Merci

I stumbled upon this blog last night, and I love the concept.

THXTHXTHX

The writer comes up with "a thank you note a day." She addresses them to everything from Vicodin to Restaurant Tap Water that's served in a glass bottle. Plus, they're all written by hand and then scanned on to the computer.
I'm not one of those people who is constantly nostalgic and thinks things were so much better back in the day. I was thinking the other day about what it must have been like to have to write papers on typewriters - with no spellcheck, no opportunity to go back and change something, and no saved copy. No, thank you.
However, writing letters is one think I allow a little wistfulness for. I love gmail as much as the next person, but there's something so personal and dignified about a letter or a thank you-note. Don't even get me started on stationary and wax seals (I got sealing wax for my 8th birthday and I thought it was the coolest thing ever...a thought that has stood the test of time).
I wrote Christmas cards this year, and, I won't lie, felt pretty pleased with myself - both for the fact that I wrote them in general and that I managed to mail them before December 23. The fact that I wrote them while listening to the Nutcracker Suite while sitting next to the lit Christmas tree? Just trying to milk the month of December for all it's worth, especially since it has now decided to become apocalyptically cold all of a sudden.
There's more to report, but that's all for today. I think today's thank-you note from me would be:

Dear tiny-yet-effective revolving space heater,

Thank you for all that you do. When I go outside for 5 minutes and feel as if I'll never be warm again, you comfort me and heat my cubicle quickly and effectively. Plus, I'm amazed I haven't scalded my leg on you yet.

All best,
Francesca

Holiday Dispatches from the Interweb

So, for the past couple of nights, I've been trying to get back on the horse that is writing fiction on a regular basis. Despite the fact that I work best while writing on paper in silence, free from the computer and its myriad of distractions, I did break my concentration a few times for the warm glow of the internet. While listening to, alternately, "A Charlie Brown Christmas" and the Pink Martini Christmas album (I know, it makes no sense), I spent some time checking in on some of my favorite blogs, which, I will warn you in advance, are mostly girly and concerned with either clothes or cooking. There are also a few wine-related ones in there, too. So, if that's your sort of thing, explore below.

The Sartorialist (Mom, if you're reading this, you'd like this one)
Cupcakes and Cashmere
Smitten Kitchen
Walking Around
Orangette
East Village Wine Geek
Insatiable Critic
Hyperbole and a Half (The black sheep of this list, but hilarious)
Love As A Found Object (Blog of a writer I love, Leah Hager Cohen)
A Cup of Jo


Then, of course, I started happening upon the Christmas sales. My Christmas gifts have, for the most part, already been bought, so these are more Christmas longings than anything else. Also, they're completely extravagant, as you'll see below.

I yearn for a Le Creuset set, and this green color is pretty much the best. I thought I loved the orange beyond all else, but I was wrong. Yes, it's on sale, but still - $965? I'll keep dreaming.

Then, out of curiosity, I googled the Wall Street Journal wine club. I'd heard my parents mention it in passing, so I wanted to see what the deal was. What the deal is, in fact, is essentially the perfect system for me, someone who wants to learn more about wine from people who will make the somewhat daunting prospect manageable and fun. It's almost inexpensive enough for me to justify, but I can see myself 3 months down the road - eating canned soup for every meal just to finance my Wine Club membership. This is really something I would do.
I'm thinking I'll squirrel the money away in advance of my Paris trip - I'll be drinking delicious wine with friends in either scenario, so everybody wins.

More soon! x

5E is ready for Christmas!

So, we had our annual Christmas party on Saturday night, and it was a smashing success. The place looked great, and lots of friends came and shared holiday cheer with us. Below are a few snapshots:

Red Velvet Christmas cupcakes.

These amazing Christmas-y Prosecco bottles I found. They went into the punch.


And the hostesses!

Party Time

Last Wednesday, I celebrated my first National Book Awards with a big party thrown by the Young to Publishing group at Random House. It was lots of fun, and there was a really cool paper mache zebra.


Plus, on a more vapid note, I was in a photo on Guest of a Guest (a younger, more interactive version of New York Social Diary) with my friend and party accomplice Jessie.


It's been such a busy week, and I'm exhausted today. I'm planning a weekend of yoga and catching up on sleep (which I will need, since I saw the new Harry Potter movie at midnight on a weeknight. Feel like a zombie, totally worth it). Then, off to the wilds of Delaware for Thanksgiving! I'm excited for a couple of reasons. The morning of Thanksgiving, my entire family is running/walking/strolling a 5K lovingly called the Turkey Trot. We will all be laughed at by one of my brothers, who is a cross country runner and can probably run three miles in the time it takes me to climb the 5 flights of stairs to my apartment. Then, of course, there is the trifecta of foods I love that are only really available to me on Thanksgiving - stuffing, cranberry sauce, and sweet potatoes. I don't need turkey or gravy or anything else. Okay, maybe some of those baby onions. Those are pretty good.
Most of all, family time will be great. Lots of being outside, breathing air that didn't originate in the factories on Staten Island, and starting to get in the Holiday spirit, which is acceptable beginning the day after Thanksgiving. I'm already brainstorming my Christmas music playlist.
Happy (early) Thanksgiving! Be back next week. x

Notes from the Past 24 Hours

This quote, from the beginning of the book I'm about to start:

"Beauty is nothing but the beginning of terror."
-Rainer Maria Rilke

At first, I liked this because it sounded badass, but the more you think about it, the more you begin to see. I started thinking of examples of how this may or may not be true, which brought my mind to a slightly paranoid place. The moments of beauty that I've had in my life - have they all led to terror, horrifying or thrilling as it may be? No, probably not, but I love that idea that, in order to see something or someone for how beautiful it/he/she is, there has to be something at stake - that you have something to lose or be afraid of in the process. Yes, that's super dramatic, but oh well. Sometimes you need an inordinate amount of drama and introspection, just to make things interesting - especially now that it get dark before 5pm.
On a lighter note, last night a friend and I made Ina Garten's Roasted Chicken (yes, the one she supposedly makes for her husband every Friday night. And yes, the concept of that is very weird). While the chicken itself is delicious and very easy to make, I was really into the vegetables (carrots, onions, and fennel). I'm not typically a fan of carrots at all, but we used these excellent organic ones that haven't been cut down beyond recognition into baby carrots or whatever it is they're called. The taste is so visceral for me - these are the carrots I used to feed to horses when I was younger, the ones that look like they were just pulled up from the ground.

Before and After shots of our (formerly) feathered friend:

The Preparation...



And digging in..


Perfect Fall meal - with some delicious and light Spanish Tinto, of course.

Another new thing discovered in the past day or so - the blog, Little Brown Pen. It's written by a woman who is a copywriter by trade but travels back and forth to Paris and photographs her time there. She sells the most beautiful prints - often organized by color. "Paris in Green" is on my Christmas list. Well, let's be honest - I want to buy all of them and wallpaper my room. Cannot wait to go back.
Okay, back to work, so I can make money to keep buying organic chickens and finance a Paris trip!

I Work in a Beautiful Place

The view from the color copier room. How amazing would it be to live in the clocktower building? Something to aspire to...

Happy Tuesday! x

Sanity Restored!

