Age and Empire

Empire State
Originally uploaded by boroughsix.

I turn 27 today. I don't think I've ever had a real birthday while I had a real job, so i chose to go the subdued route, i only told a couple people who i would consider friends, and the other people here (casual acquaintences) i hadn't told, and maybe even went out of my way to not tell. But I arrived here today dressed to the nines as per Heather's command because she has a surprise for me later on today...and the minute i sit down i get phone call from my friend Hart in AZ, to which i would have been overheard to exclaim, 'thank you, yes thank you, no i'm 27, thank you.' So had anyone i had NOT told overheard me, they might surmise that something was up.

Then Blair called me, and as i clumsily fumbled with my phone, i accidentally hit the speaker phone button, a button i didnt know the location of to turn off, and so her booming voice came through the speaker...

BLAIR
'hi happy birthday!'

NICK
'wait, i cant, i hit the speaker phone'

BLAIR
'get me off speaker phone!'

NICK
'i can't, i am trying!'

BLAIR
'happy birthday!'

NICK
'shut up!!!'

JASON, in cubicle next to me
'BUSTED! happy birthday to you!'

NICK
'blair, i'll call you back.'

Wish it were a Sunday, That's my fun day

I had a wondrous Saturday! Heather and I met Pat for a brunch in DUMBO and I had the best steak and eggs at a place calld Bubby's. The neighborhood is quite charming, and can only imagine that its charm will increase once it's warmer.

On Sunday I played rugby for the frist time ever in Prospect Park, and as I am new to the game (and excruciating physical activity) i have to say that i was quite impressed with myself and my latent athleticism. It was amazingly fun and amazingly tiring, and i can't wait to play next sunday too.

Salads w/Jason

Salads
Originally uploaded by boroughsix.

A chilly Tuesday here in the city, and Jason and I decided to get some gay salads, talk about the year ahead of us and decided that we will all die in the years to come because of global warming. It was 36 degrees.

Listening to Loveline and working in the warmth of cold, office life.

We Are for Naught

It's a terrifying thing to have a 73 degree day in January on the east coast, and even more terrifying that it's probably not the last.

The terror of the weekend was assuaged by the good times of the weekend, as they included scrabble at a bar with dana, a [73 degree] saturday of negotiating SoHo, and a sunday of having friends over for breakfast before Heather took Pat&Liz to IKEA LongIsland. i stayed home (no room in the truck) and cleaned house and secured 1943 Europe for the Allies via Xbox.

Cherub Rock

I am back in New York now after doing battle with the blizzards and altitudes of Colorado. it was a great trip, despite it being cut short by mother nature, as we visited both Hayden and Erie and visited all matter of relatives. Our Christmases were wonderful and the New Year's party was especially fun, what with the food and drink and company.

2007 is looking like an event to remember. We have visitors and weddings and vacations and trips and games to schedule, my birfday comes at the end of this month and my resolutions are legion.

Happy New Year

As my work day, and week, winds down here on 5th Ave, I'm rumenating on the things I have to do not just now (like clean my desk, cubicle, etc. for the holiday cleaning) but tonight (like clean the apartment, pack , check the weather and flight status) and in 2007 (take classes at the UCB Theatre, take the GREs, get married, attend many a friend's wedding [and officiate one!]).

I got a lot on my plate!

UPDATE 12/21 3:15

We didn't get to go to Colorado yet, as there is a massive blizzard there and all flights were cancelled. SO, we'll go to my company's holiday party and maybe drive upstate for a night to see a pal. Christmas vacation on the fly, nothing like it!

UPDATE 12/25 11 11:33

We arrived into Hayden directly (bypassing Denver) and are enjoying the holidays. I am sure to have pics up soon and whatnot. Merry Christmas to you all!

A Movie That Defined a Generation

Last night we watched the Never Ending Story, mostly because Heather had never seen it before (i mourn for her childhood), but also because i was curious to see this movie again that i had spent my whole youth watching. It's a morose film, and i think i can pinpoint scenes in the movie that directly led to my decade of depression. It's also very enchanting, philosophical and redeeming in the end. With it's top-shelf production value, set design, and fantastical plot, it's no wonder it's a movie that permeated the lives of anyone born circa 1980.

