Silliness

Call me juvenile, but I snicker like a kindergartener every time I hear this clip of our local news anchorwoman's on-air episode of potty mouth.

Maybe I'm crazy, but I have a feeling Sue Simmons made a lot of new fans that night.

And speaking of juvenile, one of the highlights of yesterday's NYU graduation ceremony at Yankee Stadium (congrats to my boyfriend, who donned his cap and gown proudly--photos to come) was the spontaneous stunt attempted by this kid.

He made it from far right field almost to home base before being tackled by not one, not two, but SIX security guards. Six burly he-man tackling this gleeful, skinny white kid to the ground. For running across the field, arms in the air. It was excessive, no doubt. But if their goal was to dissuade other happy grads from trying a similar stunt, well, mission accomplished!

Still, it was giddy fun to watch from the stands and the newly-minted NYU grad (assuming they don't revoke his degree!) has a cool story to tell his grandkids.

More on the wild stunt here and here.

And, not to ruin the mood, but I was pleased that the NYU ceremony began with a moment of silence for the victims in Myanmar and China. My heart aches for what they are going through.

Going Soft?

Anyone who knows me or has read this blog, oh, once or twice, knows I'm no fan of President Bush. But a few months ago, I happened upon a Larry King interview with daughter Jenna, speaking about the new book she'd written about her UNICEF work in Latin America and I was pleasantly surprised by how intelligent, articulate and unpretentious she was. Really. Was anyone more shocked than I by this discovery? I found myself actually liking her, in spite of the horrors her father has perpetrated on this country and the world.

Perhaps it is because of this newfound respect for at least one of the Bush progeny (or because Dubya's IRS deposited a nice sum into my bank account last week) that I actually smiled upon seeing the photo in yesterday's news of the proud papa, Laura and their daughters at Jenna's wedding. Whatever your feelings for the Bush clan, it's hard to deny it is a lovely photo of an exceedingly handsome family (and what a gorgeous dress!). Much as I dislike Dubya and just everything he has done (or failed to do) these last 7.5 years, I can't deny he's a handsome man, that his wife--useless though sweet as she seems--is a very pretty lady and their daughters, both beautiful.

While it pains me that Bush can appear so happy and proud and beamng when so many people have suffered as a result of his actions, I found some relief in the amusing fact that the man who officiated the wedding--Bush's religious adviser and friend Reverend Kirbyjon Caldwell--has endorsed Barack Obama. Ha!

Few can argue that Bush has been (to put it kindly) a disappointment since Inauguration Day, 2001. I will be delighted to witness him exiting the presidency that many believe was never rightfully his to begin with.

And yet, I smiled at the photo of him standing proudly (albeit with that trademark blank look on his face) with his beautiful daughter and family on her wedding day.

Am I going soft?

Seating Is Limited...

...so Melody elects to sit here whenever the possibility presents itself. What's odd is that she never sits on my laptop--she prefers Jason's, for some reason known only to the fickle feline mind.

Tag! I'm It!

Very likely due to the fact that I've been horrendously lax in writing here, my (literally) oldest friend, Aviva, has tagged me! (Sorry for the overdue mention--I really only get to read blogs on weekends.)

Now, because it's a cloudy, gloomy, rather unpretty Saturday morning and I have been avoiding work by futzing around the apartment since 8:30, I think I'll give it a shot!

On to the rules:

1. Link the person who tagged you.
2. Mention the rules in your blog.
3. Tell about 6 unspectacular quirks of yours.
4. Tag 6 fellow bloggers by linking them.
5. Leave a comment on each of the tagged bloggers' blogs letting them know they've been tagged.

Now for 6 unspectacular quirks (of the many gazillions I have) about me that, hey, you may just find interesting:

1. I have been addicted to crossword puzzles since I was about 18, when my cousin Dalia introduced them to me. Oddly enough, the only thing that has ever been able to break my crossword addiction is a NEW addiction: to cryptograms, introduced to me by my boyfriend, Jason, last year.

2. I "face and fan" all the bills in my wallet. That means they must be in order by denomination (ones, fives, tens, twenties) and they must all be facing forward and upright. If this delicate placement is upset, I'm convinced the world could end.

3. I talk to my cats. All the time. I also sing little nonsense songs to them. They often purr when I do it, but I can't help but imagine that blank stare on their faces indicates complete contempt for me and all humans.

4. I get nauseated from perfume samples in magazines. Sorry, Vanity Fair, but the first thing I do when I get my monthly issue in the mail is rip out all the foul fragrance ads (and, frankly, all the other ads, as well--easily removes 100 unnecessary pages and makes the magazine much easier to shlep around).

5. I get extremely tipsy from one glass of wine. Particularly red wine, which is unfortunate, because I enjoy it so much. But seriously, it's embarrassing. I could hold my liquor much better at 22 than I can at 36!

6. I can't stand it when any digital clock in my house isn't on the right time--that means the DVD player, microwave, alarm clock, etc. must all be set correctly at all times. (I am a very busy girl on spring forward/fall back days.)

There you have it. I am a freak of nature.

Now, to tag 6 of my fellow bloggers:

1. Marney, at The World According to Marney (I know you're a busy newlywed with a new home to unpack, but we miss your blog!)
2. Seth, at The Wind Beneath My Chicken Wings
3. Aaron, at Aaroniously Yours
4. Adam, at Touch My Genius
5. Jackie, at Jackie-Blue
6. Christopher, because he has a website but really should write more

Working Girl

That's me! Happy to be working again; not quite thrilled to have so little time for other pursuits (e.g., this little site you're reading).