What a weekend!
Ironically enough, en route to the Rally to Restore Sanity And/Or Fear, I very nearly lost my mind. The seven hours spent on the bus definitely tried my grip on reality, but I arrived in DC to friends and the bar where we ended up was both warm and had an amazing Motown cover band. And so Friday night was saved.
We got up early on Saturday and made it to the Mall in time to scout a prime location in front of a huge screen and set of speakers - the stage was visible but there was already a huge sea of people in front of us. The rally was a mix of music, Daily Show staples like video montages and awards to reward reasonableness and fear, and a particularly delightful duet sung by Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert - "There's No One More American Than Me." There were definitely some amazing moments - hearing Yusef (formerly known as Cat Stevens) sing "Peace Train" was pretty incredible - but it was the overall mood of the rally that made it such a thoroughly delightful time. It was a mix of a witty, funny, irreverence with an overall calm that came with everyone just wanting to relax and have a good time. Whether or not it's the "Woodstock of our Generation" remains to be seen, but I felt lucky to be there for the people-watching alone. I think the signs definitely capture the unique mood of this sort of event, in contrast, of course, to the crazy ideological messages found at political rallies today.

Some highlights:

Personal favorite:

And Jon Stewart's closing remarks. Aside from the fact that I find him dreamy and hilarious, I thought this was a great way to end the day.





Then, my friends and I went home, watched "9-5" with Dolly Parton, and took a nap. All in all, a successful, sane, and rejuvenating day. Now, back to work!

Branching Out in Fits and Starts

I've been doing some new things lately. Going to places I haven't been, hanging out with and meeting new people, and trying some new methods creatively (the story I'm currently writing features a character named Melba. Don't ask). I figure that, since I didn't move to a new place after finishing college, I need to find ways to delineate pre- and post-graduation. Yes, I realize I've been out of school for a while now, but sometimes I'm a little slow to arrive at fairly obvious realizations. At least I'm starting to figure it out now, right?
Anyway, I'm beginning to rediscover little quirks and tendencies I have that haven't been visible to me for a long time. Since I was so lucky to find a great group of friends in college, most of whom have stayed in New York after graduation, it's been very easy and comfortable for me to remain in this little zone of familiarity. So, because I've been going out to different sorts of places lately and feeling less secure or entrenched in the familiar, I've remembered how shy and/or awkward I can be when confronted with winning over someone new - seeming funny, charming, or just normal. It's almost as if I've been hibernating in the same cozy cave for the last five years or so and have lost the ability to interact with people outside.
I don't want to give the impression that I'm socially retarded. I'm not (or so I hope), but it does feel like a certain skill set I used to have has grown a little rusty. So I just need to give myself a particularly annoying piece of advice - sometimes the right thing and the hard thing are the same thing. Wow, I think I saw that on a candy wrapper or something. Pathetic.
In less whiny and self-absorbed news, I am currently stuffed into a sardine can of a Megabus on my way to DC for the weekend, which will be spent at the Comedy Central rally alternately restoring sanity and keeping the fear alive. I'm pretty excited, and I'll post the photos I take of the excellent signs and outfit choices that are bound to occur.

Paris & Plot

Tonight, I watched Broken English, which is a favorite movie of mine. Parker Posey is really great in it (and I love everything she wears). It's ultimately a love story, but also all about rejecting self-imposed boundaries and appreciating life while acknowledging its difficulties. The movie is set mostly in New York, but ends in Paris. Even though it's only the last 15 minutes of the movie, I love the way Paris is shot. So many movies set in Paris just show the "greatest hits", but there's so much more to the city than the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. The last scene of Broken English takes place in the Metro, which recalls so many visceral memories for me. Right down to the distinctive smell of the stations and specific shade of green plastic that lines the cars, the metro really says "Paris" to me, as much as any monument or museum. I can't wait to go back and pull the little lever to open the door before the car stops moving (always the illicit thrill).
I'm also wrapping up a truly epic family weekend that included lots of food, wine, Yankees baseball, watching both brothers be athletic, and celebrating their turning 16. Thankfully, while they are both of age to do so, neither are licensed to drive a car. I actually drove in New York for the first time ever this morning. It was terrifying, and something I hope to avoid doing ever again. Those cab drivers really are maniacs! I came close to shaking my fist at one this morning, but I thought it best to keep both hands on the wheel.
I also spent this evening reading and starting to write some responses to an article my mom clipped out and brought for me (along with a rug for my room and a blender. Thanks, Mom!) on plot in fiction by Ann Patchett. Plot, along with dialogue, is something I shy away from in my writing, out of fear of being cliched or otherwise lame. This article, along with the Michael Cunningham quote from the previous post, is giving me motivation to wade through the bad stuff that I will inevitably write to get to the good. It's scary (at least for me) to press forward with something knowing that I may very well fail at it, but I guess that's life. Can't be afraid of rejection and some mediocre work, since I'll never get better if I don't try.
I don't like to end on such a sentimental note, so I'll now go to bed grumbling because I have to work on Columbus Day tomorrow, unlike my across-the-hall neighbors who seem to be throwing a fairly large party. I feel like an old lady today - incompetent driver complaining about the damn kids and their loud music across the hall. Also, I'm going to bed at 10:30, which just perpetuates this theory. Good night!

Two Things Found on the Internet That Gave Me Great Joy Today

The first is this quote by Michael Cunningham (Pulitzer winner, wrote The Hours). I found it heartening and a much-needed boost of encouragement.

"The stuff I was writing at 22 was embarrassing. It was all theory about the world and how to live in it and almost no practical experience. I really needed to work and fall in love and work some more and fall in love again before I began to get a sense of what I call emotional physics — which are often counterintuitive. People don’t necessarily act the way you think they ought to act. We are not logical organisms."

I feel like pretty much everything I'm writing right now is crap, so thanks, Michael Cunningham! Even though I'm 23, no longer 22, these words make me feel as though things can only get better.

The second is from Ron Charles, a book editor for the Washington Post. He does virtual book reviews that are a big hit with my department at work, and just generally delightful. This is the most recent one on (coincidentally) Michael Cunningham's new book.



I especially like the part where he frolics through the sculpture garden.

Salvation City

Well, I just finished Salvation City by Sigrid Nunez, who was a writing professor of mine at Barnard and continues to be a mentor of sorts. I spent my senior year in her class, and immediately felt both intimidated and embraced by her. Most creative writing professors, in my experience, tend toward the all-inclusive, "everyone has something important to say" teaching style. There's nothing inherently wrong with this, and I'm certainly not advocating professors tearing down students' stories and styles, most of which are exceedingly personal and intrinsically connected to our ever-fragile egos. However, one of the things I automatically appreciated about Sigrid and her class was her no-nonsense approach. Her criticism was constructive, helpful, never excessive, and her praise was reserved for that which truly deserved it. I feel so lucky not just to have been taught by her then, but the fact that we're still in touch and she's still giving me encouragement and advice.
Also, as I've just experienced, she's written an incredible book. Salvation City has affected me in a way that I haven't felt in a while. Though the themes it deals with are big ones, and it's poignant enough to make you stop and think about the world, it's subtle and compulsively readable (thank you, job in Publishing. I now read so many book reviews I'm starting to write like one). In all seriousness, I admire so much about the book from a technical standpoint, but it's easy to love it purely for the story and memorable characters - which is why you read novels in the first place. To not get into too many details, the book is set in the not so distant future after a great pandemic, much like the Flu of 1918, which has left the world reeling. The narrator is Cole, a 14 year old boy who has lost both his parents and come to live with a couple in the fundamentalist Christian community of Salvation City. What I admire most is the way Cole narrates the story, skipping through time before and after the Flu but never leaving the reader feeling jarred or left behind. It's less than 300 pages, but it's the kind of book that was truly satisfying and taught me a lot. I actually laid there hugging it for a moment after I turned the last page.
I'm currently listening to a stereotypical (for me) "Writing Mix." Lots of Billie Holiday, the Beatles, and Annie Lennox, but "(You Make Me Feel) Like A Natural Woman", sung by Aretha Franklin of course, just brought me way back to memories of driving to school in the morning, probably more than 10 years ago. Aretha was a big hit on the morning drives, as was Van Morrison. I guess this bears mentioning because, at this point, my two brothers would be strapped into seats in the back, swinging their legs to the music. Now, they're both taller than me and turning 16 this weekend. Pretty amazing. I'm trying not to focus on the fact that this means I'm getting older, too.
It's cold and rainy here now, but that's not the only reason I'm running around closing all the windows in the apartment. Last night, I slept with my window open. This wouldn't normally be anything noteworthy, except for the fact that my window shares an air shaft with the identical building next door. In my half-sleep, the conversation two floors down and one building away sounded so clear as to be coming from the living room. As I was mostly sleeping and not in my right mind, I automatically realized that my apartment had surely been broken into, and the culprits were calmly discussing their breaking and entering on the couch. After mustering up enough courage to go investigate and discover that there was, of course, no one there, it still took two hours before I had calmed down enough to go to sleep, only half sure I wouldn't wake up to find all my earthly possessions carried away by some nonexistent burglars.

