Been awhile... the hubub of spring and warmer temperatures has engulfed me and the city in a fog of busy-ness. Not to mention working a lot, but that's another story itself.
Shedding our shrouds of dark wool and down, the true seasonality of New York is fun. Spring is like waking from hibernation. We lose the leggings and stockings and find hems creeping and shoulders bare. Boots give way to the strappy sandal of the moment and the plumage of bright fabrics and patterns emerge. We dive deep into spring fever in a matter of a week or two when the temperature breaks.
Spring fever... it's everywhere. Eyes in the subway, glances over happy hour drinks, walking arm in arm beneath the street trees. The East Coast is a little more traditional in relation to the genders- men will more openly check women out here, and if you find yourself in a more working-class neighborhood, a girl on her own or among other ladies is likely to be addressed in terms relating to her appearance, in coos or whistles if not shouts. Doors are held. Older men smile at you as if to say, "oh, if I was younger..."
I found myself in Spanish Harlem yesterday on my way to the Museum of New York City and it was like being in a stereotype of NYC from another era- thick with people socializing on the streets; men in groups on the corners almost territorially; conversations sitting on the stoops; and people shouting from the fifth floor windows down to their neighbors across the street; all happening on a per-block basis. Of course I was addressed and watched, but it made me smile.
Feminist that I am, and coming from the more gender-neutral, Scandinavian-esque northwest, I notice this more than some might. But I love it. I won't say I've not been caught up in the spring fever the past couple months. It's fun.
Friday, June 5, 2009
Thursday, May 7, 2009
warm times, wet times
an observation
The weather is staying above sixty (sometimes above seventy, too; it was eighty and ninety when I was gone on vacation I hear.). And wet pretty often, so far. I'm not used to warm ever mingling with wet. In Seattle, it's cold/cool and drizzly nine and a half months of the year. Then there is the glorious july and august where it's warm and dry, and we go back to our rainy seasons stunned by how lovely summer was for a good few months.
Not so much dryness here... quite humid already. And lots of thundershowers, with loud thunder and lightning, and much more aggressive rain. Today it was raining so hard, and so much, a few coworkers and I stopped our corporate drudgery for a few minutes to observe and mock the runners/crouchers on Broadway from the 12th floor above. Looked like Frogger. The size of the raindrops was incredible. Made being in the office kind of a relief for a few minutes.
The rain brings runoff (now I'm getting into technical jargon, I know, stick with me), and it makes a relatively gross combination here in New York. The sidewalks are the receptacles of every vile substance you can imagine -dogs, drunks, thousands of bags of garbage waiting for pickup everyday, innumerable things I'd like to not have to describe. When it rains, it cleanses, but it's also releasing and moving all that filth around, and the pedestrians are caught in the muck. Somehow the drains here are often set right at the crosswalk, which makes for torrential rivers of drainage rushing into pools forming where you step down into the street, or when it backs up, and oh it does, it's these deep ponds of god-knows-what's-floating-in-there, creeping up the wheelchair ramps to the sidewalk. It's no wonder Wellies are so characteristic on the feet of New York ladies. I've already wrecked a couple pairs of ballet flats. They back up the most dramatically in the snow, when the melt begins and slush clogs them up for yards. It seems like we'll be marooned on the sidewalk in all seasons, though, from what I've heard about the 100-degree humidity of summer.
Who thought of putting storm drains at crosswalk intersections? When did planners think that was the best alternative? Seriously, what 1905 engineer strategized this, I want to understand the rationale.
I was just thinking about how when a raindrop falls on your head, it has fallen thousands and thousands of feet. Shouldn't that hurt? Kind of blowing my mind.
The weather is staying above sixty (sometimes above seventy, too; it was eighty and ninety when I was gone on vacation I hear.). And wet pretty often, so far. I'm not used to warm ever mingling with wet. In Seattle, it's cold/cool and drizzly nine and a half months of the year. Then there is the glorious july and august where it's warm and dry, and we go back to our rainy seasons stunned by how lovely summer was for a good few months.
Not so much dryness here... quite humid already. And lots of thundershowers, with loud thunder and lightning, and much more aggressive rain. Today it was raining so hard, and so much, a few coworkers and I stopped our corporate drudgery for a few minutes to observe and mock the runners/crouchers on Broadway from the 12th floor above. Looked like Frogger. The size of the raindrops was incredible. Made being in the office kind of a relief for a few minutes.
