that woman home. You will meekly suggest going back to her place, and she will laugh. He’ll suggest the same thing, and she will graciously accept, and perhaps even offer to pay cab fare. You will wonder what consequences come with taking a woman home, like how long you have to wait to call her back after that night. Your enemy won’t even be in New York in a week, or a month, or perhaps a year. He’ll be out at sea, somewhere far, far away.

Gentlemen, this is your enemy:

Beware Fleet Week. He may be a mere Seaman on the open waters, but for the next seven days, he is the Captain of the Civilian Cockblock.

And SUBWAYblogger also made an announcement that same day in 2007: Hide your daughters: It's Fleet Week

A Year Ago Today:
Myths & the City
Real Estate LOL - Toilet & Shower Rooms
Two Years Ago Today:
Naval Warfare (as blogged by Chris, a.k.a. the East Village Idiot)
Phone Photo Ops - Beerpong, BBQs and Booths

Memorial Day Weekend in ATL

2009-05-26T20:22:00.001-04:00

I went, I ate, I shot moonshine.

Back in New York City.
Summer trip #1 of 4 completed (Atlanta, GA).
Next up: Turks and Caicos over the 4th of July weekend.

A Year Ago Today: Unforgettable Day Weekend
Two Years Ago Today: No post

Phone Photo Op - In Production

2009-05-22T19:57:00.009-04:00

You're more likely in New York City to use your lunch break to get your chipped pedicure fixed at NY Nature Spa on West 41st Street (yesterday) and notice this signage outside of Arena ... unless MTV happens to be filming a True Life episode of "I'm an Objectum-Sexual" in your hometown.

Side note: If men knew the extent of our maintenance - waxing, shaving, trimming, dyeing, filing, polishing - they'd always have dinner ready and waiting for us.

A Year Ago Today: "Things I Love" Thursdays - Dog Parks
Two Years Ago Today: No post

"Things I Love" Thursdays - City Lights

2009-05-21T23:09:00.005-04:00

I love the view of the Time Warner Center from my bedroom window less than ten blocks away. I lay in bed at night and stare at the high rise lights until I fall asleep. It makes me feel like such a New Yorker within my exposed brick walls, looking through the bars of my fire escape.

Often, as I lay there, I notice random lights turn on and off in various buildings. Sometimes I spy a shadow passing by windows and I'm curious about the hundreds - and thousands - of separate lives living around me in the skyscrapers of Midtown. It's one way to humble yourself and make your own problems seem a little less significant. That - or look at images of outer space from the Hubble Telescope.

And often, as I lay there, I notice lights continually going on and off in the Hearst Magazine Building. It's home to the offices of popular monthly periodicals, such as Cosmopolitan, Good Housekeeping, O Magazine, Seventeen and Redbook ... and I think it's haunted. I'm sure there is a logical - perhaps environmentally friendly - reason why entire floors of lights turn off and then turn back on seconds - or minutes - later. Sometimes it's a single room of lights. Other times it's the row of a whole floor. And even more dramatically, several floors will go dark before relighting. Perhaps it's a nighttime electrical glitch, but it makes my evening wind-down more exciting to believe that it's haunted.

I imagine myself going to the doorman one day - a tall, intimidating and bald man perhaps similar to the hero in "The Shining" - and asking probing questions regarding the nighttime electrical activity of the building. And then the stereotypical response of a person of color warning the curious White (or half White, in my case) person to stop investigating paranormal activities that ultimately lead them to horrific ends: "If I were you, I'd stopping asking about those blinking lights."

If you work for Con Edison and know the reason, please don't email me. I like my (il)logic better.

A Year Ago Today: Real Estate LOL - No Bathtub in the Bathroom
Two Years Ago Today:
1300-Mile Walk of Shame
Phone Photo Ops - M.I.A. in the MIA

Phone Photo Op - Wienermobile

2009-05-20T11:02:00.003-04:00

I walked by this on my way to the office ...

... and had this song in my head for the rest of the day:
Oh, I wish I were an Oscar Meyer wiener
because that's what I really want to be.
For if I were an Oscar Meyer wiener
everybody'd be in love with me.

A Year Ago Today:R-E-N-T
Two Years Ago Today: No post

Neighborhood Gem - Sweet Emily's

2009-05-16T23:48:00.006-04:00

Terrence (back from the BJ League on his first visit during the off-season) and I discovered an adorable, below-street-level restaurant in my neighborhood with a menu so enticing that you need one or two rounds of drinks to decide what you want to eat.

Sweet Emily's is run by Emily and her husband (and head chef) on West 51st Street between Eighth and Ninth Avenues. With its warm decor, flavorful plates and low prices, it is a new personal favorite among the Hell's Kitchen diamonds. Take advantage of reservation-less dining now before a feature in Time Out New York or a Zagat review change it from a local secret to a tourist headliner ... like Roberto Passon's once quiet brunches. But the city couldn't keep Roberto's $8 all-you-can-drink bellinis, bloody marys, mimosas and screwdrivers a secret for long.

POST UPDATE:
Oops. Too late: What to Eat at Sweet Emily's, Bringing Comfort to Midtown on Saturday

A Year Ago Today:Real Estate LOL - "Separate" Kitchens
Two Years Ago Today:Six Stiches of Separation

Phone Photo Op - Police Pony Ponderings

2009-05-15T08:41:00.007-04:00

Yesterday while walking home from work along Sixth Avenue, I watched a police officer write a parking ticket on horseback.

And I momentarily stopped pondering quadratic equations and the global economic impact on farm subsidy programs - which accurately reflect the depth and breadth of my daily thoughts while walking in the streets of Manhattan - and wondered who cleans up the manure when a police horse shits on the street?

A Year Ago Today: "Things I Love" Thursdays - My Friends (Again)
Two Years Ago Today:
Cyber Relating
Phone Photo Ops - Lunch in the Park

"Things I Love" Thursday - The Foods of New York

2009-05-14T11:54:00.006-04:00

The Foods of New York on NBC's Today Show

Visit msnbc.com for Breaking News, World News, and News about the Economy

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today: Nightlife Highlights of Late
Two Years Ago Today:
Phone Photo Ops - Subway Performers
BNY Updates

Phone Photo Op - Their Job is So Much Cooler

2009-05-13T22:43:00.002-04:00

While walking to work the other day, I saw "Good Morning America" news anchors bouncing on trampolines in Times Square; two blocks away, I got to answer phones, schedule meetings, create spreadsheets and process data charts.

A Year Ago Today:
Phone Photo Ops - End of East Village Servitude
Creating Coincidences
Reviving my Greek Life
Two Years Ago Today: No post

Over It

2009-05-11T17:10:00.007-04:00

Straight to the front of the line, hugs and kisses with the bouncer, private escort through the back, free Goose and Moet for my girls, and I - instead - downed water all night like it cost $300 a bottle.

Modest NBA Player [over loud club music]: I live in Miami.
Me: Nice. Born and raised in Miami?
Modest NBA Player: I play ball.
Me: No, I didn't ask what you do. I asked if you were born and raised there.

I think I'm starting to feel my age.

However, sundresses, champagne, sushi and snacks in Central Park this afternoon were just my style!

A Year Ago Today: The Latest Congestion Pricing Strategy
Two Years Ago Today:
Phone Photo Ops - Company Roofdeck
It's Second Guess Thursday!

KFC Sit-In

2009-05-08T15:35:00.001-04:00

I can always count on my fellow citizens of New York City to demand chicken consumption equality for all.
Oprah's Free Chicken Leads to Long Lines, Sit-In
KFC Stores Mobbed by Coupon Holders Looking for Free Meal, Anger at NYC Shop

A Year Ago Today: "Things I Love" Thursdays - May Flowers
Two Years Ago Today:
Alternatives to Previous Norms
Phone Photo Ops - Walking to Work

More Middle-Class New Yorkers Face Eviction

2009-05-06T11:15:00.000-04:00

Once ‘Very Good Rent Payers’ Now Facing Eviction
By MANNY FERNANDEZ
Published: May 4, 2009
More of the city’s middle-class tenants, their jobs gone, are falling behind on rent, straining legal and financial services once used mostly by lower-income New Yorkers.
Read More

"It’s kind of dehumanizing. They see you as a certain kind of person. We’ve never been that certain kind of person."
KEVIN BREWSTER-STREEKS, who, with his partner, was forced to leave his Bronx apartment after owing $7,000 in back rent.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today:
City Walk #6 - Midtown East
Phone Photo Ops - City Walk #6
Phone Photo Ops - Street Trees

One Degree from Michelle Obama

2009-05-05T14:57:00.001-04:00

Texts you're more likely to receive living in New York City (or Washington, DC): I'm at the time warner center wrking the first lady till 10pm (sent by my secret service buddy).