New Fall's Resolutions

Hi everyone,

I took a bit of a blog sabbatical recently. I've been settling into Fall, which is my favorite transition of the year. I've been in the city much more consistently lately, and without all the weekend trips I've been able to get a more solid look at my life here.
In the literal sense, I've been cleaning my room and beginning the Herculean task of switching out summer for winter clothes. This wouldn't be a huge deal for a more normal person, but it's shocking, given how small my room is, how difficult it is to find things that I squirreled away six months ago. For example, two nights ago, I went to sleep positive that the huge shopping bag filled with all my pairs of boots had been stolen by someone who had a serious penchant for Fryes (hence the fact that only my boots were gone...not jewelry or money or anything that actually made sense). This illusion was shattered when I woke up with a start a few hours later, remembering the bag had been tossed into the very top part of my closet that I can only reach with a stepladder. It's been one of those kind of weeks - productive, but also a confirmation of my own craziness.
I've also been getting in touch with my inner child more than usual, thanks to a new babysitting job I've picked up. I babysat a lot in college, and I've learned that Manhattan children can be a mixed bag (although I've been very lucky overall). One thing that's certain is they all have differing levels of dependence on TV, Guitar Hero, various Apple products, and all sorts of Wii games - except for this new charge of mine. He would rather act out complicated battle sequences with Star Wars legos or listen to my stories about Timothy the Invincible Frog (trust me, that one's a winner) than watch some sort of offensive cartoon on Comedy Central. It's unbelievable refreshing. When I picked him up from school the other day, he went on and on about the alligator he'd made in Crafts class (and all the special powers he had) like it was an iPad or something. As someone whose childhood was dictated almost entirely by their own imagination, I feel such a strong sense of camaraderie when I hear him whispering dialogue between two Lego figures as he jumps from the bed to the floor.
So, there's been a lot going on lately, and I'm back to the blog, among other things. Since I should probably reference the title at some point in this post, I've never been someone who's put a lot of stock in New Year's Resolutions, but this year I am way into New Fall's resolutions. There's something about the change from Summer to Fall that feels much more transitional than Winter into more Winter (as it is at New Year's). Blogging regularly again is one of several New Fall's resolutions I've made. Where the job search fueled my blogging before, I'll have to figure out something to take its place - hopefully writing (of which there will be more up here later today - fingers crossed).
Anyway, even though it's 83 and humid in New York today, there is a slight breeze in the air that signals Fall's maybe-arrival. There are some brown leaves on that tree out there - is it the change of seasons or maybe some sort of arboreal disease? I'm choosing to think it's the start of something new.

BIG PARISIAN NEWS

So, instead of wistfully thinking of the day when I would be able to sit down and plan this trip, I have decided, along with my former Paris roommate and partner in crime, to plan a trip to Paris next Spring.
I am beyond excited. Just the prospect of booking flights and making this journey a reality is a thrill. I so crave the way I felt about my life when I spent those seven months in Paris, traveling every other weekend, and feeling so completely open to experiencing whatever I could. I didn't have to schedule time for myself to write or make a conscious effort to depart from my routine to pursue new cultural realms. Writing, being inspired, and constantly seeking out new things to do was my routine. Obviously, being in Paris for a limited amount of time and as a student allowed me to commit to the experience in a temporal way - sort of like a long intellectual and cultural vacation. In any event, at a time when I'm trying to (figuratively) slap myself awake and live in a way that makes me feel as if I'm accomplishing things and moving forward, it's nice to know I'll be able to revisit a time when I was surrounded by new experiences. Even though I certainly had my challenges while living abroad, and I'm surely looking back on it wistfully now, there was something about having a relationship with a place like Paris that made me feel particularly alive and appreciative of everything around me.
I've felt this way about New York, too. I used to get this great feeling every time I saw the skyline on the train or bus coming back to the city after being away. A sort of wistful familiarity, mixed with the excitement that there's always so much about New York that's hidden or just our of reach. It's an aspirational place, but I guess I've become a little disenchanted over the past year. I don't have those butterflies in my stomach anymore, and probably can't force myself into magically getting them back.
I'm staying in New York for Labor Day weekend (probably one of the 5-7 people doing so), and I'm having this movie-montage vision of me skipping down 5th avenue, going to MoMA, drinking coffee at Joe, shopping at the Brooklyn Flea, getting a tan on the Great Lawn-all these "I love New York, and I'm going to fall in love with this place again" type of activities. Even though I'm pretty positive I can't trick myself into having that old love for the city again, I want to make the most of my solitude. After this weekend, everyone flocks back from summer retreats and Fall will bring with it a different ambiance all together. I love Autumn in New York, don't get me wrong, but I feel like this weekend might be a certain moment in time before things quickly change. It's wishful thinking, maybe, but, like Paris, I'm trying to appreciate the places and times that take me out of my routine and let me truly experience what's around me.
More after Labor Day.x.

Hi?

Ugh, so incommunicado for the last...(yikes) 20 days. Apologies all around. I don't suppose it would help to say that I'm working on a story inspired by what may be the best title ever? Maybe? Okay.
So, basically, life has consisted of working and weekend trips to the homestead for the past two weeks. In theory, all of these things are good. But I'm looking forward to spending the foreseeable future in NYC to focus more on things both immediate (cleaning my room) and long-term (actually finishing a story). Plus, now that summer is winding down, my psychological need to get out of New York at every possible moment is decreasing also. A lot of people say they like New York in the summer because there's no one around. I fundamentally disagree with this. Even though there are fewer people, I think that everyone who is still in the city starts to inhabit their own personal sphere of heat, sweat, and all-around rage at everyday tasks, like simply waiting for the subway. The overwhelming discomfort and fact that the heat makes people twice as pissed off at their morning commute than they usually are definitely makes up for the fact that a fair amount of the population is sunning themselves elsewhere.
Ok, that rant felt good, but onwards. I'm also throwing myself upon the mercy of friends, family, and now the internet to start a freelance tutoring business. While working with wine would be amazing, I've had to accept that a second job like that just wouldn't make sense right now, especially with how much I'm working. So, if you know of any Manhattanite (or Brooklynite) children in need of some educational guidance, please let me know.
So, this weekend is supposed to be completely perfect, and I plan on spending it outside finishing this gloriously-titled (and hopefully well-written) story - to be continued!