The rain brings runoff (now I'm getting into technical jargon, I know, stick with me), and it makes a relatively gross combination here in New York. The sidewalks are the receptacles of every vile substance you can imagine -dogs, drunks, thousands of bags of garbage waiting for pickup everyday, innumerable things I'd like to not have to describe. When it rains, it cleanses, but it's also releasing and moving all that filth around, and the pedestrians are caught in the muck. Somehow the drains here are often set right at the crosswalk, which makes for torrential rivers of drainage rushing into pools forming where you step down into the street, or when it backs up, and oh it does, it's these deep ponds of god-knows-what's-floating-in-there, creeping up the wheelchair ramps to the sidewalk. It's no wonder Wellies are so characteristic on the feet of New York ladies. I've already wrecked a couple pairs of ballet flats. They back up the most dramatically in the snow, when the melt begins and slush clogs them up for yards. It seems like we'll be marooned on the sidewalk in all seasons, though, from what I've heard about the 100-degree humidity of summer.
Who thought of putting storm drains at crosswalk intersections? When did planners think that was the best alternative? Seriously, what 1905 engineer strategized this, I want to understand the rationale.
I was just thinking about how when a raindrop falls on your head, it has fallen thousands and thousands of feet. Shouldn't that hurt? Kind of blowing my mind.
Monday, May 4, 2009
cats are uninterested in reason
observations.
things my cat wants to do:
things my cat wants to do:
- tell you about it right now
- drink from bathtub faucet
- knock pen off of table
- eat feathered earring
- eat feathered barrette
- eat the plant
- dance on chest while you try to sleep
- eat through breadbag and crust of bread until realizing it's actually just bread inside (once a month)
- individually remove books from shelf with paw to see if there's room behind to hide (no)
- pose in the window for passers-by
- sleep on couch
- sleep on bed
- sleep on chair
- sleep in bathtub
- race down hallway
- drag and drop stick at feet for fetching (like a canine)
- get stuck in pocket-door closet when presence inside undiscovered
- push mouse under open door to other side. WHERE DID IT GO!?!! oh thank god- just over there.
- escape into apartment building hallway to become freaked out and disoriented 3.5 seconds later, returning to apartment (once a week)
- eat food. no, not that food.
- wear collar
- lie where you want it to
- go in the pet carrier
- travel by car
- travel by plane
- be touched by children
- see children
- meet new adults
- meet new animals
- be asked to leave the couch
- be asked to leave the suitcase
- be asked to leave the shower
- be in the shower when it is turned on
- have edward-scissor-nails trimmed
- stop licking the other cat's butt
- look at you for the photo
- take the pill
- take the pill crushed in food
- take the pill while wrapped up in blanket like burrito, mouth pried open with both hands, growling and spitting
- ever stop sprinkling beautiful hairs all over creation
Friday, May 1, 2009
un-shutterbug
I usually take an unhealthy amount of photos in my off-time. This time, I curiously took about six photos in my visit back to Seattle, of obscure content. Not sure if that's a good sign, but here I present four of them, all in poor focus.
Kate, Jeff, and Dave eat tacos.
Stewart Street, through the windows of Entre Nous.
Yann Tiersen at Neumo's.
Neumo's crowd.
Kate, Jeff, and Dave eat tacos.
Stewart Street, through the windows of Entre Nous.
Yann Tiersen at Neumo's.
Neumo's crowd.
re-entry
There's nothing like a 5-hour plane ride to catch up on the calmly-sitting-down activities one misses out on while busy with the daily distractions of life. I find that sometimes I don't find time to do these calmer activities I love as well; it is not until I have limited options that I return to the taking-in: periodicals, novels, reflections.
I'm headed back from a visit to my native Northwest. It's the first time I've been back since settling in in New York City. What an experience. I was badly in need of a break from a stressful work-heavy life. As soon as I set foot in Seattle, it was like resuming my life in a parallel universe- a glamorized one, where everyone is elated to see you every day, and you don't have to work for a living.