Thoughts you're more likely to have living in New York City: OMG. The First Lady is at the Time Warner Center - less than 10 blocks from my apartment!

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Subway Talk

In the Wake of Tough Love

2009-05-04T21:27:00.004-04:00

Partied with our girl Natasha (and her adorable new beau) and her friend Abiola at the "Tough Love" Season Finale Charity Soiree last night at The 40/40 Club. I'm sure there are photos online somewhere.

In the meantime, check out Natasha's new Shop NYC Tour blog, where she dishes about her company, ShopNYC Tours. Whether guiding tourists or locals, shopping vintage or high fashion or visiting the East Village or Meatpacking, you'll hear about the best shopping NYC has to offer.

For more information about New York City shopping tours, visit www.shop-nyctours.com.

Other irrelevant reports of the day: My boss sat next to James Worthy on a flight from JFK to LAX today. If you, like me, are not an avid basketball fan ... you may need Wikipedia or a basketball-savvy boyfriend to find out.

A Year Ago Today:
Brunching and Walking on a Sunday Afternoon
City Walk #19 - Upper West Side 4: Church and Gown
Phone Photo Ops - City Walk #19
Two Years Ago Today: No post

Who's That Girl?

2009-05-02T21:58:00.002-04:00

It was a warm day in May. Jessica was nonchalantly flipping through a magazine in an Atlanta parking lot. Apparently Walter was taking his time in the local fresh market. A tiny bead of sweat formed above her furrowed brow. Impatiently, she turned another page, and there in the "What they were wearing" section ... a familiar face ...

That's not how it really happened. We had actually been tipped off that she was in it ... but that's how we like to tell it. I mean, it's not every day that your best friend is 8x10" in a national magazine.
Today's Black Woman

A Year Ago Today: Phone Photo Op - Disappearing Acts
Real Estate LOL - Embracing the College-Dorm-Life for Life
Colleague Convo - Shoe-In Kitchens
Two Years Ago Today: Phone Photo Ops - Through Windows

TGIF

2009-05-01T20:53:00.002-04:00

Welcome to the weekend!

That's damn right.

Taken outside of the House of Brews on West 51st Street and Eighth Avenue.

A Year Ago Today:

The Texts You Receive in New York

"Things I Love" Thursdays - Street Vendor Regulars

Two Years Ago Today: A Garden Grows in Harlem

Remembering Aprils

2009-04-30T12:17:00.000-04:00

As with previous months, the responsibilities of my expanded job position and ups and downs in my personal life have prevented me from blogging as regularly throughout April as I would have liked. Thus, affecting my Year Three in Preview, where "posts of present accounts of being will end with 'a year ago- and two years ago- today' links to the past of becoming until the third year comes full circle and the 'Becoming a New Yorker' blogtale is complete."

So here is a year ago this month and two years ago this month for April:
April 2008
April 2007

Attack of the Swine Flu!!!

2009-04-29T08:53:00.001-04:00

... Oh never mind. It's just a sore throat.

Facebook maps swine flu hysteria

A Year Ago Today:
My First Pair of Valentinos
Phone Photo Ops - Valentino
Two Years Ago Today: Indiscriminate Sunday: Societal Service, Cat-Sitting Cash & Tradition Choices (in Random Order)

Downtown, We Have [No] Problem

2009-04-28T11:57:00.002-04:00

NYTimes.com Quotation of the Day:
"First thing is, I’m annoyed — furious is a better word — that I wasn’t told."
- MAYOR MICHAEL R. BLOOMBERG, after a plane normally used as Air Force One and two fighter jets flew over Lower Manhattan.

I heard about this the next day from someone in Georgia, but I'm sure I would have been concerned, too, if I had seen a low-flying Boeing 747 speeding in the shadows of skyscrapers and trailed by two fighter jets.
Read More
Not a quote of the day, week or month. Just of whenever. Until the next quote that moves me.

A Year Ago Today: What Do Guacamole, Brisé volé, and Hookah Have in Common?
Two Years Ago Today:
West Side's Tale of Whoa
Phone Photo Ops - Horseback Riding in the City

Happy Administrative Professionals' Day

2009-04-22T13:41:00.005-04:00

... to me!

A gift card to Sephora and Starbucks from my bosses.
April 22, 2009 was definitely better than April 22, 2008.

Company name and logo blacked out to protect confidentiality agreements signed at the start of my employment.

A Year Ago Today: My First NYC Emergency Room Visit
Two Years Ago Today:
City Walk #5 - Lower East Side 1
Phone Photo Ops - City Walk #5

New School Spin on Old School Cattiness

2009-04-21T20:59:00.021-04:00

An editorial in The Times (of Johannesburg) noted that one of the most crucial but disheartening realisations in the series [Candy Girls, Sunday nights on E!] is the fact that the candy girls see themselves as models with great careers ahead of them.

I say that makes for pretty entertaining - albeit mindless - television (kind of like Joe Millionaire), which is exactly what I enjoy when it's time to wind down at the end of a long, hectic New York City day (or week). But I actually discovered wisdom in a recent episode - a philosophical breakdown of The Main Chic, The Sideline Chic, The Jump-Off and The Groupie.

“So Blanca, you have to your gear together … Yea, you gotta make sure you don’t blend in with the groupies, baby … Terricka, explain your definitions of groupies … It be a Main Chic, a Sideline Chic, the Jump-off, and then the Groupie. She basically just be out, see who’s there. It’s a function – she realizes celebrities or anybody’s going to be there. She might not even know who they are … She going to get in the elevator. That’s it … The Sideline Chic would be the Main Chic if it wasn’t for the Main Chic. She gets the same benefits; he’s doing the same thing. Half of the time, it’s better. The Jump-off’s just there because she’s gonna start the party and get the sh** jumping. That’s why they call her a Jump-Off … but Blanca, the funny thing about all of that is – they all know about each other … they all know … the Groupie know about the Jump-Off, the Jump-Off know about the Sideline, and the Main Chic – she plead the fifth and act like she don't know about none of the hoes … but the only person I feel sorry for is the Groupie … because … like, you excited just because of his name, like you don’t reap any of those benefits so why do you care? ... Don’t get invited no where. No jet ski. No nothing … No events. No nothing.”
- Terricka, Blanca and Brooke, discussing the women who frequent NBA All-Star Weekends, Candy Girls, Episode 4: All-Star Groupie

It doesn't necessarily make me reconsider my own relationship with a professional athlete (I guess I'd be the Been With Him Since College So Back Off Chic), but it is food for thought. Regardless, you can regularly find all four of these women in any of the more pretentious venues of New York City nightlife. Another blogger, as fascinated with the philosophical breakdown as I was, explores each definition a bit deeper. And the swirl of "reality" gossip is widespread for the pleasure of the masses - all best read over a bag of popcorn.

You have to expect the backlash when you sign a contract to do a "reality" television show about being in music videos. But don't assume that social status (and hating on other women and what they have or don't have) is a budding phenomenon in our entertainer- and athlete-obsessed generation. Ironically, while channel surfing as I ponder celebrity society and type my thoughts, I just came across The Women on the Turner Classic Movies channel. Filmed in 1939 and remade in 2008, it's description reads: "[3 1/2 stars] Catty New York socialites gossip about a friend and her husband's girlfriend. Starring Norma Shearer, Joan Crawford, Rosalind Russell, Mary Boland, Paulette Goddard, Joan Fontaine. Directed by George Cukor. 2 hr., 12 min."

Proof that life and art have been imitating each other since at least 1939.

My personal mantra: The drama makes for great entertainment, but in "reality", there is enough success (and men) out there for every woman. So stop worrying about someone else's and get your own.