"Your Dreams Will Go Higher Than Expectation Could Be"

I got that in a fortune cookie once, and saved it. Despite the semi-broken English, It's always given me a little bit of encouragement whenever I rediscover it.
Truth is, I have a lot of dreams for myself. As counter-intuitive as it may sound, I sometimes find myself avoiding looking them in the face, since it sometimes feels like I'm so far away from achieving even one of them. I know that I'm young in the ways of the real world, and I probably have years to work towards goals that I've set for myself. The honest truth is, though, that my impatience and disappointment compound and work against me - to the point where I feel stupidly paralyzed by my own inactivity. All of that sounds like a bunch of nonsense and self-pity, which it sort of is. This is just where I am this Monday night, I guess.
However, this was not mean to be a post where I just bitch at the abyss of the internet. This is actually supposed to be motivating! So, tonight I wrote a list of the short-term, tangible goals (dreams, if you're feeling wistful). By tangible, I mean things that are actually possible, like "always be reading something for pleasure, even if it sometimes feels like work" as opposed to "marry someone for his intelligence and charm only to find out that he's the secret crown-prince of Monaco." You get the idea.
The first, and the one I'll share here, is to publish something, even in the most obscure, only-to-be-read-by-my-immediate-family, type of online journal, by the end of this year. This means several things. The first being, I have to write something. The second, logically, is that I have to finish whatever it is that I write. This may seem deceptively simple, but it can be quite the opposite - especially finishing the things that I start. I've been starting different stories at a pretty good clip lately, so the trick will be making myself bring things to a swift and successful conclusion. So, I'm going to forge ahead. If I'm lucky, I may end up one little step closer to the things I want.

Deception/Devotion

As promised. I've been posting a lot of these initial attempts at stories, which, for me, is the most challenging part of the process. After I accrue enough with potential, they'll become more substantial and, hopefully, complete.

In the center of the very highest dome at the top of the church ceiling, there is a painted eye. I spend a lot of time looking at it when I'm at Mass with my mother, especially during the parts when we kneel on that cushion-thing that folds out. I hate it because it hurts my knees. I used to be able to get away with sitting during the kneeling parts, but I guess I'm too old to sit now. One Sunday, my mother suddenly started glaring at me when I stayed in the pew while everyone else moved to the floor. She whispered something at me, in a tone that she could barely use in church. Anyway, she meant business, and now I have to suffer through it like everyone else.
I told my mom that I saw the eye blink once, but of course I didn't. It's fun to see what I can get away with, and sometimes she pretends like she believes me, even though I know she doesn't. She loves my imagination, but I wonder if she knows how much I make up and how much is true. Sometimes, I forget that it's not true, and I walk around thinking that God's eye blinked at me, until I remember that I made it up. My parents make a big deal about lying, how it is "the one thing they don't tolerate", but I've been caught a bunch of times already and haven't really faced any consequences. I know it's bad for me to do, but sometimes it's fun to think about things like the eye in church and how amazing it would be if it moved and looked at just me, out of everyone in the room.
After Mass, I have Sunday School in the family center across the street. Some people call it CCD, but that bugs me because I don't know what those letters would even stand for. Anyway, we're split up into groups by which grade we're in, and we sit at round tables with nuns who teach us out of these workbooks. For the past few weeks, we've been learning about the ten commandments. I sit next to Peter, who goes to my school, and make illustrations of whichever commandment we're being taught that day in the back of my workbook. It's funny - in regular school, I would never talk to him during class and definitely wouldn't show him stupid drawings of "Thou Shall Not Steal" (a stick figure stealing a pile of money getting struck by lightning from a vengeful stick figured version of God). No matter how much I try to forget it, everyone in my grade seems to remember the Valentine I put in his desk last year. I thought it would be totally secret, since I only signed it with my first initial. Unfortunately, the only other girl whose first name starts with "B" was absent on Valentine's Day, so my foolproof plan fell through pretty quickly. Peter and I are the only two from our school in the group, so I can talk to him without everyone noticing.
Today, we had gotten to "Thou Shall Not Commit Adultery", which apparently has something to do with sex. I don't really know anything about what sex is, aside from things the boys whisper to each other at school and scenes in movies where my parents make me leave the room for 5 minutes. So, I just started to draw a bridal couple, the kind that they put on wedding cakes. Then, when Peter would look over (we sat next to each other), I would whisper the commandment under my breath and scribble through the couple as I said "adultery" - almost growling it so the nun wouldn't hear.

Live Every Week Like It's Shark Week

In honor of how totally cool/terrifying sharks are:

Time to (try to) Be a Grown-Up

This is another sheepish entry.
Life has been very busy lately, but that's no excuse for my absence! I'm feeling the need to slow down a bit for the next couple of days. I've been running at fever pitch for the last week or so, traveling, working late, and not getting to the things I need to - for both my practical and creative sanity.
I've been letting things get away from me, which I guess is normal for someone whose life has become filled with work and other diversions. At the same time, I feel as if I'm losing track of some important parts of my life - like writing, appreciating more about New York, and taking some time to be more responsible. These are lessons to be learned, but I get the impression I'm walking a line between being too easy and hard on myself about not confronting them head-on.
So, this weekend, I have decided to take a three-pronged approach. Sunday will be my no-excuses 9-5 writing day, and Saturday (after spending some time formulating - cringe- a much tighter monthly budget for myself) I will brave the crowds at the Met to see the Matisse exhibit. He's a favorite, and I haven't been to a museum in ages. Plus, while that exhibit will definitely be mobbed, the great thing about the Met is it's so huge you can always find space to yourself.
A few months ago, before it got too hot to be outside for more than 15 minutes at a time, I was reading a Russian novel in Central Park - The Idiot by Dostoevsky, which is heavy on the Christ-like themes and imagery. There was a somewhat disheveled man sitting on the bench next to me, drinking coffee and giving me strange sideways glances. When this went on past a comfortable amount of time, I was about to switch benches when he started to talk to me, asking about what I was reading. Oh boy, I thought, I don't need to talk Russian literature with some guy with a serial killer haircut. As it turns out, this man had been a docent at the Met for 10 years, and, given the nature of what I was reading, started chatting me up about his favorite paintings depicting the Crucifixion that were on display in the museum. He even pulled a little crumpled map of the Met out of his blazer pocket and circled the gallery where his favorite painting, The Crucifixion of Saint Sebastian, is hung. I was completely surprised by this man, as happens in New York from time to time, and felt grateful for being proven wrong about him.
So, in between tightening my belt, trying to spark some creativity, and searching for a second income, I'm going to dig for that map and go see Saint Sebastian and Matisse this weekend. My life has been so insular lately, so I'm looking forward to marveling at something much greater.

Catch Up

So, I have not been great about posting lately. This past week/weekend was a bit of a blur. Lots of work and play - so I've been distracted.
Life in Publishing has been great, busy, and made the past month and a half fly by (I can't believe I've had my job this long). It has also, peripherally, been stirring a bit of jealousy within me. I think it's the good, motivating kind of jealousy, though. Seeing young debut novelists get good reviews and exposure makes the whole game of getting published less mysterious and also more tangible...as in, why aren't you doing this?
As a result, I've been reading and writing a lot lately. As Faulkner said, "Read, read, read everything." Very wise words - nothing inspires me more. When I attended the Young Fiction Awards at the New York Public Library a while ago, I swiped copies of all 5 nominated books (a feat for someone in a pocket-less cocktail dress and a handbag barely big enough to hold my wallet). I've been blazing through them, the first being All The Living by C.E Morgan - a gorgeous and unique book for many reasons. The novel takes place on a dusty, lifeless tobacco farm in Kentucky and very little happens, but I can't remember the last time I was so engaged by such a seemingly simple narrative. The author, who went to Harvard Divinity School, weaves in religion in an unexpected and fascinating way. I love being able to see how clearly the ways in which our experiences can shape the way we express ourselves creatively. It makes me thirsty to do more and varied things.
Now, I'm on to Everything Ravaged, Everything Burned by Wells Tower, which could not be more different. I was initially excited to read it, beyond the great reviews and the fact that it actually won the Young Fiction Award, because I think the title is badass. It also resonates with every story, which range from chronicling a man building an eclectic aquarium in a trailer park to hilariously following a group of vikings as they, yes, ravage and burn things.
This post has somehow turned into a book review. This is not surprising, as a large portion of my days now are devoted to me reading, scanning, and trying to get book reviews for our titles. Oh well. Tomorrow I'll cover the writing part of this rant and post one of the things I've been working on - which is narrated by a child, an exercise I love.
Also, there will be more tomorrow on the second job search...my work is never done! Plus, the wine-related aspects of my life haven't had enough airtime lately.
So, I exist. I am still writing this thing, and I will be back tomorrow.