It has made me melancholy, however. I am having a blast with my current life in New York City, but visiting my old haunts and immersing myself back in my considerably heftier and deeper social circles that I developed over many years in Seattle makes me reflect upon my decision to leave. What if I had turned right instead of left at the fork in the road? It's not as if I left Seattle to return to it preserved the same- others' lives have evolved as well: relocation, newly single friends, changed careers, and babies are all things that I experience from afar by having chosen wings over roots.
The diversity and dynamism of New York City continues to delight me, but as a six-month resident I am by no means at home there. Returning to the place that formed me, the culture which gave me my values and sense of place in the world hit me more than I expected on this trip. In New York I learn to live and succeed among the A-types; I find myself proactively searching to find social and recreational opportunities in a sea broad with them, but which is not easy to penetrate in depth. The sheer magnitude is one thing; the added layer of the limited personal sphere (mine is about 215 square feet) within the grand urban circus also makes the contrast between a previously intimate social circle and the social experience in the dense mega-city- loud bars and restaurants full of slews of beautifully-adorned people who may be delightful and insightful but have no ties to you. It is only by passing thousands of these people on the way to the bar/bathroom/barista that you may meet someone you'll connect with in a way that's deeper than a bump, glance, or few lines of flirtation. There is no equal to having the joy and comfort of a deep social circle.
I also miss the culture of Seattle and the West Coast. Though I find myself fascinated by the directness and outgoing tendencies of New Yorkers, the richness of art and culture in the city, and delight in the depth of history and architectural richness that it offers in comparison to the west coast, there are plenty of differences I notice in terms of culture and values that make me miss Seattle. The idealism and cerebral nature of the northwest- there are a lot of people who genuinely aim to use their lives as tools for good in the world. There is more of an aim for personal success that fuels those in New York. It may be the circles I ran in in Seattle, but I miss the we're-in-this-together mentality of the (liberal and urban, yes) west coast.
And so I return to New York, with my rockin' East Village apartment location, 2.5 close friends, office full of corporate growing pains, transition, and layoffs, and increasingly scorching warm-season temperatures, and I wonder what my duration will be here. Will I feel like more of a local in another year, and not ponder the what-ifs I do now? Will I fall in love with a person / a group of people / my career/ a neighborhood that will make me feel rooted and calm and content, or will the bright lights and big city maintain my wonder for a while, but allow me to move on after a year or two?
On verra... But I shall continue to miss the air in the northwest with my every breath. If you have lived in another major city, you likely know what I'm talking about. Seattle air is incomparably clean and crisp and fresh, smelling like rain and healthy soil and feeling like therapy itself as it courses through your lungs on a cool evening. New York air isn't bad at all, compared to many European and American cities I've visited (sorry Rome, you were somewhat an atmospheric ashtray/stadium restroom)- but the Gotham air is a little stale and humid on a good day, and biting and blustery on a bad one.
Signing off in my re-entry to the bright lights, big city...
I'm headed back from a visit to my native Northwest. It's the first time I've been back since settling in in New York City. What an experience. I was badly in need of a break from a stressful work-heavy life. As soon as I set foot in Seattle, it was like resuming my life in a parallel universe- a glamorized one, where everyone is elated to see you every day, and you don't have to work for a living.
It has made me melancholy, however. I am having a blast with my current life in New York City, but visiting my old haunts and immersing myself back in my considerably heftier and deeper social circles that I developed over many years in Seattle makes me reflect upon my decision to leave. What if I had turned right instead of left at the fork in the road? It's not as if I left Seattle to return to it preserved the same- others' lives have evolved as well: relocation, newly single friends, changed careers, and babies are all things that I experience from afar by having chosen wings over roots.
The diversity and dynamism of New York City continues to delight me, but as a six-month resident I am by no means at home there. Returning to the place that formed me, the culture which gave me my values and sense of place in the world hit me more than I expected on this trip. In New York I learn to live and succeed among the A-types; I find myself proactively searching to find social and recreational opportunities in a sea broad with them, but which is not easy to penetrate in depth. The sheer magnitude is one thing; the added layer of the limited personal sphere (mine is about 215 square feet) within the grand urban circus also makes the contrast between a previously intimate social circle and the social experience in the dense mega-city- loud bars and restaurants full of slews of beautifully-adorned people who may be delightful and insightful but have no ties to you. It is only by passing thousands of these people on the way to the bar/bathroom/barista that you may meet someone you'll connect with in a way that's deeper than a bump, glance, or few lines of flirtation. There is no equal to having the joy and comfort of a deep social circle.