... You know you love me ... xoxo ... Gossip Girl

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Phone Photo Ops - City in Bloom

Another Day, Another Dollar, Another Headline

2009-04-21T09:04:00.001-04:00

Just another day in New York City when three of your bosses are in The NY Post.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Phone Photo Ops - City in Bloom

Thoughts from Today's Meanderings Around the City

2009-04-19T23:08:00.000-04:00

Leaving my apartment:
New neighbors moving in on the 2nd floor.

Somewhere on Madison:
Poodles and Bug-A-Boo strollers. Yep, we're on the Upper East Side.

Walking up Seventh Avenue:
Lived almost a year in Hell's Kitchen - yet it still feels weird that I'm walking through Times Square and I'm almost home.

Walking down Ninth Avenue:
And tonight, we're eating in Brazil ... on Ninth Avenue.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today:
Phone Photo Op - Skyline Sunset
Phone Photo Ops - Ready to Assemble

Out in Public

2009-04-18T23:37:00.004-04:00

On our way to The Public Theatre to see "The Good Negro", we apparently passed someone from Desperate Housewives coming out of the subway at Broadway-Lafayette. I didn't see him, but Tokii did.

And I finally realized that we were next to Sterling Brown in the theatre.
Special thanks to Gina for walking up to him and starting a conversation because trying to match his face with his character in "Army Wives" was driving me crazy.

Side note: Rachel Nicks, a close friend and former Juilliard classmate of Tokii and Gina's, was incredibly moving in "The Good Negro." If you missed her on stage at The Public Theatre, you can see her onscreen in "Life Support" with Queen Latifah. She is a talented and promising young artist.

Public theatre, street fairs, outdoor cafes, gorgeous weather ... Days like today are why I moved to New York.

A Year Ago Today: Dear Younger Self
Two Years Ago Today:
Six Months to Almost Furnished
Six Months to Final Repairs
Phone Photo Op - Free Ben & Jerry's

Shameless Plug

2009-04-17T23:42:00.002-04:00

I was at a TastingNYC event at Taj tonight with Natasha (M. - not to be confused with my roommate Natasha S.), chatting about her "real" life without the "Tough Love" cameras while our friend Stacey flirted with a handsome guy named Larry over $6-wine specials. Natasha is no longer working with the Sex and the City tour group since she began her own tour company ShopNYC Tours, and we are so proud of her (and her reality TV show stint!).

And now for the shameless plug: Natasha has created a series of comprehensive shopping tours catered to your retail needs and preferences with convenient door-to-door mobile transportation, eliminating the stresses associated with available parking, slaloming crowded sidewalks, or lugging bags through subway turnstiles. At an affordable price (especially relative to the costs of parking and taxicabs in New York), she really does create a memorable VIP shopping experience in some of Manhattan's best-kept retail secrets and hidden gems.

Though her tour will not unveil my blogger anonymity (I know your burning unanswered questions regarding my identity have consumed every aspect of your life), if you are ever in NYC, you should go shopping with her! Tell her I sent you.

ShopNYCTours.com (Use code TUFLUV for 10% off any shopping tour!)

A Year Ago Today: "Things I Love" Thursdays - Random Acts of New Yorker Kindness
Two Years Ago Today: Connecting in Chantilly & Beyond

Phone Photo Op - South of Madison Square Park

2009-04-17T12:38:00.000-04:00

Looking north from below Madison Square Park at sunset.

A Year Ago Today: "Things I Love" Thursdays - Random Acts of New Yorker Kindness
Two Years Ago Today: Connecting in Chantilly & Beyond

Phone Photo Op - Hell's Kitchen

2009-04-16T12:21:00.001-04:00

I was walking the roommate's pug - ignoring the comments of random passersby, like "Whoa! It's Frank the Pug!" - and while picking up "Frank's" poo in a plastic bag, I got a warm fuzzy feeling.

Because I stood up and realized (yet again) that I live on a beautiful Manhattan street.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: In Bryce's Words

50.5% of Current New Yorkers Were Made, Not Born

2009-04-12T22:29:00.001-04:00

From a beautiful article by Adam Sternbergh published in New York Magazine:

A recent poll found that even in these times, almost half of young America wants to move to New York. On the following pages we spoke to 160 people who recently followed that dream—and 30 who achieved it.

The best thing about living in the city of clichés, is that there is enough New York here for anyone who dares to follow their dream of becoming a New Yorker.

A Year Ago Today:
Phone Photo Ops - Harlem Blooms
Search-Term Saturday: I Don't Know
Two Years Ago Today: The Moments You Wait For

Quotation of Whenever: The Year of the Renter

2009-04-09T20:37:00.002-04:00

NYTimes.com Quotation of the Day:
"For the last three years, it was the bigger the better. Now the key words are smaller, livable and affordable."
- DOLLY LENZ, a broker at Prudential Douglas Elliman, on the New York City real estate market, from As Some U.S. Markets Level Off, Housing Slump Hits Manhattan

And this week, my roommate and I were able to negotiate a 16% drop in our own monthly rent with our landlord!
Not a quote of the day, week or month. Just of whenever. Until the next quote that moves me.

A Year Ago Today: Cerebral Albums
Two Years Ago Today: Easter Brunch & Libations

Remembering Marches

2009-03-30T22:35:00.001-04:00

As with previous months, the responsibilities of my expanded job position and ups and downs in my personal life have prevented me from blogging as regularly throughout March as I would have liked. Thus, affecting my Year Three in Preview, where "posts of present accounts of being will end with 'a year ago- and two years ago- today' links to the past of becoming until the third year comes full circle and the 'Becoming a New Yorker' blogtale is complete."

So here is a year ago this month and two years ago this month for March:
March 2008
March 2007

The Best Things in Life are on The Dollar Menu

2009-03-22T14:05:00.005-04:00

My boyfriend's best friend plays for an NBA team out west, and on a recent trip east, his live-in girlfriend made the journey to New York City to see him play in Madison Square Garden. It wasn't your usual first trip (ever) to New York. It involved all of the perks of dating a multimillion-dollar athlete that make you want to hate her - but you can't even be jealous because you are giddily watching the fairytale actually happen to someone who deserves it. A girl from his hometown, who never made it her goal in life to date a professional athlete, and who - despite her dramatically transformed lifestyle - manages to somehow remain untainted, unabsorbed, unoccupied by the hype.

A season ticket holder at their home arena has become close friends with us over the past few years and emailed me prior to her trip: And she told me that [name eradicated] would be taking her shopping on 5th Avenue, and she's asking me...What's 5th Avenue?!! Haha! Won't she have a blast!

In addition to Fifth Avenue shopping, her first trip to New York City included a few Midtown sights, gourmet meals, club seats at Madison Square Garden, and a room key to the W Hotel in Times Square. Club seats she shared with me, I might add! And because her boyfriend had to fly back west immediately after the game and her return flight wasn't until the next day, she shared her room at the W with me, too, and we made it a girls' night. With anything we could possibly desire at the press of the W's Whatever/Wherever button, we really lived it up ... with cotton pajamas and McDonald's parfaits! The floor-to-ceiling-window view over Times Square was merely incidental (wink).

A Year Ago Today: The Perfect City
Two Years Ago Today:
Colleague Convo - Through Swayze's Tree
Commute-Associated Hazards

So ...

2009-03-15T11:12:00.001-04:00

You are more likely in New York City to be walking to the gym one morning, enjoying the Eighth Avenue breeze ... and suddenly remember that you got felt up by a married woman in Johnny Utah's last night.

A Year Ago Today: United Colors of Benetton
Two Years Ago Today:
Say It Ain't Snow!
Phone Photo Ops - Yesterday's Weather

Phone Photo Op - You're Welcome [Comma] America

2009-03-13T23:41:00.004-04:00

I walk under this almost every day on my way to or from the office - depending on which streets and avenues the crosswalks and stoplights filter me as I walk at my New-Yorker-with-a-purpose pace.

Thank you, Will Ferrell, for giving me a daily reason to smile about Bush being out of office. Although I have to mention that there should be a comma between "welcome" and "America."

Oh? What? You're artistically channeling GW? You're right. He wouldn't know a comma goes there. But then I also have to contend that he might not know the difference between "you're" and "your".