Some Vintage Stuff

Last night was lovely. I had dinner with a great friend, her sister, and her sister's boyfriend - delicious food, great wine, and lots of fun. Afterward, I was lucky enough to spend the rest of the evening with some wonderful family, feeling the love. There was a lot of talk about art, following creative pursuits (one of my cousins is living the dream as a musician). It's great to spend time with people where there is so much mutual understanding and appreciation - particularly when they're family. What made last night so great was being able to be around people with whom I felt so comfortable and happy - family and a friend who feels like family to me.
Anyway, it brought me back to the super-observant descriptive writing that I'm actually trying to move beyond. There's nothing wrong with it as far as sketches or little portraits go, but I need to get better at integrating plot and dialogue -which is significantly more challenging for me. So, here is a bit of an artifact from the not-so-recent past:

Sunday Afternoon

As if on cue, the bugs started to come into view at the first sign of sweat gathering on my upper lip. My nose predictably reacting to the summer cold I can’t seem to shake brings more sweat, that of frustration. I stare at the huge box of sand and gravel in front of me, longing for a beach as a dog lifts its leg against a nearby bench. I watch a couple probe the insides of one another’s mouths as the light begins to change – the sun feeling no less powerful despite its waning position behind me. Summer in this city shows itself on my feet, which are a different shade than my ankles. A fly lands on my second toe, and I don’t brush it off right away, which feels perverse and satisfying. I stare down at the bricks that serve as pavement, mismatched and from different years. I am suddenly conscious of how eagerly I am avoiding checking the time. I even attempt to connect the dots of an excessively annoying nearby cell phone conversation. The man is bent laboriously over his phone, almost yelling into it, ending each sentence on an incline, as if asking an infinite amount of questions.

It quickly becomes too much, enough to rouse me from the bench and force me to look down at my watch – still more than an hour to waste. Somehow the idea of having nothing to do is incredibly enticing until it is all there is. Having no job and dwindling funds leaves me at the mercy of my busy friends’ schedules and the shortage of inexpensive things to do. To take my mind off the burdens of independence, I have discovered an hour and a half of yoga every day at a donation-based studio on St. Mark’s Place. Instead of the eight dollars the studio suggests, I offer a genuine, if slightly embarrassed, smile and thank you on my way out the door.

By the time I have traversed across the park, offering the proper reverence to the old brownstones and attempting to ignore the surplus of tourists on a Saturday, and east on 8^th Street, I try to find a place to sit and wile away the fifteen minutes before the previous class trickles out. I take refuge on the steps of a combination noodle restaurant/tattoo parlor, and stare at the door to the studio across the street.

After feeling a vibration against my waist, I reluctantly answer the call of a friend who seems to be constantly in some sort of psychological turmoil – or at least whenever she calls me, since she consistently asks for advice. Since I can hardly seem to help myself these days, I mostly just listen to her talk for fifteen minutes. For some reason, she sees me as wise, though what I really have is common sense. In my mind, wisdom implies experience, which I certainly lack. It’s all I can do to hear her words through the never-ending debate in my head – is it better to not feel pain and be alone? It’s difficult, even now, to distinguish whether what I feel is numbness or solitude. I hang up the phone with a combination of envy and pity, still with twenty-five minutes to kill.

Fed up with the hard cement of the steps and my inability to get away from my thoughts, which were slowly becoming more and more overwhelming, I gathered myself and climbed the two flights of stairs, wide and probably tiled before I was born.

Before I go to yoga, it always takes a fair amount of inner convincing, my mind forcing my body to be dressed and be at the studio on time, but once I am inside the building, I am in complete accord. The combination of sweat, the wood of the large, wide room, and various perfumes and scents of the surrounding bodies truly reconcile everything that bothers or conflicts me in the moment. What is initially difficult becomes fluid, simple, and focused 90 minutes later. What complicates and frustrates me is eventually simple and unimportant. I feel flexible, aware, and a little breathless – not to mention drenched with sweat and a strange awareness of my femininity, the sexual experience of breathing deeply with thirty other people.

Afterwards, I eventually sink into the reality of the humidity, my unemployment, the construction workers taking note of me very vocally, and my intense thirst for nothing but water. I begin to inevitably come down from the high I have become used to receiving, but there is the memory of it. Also, the opportunity to recapture something so elusive.

Irish Pub, Late Night

As I mentioned before, this is a continuation on things previously written (ie. this would appear after "Gate 74" from before). Again, just a draft / musings which might result in a draft.

Ingrid came into the bar tonight, around 11:30. I knew her vaguely in high school, but she was into artsy stuff that I couldn't penetrate. I went to a play once that she was in, "All's Well That Ends Well." Shakespeare. He's tough enough to understand, regardless of the 3 hard lemonades I'd pounded in the parking lot beforehand, but there was something about the way she talked, said her lines. I've never been able to forget it. It was almost like singing, but not in a way that was lame or contrived at all. It was lyrical, literally. I wanted to kiss her right on the mouth when she started going on about how "an unclean mind carries virtuous qualities."
She recognized me pretty quickly, though I'm not sure why. I can't remember us ever having any sort of real conversation, besides stupid smiles in the hallway and me feigning interest in the school plays. But when she saw me, something in her eyes changed, like she'd isolated a goal or something. She sidled up to the bar, and ordered something like whiskey on the rocks. I asked her what kind, pretending not to know her, wanting to force her to jog my memory of who she was. Somehow needing her to perform that in front of me, for my benefit and no one else's.
I guess I wasn't very convincing, sizing her up, probably too noticeably. As I would have guessed, she started going on about New York, how she lived there now, and how great it was. I always feel like the second someone spends more than a month there, it's all about how much better you are than everyone else. She was calling it "the city", like it's the only one there is, and getting all uppity about it. I gave her the cheapest whiskey we had, and after the first sip she looked surprised, disgusted, and then, immediately aware of herself, tried to cover up both, drinking the syrupy liquor too quickly, trying to seem used to it. I should've felt bad, I guess, but I didn't. It was like getting back at her for how annoying, yet compelling she was. She was quickly drunk, honest, and full of herself.
I quickly started blowing my own cover, too, peppering the conversation with memories I had of her in high school. I think I even mentioned the Shakespeare, which must have totally given me up. I think I ended up giving her three whiskeys, but I was spitting out the shots that drunk frat boys were buying me after the Phillies won around 11. I wanted to keep being able to notice how her eyes were getting wider and how she would laugh constantly, avoiding my eyes and staring down at the bar. I started wondering, after hours had gone by and she hadn't spoken to anyone else, if she'd come here just to see me. Usually girls come in packs, only occasionally breaking away from the herd and letting anyone else in. Penetrating those groups is both impossible and terrifying. Somehow, she came with just herself and no attachments, except maybe to me.
Soon enough, we closed, and it was clear she couldn't drive, so I offered, with bad intentions disguised by honorable ones.