I do enjoy my job (Technical Writer for a large magazine publisher) tremendously and recognize how lucky I am to have found a position that challenges me daily and allows me to dig deep into my well of talents. Throw in some bright, interesting and friendly colleagues and an upbeat, positive environment and you've got one happy working girl.

It strikes me almost every day, in different ways, how much I had missed New York City in my 4 years away. Much as my sojourn to northern California was an extremely positive period in my life, I came to appreciate what I'd gained from living in New York even more while I was away. Now, the comparisons between NYC and San Francisco float around in my head constantly, whether relevant or not.

Living in San Francisco, I relished my 20-minute walk to work each morning--listening to music or NPR, taking in the sights of downtown, doing some people-watching, arriving at work refreshed and alive each day.

But now that I spend 30-40 minutes each morning on the subway, I realize how much I'd missed the best thing about non-automobile commuting: reading time! It took me months to finish a book in San Francisco because I spent so little time taking mass transit. Luckily, I now report to work a bit later in the morning than most, which means I usually get a seat on the train, which means a good half-hour a day of uninterrupted reading time. Delicious.

I've missed New Yorkers. In spite of their reputation as brash, arrogant, rude, loud (which, let's face it, many of them have earned), New Yorkers have a way of interracting with a level of warmth and familiarity I just haven't seen elsewhere. It's in the way the construction workers call each other "Mac" and laugh over a pizza, sitting on the sidewalk, hard hats in their laps. It's in the way store-keepers (and even the bagel cart guy who makes my iced coffee and always adds the perfect amount of Splenda) get to know their customers and call so many of them by name. It's in the way the local kids learn to ride the subway and the bus surrounded by hundreds of people who look and sound nothing like them and the way they grow up understanding that everyone in this world is a minority among certain people, in certain places.

I don't know. I just missed it.

That's not to say New York isn't a hectic, exasperating, frustrating, chaotic mess of a city. It is. It teems with life--some of it revolting--and the sidewalks explode with people and sometimes it takes me 5 minutes just to walk one block because there are just PEOPLE PEOPLE PEOPLE everywhere and I can't breathe and I just want some peace and quiet and for fuck's sake, it's just impossible to find sometimes.

But the city suits me, in its own insane way. Good or bad, it's home. And, in spite of it all, I'm glad to be home.

New Slang

Sitting in front of me on the B45 bus today, cruising down Atlantic Avenue: two pre-teen girls who appeared to be identical twins in that can't-really-tell-if-they're-twins-or-just-look-remarkably-similar kind of way (perhaps intentionally, considering their age).

As we passed a lighting design studio displaying all kinds of different floor, table and hanging lamps in its huge storefront window, one of the tweens pointed at an enormous, gawdy as hell chandelier and shouted, "Check it out! That's dumb pretty!"

Dumb pretty? Say what? "Whatever happened to awesome, rad, tubular?" wondered the aging '80s relic (that would be me) seated behind them.

"It's dumb pretty!" The tween repeated, in case I misheard her use of this newfangled slang that makes old folks like me contort their faces in highly unflattering ways.

Her friend/sister/Doppelganger replied, "It's mad high up, too."

Damn, I feel old.

Home

On the street near my apartment today, I was approached by a 30-something white man with a lazy eye, matted hair and frazzled beard, sporting a grey wool suit and tie (and toting a briefcase), yet looking as disheveled as if he'd slept on a bus for many, many hours that day.

Stranger: Thank you.
Me: Excuse me?
Stranger: I know you work very hard, so thank you.
Me: You're welcome.

Bizarre, yes, but one of the reasons I moved back to New York City was because strange encounters with every conceivable sort of human being are a part of daily life here. And I'd missed it.

Jason and I live in Brooklyn, not far from where I took my first breaths on Earth, a quick subway ride from Manhattan. Depending on which map you consult, our neighborhood is either Prospect Heights or Crown Heights. Call it what you like--it's a colorful, diverse neighborhood of mostly Caribbean blacks (Haitians, Jamaicans, etc.). Sushi may be hard to come by, but there is plenty of Creole, African and West Indian food. We hear French being spoken a lot (in fact, the cabbie who drove us home from JFK Airport was playing Edith Piaf the entire way).

If that's not diverse enough for you, walk a few blocks east and you're smack dab in the middle of the biggest enclave of orthodox Jews this side of Jerusalem. Seriously, you've never seen so much black wool in your life and there's a synagogue, religious school and dentist's office on every block. We are at the intersection of Jamaica and Jews, as my cousin Otto put it. The cholent capital of Brooklyn, if you ask my cousin Gill.

New York is a city of neighborhoods, as they say, and one of the things I'd missed most in my 4 years away was that genuine sense of community. People take their neighborhoods seriously here and--particularly in areas where people aren't swimming in cash--neighbors tend to lean on one another.

As with any neighborhood, you have your wackos and your assholes (like the portly teenager in my local market yesterday who lovingly told the cashier to "Go fuck your mama and your mama's mama"), but despite the fact that palefaces like me and Jason stick out like sore thumbs around here, we love the diversity and we've found our neighbors and local store owners to be friendly and accommodating; the neighborhood, charming. In fact, all around this area are beautiful brownstones that I'd bet are reasonably priced (by NYC standards, at least), meaning that student loan burden-holders like us might afford to be homeowners before we reach retirement age.

In the meantime, we have a wonderfully sunny fixer-upper apartment that we are happily fixer-upping (as Jason puts it). I have spent more hours at Target and Bed Bath & Beyond than I care to admit, but it's all part of the fun of making our house a home and settling in to our little corner of the melting pot.