A Year Ago Today: Phone Photo Op - Card-Carrying Member of NYC
Two Years Ago Today: Old Friends, New Vibes

Remembering New York Firsts

2009-03-12T11:18:00.001-04:00

Looking back on posts from two years ago, I realized that even though I love living in Hell's Kitchen ... sometimes I miss my Harlem studio. I guess you'll always miss your firsts ...

A Year Ago Today: Colleague Convo - News Travels Fast
Two Years Ago Today: Phone Photo Op - Apt To Be Cont'd

City of Actors

2009-03-09T23:35:00.003-04:00

You're more likely in New York to walk through the tunnel between the Times Square and Port Authority subway stations and pass by an advertisment for a TV show in which your best friend might have a frequent recurring role ... say in the barbershop ... as Kiki ... [name drop, name drop, name drop].

A Year Ago Today:
Phone Photo Op - Double Yokes and Oftens
Reviews of Views
Two Years Ago Today: Phone Photo Op - W. 4th St.

The Reality of Likelihoods

2009-03-07T13:12:00.003-05:00

You are more likely in New York to have a friend go to L.A. for a few weeks and then return to tell you that she was filming a reality TV show.

Catch our girlfriend Natasha on VH1's "Tough Love", Sundays beginning on March 15.

A Year Ago Today: M-I-C-K-E-Y ... M-O-NYC
Two Years Ago Today: Size Does Matter

Other Natasha-related links:
VH1 Profile
NatashaMalinsky.com
ShopNYCTours.com (Use code TUFLUV for 10% off any shopping tour!)

"Things I Love" Thursdays - The Little Things

2009-03-05T23:00:00.000-05:00

I love the little things about NYC that become daily familiarities when you live here.

They're like generally unspoken secrets you share with 8 million other people - things you wouldn't necessarily know or notice unless you lived here.

They make for great bar talk whenever you and any of the 8 million people, who love this city as much as you do, get together.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today: Phone Photo Op - The Secret of the Ooze
Two Years Ago Today: No post

Phone Photo Ops - New Roommie

2009-03-03T19:28:00.005-05:00

I don't like dogs.*
But I like my roommate.
My roommate likes dogs.
So now we have a dog.

The dog doesn't seem to care that I don't like her.

*To rephrase, it's not that I don't like dogs. My sentiments toward dogs are somewhat parallel to my feelings about children. I like kids that I can return to the parents when I'm tired of them.

A Year Ago Today: High Caloric Weekend
Two Years Ago Today:
Hoboken Saint Patrick's Day
Phone Photo Ops - St. Patty's Day in NJ
Phone Photo Op - Walking to the PATH

Phone Photo Op - Morning Snow

2009-03-02T08:53:00.003-05:00

On the way to gym this morning, I loved the loved the deep, untouched, white snow in the dark, quiet Manhattan streets. Returning to my apartment around 7am to get ready for work, the magic waas already being scraped and trampled into brown piles and slush in the dawn of rush hour.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today:
Super NYC Woman
Nikki Baby's Birthday

Remembering Februaries

2009-02-28T18:17:00.001-05:00

As with previous months, the responsibilities of my expanded job position and ups and downs in my personal life have prevented me from blogging as regularly throughout February as I would have liked. Thus, affecting my Year Three in Preview, where "posts of present accounts of being will end with 'a year ago- and two years ago- today' links to the past of becoming until the third year comes full circle and the 'Becoming a New Yorker' blogtale is complete."

So here is a year ago this month and two years ago this month for February:
February 2008
February 2007

"Things I Love" Thursdays - NYC Guide Books

2009-02-26T08:47:00.004-05:00

There is something I find endearing about seeing tourists carrying their little New York City guide books ... maybe because I was one of them once.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Always Something to Miss

We're Drinking It Up in New York

2009-02-25T19:06:00.000-05:00

Bottled NYC tap water. I know you wish you had thought of it.

Stop by my apartment, and I'll hook you up for free.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Center Stage

Oral Fumble

2009-02-23T15:20:00.003-05:00

I'm covering the desk of our company's executive assistant to the Co-CEO while she is out today.

Our company's celebrity founder just asked me about our Co-CEO's whereabouts.

I seemed to forget how to form a coherent sentence.

This is a classic example of the kind of impressions I make.

A Year Ago Today: My Best February Birthday Ever
Two Years Ago Today:
HBO's Life Support
Bald Britney Cut-Out

Manhattan Chimes

2009-02-22T12:52:00.001-05:00

I'm not due for another "Thing I Love" Thursday for another five days, but I love the sound of church bells on Manhattan streets on lazy Sunday afternoons.

A Year Ago Today:
Close Encounters of the Heroic Kind
Phone Photo Op - Constitutional Commute
Two Years Ago Today: No post

To Be or Not to Be ... Free

2009-02-21T19:30:00.000-05:00

Highlights of the past week:
- Returning from the Caribbean ... not free
- Attending the premiere of "Madea Goes to Jail" ... free
- Lower-level tickets to the Duke game in Madison Square Garden ... free
- Friday morning bagel with Lox cream cheese ... not free
- Lower-level tickets to the Nets game at the Izod Center ... free
- Round-trip NJ Transit rail ticket to get to watch the Nets play the Wizards ... not free
- Good, hard Saturday morning work-out ... not free
- Placing third in a scavenger hunt at the Museum of Natural History ... free
- Celebrating said victory in an Upper West Side bar with friends ... not free (would have been free if we had won)
- Having wonderful friends ... free

The good things in life are not free ... the great things in life are.

A Year Ago Today: "Things I Love" Thursdays - Coming Home
Two Years Ago Today: Midweek Recap

"Things I Love" Thursdays - Movie Premieres

2009-02-19T21:59:00.022-05:00

It may be just a coincidental pattern, but some of the best recollections of pivotal moments in my life have fallen on Thursdays. Maybe it's true what they say about the power of positive thinking. In any case, today's Thing-I-Love Thursday is "movie premieres."

Who doesn't love movie premieres? Whether you are the quintessential New Yorker, born and raised, who simultaneously loves and hates everything that makes this city what it is -- or the trite and contrived wanna-be, who - in an effort to feel like less of an outsider - does not respect their role as a transplant New Yorker -- either way, it's cool as hell to turn a corner in the streets of Manhattan and roll up on an A-list celebrity event (no matter how long you've lived here as noted in Exhibit A or Exhibit B). But how cool would it be if you were ever actually invited?

I found out on Tuesday morning when my best friend called me on my cell phone. I slipped out of my cubicle and into my boss's empty office to take the call.

"Guess who's coming to tomorrow night's premiere?" she squealed. With a small - yet substantial role - in Tyler Perry's latest film, she was in New York, crashing at my apartment and meeting with her agent, publicist and stylists for Wednesday night's red carpet event at the AMC Loews on the Upper West Side. Not to mention that a BET camera crew would be following her through her premiere day preparations. When she walks out of an apartment door in Hell's Kitchen and introduces herself, I am proud to say that the apartment door would be mine. (The previous sentence is meant to be read using Chandler-from-"Friends" inflection.)

Looking out over my boss's high-rise view of Bryant Park, I blurted out viscerally, "Denzel Washington!"

"Nope," she replied. Michelle Obama. Nope. Oprah? Nope. Angela Bassett? Nope. Will Smith? Nope. Diddy? Nope. I went through my personal list of top Black actors and entrepreneurs. Impatient, she began to drop hints.

"She's a secretary."

"... Of State?" I said. "Hillary Clinton?"

"No!" she finally exclaimed. "You!"

"Me?!?!?!" I could barely contain my excitement, jumping up and down and struggling to keep from screaming in my boss's office. However, there was one issue that I had to address before I let the exhilaration consume me. I momentarily stopped bouncing around the office and said matter-of-factly: "But, Tokii ... I'm not a secretary. I'm an executive assistant."

With less than 24 hours to the premiere, I left my office immediately after work and went hunting for a dress, which I found quickly and easily at Bebe in Columbus Circle. I wanted to find something classy, but not overdone. Something that looked like I was meant to be there, but didn't look like I was trying too hard. Something that said, I'm so proud of my best friend and put careful time and thought into honoring this invitation, but without drawing unnecessary attention. How does one dress for a movie premiere? That's already a tough question for the people who actually have to fear widespread post-event wardrobe criticism. It's an even tougher question for someone who was just invited solely because their friend's agent was able to get an extra ticket. I went with a low-cut, sleeveless black trench dress that seemed appropriate for a guest of an actor and was also appropriate for my wallet - especially after I applied the $100 American Express gift card that my boss had given me recently.

