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.