The riddle that has plagued me since i first viewed the film continues to plaugue me today, as in the end, when Bastian has to name the Empress of Fantasia, he yells the name but the sound is muddled by a thunderstorm. so i've never known the name he gave her, the name of his dead mother. So, being the genius that i am, i turned on the subtitles during that scene and THEY OMIT THAT LINE IN THE SUBTITLES! there's just no subtitle when he screams the name, and this may throw me into another decade of depression, indeed.

On the L train

On the L train
Originally uploaded by dimshine.

In case you didn't see it, and just to be sure, this is the pic i took the other week on my way to work!

Millions of Peaches, Peaches for Me

I had an unhealthy obsession with downloading music during (and shortly after) college, and prompted by a CD case I saw in this girl's room once, I looked up and downloaded some songs by the Moldy Peaches. This led me to read Kimya Dawson's blog and have an email exchange with her briefly regarding a Bon Jovi concert she couldn't get into. Anyway, I've just checked her blog again and, she's got quite the funny serial of photos, laugh away. (note the artwork on the wall, too)

Cheers.

Thanksgiving was Turkeyiffic

Thanksgiving weekend was really grand. Heather and I trucked up to Boston by way of the Long Island Sound Ferry, a very fun trip which I highly recommend. Boston is a curious town, seemingly clean and more quaint than Brooklyn, and the public transportation system was mystically confusing (who pays and when were the subjects of much debate). It was wonderful to spend time with my soon-to-be in-laws, Stephanie (cousin) and Joel (brother), the food was great, the Scrabble plentiful and I felt lucky to have family close during the holidays.

As it happens now, I have a bit of a cold, but am at work waiting for the end of the day when I can go home and eat matzo ball soup and watch Sopranos DVDs from Netflix with my betrothed. Until then, I'm cruising youtube, enjoy this: one of my favorite Tim Long-written Simpsons.

If Flickr Ever Worked Correctly

I had taken a picture of something rather odd on the subway, and Gothamist.com put it up, what do you think?

Great Weekend

Saturday was fun, Heather had a brunch/wedding gown try-outs all day, and I did apt maintenence stuff (read: played Xbox) all day.

Sunday was also great, we went to a park wherein I found a lamp that had fallen off its post, much like the one pictured here, and I decided to take it back home to a) make a chandelier b) pot a plant inside it or c) sell it on eBay. it' pretty big, weighs like 45 pounds and looks cool, but i better figure out what to do with it, pronto.

the weekend was also peppered with games of Scrabble (thanks Nicci!) and warm coffee house hanging-out, and shrimp fetuccini. the freaking Broncos lost to the Chargers, which means the Chargers are probably contenders for the Superbowl (damn them), and the poker club i play with on Wall Street was interviewed for the local news.

Very Niiiice

Heather and I saw Borat last night, and we have never laughed so hard in a theatre in my life. if you have the means, i highly recommend it, it is so choice.

in other news, plans are moving forward with invitations and save-the-dates. we are getting the proofs in directly. work is great too, the city is bustling and i've recently made a couple of rough YouTube commercials in my spare time, and uploaded my brother-in-law's run-in with a snake in Vegas. what do you think?

36 Hours in Luray, Virginia, OR I'm a Dumb Motherfucker, and I Vote!

The past weekend will prove to be one of the most wondrous of dinger-fest-bachelor parties in the annals of Queensbury bachelors: playing hooky from work, meeting in Jason's Park Slope apartment, getting picked up by Bryan and his rented minivan with Jaron in-tow and driving a good 7 hours to a cabin in Luray, Virginia for 36 hours of beer-drinking, meat-cooking, baseball-hitting action.

It was my first trip to the South and among the more interesting things (besides the gorgeous pastures and mountains) were the "One Man, One Woman" voting initiative sign, the "On marriage and homosexuality" marquee of the local church, gasoline was $1.99, and camoflauge was this year's juicy couture. Also, the locals were probably the ugliest race of people I've ever seen, a discovery that made us thank our lucky stars we decided agin' a stripper for the party.

