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Rabble Rousing Roundup
Random Encounters with the Drunken Now that I've eaten and digested and alcohol is no longer the dominate liquid in my veins, I can share what I want to share. So when I first showed up for this party on Tuesday night, there was lil ole me and about 40 or so black folks who all knew each other and we all chatting. I felt, um, awkward. Especially with everyone staring. So I left as the place was filling up, with every intention of returning in an hour or so when there was a bigger variety of people.
And I walked down the street at bit, picked up a Voice and sat down in a little patch of concrete with benches. As I was flipping through the Voice, this old man came up to me. He sat down and began to talk. He was an alcoholic, he wasn't really clean but he wasn't a slurring flithy bum. He was just a drunk. And I had a conversation with him about life. I don't know why I'm sharing other than for the "out-of-the-ordinary" value of the story which is what my life is primarily comprised of.
See, that morning he was supposed to check himself into detox, with the help of a guy who walks his down through the park as his sponsor. He got drunk instead, wanted to numb it all. He didn't know if he wanted to go. But he could tell me about Kalil Gilbran and comparative Christian morals, the respect of life and the joy of living it. He was intelligent, caring and just unable to see himself beyond his hurt.
What was most important to him and what came up several times was how life hurts though. How alcohol kind of makes it go away for him. He was in that situation when you can clearly see what is wrong but can't see how you can fix it.
Which is pretty much the down fall of people. We are very smart, we can think our way right through any situation. But we think it out, and most people never take that step to fix it. Compliancy, the simple act of nothing is the easiest thing to do.
When I had enough of the lonely man's ramblings, I got up and went to the Gap to get a pair of flip flops since my feet were killing me. I went back to the party, now full of a bigger variety of people and mingling and drank my drinks, danced to my songs and had a pretty great night (see below for what a "pretty great night" actually does).
Thursday, June 21, 2001
These are a few of my favorite things (today) Right now I am loving:
Aleve
Coffee / Cawfee
Camel Soft Pack
The Water Cooler
Nobody asking me anything not work related
Yesterday night was the Second Anniversary of the restuarant Angel works in. I was his guest and got to nibble on cod fish fritters, crab cakes and even a pork rib for free while sipping down a lot of free drinks and beers. We got home at a fairly reasonable hour, but some how managed not to get to sleep for hours since we were talking about something I don't recall nor do I recall falling asleep.
Alarm clocks have the tendency to randomly NOT work for me. They work one day and the next morning, they are set to AM, switched to on, but mysteriously don't go off. Thankfully, Angel had to work this morning so his alarm woke me at 9:15! I made it in just in time for the training class.
Wednesday, June 20, 2001
Nuts and Berries So, I actually have work but I needed to do something else to fill some time and came across my very own therapist on the web. Just for the heck of it, I figured I should see how many mental health disorders I was afflicted with. The final answer was:
-Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (duh, you see what happens if your house burns down, etc.)
-Borderline Personality Disorder II
The second is completely random because the criteria are as follows:
A pervasive pattern of instability of interpersonal relationships, self-image, and affects, and marked impulsivity beginning by early adulthood and present in a variety of contexts, as indicated by five (or more) of the following: (Let's count to 5)
-Frantic efforts to avoid real or imagined abandonment.
(Nope)
-A pattern of unstable and intense interpersonal relationships characterized by alternating between extremes of idealization and devaluation identity disturbance: markedly and persistently unstable self-image or sense of self impulsivity in at least two areas that are potentially self-damaging (e.g., spending, sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating)
(1)(Yep, and pretty sure just about anyone can say that)
-Recurrent suicidal behavior, gestures, or threats, or self-mutilating behavior
(Nope)
-Affective instability due to a marked reactivity of mood
(2)(One Word: PMS)
-Chronic feelings of emptiness
(Not Chronic, occasional)(3, I guess)
-Inappropriate, intense anger or difficulty controlling anger
(Um, no, I'm pretty good at directing my anger appropriately)
-Transient, stress-related paranoid ideation or severe dissociative symptoms
(Besides the fact that I've never read a more vague sentence, nope)
So, as I stretch, I might have 3. Maybe I have all of them, but who cares. I just thought it was amusing. I am considering therapy thanks to having insurance for the first time in 2 years.
My lil sister thinks I'm just a wacko. I was talking to her about the possibility of me going into therapy for the previously admitted to PTSD (or just needing to sort through my thoughts). We were talking about a few things and then she tilted her head, kind of crunched up her nose and said, "You're just a wacko, there is nothing wrong with you. You're mentally okay, you think too much. You are odd. They can't help you with that."
