This Side of Last Night's Debauchery

Hell has officially frozen over: not only did I finally see J.'s hip avant-garde octet play a show last night after months of missing their gigs, but I simultaneously caught up with up with a long-past exboyfriend of mine and was introduced to his current girlfriend at the show. Too much beer was had, shuffle board was played, and J.'s band played a good set. Does life get any more awesome than this?

I'd post a representative picture, but I am not the one with the requisite photo-uploading knowledge, so the evidence is stuck in my camera for now. J. left early this morning for his flight to California and won't return until the 20th. Consequently, he skipped the bar after his set, which I guess answers the question -- yes, it could have been better, had J. been able to witness the glory of our win in the boys v. girls shuffle board tournament. Better still if he had been on the opposing team!

In any case, during this morning's recovery, I listened to my fair share of weekend NPR. I caught this story featuring an experiment in consumerist sustainability, in which participants are asked to keep and carry with them the resultant garbage from every day life.

Can you imagine dragging your trash with you everywhere? What kinds of choices would you make if you actually had to face the garbage you produce day by day? I, for one, would carry around a whole lot of empty plastic cups from all of the iced coffee I consume. Luckily those are stackable. But the real kicker would be all of the vegetables that I buy and subsequently forget about, which are left to their own devices in the fridge for days. Now there's a pleasant stomache-achy hangover thought.

But seriously. It's high time for me to address my habits as a consumerist. Have you thought lately about yours?

Book Review: Tale of Two Essay Collections

On my recent jaunt to B & N, I picked up two well-designed tomes: Barbara Kingsolver's Small Wonder and Jonathan Franzen's How to Be Alone. Reading these books in tandem certainly was an experience; both authors are in possession of very strong opinions on How The World Should Be, and both write about that single subject with great insight and clarity.

Small Wonder is a collection of essays written starting on September 12, 2001, as sort of a cathartic attempt at understanding the unimaginable attack against the US, and the behavior that allowed it to come to pass. Each of the roughly 15 essays focused on current issues that are often left undiscussed. Kingsolver hits home with most of these essays. For me, having just complete the Omnivore's Dilemma, I particularly enjoyed the essay entitled "Lily's Chickens; " the essay critiques our current industrial food culture, which keeps costs cheap at the expense of the health of our planet. In reading that particular piece, it becomes clear exactly what this method of farming will cost all of the citizens of this world in terms of environmental and physical damage to our earth.

My overall reaction to this collection of essays, to be completely candid, is a deep feeling of guilt. I'm certain that this is not what the author intended, yet I found it really difficult to read about the varying ways that our damage to the earth has caused irreparable losses in many regions, alongside essays about how egocentric and uncaring the US has become, and how much the citizens of our world suffer on our behalf. Just today I read an essay about the prevalence of homeless people in the US - we have the highest percentage of homeless people in the developed world - and how little we as privileged people do about it. Generally speaking, it seems to me that we privileged Americans do little more than go about our money-hungry lives ignoring the big issues: poverty, the growing gap between rich and poor, the environmental costs of our current food system, that the actions of our government have led directly to the oppression of other cultures (especially in the middle East, where women are forced into a submissive role), and how it could be that other people saw fit to fly planes into our gigantic, phallic monuments of consumerism, greed, and capital gain.

Nevertheless, I am glad to see that someone does care about the world's ills. As for me, I hope to hold myself responsible for what I can in this scary world: perhaps I could buy from the farmer's market more often, or maybe strive to own my own bit of land that I can cultivate and upon which I can learn to feed myself. The message of Kingsolver's book is not to strip people of hope, after all. Instead, perhaps we can clearly look these unspeakable issues right in the face and stand for justice.

I would be hard pressed to say that Franzen's essays were a cheerful respite from the evils presented by Kingsolver. Instead, Franzen rails against his own issues with the modern world with more pith and sass than did Kingsolver; it would be tough to argue against anything written in this book, based on the sheer rancor Franzen cultivates through many of these essays. I'm loathe to admit, because I enjoyed reading this book so much, that some of the essays lost a bit of urgency, simply because they were written in the mid-90s. It's hard to care about an ailing postal service before the anthrax disaster befell it, and it's tough to read about New York City pre-9/11. From here, at my age and in this place and time, it's strange to read to an extended op-ed on something that's changed so much.
My favorite essays in this collection focus intently on the relationship between reading and writing. This relationship, which is of utmost importance to many of us readers, certainly can be a perilous one. Franzen asks several times throughout this collection whether the responsibility of the writer is in fact to offer a complex social commentary for lack of a relatable connection to the reader, or if the reader's want of a joyful, simple experience should be met? Of course, I would offer that it is important to speak to the times, and that pandering to the simpletons is never preferable, even in this age of the Michael Crichtons. Middle ground is always best... or is that my diplomatic side talking?