I also miss the culture of Seattle and the West Coast. Though I find myself fascinated by the directness and outgoing tendencies of New Yorkers, the richness of art and culture in the city, and delight in the depth of history and architectural richness that it offers in comparison to the west coast, there are plenty of differences I notice in terms of culture and values that make me miss Seattle. The idealism and cerebral nature of the northwest- there are a lot of people who genuinely aim to use their lives as tools for good in the world. There is more of an aim for personal success that fuels those in New York. It may be the circles I ran in in Seattle, but I miss the we're-in-this-together mentality of the (liberal and urban, yes) west coast.
And so I return to New York, with my rockin' East Village apartment location, 2.5 close friends, office full of corporate growing pains, transition, and layoffs, and increasingly scorching warm-season temperatures, and I wonder what my duration will be here. Will I feel like more of a local in another year, and not ponder the what-ifs I do now? Will I fall in love with a person / a group of people / my career/ a neighborhood that will make me feel rooted and calm and content, or will the bright lights and big city maintain my wonder for a while, but allow me to move on after a year or two?
On verra... But I shall continue to miss the air in the northwest with my every breath. If you have lived in another major city, you likely know what I'm talking about. Seattle air is incomparably clean and crisp and fresh, smelling like rain and healthy soil and feeling like therapy itself as it courses through your lungs on a cool evening. New York air isn't bad at all, compared to many European and American cities I've visited (sorry Rome, you were somewhat an atmospheric ashtray/stadium restroom)- but the Gotham air is a little stale and humid on a good day, and biting and blustery on a bad one.
Signing off in my re-entry to the bright lights, big city...
Saturday, April 18, 2009
hello world
I'm re-acquainting myself with the world as it is at five a.m. It's been since design school all-nighters since we were at all familiar with eachother. It's like I'm being (unpleasantly) reborn into the early morning world, as a function of this foreign concept called insomnia, and the disorienting nightmares that accompany the associated restlessness.
We had our third round of layoffs at work today. I have been very head-in-the-sand until recently, about all of it, being very fatalistic and optimistic, as I had no control and little knowledge or understanding of our office situation. Our new leadership has now improved the lines of communication and brought us all into the know about why everything has hit our office so hard, and now I'm losing sleep.
It's early Saturday morning and I'm literally losing sleep- me, the girl who can easily sleep eleven hours a night and relishes her weekend mornings for this. Maybe thinking it through here will help me and I'll be able to take myself back up to the loft and get a few hours of sleep to enjoy what's supposed to be the nicest day yet (75 degrees!).
But for now, I'm stuck down here in front of the screen stressing about work. We lost a few more people today, which brings our total layoffs up to something like 26, and now we are down to the mid to low forties in our office. It's especially frustrating to see people who you'd consider to be highly valuable lost, while others you might not choose to keep working with still remain. I lost a coworker/friend I work with closely, and now I'll have to take her work on (I saw her cad files today, oy vey, there's a lot to do that was supposed to be done a week ago). We found out that with corporate restructuring, we're also losing our compensation pay (comp time) as of next month, which totally blows in a field where overworking is seemingly ingrained in the culture. I volunteered to participate in a design competition in the office, and that always proves to be difficult since it's generally a clash of egos and styles in competitions, especially as it's unpaid time. I'm not sure what I was thinking, volunteering for that. Stupid idealist/pleaser. On top of that I'll be out for a week beginning mid-week next week, and have to juggle project work and the conclusion to my participation in the competition.
I have been so looking forward to going back to Seattle, words cannot describe. Right now it's giving me a little heartburn as it adds a layer of complication, but I do need this break. I miss my friends and the culture there. I love it here, and New York is the right place for me now, but I need a breather, and a return to social familiarity (if only a brief one). At this point, I'm hoping that my trip back allows me a little peace of mind, and potentially a little raucous scandal.