My little sister is goofy. And also just lovely.
Tuesday, June 19, 2001
Focus Please excuse me as I life appears completely blurry to me. Through clear eyes, I feel unable to make the world focus or make sense. Maybe the problem is that I am trying to make sense.
I can't exactly explain what's going on, but I feel as if who I am is constantly challenged. I feel like there is a gamble of my beliefs, the life I want to live. I want it all right now. I want it to be the way I picture it. I get frustrated too easily. I thought getting job / apartment would alleviate my demands, but I still want things. I want my life the way I want it to be. But the problem is, I don't know what I want.
Maybe off subject or completely relevant, I saw "Sex in the City" being filmed on Friday. After I found out that my paycheck was not even close to what I'd expected, had beer at the Friday party at work and then declined an invite out with the co-workers because the recent financial blow made me in no mood to spend any money, I decided to take a walk before going on the subway. This unusually frustrating week was topped by trying to figure out if prostitution or selling drugs was a more logical way to go about trying to cover my rent.
I walked down to Madison Square Park and as I was cutting through it, a lady with a headset on told me I couldn't go that way, they were filming. You get used to this in New York, the secret service is the equivalent for D.C. As I was walking around the shooting, I saw this tall red head then the blonde beside her and it instantly registered. I proceeded to use my cell phone, since it is all "Sex in the City", to call everyone I could.
This event, of seeing a tv show being taped, shouldn't really bring me joy. I mean, it's just tv. But it surely picked up my mood and I even splurged on a 7-up on the way home from work.
Sunday, June 17, 2001
While in the elevator the other day, one of the senior guys was talking to the summer inter college student. She asked him if he thought college was the best time of his life. He said no, high school was. A lot of people here are very sarcastic; I hope he's one of them.
I saw two of the boys I went to high school with while walking down 14th Street yesterday. Even though I wear glasses, I still can't see people well nor do I recognize anybody unless they are pretty much standing near me. I saw these two boys looking at me as they were approaching, so I went about my business of enjoying my buzz of dinner martinis. When they came along side me, I noticed both look away and then noticed who they were.
It's kind of like my problem with my home town, no one will actually say anything to you when you see them unless you were all budddy buddy back in HS. Was I really a bitch in High School, did I scare or intimidate people? I was in one of the local bars with two of my friends I've made since 1995 and all the people who I graduated with could just do is stare at us and whisper amongst each other. So yeah, High School is definitely the best time in one's life.
Forget going out and exploring the world, learning what you want and who you are. The best time of your life is spent with boys and girls who blatantly see you on the street and don't say hello. If I knew it was them, I would have stopped them, especially in my chatty buzzed state.
On the other hand, I see random Barnard girls all over NYC and they always smile and / or say hello. Even the really tall ex-goth turned semi-hippie girl came up to me in Chinatown. She said, "you went to Barnard, didn't you?" and then we had a bitty conversation. I don't even think I talked to her at Barnard. It was one of those moments when some one knows you and says hi just because. And it's not like Barnard was the best time of my life.
Friday, June 15, 2001
My most esteemed neighbors As I was looking for some history on my hood, I came across a listing of who lives across the street from me. My neighbors include:
Basquiat
Leonard Bernstein
Henry Ward Beecher
Horace Greeley
Theodore Roosevelt's parents
Charles Ebbets of Ebbets Field / The Brooklyn Dodgers
and most surprisingly to me
George Bellows
The Greenwood Cemetery is old, and the people above are the notable highlights since I didn't think the guy who invented the safety pin was terribly impressive (But I still just mentioned him, because where would we be in a pinch without him?). The cemetery is also very large. And very beautiful. And now I'm living near George Bellows.
When I lived in DC, one of things I loved was to be able to take a 20-minute walk and see his paintings for free as often as I so desired. He used to be hidden in the basement. When I returned a year later, they had him up closer to the Monet and other such college dorm poster artists. I felt proud.
This is my favorite painting; it's one of those things you like so much you can't even explain why. There is something in me it strikes. Maybe it's so many things I can't say it succinctly. Maybe I've stared at it too long and developed too many reasons. It's just beautiful. Buy it for me.
Most people know him for this painting of boxers, which I also completely love. I like the way violence is depicted: completely absurb yet vividly real. I love the face of the guy in the center of the bottom. He's so self-satisfied with these guys killing each other; it's exactly how too many people are. I feel more like the guy on the lower left, completely shocked, blurry, surreal. Because regardless of whether I like it or not, I can't stop violence from occurring. I can't avoid walking past a fight in progress. It happens, and Bellows does a damn good job of showing how fucked it up all is.