I very much appreciated Franzen's candid accounts of the depression and isolation he felt during the 90's, as he was contemplating his existence as a novelist. His description of the artist's first years out of the safety net of college certainly hit home with me. Continuing the discussion of the role of the serious novelist, Franzen offers an intense critique of the existence of television - yet another theme that pops up often throughout this book. The banality of the human experience in the digital age certainly seems to unnerve Franzen.

As I mentioned before, reading these books in parallel was a great experience. For one thing, these authors differed greatly on the necessity of living in cities - Franzen's all for more novels being set in the thick of the experience of city life, whereas Kingsolver questions the environmental awareness of city dwellers. An easy question to ask, certainly, when Manhattan is the epicenter of life lived in excess.

Both authors shared similar insights on the culture-altering existence of the teevee -- and I'm all for teevee bashing. I hate the thing (but am secretly intrigued by this fall's line-up, but that's an internal conflict for another post). Seems that the coma-inducing technology isn't loathed by yours truly alone. And both offered up opinions on, off all things, sex writing. Interesting to note that Kingsolver mainly provided a blushing account of her experience writing about sex in a novel, an attempt at expressing how universal sexual experiences are. Therefor, why avoid writing about them as the one and only must-avoid subject? Meanwhile, Franzen writes about the sheer mass of books written on the subject of sex - so much so that it is becoming impossible to experience sex as a purely individual experience. After all, it's everywhere, all the time. Even, apparently, in Barbara Kingsolver's novels.

Holla!

Guess who has tickets to Prairie Home Companion!!

Huzzah!

Death to Mr. Softee

The sound of the little tinkling bells issued from the speakers of an ice cream trucks fills me with murderous rage.

That statement makes my inner child a little upset (what's a summer without chasing down the city ice cream truck?) but with each passing day, I hate ice cream and it's method of transport a little more.

Which is why I use the word "murderous." The ice cream truck in question, the one that's cast itself in the role of community menace, has been on the prowl for SIX MONTHS NOW, literally from dawn till dusk.

The issue isn't so much that the driver of this particular truck chooses to circle just a few streets in Woodside without cessation. No, the problem I have with this particular provider of ice cream is that it avoids illegality by driving a few feet and pulling over to the curb repeatedly, allowing the driver to talk on his cell phone. And all the while that obnoxious, high pitched children's tune repeats and repeats and repeats... and repeats...

From a musical standpoint, I take issue with the arrhythmic upbeat that startles me very single damn time that tune starts up again. Perhaps if the pick-up were in good time, I would be marginally less dissatisfied with the ubiquitous presence of the ice cream truck. Perhaps if the tinkly little tune wasn't broadcast upwards of a thousand times a day, it wouldn't bother me so much. But no, the ice cream truck is there when I walk to work in the morning, there when I arrive home later in the evening hoping for quiet respite, there on Saturdays and Sundays when I run my weekend errands.

And I'm finally worn down to a bitter, hateful woman. I've even made up highly inappropriate lyrics to go along with the tune, but I won't post them here. This is a family blog.

With summer's end, I had hoped that the stupid &%$#ing ice cream truck would FINALLY get the picture and go back to the ice cream garage, but no... it's hanging on until the bitter cold arrives. I can't believe I'm about to type this (the adult in me cringes a little bit too) but I can't wait for winter to arrive, just so I never have to hear that stupid ice cream truck jingle over and over and over and over...

"Classical" Music Meme!

Now here's a meme I can get behind. Politely borrowed from my friend behind Art ADD who in turn answered these three questions on this blog for Grammophone:

1. Name a recording that you just can't imagine living without.

2. Name a piece written in the last 20 years that you've heard on recording or in concert that you found particularly gratifying, moving and/or stimulating.

3. Name a piece that you know from a concert or recording that you are very fond of but that you think most people, even in the industry, wouldn't be all that familiar with.

Fire away!

The Great Apartment Hunt

This past Tuesday I experienced a harrowing event known to many New Yorkers as a trip to hell via one of the city's largest real estate brokers. My intent was to see one specific apartment: a two room studio located on the Upper West side -- definitely unattainable due to the enormous fee this particular establishment charges. Instead, I ended up in a tangle of broker gobbledy-gook, and was soon taking the 1 train to Inwood for viewings.

The 1 train. Not a car, or any other efficient mode of travel. The 1 train with a complete stranger (who turned out to be a Russian chess pro, interestingly enough).