I voted early this morning in Bushwick; an almost deserted senior center served as my polling place, which was thankfully just behind my building. I came face to face with an ancient voting machine comprised of a series of levers and switches, that probably was used during the Roosevelt adminstrations.

We'll see how the mid-terms shape up the future of this country, if they haven't lost my vote by then. And I wonder if that sign in Luray, or the church marquee will work its magic and drive the voters of Virginia to keep oppression legal.

Halloween: the Halloweening

despite St. Louis winning the world series, the weekend was still pretty good.

friday night we checked out Pat's new place and dined on sushi in Brooklyn Heights.

saturday heather and i went to the Fairway grocers in Redhook, which is a wonderful day trip from Bushwick. we also watched Shaun of the Dead to kick off the Halloween season. (note: earlier in the week we watched Silence of the Lambs, which was the unofficial start of our Halloween moviefest).

and then yesterday, after watching The Departed (the Scorsese flick, which is really, really good and bloody) we watched Dawn of the Dead while eating Indian food.

this Halloween season is all about Zombies in apartment 8, though we are scheduled to watch a ghost movie on Halloween proper. Next season i think we'll go with the vampire/werefolf motif, with some fava beans and a nice chianti.

Jessica Simpson, Resident Lizard

during my daily you-tubing i came upon the latest jessica simpson music video, during which she sings with such passion that her face became so contorted, i nearly jumped on the Lachey bandwagon. between the lack of talent and the feaux passion in her lip syncing, it makes for a very poor video, you see?

Homeward Bound

We spent last weekend in Boulder, a whirlwind visit to see our wedding venue, taste the menu and meet the staff who will make the big day function (see pic)

It was so, so nice to go back to Colorado, it made me want to stay.

Things that also happend recently:

I found $20 on 15th Street
I lost my new Razr phone in a cab (they of course 'haven't found it')
I attended a taping of Jeopardy at Radio City Music Hall (and much to Jason's chagrin, Alex Trebek was NOT an asshole)
I ate Korean BBQ eel
I enjoyed a visit from a soon-to-be cousin-in-law
I rued the rain
We celebrated Dana's quarter-century mark with Cuban food
I had a cold
The Broncos have been kicking ass


oh and the President completely wiped his ass with 8 centuries of habeus corpus

I'm Very Baffling to my Friends

Picture 2
Originally uploaded by dimshine.

36 Hours in Queensbury, New York, Redux

I spent another weekend in the place i call hometown, to go to my old high school's homecoming game with a buddy of mine, Ken Liberty. By some fluke of poor planning the Queensbury Spartans were playing the Burnt Hills Spartans, to whom they lost 42-20.

I ran into many old teachers and coaches and was beguiled by their memory of a football season in 1997 that sent we Spartans to the "Dome to Bring the Title Home."*

While much of the high school remains as I had left it, there are new editions and wings and even display cases which showcase the stars from yesteryear who have gone on to some notoriety...

The weekend was just resplendent with fond memories and laughs, updates and train travel along the Hudson River, which is beguiling in and of itself.






*no title was ever brought home.

Everyday

Everyday i take the L train to work. my stop is Union Square. i board the train at the DeKalb station in Brooklyn, and while this might not mean a lot to the average reader, it means i am about 10 stops away from my destination. this is about the maximum number of stops one wants between one's self and work. had it been eleven stops, my life would be vastly different.

on the L train, there is a 50/50 chance of me finding a seat. the train either arrives full or empty, and it's nearly impossible to predict its capacity upon arrival.

when i sit, i am able to close my eyes and sleep for 15 to 20 minutes, or failing that i watch the people enter the board the train. the closer and closer we get to Williamsburg, the more fashionably eccentric the people become and i realize that yes that girl IS wearing a green necktie as a bandana, yes that guy IS 6 foot 1 and skinnier than the pole he's holding, yes that girl IS wearing fishnet stalkings to work as a barista, and yes that guy spent 45 minutes to get his hair to look like he just rolled out of bed.

upon arrival at Union Square about 80% of the train's riders disembark and make their way up the stairs en masse. i try to usurp the crowds and head to the unpopular stairs which would normally transfer me to the NRQ trains, but bypass the trains and pop up the relatively deserted stairs and find myself in the midst of union square proper.

i pass by a dog park that reeks and begs to be cleaned with rain, local artists setting up their works for sale (most of which are really quite shitty [i'm talking portraits of J-Lo and Fergie]), and three days a week a farmer's market. sometimes i buy apples and peruse the bonzai trees for 5 bucks and think always of the Karate Kid movies (2 and 3).