When I arrived at the theater, I met my best friend's agent at the side entrance and we found a front-row spot near the end of the red carpet, adjacent the E! and BET camera crews. The stars arrived, one by one, pausing expertly with their best angles projected toward multiple shutters. I waited eagerly, tiny digital camera at the ready, for when I would see her appear on the red carpet, and only slightly aware that I was lightly trembling and intermittently forgetting to breathe. As the seconds ticked away, I tried to mentally process what was happening immediately in front of me. And to enjoy the moment. Because, from what I've perceived of an industry like Hollywood, you have to indulge in each blessing you receive. Actors - and the people who know and love them - can just never be sure when their next blessing will come around. One moment you might be the next up-and-coming sensation, another moment you might wine-and-dine at the very top of the A-List, the next - the tabloids are publishing your most unattractive photos and reveling in your demise.

And as I stood gazing down the red carpet, watching the shutters flash and the reporters thrust their microphones into the faces of Tyler Perry, Derek Luke, Keshia Knight Pulliam, Sofia Vergara, Mary J. Blige, and Ray J. to name(drop) a few, I thought about how much work has gone into these few strolling red carpet moments. And I don't just mean the rolling out of the carpet and setting up of the lights. As often happens whenever I get exciting news regarding my best friend's acting career, I could not stop the mental reel of flashbacks over the last ten years - filled with shining moments and false hopes, extreme highs and incredible disappointments, a rollar coaster of emotions, physical strife and the risks of the unknown, all which leave you simultaneously anticipating the next thrill and dreading the next fall. I'm not going to go into the clichés of Tokii's starving actor story, but the clichés for actors - or anyone with a dream - are the mere truths of entire lives - most of which goes unseen, unnoticed, unacknowledged, unrewarded. The camera catches the glamour of the Hollywood red carpet, but not many outsiders really understand how much clichéd blood, sweat and tears go into a few snapshots and sound bites. I certainly don't have a fundamental grasp of it all - at least not more than peripherally.

And then, there she was. My best friend. Smiling for the wide-angle lenses and chatting comfortably with reporters. As I strained to get a shot of her on my own tiny Canon digital camera, a bodyguard poked a little fun at me: "Why are you taking that picture from so far away?"

"Leave her alone," a woman wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard said over his shoulder, "She's with the talent."

In characteristically-corny-Katie, the headset-and-clipboard-woman's brief statement went on repeat in my head. She's with the talent. If I were a peacock, I would have been slowly pacing along the end of the red carpet with a huge, open plume of feathers. If pride were helium, my head might have exploded.

"Why don't you go out on the red carpet and get a closer shot of her?" the bodyguard whispered to me.

"No way!" I hissed back. "I can't do that."

"Sure, you can," he insisted. "Hurry before you miss all the good shots."

I hesitated, too timid to set a foot on the red velvet in front of me. The simultaneous anticipation and fear of the unknown washed over me, much the way it did when I was riding up I-81 to begin my new life in New York City over three years ago. Much the way it did when I went apartment and job hunting to open the next chapter of my life. The risk of embarrassment at being shooed away as an outsider on this coveted Hollywood landscape loomed. But the idea of the personal shots I could get of my best friend being interviewed and photographed sparked some courage. I leaned toward him, "Will you go with me?"

He laughed, "Sure! Let's go."

So I did.

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).
A Year Ago Today:
Official Quotes of Our NBA All-Star 2008
NBA All-Star 2008
Two Years Ago Today:
More Reasons to Love New York

Other Highlights from the Movie Premiere

2009-02-19T20:15:00.004-05:00

Other highlights from the movie premiere:
* When following Tokii's mom to our seats in the already dark theater, she accidentally stepped on a gentleman's foot. He winced in pain and - from his silhouette illuminated by the movie screen - I could see that he was biting his fist to stifle his reaction. Although her mom had already offered sincere condolences (or as sincere as is possible when one is hurrying to take a seat in a dark theater), I sat down and turned my head to also apologize. However, the profile of the man I saw sitting next to me made snap back forward. It was John Amos.
* I stuffed my face with awesome sushi and took a photo with Monica at the after party at Tao.
* I took a great picture of Tokii chatting with Sherri Shepherd.
* I hung out with the cool guys from PopTub.

Torn

2009-02-18T08:48:00.001-05:00

Trying to figure out how to be a Corporate New Yorker for half the year and a scuba diving instructor in the Caribbean for the other half.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Better Than Chocolate

President's Day Weekend Caribbean Island Hop

2009-02-17T01:34:00.013-05:00

Two islands in four days and new loves: quaint, rural islands; scuba diving; and breakfasts on mountainsides overlooking the sea.

A Year Ago Today: No post

Two Years Ago Today:

In Common With Jay-Z

The Feeling of Life

Phone Photo Ops - Basement Cooking Class

2009-02-13T08:55:00.002-05:00

Walking home from work last night, I noticed the most interesting little cooking class in a basement near my apartment.

A Year Ago Today: No post

Two Years Ago Today:

Anti-Valentine's Day ≠ Anti-Romance

Crazy Little Thing Called Love

Phone Photo Ops - Snow Log

New York's Got You Covered

"Things I Love" Thursdays - Manhattan Photo Ops

2009-02-12T15:39:00.005-05:00

This evening, despite the overcast skies, there was a gorgeous Manhattan sunset - a barely visible sliver of red along the skyline, peeking through the high rises beneath ominous clouds.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Wall Street Pact To Be Necessary

Quote of Whenever - If I Can Make It There ...

2009-02-11T08:55:00.001-05:00

From Sandra Bullock's interview with InStyle, where their readers asked the questions:

What did you learn from waiting tables?
Ayoka L., Charleston, SC

"If you wait tables in New York, you can do any job in the world..."
Not a quote of the day, week or month. Just of whenever. Until the next quote that moves me.

A Year Ago Today: Bienvenido a Miami
Two Years Ago Today:
Peaks & Valleys
Emotional Ramblings
Phone Photo Ops - Week Recap

Foo King Bobby Valentino in a Barnes and Noble

2009-02-10T22:54:00.000-05:00

Today I walked by Bobby Valentino on Fifth Avenue and bought a crossword puzzle book in Barnes & Noble. Does anyone else feel overwhelmed just by passing the volumes of available self-help books in a bookstore? And does Foo King Chinese Restaurant's name sound funny to anyone but me? Say it out loud to yourself and report back. Their menu was slipped under the door to our apartment when I got home.

Hey Britney, you're not the only one who can write in code.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: No post

From the Desk of the CEO - Figuratively Speaking

2009-02-09T13:50:00.000-05:00

Yesterday, I started blushing like a school girl when my boss asked our Co-CEO if she and I had met ... and, much to my surprise, our Co-CEO replied to my boss that she was my biggest fan. Our Co-CEO looked over her shoulder to where I was waiting to hand my boss a stack of reports and smiled, "You knew that, right?"

I hope this is a good sign that our Co-CEO has forgotten my rambling response and subsequent open-mouthed stare during our first conversation and a subsequent elevator fumble - neither of which could have made remotely impressive, lasting impressions.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: No post

Food, Fun & Life in the Big Apple

2009-02-07T22:53:00.005-05:00

Awesome Things About this Week*:

A good friend, and fellow anonymous NYC blogger, gave me a pair of sixth row tickets to Tuesday's Nets game, which I gave to my roommate and the girl sleeping on our couch. A proud and indefinite inhabitant of our Hell's Kitchen apartment since December 29, she's like our own Half Baked "Guy on the Couch" - without the plume of smoke. Since relocating from Phoenix, she's been looking for employment in the city, and though I'd love to use my blog to foster networking opportunities for her, I live in morbid fear of creepy cyber stalkers. However, if any of my NYC blogger friends - with whom I've developed legitmate relationships - have any leads, please email them to my personal email account. She has a B.A. in Elementary Education and is considering any teaching opportunities and nanny positions.