Shakespeare in the Park

I'm lucky enough to have a roommate who was lucky enough to score tickets to Shakespeare in the Park last night (and who was nice enough to share the extra ticket with me!). We saw The Winter's Tale, and everything about it was stunning. It was a disgusting, sticky afternoon. Rain would have been a blessing, but the skies cleared and the night turned out to be completely comfortable and even a little breezy.
Seeing Shakespeare performed outdoors, especially such a masterful production as this, felt like a religious experience. The stage was circular and very open, so there were no bad seats, and it looked over a pond and over to the East Side, surrounded by trees. The play started at 8, so the light gradually left as Leontes begins to go mad with jealousy and ruin the lives of those he loves. Paired with the gorgeous music and liberal use of fire (which I particularly enjoyed), it felt like seeing Shakespeare performed outdoors was completely organic and ideal, which I guess it could be - seeing as the Globe was essentially roof-less.
I wish I could have taken pictures, but the dreamy world of the play juxtaposed with the full moon over the Park is an image that will hopefully stay with my like a photograph for a while. Now, we just have to hunt down Merchant of Venice tickets until we get them, as it's my new summer mission to see Al Pacino play Shylock on that stage.
Just to give you an idea, here's a photo of the Delacorte:


I did write this weekend, and I'll post it tomorrow. Still some adjustments to be made!

Summer Rituals

In puttering around the internet this afternoon, I came across this truly beautiful NYTimes slideshow of the racehorses in Saratoga Springs. The accompanying article is all about the summer traditions surrounding the horse race and how it contributes to the community and lore of Saratoga. As some of you may know, I grew up riding horses, and I've also spent a few summers in Saratoga, attending "summer camp" (writing classes via CTY at Skidmore). It sounds strange, but Saratoga is the greenest place I have ever seen. Plus, they have an astounding variety of lawn jockeys, which actually isn't at all surprising. In looking at the photos, I had an intense and visceral rememberance of what it is to be around horses all the time - the smells, the experience of rinsing off a horse and seeing the steam rise off them, and just feeling this hugely powerful and yet trusting animal move beneath you. It's truly an experience that stays with me, and it doesn't take much to bring me back to that place. Anyway, just thought I'd share.
Plus, I'm starting to do more and more real Publicity work these days. I'm in a new cubicle (!) near a window, so I see the sun and hear the mayhem below. In addition to a lot of the mailing and travel booking that I've been doing, I'm starting to pitch over the phone, schedule events, and talk to reporters and book reviewers. It really feels great when you can tangibly see yourself gaining responsibility (even if this is only my third week). I still get so happy when I realize I'm a member of a team, valued and not replacable the way a temp worker would be.
So, my week ends about now (Summer Fridays = fringe benefit), and I'm off. We'll see how my 9-5 writing schedule goes this weekend. I think I'll spend it in the Park - lots of opportunity for observation. We'll see on Monday!

To Blog or Not To Blog

I spent another weekend at home, spending a low key Father's Day with my parents while my brothers are off in the wild blue yonder (summer camp in Wyoming), and got to see a lot of family, many of whom are wonderful, loyal blog readers. When asking about my new job, one of my aunts said, "Well, I knew that you must be happy in your job, because you stopped writing your blog."
In some ways, this is definitely true. My one post a day habit has fallen by the wayside, mostly as a product of my being busy and engaged, as opposed to sitting at a reception desk trying to pass the time until 5 pm. However, my mission toward forward motion continues, in conjunction with the fact that I just took one big step in the self-fulfillment direction, and I think the blog needs to, as well.
While I was home going through some old books and papers that my mother keeps telling me I need to throw out, I came across a little blurb from a young female writer that I printed out around this time last summer, when I was living at home and anguishing over what my next step would be. The author is J. Courtney Sullivan, and she wrote a book called Commencement that came out last summer about a group of girlfriends that attend and graduate from Smith together (take note, all Barnard readers, you'd like this one - it's a great summer book. I'll lend you my copy). Anyway, the New York Times has a fantastic book blog called Paper Cuts (although the name makes me squirm) that has a few regular features that spotlight authors, one of which is called Stray Questions. J. Courtney's is here.
Anyway, the point of this is her answer as to what her writing life and schedule are like (they ask the same questions of each author, and the answers can be illuminating). What struck me is, unlike a lot of the authors the Times talks to, Sullivan works full time and freelances, plus she still finds time to write fiction. Being a full time worker bee myself, I felt a connection (despite one important difference: she has written a bestselling novel. I write blurbs in a moleskin.). Ultimately, she treats her writing like a second job - from 9-5 on the weekends. While I keep trying to drill a writing schedule into my own head, this seemed to be so simple it just might work. In conjunction with my wino pursuits, I have decided to devote Saturdays from 9-5 (wish me luck) to writing, anything, even if I think it's awful. And, of course, this blog. So, expect to see more little excerpts from me in addition to the rants and musings I already attempt to supply.
Back to the publishing world. More later!

Happy Birthday to Me!

I'm 23 now! My birthday was yesterday, and it was glorious. It was a beautiful day here, work flew by, and I had a lovely night out with my friends.
At work yesterday, I walked into what I thought was a meeting with my two supervisors and turned out to be an adorable surprise party. There's something so nice about actually being a part of something, as opposed to temping which makes you feel, and rightfully so, replaceable. When I walked back to my desk, there was a beautiful flower arrangement from my parents waiting for me. So, lots of birthday joy yesterday.
I've realized that, ever since I started the new job, I have been pretty awful at keeping up the blog on a regular basis. So, I'll be making a sincere effort to do that - and the next fiction installation next time!

Working Girl - The Clean Version

So, some of you may have read my previous blog post, which was fun and lively and full of information I probably should not have put on the internet.
As one of my dear friends (who happens to be of the legal persuasion) graciously informed me, it is probably not such a good idea to be spreading such information, especially since I really like my job and it would be a shame to be fired so soon out of the gate. Also, due to my fledgling literary ambitions, I really can't afford to have any restraining orders from the New York Times Book Review (I should be so lucky).
Anyway, I will have fiction up here next, as I promised before. Also, I will be attending the NYPL Young Fiction Awards tonight, which will be lovely, assuming, of course, that I don't collapse in the corner - green with envy.

Catching Up with Photos

In advance of my impending employment, I've been walking around New York a lot these days, and lying in the sun in the park. It's free for one, and it's been so hot and humid lately that it's best to just lie down and embrace it as opposed to sweating in my apartment. Plus, the tan doesn't hurt. So, now, some pretty New York summer pictures.

And, yes, bloody marys are so good.

I GOT A JOB TODAY

That's right. You're reading that correctly. I, the formerly un- or underemployed, am the new Publicity Assistant at an NYC Publishing House, as of about 10 minutes ago.
I start Monday! All of this is sort of overwhelming, so I'm not what sure to write at the moment. I just wanted to let you all know.
More details later!

Quick Update & Recommendation

Almost in the clear for Memorial Day weekend! I might be getting a visit from my family this weekend, which would be lovely. I'm looking forward to relaxing, maybe getting some sun if these thunderstorms mercifully hold off.
So, I may have some potentially big news next week, but I'm holding off on talking or typing about it just yet. Trust me, if this happens, I will be shouting it from the proverbial rooftops - not my actual rooftop because a) it's locked and b) there's a scary note from my landlord saying if you're found on the roof you have to pay $1000 and have the cops called on you. Not worth it.
In the meantime, if any of you readers have a spare couple of minutes, you should really read the Joan Rivers feature in last week's New York magazine. I am a little biased because she is a Barnard woman, and I've seen her in person (equal parts scary and fabulous), but I think the article is really great and gives humanity to someone most people think of very one dimensionally. Let me know what you think!