I usually pass the same homeless man sleeping in a doorway, always wearing a blue plaid flannel shirt, unbuttoned, bald, bearded. occasionally i fall into Au Bon Pain to get a bagel or a yogurt. there is always the same couple sitting by the big front window, an older white man and a younger asian woman. they are always reviewing documents on the table and i wonder what it is they are discussing: a thesis? real estate? a divorce?

i pass a deli that sells flowers outside, always a rainbow in white buckets.

the empire state building, which i can see from the DeKalb station all the way in Brooklyn, is stoic and silent every morning. i watch it as i walk north on 5th avenue to my building thinking this is my life, and it is wonderful

On an Island in the Sun...

i know it's been a while since i rapped at ya, but life has been just too good to blog about:

at work: i've moved to the 10th floor in celebration of my awsome proofreading skillls, to a rather large office (a rectangular cubicle normally meant for 2 people) and am now being paid a salary to drink coffee, write fiction and listen to amazing music.

at home: Heather's truck from colorado was delivered to us by my brother who drove it cross-country with his girlfriend. it will be nice to NOT have to rent a car from now on, and it wil be nice to NOT have to shlep stuff from the Home Depot via gypsy cab.

on the wedding front: after much wrangling, we've finally picked a date and venue. (September 2, 2007 at the Boulderado Hotel, in Boulder, CO). our collective sigh of relief could be heard across Brooklyn.

heather and i also attended a wedding on Long Island for former Sphere guitarist Sean Senical. it was a classy affair at the Thatched Cottage in Centerport, and just a wonder to see my friend get married, this man who i used to know as a 15-year-old goofball.

on the meat front: heather's parents sent us a case of frozen steaks and other meats from local ranches in Colorado, which we were able to grill on the new grill heather gave to me for an engagement present. it works wonderfully, the meat was flawless, and i plan to grill anything i can from now on, including eggs.

on the facial hair front: in preparation for winter and spousal sexiness, i have taken to growing a beard. after 4 weeks it's coming in pretty well, though the jury is out when it comes to my friends and family. heather, however, likes it, and i'm a sucker for her opinion.

Bon Voyage, or, The Children's Crusade...

This weekend I said goodbye to my 'freelance' (read: Temp) status at work and was hired on, outright. Goodbye timecards, hello benefits. Also, Rob had his going-away party replete with girly drinks and manly men. He's going to Ireland to live and work for 18 months, and he will be sorely missed.

The weekend was wonderful, depsite (or because of) the cooling weather and the rainy-day ambience of a subdued Bushwick. Also, do you remember that radio program I attended at which I met Kurt Vonnegut? Here it is, I asked the first studio question at about minute 9:43....

Swingline

I'm not even kidding, someone at work took my stapler!

36 Hours in Queensbury, New York

After work on Friday, Heather and I and Pat and Mark jumped in a rented car and high-tailed it for the place of our auspicious high school years, Queensbury. In what is turning out to be an annual stay at Camp Moynihan on Glen Lake in tandem with a late summer Saratoga Race Track excursion/gamble-fest, we again had a wonderful time in all aspects of the mini-getaway. The lake was warm and inviting for swimming and though the weather was mostly rainy, that didn't stop me from turning a $2 bet on a 44-1 longshot into a 91 dollar payday! Nor did it stop us menfolk from another dinger-fest/homerun tournament in which I hit a grand total of 0 dingers and earned a gross (literally 144) amount of mosquito bites. I am like sugar to them! The rain didn't stop our imbibing of many a beer and consumption of pork in various forms, it didn't stop us from laughing all night or my chastising Mike and Pat for not knowing who Jimmy Carter's brother is.