So we looked at the northernmost apartment on the roster, which was fine, unless you consider that it was on the first floor and therefore has cage-like bars on every single window. We then proceeded to WALK from 207 down to the subway stop at 168th and Broadway, stopping at four buildings but only ultimately viewing three apartments. This fruitless engagement totaled four hours of my time.

Nevertheless, valuable information was learned on this urban walkabout. I certainly prefer the park-bordered Inwood to Washington Heights, which is good to know for future moving plans. I also learned that dealing in real estate in a city so large is a task not to be taken lightly; ultimately, this has the pleasant side effect of realizing that, hey, I didn't do so badly after all. My only real complaint about living here is that no one I know is even remotely close. Otherwise, the neighborhood is quiet, safe and nice, I live on an express stop so my commute is doable, there's an organic grocery store three blocks away...

Henceforth, the process of moving will happen at a much slower rate, which will help preserve my sanity. Only problem is, my contact information was a prerequisite to dealing with one of the pushy brokers at the firm, and so I am on the run from phone calls and follow-up messages, etc. Don't bother to call me for the next few weeks or so... my phone will be safely turned off to avoid any further sales pitch.

Movin' on Up...

A few key events have finally united forces, enabling J. and I to find a new place; a new place that's hopefully NOT in Queens (although Astoria might be nice). I've had a great time here, but I'm ready to move on... literally.

This has been a good opportunity to review exactly how pricey the NYC housing market truly is. Sure, I can find a place that's in my $700/month price range for half of an apartment. But that doesn't even afford a 1 bedroom in Harlem these days!

It looks like the choice will break down to this:

• A studio apartment in a popular area (but not all popular areas - a studio south of 42nd and East of 8th street runs from $2K and up) like Harlem, the UWS, the UES and maybe Morningside Heights
• A 1 bedroom in Washington Heights or Inwood, a good 45-60 minute commute from my job on 23rd Street
• A 1-bedroom somewhere in Brooklyn, but probably nowhere near Park Slope or Red Hook.

The Manhattan vs. Brooklyn debate certainly is an interesting one. It seems as though there's been a mass evacuation of middle-class artistic folk from Manhattan into Brooklyn in the past 10 years, which has led to lots of artistic opportunity -- upstart opera companies, most of the good independent music venues, etc. I've also been hearing about the great co-ops and coffee shops that are far more prevalent in Brooklyn than in the way upper peninsula in Manhattan. Plus, there's great access to the Southernmost attractions in Manhattan, such as the LES, up to Union Square, etc.

However, there are tons of artistic folks who pepper the landscape of Inwood/Washington Heights, which ought to make a difference in the local attractions in the years to come. Meanwhile, access to both Riverside and Central parks is a boon to the area, as is the easy commute to Lincoln Center and the great, speedy transit via the A train to anywhere downtown on the West side.

Tough choice. I think that, by the end of my stay in NYC, I would like to have had several different "lifestyle" experiences -- so I'll likely end up living in both areas for a time. My only criteria from here on out is that I have access to health clubs and quality food and (for Pete's sake!) access to sunlight throughout the apartment.

Cage Match: Republicans VS. Elephants

This afternoon, as I was walking to yoga class, I saw a fellow wearing a t-shirt that said something about exercising your right to vote!, accompanied with a picture of the four-legged representatives of our two favorite political parties, the Democratic Donkey and the Republican Elephant.

I, as you know, am very much a fan and supporter of elephantkind, and have always loathed that the pachyderm is the symbol for Republicanhood. So I got to thinking, why and how is the elephant synonymous with a misguided, sometimes Bush-supporting, rifle carrying, conservative lot of people? Maybe this chart will help answer my question (keep in mind that my observations focus on both Elephants and Republicans in their natural, unbridled habitat):


Similarities:

• Both like to think in terms of the family. Elephants raise their young in herds until young bulls leave the pack at around 14 years of age. Republicans have programs like "No Child Left Behind" and typically otherwise stress the importance of the nuclear clan.
• Both are fiscally conservative. Granted, elephants have no real use for money...
• Both are larger than life. Elephants in body mass, and Republicans in their tendency toward making their mark on history.

Differences:

• Elephants are matriarchal. Republicans are patriarchal.
• Elephants live in packs consisting of aunts, cousins, grandparents, etc. Republicans live in small family units, often isolated from other small family units by way of inventions such as the family car, or the subdivision with large hedges bordering one's property.
• Elephants are environmentally sound. Republicans like to forage for and use up the world's limited energy supply.
• Elephants are naturally peaceful. They do not seek out conflict with neighboring species. A Republican White House decided to take up war against Iraq, and another one continued it. Therefore, not peaceful.
  
• Elephants are vegetarians. Have you ever met a Republican vegetarian? Didn't think so.
  