I went to see Wicked with my aunt and cousin, visiting from Upstate New York and Syracuse respectively. Add it to your Broadway must-sees. We also ate at one of my favorite Italian spots Roberto Passon and tried a sushi spot across from the Gershwin Theatre called Bluechili.

A quarter-of-a-million dollar house sat on my couch - in the form of a 5-carat diamond engagement ring (phone photo op below).

DrunkBrunch won a one-hour open bar at the Village Pour House on the Upper West Side.

My best friend was crashing at our apartment while she was in the city to consult with her agent, publicist, wardrobe stylist and hair and make-up artist regarding next week's red carpet premiere of Madea Goes to Jail, in which she plays in her first major onscreen role!

*Note: Results not typical of most weeks as a resident of New York City.

A Year Ago Today: "Things I Love" Thursdays - This Week in General
Two Years Ago Today: You Know It's Brrrrr

"Things I Love" Thursdays - The Bryant Park Post Office

2009-02-05T12:33:00.008-05:00

The origin of the definition to "go postal" may very well lie at 23 West 43rd Street, where the postal workers of the Bryant Park Post Office will do anything in their power to ensure that you are having as bad a day as they are by the time you walk out with your book of stamps. I can always count on them to be abrupt, irritated and rude. Their consistency is comforting.

Rather than despise their attempts to spread worldwide exasperation, I love them for it. Sometimes when I've experienced way too many unwelcome surprises in the office, I venture down the street to the postal sanctuary, where I know I will find a familiar scowl to remind me that no matter how bad my day has been, postmarking boxes and redirecting customers to the proper mailing forms is always worse. The sky is always bluer when I exit that place.

Except for the little Asian woman with the photos of her family at the far corner counter. And I'm not just saying that because I'm half Filipina, but she is the only one I have ever seen smile, bid me good day, or not talk to me like she is chewing my face. I avoid her when I am having exceptionally bad days.
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today: Any Given Super Bowl
Two Years Ago Today: Fashion Empire

Phone Photo Op - Thought Bubbles

2009-02-04T14:01:00.005-05:00

While walking to work recently, I read someone's thoughts.

It was actually a walking advertisement for HBO's Big Love.

A Year Ago Today: Aftermath of a Giant Super Bowl Win

Two Years Ago Today: No post

You Say Potato, He Said An Entire Life

2009-02-03T08:18:00.006-05:00

A few months ago, I took a picture of Joe Ades on my camera phone and forgot to blog about the entertaining potato peel sales demonstration that Terrence and I watched one Saturday afternoon at the Farmer's Market in Union Square. You rarely witness people, who truly love what they do, in the middle of what they're doing.

I guess it's never to late to be remembered.

"His Stage, the Street; His Rapier, a Peeler"

James Barron, New York Times, Feb. 2, 2009

A Year Ago Today: No post

Two Years Ago Today:

Brunching in the City

A Reason to Love Soho

Madison Square Park at Sunset

Remembering Januaries

2009-01-31T23:51:00.002-05:00

As with previous months, the responsibilities of my expanded job position and ups and downs in my personal life have prevented me from blogging as regularly throughout January as I would have liked. Thus, affecting my Year Three in Preview, where "posts of present accounts of being will end with 'a year ago- and two years ago- today' links to the past of becoming until the third year comes full circle and the 'Becoming a New Yorker' blogtale is complete."

So here is a year ago this month and two years ago this month for January:
January 2008
January 2007

"Things I Love" Thursdays - Catching a Cab

2009-01-29T23:37:00.004-05:00

I love hopping into a cab after a long day of work or a happy hour with friends when the darknes of night is sprinkled and splattered with the lights of the city. Whenever I'm alone, it always reminds how catching a cab at night makes me feel so "New York".
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today: To Quote DrunkBrunch, "La Cena Buena"
Two Years Ago Today: The Classic Cab

There Will Be Scaffolding

2009-01-23T08:31:00.001-05:00

Scaffolding builds its way into your life in New York City. Some days you love the shelter it provides from the rain and snow. Other days you despise its distraction from the beauty of many New York streets. And sometimes it reminds you just how beautiful those streets are when you make a right onto Eighth Avenue and wonder what's different.

A Year Ago Today: Comparing Ends
Two Years Ago Today: No post

"Things I Love" Thursdays - 917

2009-01-22T22:58:00.003-05:00

I know it's cliche, inane and artificial, but I love my new New York phone number.

I decided today to numerically leave North Carolina behind and joined the 917 area code; I've paid bills, fines and taxes here for three years, and I'm subject to the same jury duty summons risks as any other New Yorker, so why not? And even though I share Carrie Bradshaw's sympathies with keeping sweaters in her stove (I stack shoeboxes in the fireplace in my bedroom), the 917 area code is not extinct.

Of course, I recognize my true identity as a New York Transplant, but there is corny satisfaction in knowing that my family and friends can now reach me at 917-...
"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today: Endings on Repeat
Two Years Ago Today: Life Decisions

The Official-Unofficial Inauguration Party

2009-01-21T21:51:00.006-05:00

Making responsible choices - like not flying back to D.C. yesterday after work on the 7:55pm JetBlue flight for a post-inauguration gala party hosted by Jeffery Wright, to which my best friend was invited, and fly back today - SUCK.

Our plan was for me to return to New York this morning on a 6 o'clock flight out of Dulles. Just in time for me to drag myself into the office in yesterday's little black dress. The only obstacle that stood in our way was car service to the airport directly from the party at 4am. Car service companies were either completely booked, charging $200+ from Georgetown to the surrounding airports or requiring three-hour minimum reservations. And on-call taxi companies were expecting to run on two-hour-plus delays. All options that diminished the welcome surprise of a fairly inexpensive, last-minute, round trip airfare.

Since I had already afforded myself the entire three-day weekend for a last-second trip to D.C. and enjoyed the adrenaline rush of spontaneity on my race to JFK a few days earlier, my best friend and I agreed that a mature, 29-year old, with a middle-class income and upper-class rent, would opt not to return to D.C. less than 24 hours after leaving. I reminded myself to be grateful for the recent inaugural opportunities of which I had been able to take advantage and decided not to pout.

While alleviating the final wisps of disappointment with a bottle of Two Buck Chuck, my roommate and I discussed our New York City Inauguration options: pricey socialite, celebrity and charity balls, neighborhood bar presidential specials, our living room ... And that's when we - and our empty bottles of Two Buck Chuck - devised a most excellent plan. We would have an Official-Unofficial Inauguration Ball in our Hell's Kitchen apartment. We would dress up in evening gowns. We would pop cheap champagne. We'd serve light hor'devours from Food Emporium. We'd watch Barack and Michelle dance their first dance as First Man and First Woman from our own four-floor walk-up. It was brilliant. Never mind the weeks of PR surrounding Obama's Neighborhood Ball, where the use of interactive technology including text messaging and webcasting, would link together attendees at other neighborhood balls across the country. Our idea was incredible. We invited Neighbor Dave. He happened to have a tux. It was like kismet.

Our plan was to dance and drink in our apartment until we were brave enough to venture into the bar downstairs in our formal evening attire. Instead we danced and drank until we fell asleep.

The country awoke this morning in a world where a Black family is making the White House a home. And I woke up remembering that I'm not 19 anymore ... but it sure is a great year to be 29.

Photos to be posted.

A Year Ago Today: The London Post
Two Years Ago Today: Juilliard Sunday Football

Other Inaugural Recollections

2009-01-19T22:58:00.004-05:00

The energy in D.C. was electrifying. There is no other way to describe it. I have heard it compared to the positive and uplifting vibe that John F. Kennedy brought to the nation's capitol when he was the President-Elect of the United States. Having just turned 29 on January 18, I cannot recall the emotions of watching JFK being sworn into office ... since I did not yet exist, but I feel a new empathy for that time and the mentality fueled by a country's hope for a historic change.

The personal highlight was joining my best friend in some of her first baby steps onto the Hollywood social scene, but the bigger picture was entirely consumed by narcissistic pleasures. The weekend was made all the more memorable by the droves of Obama supporters swarming about D.C. There was a steady hum that made the hair on the back of your neck stand up. There was a collective realization that we were witnessing the preparation for something extraordinary, a simultaneous moment in time that would have a distinct and simultaneously united view from every angle. Though I regretted not being able to stay through Tuesday for the Inauguration, I was grateful that I got to sense the anticipation and experience the atmosphere first hand.