Wednesday, June 13, 2001
Thunder Only Happens When It's Raining Yesterday I was in a terrible mood; I wasn't sad or angry or depressed I was just moody. I couldn't figure out why but I knew it best to stay away from any casual office conversation since I had nothing nice to say. I just felt like the world was wrong.
Because, yesterday, something wrong did happen. Yesterday, we, as the United States, killed a person in Mr. McVeigh. I feel completely confused about this. Should he die? I dunno. Did he deserve to live? Not really. Essentially he committed an act of terrorism which is against all of us, not just one-against-another murders. It could have been me if I was an Okie. My family was all for it, talking about how a bullet to the head, the good ole guillotine or several tons of concrete would be a good way. But really, is there anything good about killing someone?
And while ironing and watching reruns on the WB, the rains came last night. They made our window sills dirty as the rain came in, taking the dust on the screens with it. The thunder set off car alarms and the lightning made the cemetery glow in that scary movie type of way. The rains brought cool air through the house after I'd sweated all evening while painting. The rain made everything a little better.
I understand why it was done. His crime was not only murder but terrorism. What had to be done, had to be done. I've grown up with the Gulf War being the only war other than the Cold one. They didn't shoot people in the head, the dropped bombs; we didn't know who was killed. This was the first act of direct violence at the hands of the government that has occurred in my life. Damn right I felt a bit moody.
Tuesday, June 12, 2001
Domestic Princess When I was at the parents' house over the weekend, I glanced through my bi-monthly "please contribute to us even though you are paying off the loans you had to take out to go here" mailing from Barnard. Martha Stewart, our famous alum, had recently won an award. I found out she's from Nutley, NJ. Now, she grew up in Jersey, went to Barnard and took over the world with a product for about everything up to but excluding toilet paper. I'm from NJ, went to Barnard and most people would say I have a pretty intense domestic goddess in me.
It's not because I'm all about faux finishing, because that's only 1/2 of the story. It's mostly because I like making things. My middle-class public school education told me that either I should be an entertainer or work an office job. That's no good for me, I need to make things, have physical evidence of my existence and creativity.
Plus, I wouldn't mind building an entire empire on what I find aesthetically pleasing. Martha is too corny for those in my age group and I think I should develop an empire to people born in 1965 to 1980 just like she did for the baby boomers. We will grow old together in the bliss of my domestic products.
The tables on this page are the color of my room, or a rough approximation there of. Light yellow walls, ever so lightly darker yellow trim. The background blue also has a scary liking to the rug I got at Ikea just because the light blue one was the only one 1/2 price. I think it is amusing that I did this but it is also a tad frightening.
I have something to say about me and god. Read it if you wish.
Monday, June 11, 2001
Taking the Long Way Home For whatever reason, when I completely lost myself in deep downtown Manhattan, no one wanted to tell me where Delancey Street was. Granted, when I first started to ask I was completely far from it, but everyone wanted to give me directions to a subway that would take me to Delancey but never to the actual street. And I was mostly asking Traffic Cops.
For whatever reason, I decided walk most of the Southern part of Manhattan, from 34th Street on down. I can't tolerate taking the subway at 5:00pm every day. I needed something slightly different. So I decided, hey there's a stop at Broadway / Lafayette, I know where Broadway is and Lafayette is near where the streets are no longer numbered, so I took a long stroll. About 5 miles to be exact.
Because I kept going down Broadway, just enjoying New York, until I hit City Hall. Along the way I found a great area to get fabric for the wall-canopy I have planned to partially cover the huge mirror on my wall. I passed a window that had a sheer fabric with bright butterflies on it and thought, Wow, that would kind of help the hideous sliver butterfly wallpaper in the bathroom. And then I walked about a 1/2 block, turned around and bought it. Fabric was $4 a yard, this means my yard and a half of butterflies are going to be cheaper than a curtain rod to hand it on.
When I reached City Hall I realized I was completely pass the subway stop I'd intended to go to. I proceeded to ask for directions to Delancey since I knew it was some place in deep-south Manhattan. 4 separate traffic cops directed me to other subways. I made my way across China Town carrying my new fabric, and generally enjoying my walk but wondering how to find Delancey. When I got to the Manhattan Bridge, I regretted not crossing the Brooklyn Bridge and just walking to a subway stop in Brooklyn. And I kept walking, until a little Asian man in a lighting store told me how to get to Delancey (one block up, go left, only one block up, Delancey, one block up).