New York's supposed to be the setting for scandal, right? What's all this talk of stress and work when you live one of the most fabulous places in the world? Good question. I'm working on it... and that's not to say there haven't been some fabulous and scandalous times- but I tend to be a deliberate and careful individual, which causes me to do more thinking and internalizing and doing things out of my perception of duty. This can serve me well at sometimes, sure. I still have a job; and my role there is actually looking very good despite everything. But I'm looking to inject a little balance in my life- a little time and state of mind for rest. The company policy formally supports this, but the office culture does not. It's a very New York thing to be a slave to professional success and duty, but it's unfortunately at its worst in the design/architecture arena.
The sun has risen; it's six thirty and I've been awake since at least four. I'm going to haul myself back up the ladder and see if I can get a few hours of sleep in before I get up to greet the beautiful day which I theoretically should be spending in the office making diagrams for a competition.
We'll see about that.
We had our third round of layoffs at work today. I have been very head-in-the-sand until recently, about all of it, being very fatalistic and optimistic, as I had no control and little knowledge or understanding of our office situation. Our new leadership has now improved the lines of communication and brought us all into the know about why everything has hit our office so hard, and now I'm losing sleep.
It's early Saturday morning and I'm literally losing sleep- me, the girl who can easily sleep eleven hours a night and relishes her weekend mornings for this. Maybe thinking it through here will help me and I'll be able to take myself back up to the loft and get a few hours of sleep to enjoy what's supposed to be the nicest day yet (75 degrees!).
But for now, I'm stuck down here in front of the screen stressing about work. We lost a few more people today, which brings our total layoffs up to something like 26, and now we are down to the mid to low forties in our office. It's especially frustrating to see people who you'd consider to be highly valuable lost, while others you might not choose to keep working with still remain. I lost a coworker/friend I work with closely, and now I'll have to take her work on (I saw her cad files today, oy vey, there's a lot to do that was supposed to be done a week ago). We found out that with corporate restructuring, we're also losing our compensation pay (comp time) as of next month, which totally blows in a field where overworking is seemingly ingrained in the culture. I volunteered to participate in a design competition in the office, and that always proves to be difficult since it's generally a clash of egos and styles in competitions, especially as it's unpaid time. I'm not sure what I was thinking, volunteering for that. Stupid idealist/pleaser. On top of that I'll be out for a week beginning mid-week next week, and have to juggle project work and the conclusion to my participation in the competition.
I have been so looking forward to going back to Seattle, words cannot describe. Right now it's giving me a little heartburn as it adds a layer of complication, but I do need this break. I miss my friends and the culture there. I love it here, and New York is the right place for me now, but I need a breather, and a return to social familiarity (if only a brief one). At this point, I'm hoping that my trip back allows me a little peace of mind, and potentially a little raucous scandal.
New York's supposed to be the setting for scandal, right? What's all this talk of stress and work when you live one of the most fabulous places in the world? Good question. I'm working on it... and that's not to say there haven't been some fabulous and scandalous times- but I tend to be a deliberate and careful individual, which causes me to do more thinking and internalizing and doing things out of my perception of duty. This can serve me well at sometimes, sure. I still have a job; and my role there is actually looking very good despite everything. But I'm looking to inject a little balance in my life- a little time and state of mind for rest. The company policy formally supports this, but the office culture does not. It's a very New York thing to be a slave to professional success and duty, but it's unfortunately at its worst in the design/architecture arena.
The sun has risen; it's six thirty and I've been awake since at least four. I'm going to haul myself back up the ladder and see if I can get a few hours of sleep in before I get up to greet the beautiful day which I theoretically should be spending in the office making diagrams for a competition.
We'll see about that.
Tuesday, April 14, 2009
design moment
2009 Pritzker Prize recipient, Swiss Architect Peter Zumthor-
'I work a little bit like a sculptor. When I start, my first idea for a building- it is already with the material. I believe architecture is about that- it's not about paper, it's not about forms. It's about space and material.'
...Me too. Sometimes I wish I worked in an environment where I was able to work more like a sculptor, and less like a lawyer or policymaker. Maybe someday, here...
'I work a little bit like a sculptor. When I start, my first idea for a building- it is already with the material. I believe architecture is about that- it's not about paper, it's not about forms. It's about space and material.'...Me too. Sometimes I wish I worked in an environment where I was able to work more like a sculptor, and less like a lawyer or policymaker. Maybe someday, here...