It was nice to hear crickets again, it was nice to swim in a natural body of water that didn't smell funny, it was nice to get away, but it was also nice to come back.

Begin Year 2

But I forgot to tell you that we've been here over a year now, and yes we have decided to stay put, renewing our lease, appreciateing our new jobs and situations and letting our sentences run on and on and on.

The neighborhood (Bushwick) has really changed since we've moved in. It's like every able-bodied hipster who doesn't want to pay Williamsburg (aka Manhattan, Jr.) rent is moving down the L train. I originally liked my barrio for its gritty nature, ethnic monolithism (hispanic) and sense of distance. But the recent newcomers provide an interesting influx of character.

This past week my friend Hart has come to visit. I met him in 6th grade in Iowa City; we used to sneak out in the middle of night and try to meet girls. He was the first of my crew to touch a boob. He's awesome.

The Lost Month

I've not blogged in a month, and what has transpired? I've been fishing off of Sheepshead Bay in South Brooklyn, which is a wonderful time that enables me to fulfill my dream of kicking back with a beer on a boat while being shat upon by gulls; I've attended a 4th of July Party on a Williamsburg rooftop (courtesy of Mark) overlooking the East River fireworks (courtesy of Macy's); a friend from high school, Ken, visited (and we went fishing); I've been trained at work on Acrobat, and self-trained myself in preliminary skills of Photoshop, iMovie, and Garageband (ps, i love Macs now); my friend from college, Louis, visited me, which entailed much Indian food and basketball letdowns; Heather interviewed twice and was hired as project manager at Kaplan in a matter of 7 days; and I joined a poker league on Wall Street with other people who just want to play nice and get better. I have a feeling much of the rest of this blog will be poker-related. Beware.

For instance, everyone has a poker nickname, what's mine?

Last Day, Birthday, Independece Day Extravaganza!

Last Friday was Heather’s birthday, and the gifts I gave her over the course of our mini vacation will remain a private affair between we two. But suffice it to say that I had wanted to make this weekend our best in a long time. Because of the peculiar way in which the Fourth played with the calendar, we had a 4.5-DAY weekend, and so were able to celebrate Heather’s last day of teaching, her birthday, my impending full-time status at work, Independence Day, and most of all, our engagement, all in one big extravaganza.

I had many ideas as to how to propose; one involved a suite at the Plaza, one involved a picnic and a kite, but really I knew that she would just like a simple, private, organic experience and so after work on Friday (it was a half day) we got some sandwiches and took a cab to the boat house in Central Park.

We rented a little row boat for two, and I rowed us here and there until I found the perfect spot. We finished our lunch and I read to her a letter I had written for her birthday. The letter purported to be a salute to the idiosyncrasies I adore in her, though in reality it was a preamble to a question I have wanted to ask her for some time.

You can see the red dot on the picture here which marks the secluded alcove wherein I surprised her with the ring my father gave to my mother 30 years ago asking the same question, “Will you marry me?’

And so we are engaged, and life is just beginning!

I'm Rather Taken with this Song

Cusp

Main Entry: turning point
Part of Speech: noun 2
Definition: critical juncture
Synonyms: climax, crisis, critical mass, critical point, crossroads, crucial moment, crucial period, crunch, cusp, decisive moment, defining moment, emergency, high noon, hinge, kairotic moment, moment of truth*, nexus, peripeteia, pivotal moment, point of no return, race against time, rising action, turn of the tide, when push comes to shove, zero hour*
Source: Roget's New Millennium™ Thesaurus, First Edition (v 1.2.1)
Copyright © 2006 by Lexico Publishing Group, LLC. All rights reserved.
* = informal or slang

Last Goodbye

Douglas Harry McDowell with great-grandson

My grandpa passed away on the morning of the 11th. It was a Sunday; he was born on a Sunday too. So it goes.