And when I finally reached Delancey, it was another 15 minute walk before I got to the subway. Well over and hour later I learned that
(a) Delancey Street F train stop is really far away
(b) if I want to get to it, I shouldn't walk to City Hall since that's about 2 miles away.
In the end, I would have been better off walking across the Brooklyn Bridge. But that would have taken all of the fun out of walking. That is a big reason why I moved to New York, endless wandering.
As a total and complete side note, when Angel and I went to go look for sheets, etc. at a store his co-worker recommended we came across the most unexpected neighborhood ever. About 15 minutes from my house is a completely suburban area featuring these huge houses which remind me of the ones in the older part of my home town, with little lawns, large wrap-around porches and an island running down the middle of the street. Completely goregous. My perfect suburban ideal merged with my urban desires! This will be my next place to wander.
Friday, June 8, 2001
Not Really Goofing Off I have consistently run into the same little question here at work: Where were you before? (i.e. what was your previous position or college) Before means right previous to starting here. Before is something I'd rather not discuss with everyone, not because it is too painful or anything, it's not worth getting into. Because, if I was honest, this is exactly how the conversation would go:
-Where did you come from?
Well, I graduated from Barnard two years ago.
-And where were you in the interim?
About a year ago when I began looking for jobs, my house burned down, I was technically homeless for 2 months and then spent the remainder of the past year helping to get the house rebuilt
-Oh, I'm sorry to hear that. What a horrible thing to happen. I couldn't imagine, etc.
That's okay you didn't know
And this is the conversation I've been trying to avoid but everyone asks this question. I suppose it's a pretty innocent question for people out of Princeton or coming from working in another non-profit or what have you. But they always want to know what I've been doing and I don't want everyone going around here feeling bad for the new girl. So at three meetings, countless person-to-person interactions, including meeting the president of the company the conversations has been:
Hi, I'm Tara, I'm working on SSP as a new research assistant.
-And where were you before this?
I graduated two years ago and after traveling, I've been temping and goofing off.
-Ha. . . Ha. . . Ha. . .
I always say goofing off, sometimes I throw in holding off for the perfect job, and sometimes I say exploring corporate culture. Because all these half-truths are easier for everyone to digest than fire!
In a welcome new staff email my boss sent to the entire company he said: In the year prior to coming to MDRC, she helped her parents rebuild their home by working with all manner of subcontractors. Before you have major work done, you may want to consult Tara.
I think he saw me standing in front of the department previously, trying to say something about where I've come from and heard me say "goofing off." And everyone wondering what kind of flake they had on their hands that spends 18 months goofing off. He settled it all, put me to good use and completely avoided the previous word in bold. He rocks.
So I guess now everyone will think I was just being humble in all of these conversations, not wanting them to know I'm really a home remodeler in my spare time.
Tuesday, June 5, 2001
I gotta a lollipop! I'm a bit of a bagel Nazi, being a NYC metropolian-area native. There are 2 types of bagels: made the right way and made the sneaky way. The traditional way of making a bagel which made it so famous was you boil the bagels, pull them out at a right time and then put them in a nice hot oven to get that perfect crust and soft inside. Then there is the sneaky way that involves the exploitation of the bagel-market through a bagel machine that first steams the bagel in an oven and then bakes them. All-in-one deal that requires no actualy bagel-making skills.
The problem is that most places actually use bagel machines. If you are eating a bagel outside of the immediate tri-State area, it's a bagel machine bagel. They are chewier and have absolutely no defined crust to speak of. Dense rolls with a whole in the middle.
The most horrible thing is that most places even in the bagel-haven of the world also use bagel machines. I was heart broken to find out that the bagel store closest to my house uses one (I ask, although you can tell). There are only 2 places I trust to give me good bagels: Sonny's in the home-town/Newark area and Columbia Bagels on 110th St.
You have to search out real bagels and it's something I like to do. So when I found a bagel store around the corner for work, I tried one out and before I even touched it, I knew it was a spawn of a bagel machine. It was an okay bagel machine bagel, but I was disappointed that it wasn't a real bagel. I mean, with so few real bagel stores and so many bagel cravings, sometimes you must give in.
This morning on the train ride in, my stomach was growling in an attention getting manner so I realized I'd have to eat breakfast today. And in the area of Madison there are few places that are affordable, and if they are they are chain fast food. Since I am offically poor after moving, I knew the bagel place would give me something to quiet my belly even if it doesn't reach my bagel standards.