Monday, April 13, 2009
should I buy michael jackson's pants?
hard times, continued
the king of pop's even going under... 1500 of his things from Neverland are being sold at auction in an LA department store (and online; hey, much of this stuff is expected to fetch only a couple hundred bucks).
I might be able to pull these off in the East Village (but then again, who are we kidding; MJ and I clearly have differently proportioned figures):
and you, too, could take home this masterpiece for your mantle:
I mean, wow. WOW.
It's kind of bizzarre, though, everything's on sale... mtv awards, his signature single gloves, and military jackets... down to the creepy bronze statues of children in his yard. Such an odd, odd individual, with an odd, odd story.
I sense a landscape design niche rising in bronze statue children relics...
the king of pop's even going under... 1500 of his things from Neverland are being sold at auction in an LA department store (and online; hey, much of this stuff is expected to fetch only a couple hundred bucks).
I might be able to pull these off in the East Village (but then again, who are we kidding; MJ and I clearly have differently proportioned figures):
and you, too, could take home this masterpiece for your mantle:
I mean, wow. WOW.
It's kind of bizzarre, though, everything's on sale... mtv awards, his signature single gloves, and military jackets... down to the creepy bronze statues of children in his yard. Such an odd, odd individual, with an odd, odd story.
I sense a landscape design niche rising in bronze statue children relics...
Wednesday, April 8, 2009
blossoms of snow
Spring has finally awoken, moody rain and sunshine and all. Springtime, especially April here (god help us we don't get some freak Seattle-esque interminable rainy, 50-degree spring), is like a schizophrenic, or an adolescent: all sunshine and seventy degrees one afternoon and black clouds and rainstorm the next morning. We had upper sixties and glaring sunshine Sunday, lightening and thunder the next day, sunshine again, then black clouds spewing snow today. Go figure.
I will clearly state that any weather beats the winter here. The trees think so, too; they are starting to relax their defenses and bud. The ones in front of my building are flowering beautifully, dripping with tiny white pear-like flowers (it's killing me that this is another east coast plant I can't identify) before they leaf out. I walked out one morning late last night, and it was like waking up without remembering it was christmas day; sunny glistening with a recent rain, the little white flowers seemed to say, "surprise, erika! here we are! we all made it through winter!"
I absolutely adore my street. With the eighteenth-century St. Marks-in-the-Bowery at one end, and beautifully iron-worked brick townhomes along East Tenth, the block is really unique in that the homes are slightly upscale-seeming compared to its neighboring ones, and it also lacks the characteristic ground and first-floor commercial that the East Village is known for, making it quiet and homey. It's like a scene out of Brooklyn, or the West Village. Film crews are even drawn here; I've seen three so far.
But this is definitely still the East Village; at the border of NYU and as the mecca for young people looking to live it up; it's loud and eclectic. The building across the street has some scruffy characters lingering around that makes me think there's some sort of subsidy or rent-freeze; the neighboring building is clearly abandoned minus two-thirds of the top floor, which is occupied by an artist working odd hours and on looming, grim works. His and another few apartments on the block, as we all have very high ceilings, have decaying ceilings with exposed lath, peeling paint, and brickwork at the top of the wall where it's difficult to maintain. Then a few doors down from mine, a huge, beautiful old building with ornate ironwork has only four buzzers and beautiful stone and wood detailing inside- clearly these people are not so poorly off. Homeless people smelling and looking scary sleep on the benches down the block in front of St Mark's, but across the street and to the east of me is a really unique building, thin, with one giant bay of factory-like, small-paneled giant windows that must house someone successful as it appears to be one fabulous home. The pointy Flatiron-like brownstone that sits at the end of the triangular block looks fancy at first glance but is housing people who keep leggy plants in front of dusty windows and push the backs of their televisions and refrigerators up to the windows.