Gate 74

Disclaimer: This is in no way a finished product. Just a direction I want to go in. And, yes, I know I shouldn't end sentences in prepositions.

There is a specific sort of full-body shudder I get when I see children lick the floor of the Port Authority, Gate 74 to be exact. Gate 74, service to Wilmington and Baltimore, is on the bottom floor of the terminal, the very bowels of the Earth. This is where I go to get out of New York, a place I banked on loving but now escape from whenever possible.
My parents, also assuming that I would be enamored of city life, were not prepared for my weekly trips home, so I am forced to take the Greyhound bus instead of the more civilized and expensive train. I learned quickly that, in the world of the bus terminal, there are all sorts of rules that don't apply to other forms of transportation. Trains leave at the scheduled departure time, never before, and, if you arrive ten minutes early, you can leisurely walk from platform to train, find a compartment for your luggage, perhaps get some sort of drink in the cafe car, and settle in to your ample seat, all with minutes to spare. This is not so in bus travel.
When taking a bus, it is necessary to be at the gate 30 minutes early. I cannot emphasize this enough. The bus may leave ten minutes before or an hour after it is scheduled. These so-called departure times are nothing more than flimsy estimates, and should not be taken seriously. Add in the time it takes to get to Midtown West from my NYU dorm in the East Village with this sort of time allowance, and this becomes a pretty major operation.
This is my first year at NYU, Tisch School of the Arts specifically, but I hate it when people just say they go to Tisch and then accompany it with this smug smile, as if you should suddenly act grateful to be in their general vicinity. I'm here to study acting. I should feel really lucky to be at such a good school for drama, but it seems like the only thing people go to Tisch for is musical theater. I am surrounded daily by people who have deep, undying love for musical theater, and who are just bursting to talk, sing, and gesticulate wildly about it to anyone who will listen. I have little to no interest in or patience for this.
Sure, there are some basic, resume-caliber details about me that might make it seem like I belong here. Studying drama is an obvious one. I wear a lot of black, like the Smiths and Vampire Weekend in equal measure, and my name is Ingrid, which, I guess is artsy and quirky enough to make sense. I just don't think I can envision myself at a school where people sing showtunes to each other before taking shots of cheap vodka at apartment parties.
So, instead, I spend my Friday nights at Gate 74 waiting for the bus back to my parents' house in Wilmington, Delaware, a place people never seem to tire of mocking. I see it as the last hurdle I have to clear before my weekends of escape, although it would be a lot easier to take if I didn't have to watch that man in the corner cough blood into a cup in between bites of fried chicken.

Post-Game

So, not to keep you in suspense any longer, I think my interview yesterday went well. I met with the Deputy Publisher of Foreign Affairs, who was really great, so smart, and the sort of person I could see learning a lot from. Basically, I love everything about this job, especially the fact that preparing for the interview has taught me that I am probably more interested in the business end of things than the creative - as far as publishing goes. In any event, the opportunity to work for this sort of magazine is rare and exciting. I'm waiting with bated breath to see if I get called back for the second round.
In other news, I've decided to commence on a new creative project. I'm going to set out on writing a series of stories that travel from Wilmington, Delaware to New York and back (probably a couple of times). This all started with my overwhelming desire to write a story about the Port Authority, which I believe to be unique in its nausea-inducing hellishness. There's so much opportunity for great description there. Ideally, I want there to be some character in the previous story that overlaps into the next, a bit of narrator continuity, so we'll see how this goes. I'm hoping to post some sort of draft of a new one each week (ambitious, I know, but I've got to start somewhere).
I'm pretty peeved because I had a significant outline of the first story I wanted to write in a notebook that I'm pretty sure I left in the Pain Quotidien near Bryant Park. In any event, it is now gone, which is very unusual because I've never let one of my notebooks out of my sight before and this one was chock full of important things. Oh well, I'm sure someone at Pain Quotidien is having a laugh reading it as I type this (or I'll find it tonight underneath a pile of sweaters or something). So, tomorrow: musings on the post-apocalyptic mess that is the Port Authority Bus Terminal. I'm sick of writing being an afterthought of this blog, since I've always intended for it to be one of the centerpieces.
Lastly, my two week temp job will wrap up on Friday, and I'm trying to figure out what my next move should be. While the temp agency is always an option, I am thinking of getting a job in a restaurant near my apartment. Or maybe a wine bar (Can you imagine? Working in a wine store by day and a wine bar by night?). For the next couple of days after this job, I'm going to wander the streets looking for places. From the time I started writing this, I already have two interviews set up for next week, so it might be good to have more days free. I won't lie, part of being a waitress and having my days free appeals to me. The other part of it feels a little stale. I'll compromise, I guess. Or I'll get a job and not have to wait tables! Oh, impossible dreams...

(Not So) Lazy Sunday

I was very not lazy today. My day was all about wine stores and foreign policy. Quite the combination.
I spent the morning running around the Upper East Side on a double edged mission: to visit the wine stores on my list and find a newsstand that sold Foreign Affairs, which was actually much more complicated than I anticipated.
I made some significant headway in the wine store arena. While I keep (probably annoyingly) pestering Sherry Lehman and Italian Wine Merchants, they aren't hiring yet, so I've set my sights on a couple of less prestigious but still comprehensive stores. One is Union Square Wines and the second is ABC Wine Company, in Alphabet City. I found out about ABC through the owner's blog, East Village Wine Geek, which is really informative and funny. I met with the managers at both places and gave them my resume, so there's a chance (fingers crossed) that something will pull through soon. In the meantime, there are inevitably more stores to visit, but I needed to donate a significant amount of my day to interview prep.
As I mentioned before, I've been feeling less than confident about this job (Publishing Associate at Foreign Affairs), due mostly to the concentration of rejection I've gotten in the past month and also to the fact that this job is outside my immediate comfort zone. However, that's what branching out is all about, right? In any event, I felt less than qualified, which is silly since they wouldn't waste their time interviewing me if I weren't. Suffice it to say, I was a little worried that I wasn't going to be able to go in guns blazing tomorrow. And, like most people, when I'm not feeling comfortable, it shows. A lot. Not exactly the best mindset pre-job interview.
However, today I discovered that knowledge is power. I bought Foreign Affairs and Foreign Policy Magazine, revisited my experience with online marketing and social media, had a long and very helpful discussion with my beloved CFR insider, visited possibly every link on the Foreign Affairs website, and (several hours later) felt exponentially better about everything.
I feel as if I have a handle on the magazine's approach to social media, and I see places where they could improve their connection to their online readers, create more of a community, which they could then use to market in a more tailored way to those readers - the ultimate goal in social networking for any business. Basically, it's gotten me so excited about this interview. Working for a non-partisan, foreign affairs-focused magazine isn't what I anticipated when I graduated from school, but this opportunity is honestly the one that I've been the most excited about in months. I'm beginning to realize (a little late, maybe) that I never really felt passionate about book publishing. It's just always what I thought I should do, what I had internship experience in, etc. I love to write. I love to read about books and authors and everything publishing-related, but that definitely doesn't mean I should work in publishing. If anything, it probably means I shouldn't.
Plus, listening to the podcasts, round tables, and just reading the articles and mission statement of Foreign Affairs has me so beyond excited. The thought of working with such intelligent, driven, and forward-thinking people is incredible. Plus, while I (admittedly) am no expert in international relations, the research I have done is fascinating, and the prospect of publishing essays and commentary by major players in the world is obviously pretty amazing.
So, my Sunday was the opposite of lazy, basically. I'm going to go write, like, 8 more outlines of points I want to hit tomorrow (I get a little obsessive), and go to bed.
Send me good, lucky vibes tomorrow!