And while the little Chinese lady was ringing me up and the Middle Eastern guy was making my coffee, a watermelon lollipop appeared on top of my wrapped bagel. And the little lady said, "For you sweety" and the guy smiled and handed me my coffee.
And they weren't giving out lollipops to everyone, they gave me one because I came back, because I say hello and thank you and because . . . well I guess I just looked like I needed a lollipop to brighten my day. And it did.
Friday, June 1, 2001
Dems Talks Real Good I want to know why I can pick out a typo in others' writing but completely lack any personal grammar skills. Whenever I add an entry it's mostly because I was just editing that blatant problem I saw in a previous one and figure I should add something new. I think "This time, no typos, no mistakes."
Funny enough, a bit of my job will be doing just that: finding mistakes, looking for continuity. And I can do it well. Last week I informed HR that there were a few pretty obvious typos in their letter to new hires. I didn't want to offend, I just thought there was no reason for it to say "east" instead of "least" and the like. They didn't care, but I bet now they think I'm not likely to make my own mistakes. I also am all freaked out at the idea of sending someone an email with stupid mistakes and as a result it takes me entirely too long to comprise simple ones.
Grammar and Spelling Dirty Clothes Aired:
(1) I wrote a paper about a musician and every mention of album was spelled "ablum." Sometimes, I say it that way too.
(2) In HS Journalism, my teacher threatened to give me F's on everything if I did not learn how to properly spell answer (see, I do now)
(3) I have a BA in sociology and work in research but I still find "research" really hard to type or hand write correctly. It's embarrasing
(4) Also whilst in HS, when you got two grades on English papers, content and grammar, I received an A+ on content and a F- on you know what.
(5) I spent a good while hand making a card for a graduating friend when I realized I'd have to start over since Congratulations was, of course, spelled with a D instead of a T.
And I graduated from a supposedly "Ivy League" College. If they only knew spell check is 50% responsible.
Wednesday, May 30, 2001
Quacking Me Up My Memorial day was highlighted by about 200 rubber ducks floating down a small stream. As a part of a silly town activity and raffle, they had ducks on a race down a 50 foot section of the little stream that runs through the center of our park. Kids and dogs and ousted mayors were all around. Following the beginning of cheers upstream, I could see all these ducks just making their way down; absolutely hilarious.
The rest of the day kept that good feeling until it was about 2 am and I was still out. After the barbeque, the sitting under a patio table umbrella and drinking beers, I returned to the city just to go out for some more. The problem with living with your best friend is that your friendship is all about enjoying yourself and it's just hard to remember to head to home at a respectable hour. Few drinks here, a quick stop by for a drink there that turns into dinner which turns into going for another drink elsewhere. And then it's just late, sloshy for too many hours and completely exhausted. I was completely convinced that today would be horrible when I was finally crawling into bed, definitely hoping that time would slow down so I could get more sleep.
But after a pretty dopey start wherein I honestly didn't understand anything anyone asked from me, everything is just flowing along as I sit and read all of my loving assignments. Luckily my supervisor didn't roll into work until I restored myself with orange juice and coffee so that he wouldn't have had to experience his first conversation with me giving him blank looks. Somehow, though, I managed to get a lot more stuff to read while I was there. Back to the proposals, the welfare histories, the reading. I just want to know why they can't let me sit in the NY Public Library with their lust reading rooms instead of my completely un-inspirational pale empty walls / dark empty furniture of an office.
Tuesday, May 29, 2001
Since You're Dying to Know This new apartment of mine is coming along stunningly. Of course, there is still about a week or more work left to pour into it and money required to buy essentials such as a bookshelf. I have a Tiffany-style lamp in the kitchen (along with formica "wood" walls) and I painted the walls the palest blue. When the light is on, it makes it even more lovely. Last night, as I sat eating a big ear of corn of dinner, I looked out my window and noticed how nice my blue looked with the setting sun. Brooklyn has a lot of sky, huge expanses of it with few interruptions from big ole buildings (tallest building in neighborhood: 5 stories). And the blue of the palest evening cloud just popped up in my blue kitchen.
And now I have Angel working on finishing the livingroom base coat of green so we can faux finish and my room is my stunning Tara yellow and his shall be latin Mango. And eventually we'll find a nice furniture arrangement for the LR. I can't wait to host a little dinner.
Friday, May 25, 2001
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