There is a lot of traffic through this block, as it sits between Cooper Union, NYU, and the School of Visual Arts (among others), and most of their watering holes and socializing locales and is on the path between anyone coming from the subway to the bars. I see and more hear a lot of drunken activity from my big picture window: loud groups having conversations outside the art school dormitory a few doors down; crazy people yelling at the corner near third; there was the large drunk woman that fell, in heels, into the stairwell of my super's basement apartment, directly below my window on a weeknight, and had to be strategically squeezed out of the space by paramedics and her date; there tend to be homeless-seeming lingerers across the street in front of a particular stoop; oftentimes, it's actually my cats that are causing a lot of stir.
When I come home, if I've left the blinds open in my first-floor apartment (even sometimes if I haven't I can see eyes peeking through the crack above the sill), one of my two black cats is always there, sitting next to the garden gnome I use as a bookend on my long, deep, windowsill. They have achieved superstar status with neighbors and passersby. More than once have I had the lights low in my apartment and witnessed flashes of light on the walls that turned out to be coming from people's cameras outside. Many more times have I heard strangely-toned voices, usually high and quiet (creepy!), that I was too weirded out to investigate, while my cat was calmly posing. The funny thing is that though they can be leery of strangers, there is enough distance with the iron railing in front of the gap before the sidewalk, that they are never made nervous enough to jump down. They just sit there, luxuriating in the attention like the attention-hungry beasts that they are.
It's like we're a zoo, here. We have the railing, the little trench, the large window, and the small cage that we live in... protecting us from the hordes of poorly-behaved people passing by daily. I could think of worse situations. I think this might be the kind of zoo where they design it so well that the captives believe they're in some endless paradise.
I will clearly state that any weather beats the winter here. The trees think so, too; they are starting to relax their defenses and bud. The ones in front of my building are flowering beautifully, dripping with tiny white pear-like flowers (it's killing me that this is another east coast plant I can't identify) before they leaf out. I walked out one morning late last night, and it was like waking up without remembering it was christmas day; sunny glistening with a recent rain, the little white flowers seemed to say, "surprise, erika! here we are! we all made it through winter!"
I absolutely adore my street. With the eighteenth-century St. Marks-in-the-Bowery at one end, and beautifully iron-worked brick townhomes along East Tenth, the block is really unique in that the homes are slightly upscale-seeming compared to its neighboring ones, and it also lacks the characteristic ground and first-floor commercial that the East Village is known for, making it quiet and homey. It's like a scene out of Brooklyn, or the West Village. Film crews are even drawn here; I've seen three so far.
But this is definitely still the East Village; at the border of NYU and as the mecca for young people looking to live it up; it's loud and eclectic. The building across the street has some scruffy characters lingering around that makes me think there's some sort of subsidy or rent-freeze; the neighboring building is clearly abandoned minus two-thirds of the top floor, which is occupied by an artist working odd hours and on looming, grim works. His and another few apartments on the block, as we all have very high ceilings, have decaying ceilings with exposed lath, peeling paint, and brickwork at the top of the wall where it's difficult to maintain. Then a few doors down from mine, a huge, beautiful old building with ornate ironwork has only four buzzers and beautiful stone and wood detailing inside- clearly these people are not so poorly off. Homeless people smelling and looking scary sleep on the benches down the block in front of St Mark's, but across the street and to the east of me is a really unique building, thin, with one giant bay of factory-like, small-paneled giant windows that must house someone successful as it appears to be one fabulous home. The pointy Flatiron-like brownstone that sits at the end of the triangular block looks fancy at first glance but is housing people who keep leggy plants in front of dusty windows and push the backs of their televisions and refrigerators up to the windows.
There is a lot of traffic through this block, as it sits between Cooper Union, NYU, and the School of Visual Arts (among others), and most of their watering holes and socializing locales and is on the path between anyone coming from the subway to the bars. I see and more hear a lot of drunken activity from my big picture window: loud groups having conversations outside the art school dormitory a few doors down; crazy people yelling at the corner near third; there was the large drunk woman that fell, in heels, into the stairwell of my super's basement apartment, directly below my window on a weeknight, and had to be strategically squeezed out of the space by paramedics and her date; there tend to be homeless-seeming lingerers across the street in front of a particular stoop; oftentimes, it's actually my cats that are causing a lot of stir.