His name was Douglas Harry McDowell. Harry was his middle name because his mother’s maiden name was Harry. He’s from that generation. He was born in Chicago in 1926. There were many pictures of him as a child, and while I was gathered with my family for his wake last weekend, we noted how the photos abruptly stopped after his childhood. “Well the Depression came,” was an answer muttered and we all understood: there was no money for frivolity, photographs being the most frivolous things at the time. There was a picture of the house they had lost in Illinois, on the back there’s a note reading, ‘we paid $400 down.” He’s from that generation.

The photos picked up again in the 1940’s, after the war. He was in the army air corps in the occupying force in France; he fixed the ball turrets in B29 bombers. In his black and white photos he looked very handsome in his uniform, all of 20 years old. He stands in front of the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triumph, stands in front of his bombers, he stands with friends in front of a base, his uniform pristine: tie tucked into shirt, a short smirk on his face, just a bit confident that his country had done the right thing. He’s from that generation.

He told me a story once about his airfield in France. He was walking the perimeter fence one day with an orange in his hand, and a girl stood on the other side of the fence looking at him. He gave her his orange, and having not seen proper fruit in 4 years of Nazi occupation, she cried.

He was good with his hands, and after he left the service he worked repairing cash registers and typewriters in Iowa. He had twin sons who grew and had children of their own, who also had children of their own. After his retirement he made a hobby of refurbishing ancient radios and woodwork.

He loved garage sales and would bring things home, sneak them past my grandmother and keep them in the basement. But she knew.

My grandpa was simply quite wonderful. I had only known him to be kind and generous, and I knew that I would miss him when he passed. Four years ago he was diagnosed with liver cancer, and we all knew it was just a matter of time for a man his age. He gave me a check for $50 the year of his diagnosis, for helping move his radios from the garage to the basement. I never cashed it, and today it is the only thing I have of his bearing his signature. I kept it because his name was worth more.

I cried the night he checked into the hospice and I was too drained to cry the next morning when he died. It happened quickly, as he slept, which is a wonderful way to die. I knew the funeral was going to be sad, not tragic, but I wasn’t prepared for this enormous grief. And as my father eulogized his own, I cried when he said, “The last thing he said to me was ‘I want to take a nap.’”

A few years ago I helped my friend Jay and his family move from a town north of Denver to a town south of Denver. His little girl, Brittany, had to say goodbye to a friend she had seen every day of her young life. As her friend walked away, Brittany started crying with her own sorrow of a friendship ended by the circumstance of geography. “It’s a new feeling for her, eh?” I asked her mother. “It is,” she said.

When you’re 6 years old you have a lot of emotions to yet experience. At 26 I had naively thought I was finished learning how to feel, but my grandpa’s death has proven to me otherwise. I’ve been heart broken and depressed, sad and pitiful, but I have never known this feeling: so absolute and pure, genuine and grave. I’m learning now what real grief is, I am learning how to mourn someone I loved, and even after his funeral I am not done crying over his loss.

It’s odd to know I won’t be able to see him again, hug him and say ‘I love you’ first because otherwise it’d only be silently understood. It’s odd to wonder what his death was like for him, and what he could have been feeling himself as he passed. It seems we’re never fully learned when it comes to emotion, and that is a discomforting thought.

But I smile now as I recall my memories of him:

He’d let me watch him brush his teeth when I visited him in the summers of my childhood. He always made me laugh because he’d have to take out his top dentures and set them on the sink and I thought he was like George Washington.

He used a magnifying glass to read the paper sometimes, and I’d use to it to burn ants in his backyard.

I’d play with his old radios in the basement, pretending to be in a submarine, and he’d come down and show us how they worked.

He’d get cut off mid sentence by my grandmother sometimes, and he’d just swallow his sentence and tilt his head with a little nod, and while everyone’s attention was now drawn to my grandma, I’d keep focused on him and note the look on his face as if he was saying, “Well you go ahead, honey, you tell it, it’s not like it was my story or anything.”

He drove with both feet.

He had a dent in his head from when they had to remove a small growth decades ago.

He was hard of hearing, but wouldn’t get a hearing aid.

He said “warsh” instead of “wash.”