For some added entertainment, I give you the inspiration for the title of this entry:

NYC was pretty today

And I got to experience a little bit of it! En route to some post-work decompression, I sauntered down 17th street from Park to 8th Avenue.



I've been feeling a little down lately, I must admit. While optimism is the name of my game, as I think it needs to be if you're 22 (almost 23. Yikes.) and this is the only job market you've ever known, it's tough to realize that I graduated from Barnard one year ago yesterday. While I personally think I've worked hard and learned a great deal, it's difficult because I feel I have very little that's tangible to show for it. There have been moments in the past couple of days when I've felt like it might be impossible for me to get a job (with all the interviews, no offers, etc), which is a very disheartening and ridiculous thing to think, I know. It's also a potentially dangerous mindset to be in, considering my interview at CFR on Monday. My confidence needs to absolutely be at its height, but there's a more than faint voice in my head telling me I'm not qualified for the job, which has never happened before. This is ridiculous for a lot of reasons - the first and only real one being that CFR has chosen to interview me, which they would not do if I weren't qualified (plus my spy there told me that they received thousands of resumes - a little necessary self-congratulation).
I'm not sure why, since I've obviously received plentiful rejections from Publishing houses before, but this latest one has really affected me. It's the first time one of my mentors or contacts has interviewed me for a job, so that sort of experience is new, I guess. Whatever the reason, I'm a bit shaken, so I have decided that I need to get (even more) proactive, as my parents would say. Thanks, Mom and Dad.
This weekend shall be Francesca's Weekend of Wine Stores. While I've been somewhat sporadically pursuing different places, concerned about prestige or selection or location up until now, I am going to hit the pavement this weekend, resumes in hand, and, I hope, have a second job by Sunday night. I'll chronicle the journey here to make sure I stay on my toes (and that I actually do it). Who knows, maybe I'll taste some good things along the way. After all, drinking on the job is one of the fringe benefits of this operation.
Oh, and, yes, I realize I need to write something, at the risk of sounding like a non-productive broken record. I will. Tomorrow. I swear.

I love this woman

I cried while watching this. No joke.

*Also, I particularly enjoy that her lenses are Barnard Blue. Go, Meryl!

Rollercoaster Day

Oh man. Today was all over the place. The weather was gross, and my temp job, while running along smoothly, was epically slow and boring today.
While at work, I got an email telling me I didn't get the publishing job I interviewed for last week. It was the same explanation I've gotten dozens of times...the job has been offered to another candidate, but I was a top contender. I have a great resume, they really enjoyed meeting me, sure I'll find something great...blah blah.
I sound bitter, I know, but I feel like there's only so much more of this I can take right now. Which is probably why it's good that I'm branching out to other areas. Definitely enough publishing attempts for a while.
So, I was really upset. It was torrentially raining. I forgot an umbrella. It was cold and I was drenched. I sat down on the bus and there was a leak in the roof that was dripping directly on my head. Then, I got an email from the Council on Foreign Relations asking me to come in and interview next week. Hope springs eternal, I guess.

So, I know I said I'd write tonight, but tomorrow I will. That's a promise.

In Which I Get A Free Lunch

I commence this blog from the investment firm from which I shall temp for the next two weeks. Although I work a little longer (8:30-5:30) and for less money per hour, the amount I will save on coffee alone makes it worth it. Well, not really, but the free lunch, drinks, etc in the swanky offices will definitely make life a little easier.
Just returned from a nice, relaxing weekend at home, and I'm liking the fact that, since this new assignment is just for two weeks, there's none of the pressure I felt at my previous job. Overall, feeling good.
That being said, I forgot how much applying for jobs, especially in industries I'm unfamiliar with, is like a full-time job in itself. Lots of cover letters, sending emails to alumnae (politely) begging them to help me, etc. Of course, I'm more than a little peeved that I still haven't heard from the interview I went on over a week ago, especially since I was interviewed by one of my publishing mentors. Sigh.
In other news, there are two wine stores (Bottlerocket & Wine at 79) who have shown interest in hiring me part-time. I'm thinking that, even though they aren't the super prestigious stores I'm interested in, I might gain some experience there and then have another go at Sherry Lehman or Italian Wine Merchants. We'll see.
Tomorrow, I'll do some more proprioceptive stuff, hopefully. See you then!

Day of Writing (Not the Fun Kind)

I've been in a cover-letter-rewriting and job-applying tunnel all day, which is fine since it was really cold and foggy here today and easy to stay inside and get lots done. Cover letters are a strange beast. I'm someone who generally enjoys writing, and never really dreads it, but writing cover letters is something I absolutely hate. I'm not sure what it is about them, but it seems a universal truth that everyone despises writing them. There's something about summing up all of your experiences in a relevant way, using such carefully selected words, that is stupidly tedious and time-consuming. Then, of course, there's the understanding that everything you write will play such a role in whether or not some company calls you in for an interview. After a couple of hours of this, plus searching for the right jobs, my head starts to swim. Oh well, best to make the best use of this time when I'm not temping. If I'm not getting paid, I might as well be doing something productive!

Ok, enough of that. Now for something completely different. This is neither fiction nor pure truth. I just went with it today - with the prompt of "games people play."

I don't like routine, so I always try to keep people on their toes. When someone never knows what to expect from me, I consider it a personal victory.
It doesn't hurt my cause that I'm moody by nature, and sometimes see each interaction I have in a given day as a new opportunity to exorcise, even in some small way, how how I feel at that moment. Even if it's just thanking the coffee guy, or nervously smiling at someone new, there's definite transparency to how I act, for better or worse.
At the same time, I can be painfully self-conscious or unnecessarily confident, which factors into the equation as well. I realize that I'm effectively describing every hot-blooded woman ever, but I think everyone likes to believe that they are different, and the way their lives interlock with those of others is unique.
I like to think that a lot of people "know" who I am, and that I am not often guarded or performing in some way. I am more or less consistent, and maybe the shifts I make in myself aren't noticeable to others, but I believe this little charade I play is less me running with my multitude of emotions than a way to continually keep things interesting.

I leave you with this, a picture of "productivity." Plans B, C, and D.

Reunion & Renewal of Efforts

After losing my job last Wednesday, I was able to take a mini-vacation back to Simsbury, CT to the old alma mater, Westminster, for my five year high school reunion. It was a bit surreal, to say the least. We had a really incredible turnout, almost 75% of the Class of 2005 ended up making the journey. Campus has changed so much since I was back, especially since the building where I took all of my classes was bulldozed and replaced by a completely ridiculous(ly amazing) $40 million new one. That, coupled with the fact that a lot of the teachers I was close with in high school were either not at the reunion or no longer at Westminster, made me feel a little out of place. It was nice to catch up with some people from school though, and definitely nice to not dwell on my job situation for a few days.
Yesterday, upon return, I went back to Barnard (lots of trips down memory lane lately), where there is also a huge and expensive new building, completed since I graduated. I went to the Career Development office, and saw my old counselor, Robert, who is stupidly good at making me be proactive and encouraging me while making sure I walk out of his office energized and with a plan. In addition to going after publishing still, I'm now looking for jobs in three new areas: corporate communications (HR), advertising/PR, and legal assistant work (still contemplating the scary LSATs).
Went to the temp agency today, basically reassuring myself that I'll be able to work regularly and (sort of) have enough money until I find something permanent.
However, what I'm REALLY hoping is that I get the job I interviewed for on Friday and that none of this is necessary! Though experience has taught me not to be optimistic about these things...

So, I'm actually going to write something tomorrow and put it on here, promise. Until then!