When I come home, if I've left the blinds open in my first-floor apartment (even sometimes if I haven't I can see eyes peeking through the crack above the sill), one of my two black cats is always there, sitting next to the garden gnome I use as a bookend on my long, deep, windowsill. They have achieved superstar status with neighbors and passersby. More than once have I had the lights low in my apartment and witnessed flashes of light on the walls that turned out to be coming from people's cameras outside. Many more times have I heard strangely-toned voices, usually high and quiet (creepy!), that I was too weirded out to investigate, while my cat was calmly posing. The funny thing is that though they can be leery of strangers, there is enough distance with the iron railing in front of the gap before the sidewalk, that they are never made nervous enough to jump down. They just sit there, luxuriating in the attention like the attention-hungry beasts that they are.
It's like we're a zoo, here. We have the railing, the little trench, the large window, and the small cage that we live in... protecting us from the hordes of poorly-behaved people passing by daily. I could think of worse situations. I think this might be the kind of zoo where they design it so well that the captives believe they're in some endless paradise.
Sunday, April 5, 2009
hit the ground running
tired and wired, we ruin too easy
sleep in our clothes and wait for winter to leave
Well, winter has left! -sunny and pleasant in my neck of the woods; I also heard that Seattle had it even better today after their recent cold streak.
Teeny and I are catching up on interweb-related activities (and listening to The National, damn I love them!) as we have played host and tour guide to my mother on her first-ever trip to new york city for the past five days. I didn't realize until after getting up early on the last day and screaming around midtown (mother had to get in her Letterman show Hello Deli fix in) before sending her off for her flight, just how completely exhausted I am. Emphasize completely. I literally watched her get in the airport shuttle from my stoop, walked eight steps back into the apartment, and fell asleep on the couch. The woman doesn't sleep.
I took two days off from work at the end of the week to spend more time tour-guiding, but of course they weren't for resting- the Met, Staten Island Ferry, Rockefeller Center and the observation deck, Times Square and a night at the theater, Fifth Ave and Central Park and a few brunches.... we got a good amount of stuff in. Of course you can't do it all in your first trip to a city, but we didn't do so bad in covering most of Manhattan, considering my mom is kinda slow. I love my mom, but she's the first one to admit she's kinda old and broken. ;) I kinda felt like I was dragging her along at times.
Below, a couple scenes from the Kristin and Erika show:
So I'm actually a little okay with going back to work tomorrow, it will be (initially) a little refreshing to do some sitting.
Give me your tired, your poor...
Mos' def poor after these past few days.
In honor of my mother, who is apparently in love with what Photobooth on my MacBook can do, here we are, blogging and rocking out. the lap was Teeny's idea, she likes to drive (and to rock out); Leo's not quite as fond as being in front of the screen. He's a low-tech boy.
sleep in our clothes and wait for winter to leave
Well, winter has left! -sunny and pleasant in my neck of the woods; I also heard that Seattle had it even better today after their recent cold streak.
Teeny and I are catching up on interweb-related activities (and listening to The National, damn I love them!) as we have played host and tour guide to my mother on her first-ever trip to new york city for the past five days. I didn't realize until after getting up early on the last day and screaming around midtown (mother had to get in her Letterman show Hello Deli fix in) before sending her off for her flight, just how completely exhausted I am. Emphasize completely. I literally watched her get in the airport shuttle from my stoop, walked eight steps back into the apartment, and fell asleep on the couch. The woman doesn't sleep.
I took two days off from work at the end of the week to spend more time tour-guiding, but of course they weren't for resting- the Met, Staten Island Ferry, Rockefeller Center and the observation deck, Times Square and a night at the theater, Fifth Ave and Central Park and a few brunches.... we got a good amount of stuff in. Of course you can't do it all in your first trip to a city, but we didn't do so bad in covering most of Manhattan, considering my mom is kinda slow. I love my mom, but she's the first one to admit she's kinda old and broken. ;) I kinda felt like I was dragging her along at times.
Below, a couple scenes from the Kristin and Erika show:
So I'm actually a little okay with going back to work tomorrow, it will be (initially) a little refreshing to do some sitting.
Give me your tired, your poor...
Mos' def poor after these past few days.
In honor of my mother, who is apparently in love with what Photobooth on my MacBook can do, here we are, blogging and rocking out. the lap was Teeny's idea, she likes to drive (and to rock out); Leo's not quite as fond as being in front of the screen. He's a low-tech boy.
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