At an awards brunch on Sunday, I heard Kerri Washington and Hill Harper give incredible politcal activism award acceptance speeches, each poignantly recounting their campaign journeys or their personal interaction with Obama. Washington's message was one of unity, reminding supporters that he is equally an interracial symbol of the evolving face of America as well as a role model for those of color, who are now finding the courage to consider the possibilities. Harper told a beautiful and endearingly witty story reliving the semesters he shared with Obama at Harvard Law School.

After an interesting first night that led from the chaos of car keys (permanently) lost by the valet to oddly-formed new friendships and various jaunts around the capitol to witness the sights, we rounded out the three-day MLK weekend by celebrating my 29th birthday yesterday before today's afternoon flight back to NYC. We had dinner at Marvin and hopped over to an Eric Roberson concert at The Black Cat. Afterward, we went out for drinks with my secret service buddy (off duty from his assignment to Joe Biden) and his fellow agents at J. Paul's in Georgetown. Throughout the course of the evening, my secret service buddy mentioned his admiration for my spontaneity with regard to my last minute trip on one of the most hectic and historic weekends in Washington D.C.'s history.

"You're doing something that very few people really do," he yelled over the bar chatter in J. Paul's. "And you know what it's called?"

He leaned into my ear, "It's called living."

I could not have been given a better compliment on my birthday.

Impromptu In Review

2009-01-19T21:03:00.024-05:00

Still unable to believe that my parents' next door neighbor in North Carolina was one of the flight attendants on U.S. Airways Flight 1549 that crash-landed in the Hudson River last week (see update), I hopped a spontaneous shuttle to our nation's capitol and hoped to avoid subsequent geese strikes. Calculating all the degrees of separation was remarkable and very Crash-esque, but I refused to let the geese win their newly triggered war on passenger aircraft terror. I even watched the press conferences honoring the New York City ferry workers and highlighting the preliminary information gathered by the NTSB on my JetBlue TV. Just as I was tuning in, our plane was ascending over Brooklyn, providing a panorama of the Hudson joining the East River at the tip of Manhattan and opening into the Atlantic (photo to be added).

My best friend had called me in New York at 10am to see if I could join her for a few entertainment industry events in Washington D.C. surrounding the Presidential Inauguration of Barack Obama. She joked that as an H-List celebrity, she does not often receive much advanced notice for events, and since her husband could not attend at the last minute, she hoped I would join her for the three-day MLK Weekend and pre-inauguration festivities. I was on a plane out of JFK by 3:30 in the afternoon.

Over the weekend, I joined her for a celebrity charity event benefiting a local NBA player's foundation and a political activism awards celebration brunch hosted by a top African American magazine. Among numerous celebrity sightings, I failed to immediately recognize Ne-Yo despite his trendy signature attire, I sat on Richard Roundtree's coat in the Green Room, I asked AJ Calloway what he does for a living while standing in line for hors'devours (doh!), I didn't realize that the beautiful woman who complimented my outfit in the bathroom was Tangi Miller, and "uh uh" was my intelligent response to Ginuwine and Sole' to indicate that I was not in line for the coat check. Needless to say, I have never been so out of place and simultaneously unnoticed. I can only hope that the two extremes kept all of my fumbled encounters under the radar.

But the focus and highlight of the weekend was watching my best friend find her place amidst Hollywood minglers. After ten years of watching her perform at WCU, The Juilliard School and in the small but gratifying array of professional stage, TV and film credits to her name, it was incredibly surreal and exciting to join her in this weekend's perks of her budding success. I snapped photos as she mingled, trying to document her every move at events that may seem routine, commonplace to most Hollywood A-listers while I tried in vain to conceal the excitement of watching her chat with Michael Colyer ... and act (ahem) like I attend stuff like this all the time without also appearing trite and contrived.

If my best friend ever becomes an A-List celebrity, events like these may likely become commonplace routines in her life, which will ultimately lack the electrifying amateur excitement of rookie Hollywood minglers. I can only hope that her talent and love for acting breeds a career that makes her a famous A-Lister - not because of socialite association or shock-valued scandal - but because the skill in her craft touches the spirit, moves the soul and inspires the creativity of art imitating life. Until then, her "H-List" status will ensure that industry events, to which she may be invited - even if her RSVP is not A-List priority - will continue to make us giggle like school girls at the end of the night.

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: Becoming 27 in New York City

Not Your Typical Rush Hour

2009-01-15T16:57:00.037-05:00

The irony of Twitter per twitter.com/JKrums ...

jkrums: Leaving the city, had a great day. Trying to beat the traffic. Wish me luck! about 1 hour ago from Twittelator

jkrums: http://twitpic.com/135xa - There's a plane in the Hudson. I'm on the ferry going to pick up the people. Crazy. about 1 hour ago from TwitPic

And coincidentally, JKrum's Twitter update, which I followed on Twitter, prompted an interview on MSNBC and a post on another reputable news source: Gawker.com.

I wonder if he helped haul Monique's boss out of U.S. Airways Flight #1549 bound for Charlotte, which experienced a crash landing in the Hudson River just off the shore from my apartment in Hell's Kitchen.

Sometimes the world becomes so small when you're just trying to beat rush hour traffic. And kudos to the pilot for skillfully avoiding my 42nd Street office building and my West 50's abode on his descent.

Thurs, 5:12pm EST Update: And a Facebook friend just uploaded the same photo in his profile. Instant globalization through technology at its best. I bet JKrum had no idea that he would be on MSNBC this afternoon thanks to a TwitPic or that his name would be googled more than "Kim Kardashian's ass" by the end of the workday. Actually I know that for a fact because his updates on Twitter don't indicate that he wondered about either of these things this morning. But I suppose the bigger picture here (no pun intended) is that I bet none of those passengers thought they'd be standing on the wing of a sinking plane in the middle of the Hudson River. And I'll bet my 401(k) and employee stock that they had no idea they'd crash land within a hop, skip and a few breast strokes from my* Midtown apartment.

Thurs, 5:38pm EST Update: The media has labeled the cause of the crash a bird strike. Is this a final attempt by the Bush Administration to embed war-on-terror propaganda in news headlines?

Thurs, 5:54pm EST Update: One of my coworkers just forwarded me an email that was sent by her cousin with JKrum's TwitPic attached and the following note: Coworker is on the ferry on the Hudson right now… took a camera phone pic.

If JKrum had been an anonymous blogger (or twitter-er), I'd now know where he works ... but based on his Twitter updates, Facebook link and his willingness to accept interviews, he's not worried about remaining anonymous or encouraging virtual stalkers. And he's lucky I'm not crazy cause his profile pic is h-o-t. Maybe Janis Krum will become my next news-breaking celebrity crush. Move over, Chris Cuomo. But I'll suppress the urge to add him on Facebook.

Fri, 9:30am EST Update: I overheard another coworker mention that one of her close friends was on the flight bound for Charlotte.

Sat, 11am EST Update: Reporters have been contacting my parents in North Carolina regarding the whereabouts of their neighbor, who was one of the flight attendants on Flight 1549.

Mon, 10:30am EST Update: Monique sent an article written about her boss, who mentions having held the front cabin door open for a flight attendant named Sheila (my parents' next door neighbor in NC) as she worked to assist passengers escape from the sinking airline.

*BNY, author of "Becoming A New Yorker", a blog whose personal explorations and astonding revelations of daily NYC transplant-life receive an astounding 14 page views per day (information courtesy of SiteMeter)

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: No post

Run-On Update

2009-01-14T23:26:00.006-05:00

Returned to post-vacation reality last Friday, was thinking about aspiring to become a housewife instead of a Corporate New Yorker on Monday, hadn't figured out the whole "housewife-without-being-married" thing on Tuesday, but began to remember why I love working in New York City today.

Life on ...

A Year Ago Today: No post
Two Years Ago Today: No post

Rost in Tlansration

2009-01-08T21:34:00.005-05:00

Greetings for a final time from the land of redundant packaging. See photo below.