• One can use elephant shit for useful things, like fertilizer or paper (because it's so fibrous). There is no known use for Republican bullshit, and you can ask anyone who has survived Hurricane Katrina or the Iraq war for proof of that.

Out of nine possible points, a solid 66.67% favored the incongruity of using the Elephant as a Republican mascot.


Alas, hope is not lost. A quick Google search for "elephant republican Wikipedia" proves that the political cartoon to the left, depicting an elephant "demolishing the flimsy planks" of the Democrat's political ideology, was created by Thomas Nast, and published by Harper's Bazaar, on November 7th, 1874. Thus, the elephant overtook the eagle as the symbol for Republicanism everywhere.

What a dark day THAT must have been, speaking on behalf of the peaceful, matriarchal elephant kind. On one hand, such a depiction is a gross misunderstanding about the behavioral patterns associated with the free elephant. On the other hand, what species wants to be used and exploited for a political party whose interests are almost opposite those of any self-respecting animal?

Ommmm...

One of the things I like most about yoga class is chanting the word "OM." It feels great to really sing it out, to feel the sound reverberating in my body. I am always awed especially at how different the sound of "OM" is between the beginning and end of class -- at first, the group's "OM" is really unsteady, sort of cobwebby, and really out of tune. But something happens between the start and end of class, something so powerful that the concluding "OM" is one of the most beautiful sounds in the world. So rich and powerful, so in tune and in tone. It's amazing to me that the energy of those three final "OM"s don't reverberate out of the studio, through the building and over the whole of Manhattan itself.

Untitled

Lately I've been working on the Buddhist concept of Attachment. As human beings, I'm sure we're all familiar with the kind of Attachment to which I'm referring - it's difficult to put in to words, but I like to think of it as a kind of idolatry that we grant possessions and ideas in our lives.

I've been thinking about this subject since one particular yoga class that took place a month ago, and since then I've been cultivating a sense of gratitude for what it is that I DO have in conjunction with the knowledge that everything thing changes. Nothing is permanent.

It turns out that when I stop to think about it, I have a great many things for which to be thankful. I have a job that I enjoy (most of the time) , a home, J, my Kitty, and last but not least I have the love of my parents and family members.

So, la di da, I was going about with a much different mindset until the inevitable downfall occurred. While I have many reasons to be grateful, I also feel that I live with a few regrets; one of the more petty and blatant regrets that I've been carrying around goes back to the time when I moved to this city and found this apartment that I'm sitting in right now. When I look back, I know the reasons why I chose this apartment to live in. Nevertheless, living so far out from Manhattan and Brooklyn has been a continual source of a greater feeling of isolation from people my age and activities appropriate thereto. I can list almost a dozen New Yorkers in their 20s that I never see because the distance between us is so great.

But, what are you gonna do? By the time our lease was up we were still so poor that we had little choice but to sign the stupid lease for this apartment that I can't really stand, which is way the hell out here in the heart of Queens. I know that being here in this time and place has done me a lot of good - broken down some racial opinions that I'd carried with me since the days I grew up in suburban whiteville, for example. Nevertheless, the time has come and gone for me to move away from here and into a place where I'd have peers and would therefore feel more at home. Or less bored. Probably more so the latter.

Anyway, an opportunity came up for J and I to move up to the Upper Upper West Side, to share a 9 x 12 room three subway stops from his work, and really very close to several friends I never see. Plus, it would be hella cheap and I could make some changes in my life that I'd really like to make. Like signing up at a fancier gym (with towel service!) or renewing my expensive membership at the yoga studio. I found myself really Attached to the idea, making plans to buy a cat tree so the Kitty would also be happy, deciding which furniture needed to be stored and which we'd keep, and so on, so forth. I was really looking forward to having more than just J to hang around with on a regular basis, especially given that he's working weekends now.

But, it turns out that the presence of the kitty is the problem, due to allergies. It's not fair for me to move in anyway, or to beg this person to ignore their cat-related issues. But I still really, really want to live that life that I'd created around the whole idea, the life centered around rent that I could actually afford.

I'm still kind of bummed about the whole thing, but cheered about the fact that we're equally wanted from the point of view of the current apartment dwellers also. So there's a sunray's width of chance that this may work out, but it's not good for me to hold onto such a small possibility.

This experience does shed light on areas of my life where unhappiness dwells, and it's a good incentive to start Working Things Out. If I really work at it, perhaps we could find a studio somewhere on the 1 train that's cost effective enough to warrant breaking our current lease.

In the meantime, though, I guess it's back in the saddle with the Buddhist Mindset ideas. It's good to find the sticky spots and then work on it, but it's a little bit more difficult to figure out which impulses to embrace and pay attention to, and which ones to ignore.