Today is my last day in [city eradicated] ... not quite my last day in Japan as I have an 8-hour layover in Tokyo tomorrow before my 13-hour flight back to the armpit of the northeast, I mean, Newark. As usual, Terrence was busy most of the day with game film meetings and basketball practice, but I was able to enjoy one of very few sunny days that I've had during my trip. Most days were windy, rainy and snowy. Scattered showers. Lows in the twenties. Between team trips to away games in other cities, I caught up on a lot of much-needed sleep and discovered watch-movies.net over sushi and Japanese pastries.

Terrence has a comfortable, furnished apartment decorated with tatami mats and shoji screens. He doesn't live in the most lavish neighborhood in [town eradicated] , where I was told that the per capita income is higher than any other city in Japan, but his neighborhood has adorable, narrow streets lined with tiny restaurants, cafes, bakeries and shops. Bell Bakery, two blocks from his apartment, has become a daily favorite of mine. They have the best bread and cakes. It's always crowded before noon and the wide variety of baked goods go fast. I am certain that everything is fresh every day because one evening I went in and literally bought the last bag of rolls.

Very few people in [town eradicated] speak English so I have purchased quite a few things that weren't exactly what I thought they were - the outcome of which has had diverse effects. Grocery shopping, for example, is a lot harder than one may think. Imagine walking into a grocery store where none of the packages or cans have labels; that is what it feels like. Or imagine sitting in a restaurant and trying to order what-you-thought-was-chicken based on a faded, blurry photo adjacent some Japanese characters. The experience overall has been a lot of fun - and certainly memorable.

The Japanese also have an amusing disregard for what Americans would accept as proper English spelling and grammar (much to my delight). In the past three weeks, I've noted the following: a candy called Crunky (pronounced Crunchy); a T-shirt with the words: "Love is Brind"; a sign that read: "Wishing Christmas pals to bring you a happy time"; a hardware store called Hard-Off. I wish I could remember some of the other good ones. The variances in spelling and grammar have to do with Japanese pronunciation. R's are pronounced like L's and some L's are pronounced like R's - even though the Japanese don't seem to be able to produce a true R sound. Terrence's fans, for example, were always shouting: "Tellence! Tellence!" And his teammate Rodney has learned to answer to "Law-doh-ney." I also found much delight in this and encourage Tellence to legally change his name.

As I prepare to leave Japan, I am reflecting on the experiences and discoveries that I am logging to memory. One of the greatest lessons I have learned is that, in my 28 years, I have vastly underestimated the value of a heated toilet seat. I am also quite sad to leave behind the posterior shower and bidet spray. If I ever own a home, I fully plan to invest in importing one from Japan.

Until then ... sayonara.

A Year Ago Today: NYC Real Estate: You Do Not Get What You Pay For
Two Years Ago Today: Penmanship Approved

Must ... Stop ... Clicking

2009-01-07T15:29:00.003-05:00

Sentences like the second one in this blog post are why I am searching for an A.A. group to help me phase online social networking out of my life. Every time I try to deactivate my Facebook account I choose "This is temporary. I'll be back." when I know the truth is "I spend too much time using Facebook." I deactivated it once for awhile, but before I could truly allow my withdrawal symptoms to subside, I was reactivated and relieved that my profile was indeed "restored in its entirety."

Since I can never get myself to re-click that ominous red deactivation bar with the appropriately selected radio button indicating that I am an addict, I decided that my first step was to stop telling people to "find me on Facebook". Then I changed my privacy settings, made it impossible for more acquaintances to search for me, request me as a friend or invite me to join groups. I couldn't even get myself to delete my adolescent MySpace account so I updated my profile with a note that I would be checking in intermittently so one should email me instead. Email! There's really no way out of the abyss.

Poking, status update stalking, mindless personal photo surfing that subtly fosters my inner narcissist, and other inane applications are just an endless misuse of my time, and I must stop the madness of secluded virtual interaction.

Not that blogging is the most productive use of my time either since my public posts are rarely revolutionary, introspective or inspiring ... not like BNR's. About to go leave comments on other people's blogs instead of further exploring the gorgeous Japanese city in which I am vacationing for only two more days.

A Year Ago Today: Random Act of Kindness
Two Years Ago Today: Please Use All Available Doors ... If You Can Get There Before I Shut 'Em

A Yen For Your Thoughts?

2009-01-03T20:56:00.002-05:00

Lack of non-Christian-based Japanese religions aside, I was confused by the message of this sign in a Japanese hotel.

A Year Ago Today: The Moments That Make the Ride
Two Years Ago Today: Brush with Death

"Things I Love" Thursdays - The Crossroads of the World

2009-01-01T00:09:00.017-05:00

I'm alone in Terrence's apartment in eastern Japan, listening to Times Square celebrate the New Year on the other side of the world. It's just after two o'clock in the afternoon here. Beyond the shoji screens of the floor-to-ceiling windows, the morning snow that topped the oriental bushes is gone. The space heater is warming my bare feet on the tatami mats. I can't decide what to eat. Terrence has a jam-packed first day of 2009 with game film sessions and basketball practice. My mom and I talked via Skype for her last 30 minutes of 2008 while I watched live streaming video of Times Square on boxingvid.com.

The video is still playing in another web window, and Louis Armstrong's magnetic voice is crooning What a Wonderful World over the horns and screams in Times Square. I know it sounds more savvy as a New Yorker to announce that I hate the tourist trap in the Crossroads of the World, but I don't. I can't say I'm always happy squashed between a family from Minnesota decked out in the latest and greatest tourist gear and a homeless man pushing a shopping cart filled with trash bags of unwashed clothes, a broken coffee maker, a Scooby Doo plastic dining set, and a step ladder, but I do love living within five blocks of Times Square on a narrow street tucked away in Hell's Kitchen with Broadway in my "backyard." I love that magical moments can actually happen outside the gaudy souvenir shops, below the neon lights and oversized billboards. I love that my intimacy with the streets edifies me to avoid the crowds when I want to and provides solace in familiarity.

I imagine this is how a jealous lover would feel, watching someone else dance with the object of their affection. Or maybe it's more envy of not being able to join them because I would gladly allow others to cut in if only for the chance to share that beautiful, dirty, wonderful, grimy, charming, smelly city. New York moments are, after all, best when shared.

Ringing in 2009 in Japan roughly 14 hours ago wasn't too shabby, however. I joined Terrence and his American teammates outside a Japanese castle in the city square, which was haloed in a gorgeous fireworks display at the stroke of midnight. But I still thought of New York.

Last year, I gathered for the 2008 countdown with my New York friends in an apartment on Bleecker Street in the West Village, continued to celebrate at after-hours on the Lower East Side ... and somehow ended up in Jersey.

Three years ago, I brought in 2006 working in a smoky casino in North Carolina holding a tray full of drinks and watching the guests around me jump up and down, blow horns, and kiss and hug each other. It's weird how you can feel completely alone in a sea of people. I quietly consoled myself among the masses with images of what my night could be like a year later somewhere in New York City. It would have to be in Times Square. My next New Year's Eve had to be better. For me.

So for 2007, I found myself again in a sea of people, but for a few brief moments, I felt like I was one with everybody in the new city that I called home. It's so cliché but the sheer, non-alcohol influenced happiness was absolutely surreal. For the first few minutes of 2007 - despite what hardships may follow - we were at peace with ourselves, our lives and the world.

Immediately after "Auld Lang Syne," Frank Sinatra's voice floated over Times Square as confetti drifted in loops and swirls to the jubilant bodies below.

Start spreading the news
I'm leaving today
I want to be a part of it,
New York, New York
These vagabond shoes
Are longing to stray
Right through the very heart of it -
New York, New York
I want to wake up in a city that never sleeps
And find I'm king of the hill, top of the heap
These little town blues
Are melting away
I'll make a brand new start of it
In old New York
If I can make it there
I'll make it anywhere
It's up to you,
New York, New York.

I sang along at the top of my lungs, completely off key, and half swaying off beat and half jumping up and down, waving my long, red balloon, and thanking my lucky stars for that first night of '07.

"Things I Love" Thursdays are inspired by "I Love New York" (BNY, February 14, 2007).

A Year Ago Today:
On the Brink of 2000-Great
Two Years Ago Today:
Rockin' New Year's Eve
Phone Photo Ops - First of 2007