He always carried a small pocketknife and used it to cut an apple at lunch or tighten a screw. My grandma gave it to me before I came back to New York, knowing he would have wanted me to have it.

He loved us all, without ever having to say it. He was from that generation.

Picture Blog

Brooklyn Bridge, as seen from a boat in the East River, note the Manhattan Bridge in background

Fighter Jet

On the deck of the USS Intrepid, the aircraft carrier turned museum on the Hudson river, near 42nd Street.

Photo Booth

This is one of those photo booths you would find at a mall, which takes your picture and places it in a goofy frame. Inexplicably, this was left on the sidewalk outside my building, note the gutted insides.

Protest, ground level

Note the TV reporter trying to file his story.

Protestors, high view

Massive Protest in Union Square, RE: Immigration

Cops

Police cruisers performing excercises in Union Square.

Carla, we hardly knew ye...

memorial day weekend was a great time for my brother doug to come visit. he arrived Friday afternoon, and after having gotten off of work early (they actually closed at 3!) we met up in midtown to rendezvous with his old high school friend, neil, and eat cheap chinese. no kidding, i got half a duck in a bowl the size of a toilet full of noodles and dim sum for $4. then we met neil's brother at grand central, and headed up to the bronx on the 4 train to watch the Yankees lose to the lesser-talented but morally superior Royals. the game was rained out in the bottom of the ninth, and the four of us were drenched beyond repair. i am still soaked.

saturday heather, doug and i woke up early and headed down to Coney Island. our original intent was to make the morning boat out to the atlantic ocean for sea fishing, but as it became painfully clear that a holiday weekend MTA schedule would preclude us from making it to sheepshead bay by 7am, we opted to slow it down a bit and get a nosh at mcdonalds (the only place open) and meander our way to Coney Island. we were to walk the boardwalk, partake in the roller coaster and shoot the freak. of course, arriving at Coney before 11am is not advisable as literally only ONE place is open, and so we found ourselves on the solitary pier, watching the russian gangsters consort with fishermen who owed them money. many a crab was crushed.

after beers at the ONE place that was open (now 9am) we walked to Brighton Beach and hopped the Q train once more to find ourselves at sheepshead bay. this is a place i've been wanting to visit since we've arrived, mostly because of the fresh fish market (literally just family owned boats, the patriarchs of which yell out in their peculiar accents, "FRESSSHH FISSHHH!"). the morning boat (the Dorothy B IVV) excursion was still at sea, and so at 11am, we were the first customers of a newly opened Applebee's, partaking of hard liquors and mixers.

finally, at 12, we were on a boat, feeding bait to seagulls and about to shove off for the best fluke fishing available. and by best i mean mediocre. i would surmise only about 12 fish were caught during the whole four-hour trip, heather and i having caught two of those. unfortunately doug didn't catch any, but we all did have a fun time anyway as fishing has always been a great means of bonding. heather was introduced to the fluke (think of a flounder, only smaller) and doug and i hit the ocean for the first time in ten years.

that evening we hung out watching tv and eating Indian food, of which doug was not a fan.

sunday was another maritime adventure, the NYHRC yacht held a brunch, launching from Pier 6 (East 23rd St. and, um...the East River). many fine honies available for doug's flirtation exploration (after seeing the women in the city he did proclaim many times,'That's it, I'm moving to New York!") though he was satisfied to simply watch the passing skyline of New York.

incidentally it was Fleet Week in New York. that is, Navy ships come into port and the city is rife with servicemen. they also perfom demonstrations and the Coast Guard was out in full force, guarding the docked ships and aircraft carriers while helicopters flew overhead performing maneuvers and practicing a rescue excercise.

we went to ground zero, st. paul's chapel and the movie, Thankyou for Smoking. sunday night we walked around time square where we were pleasantly surprised to find a Dave&Busters. i won a stuffed dog for heather, but doug and i failed to save our hostage on a shootemup game.

On monday we went to Central Park and the Seinfeld diner (aka Tom's Restaurant at 112th and Broadway) but not before seeing Rhea Perlman (of Cheers fame) on 18th Street near 6th Ave. i hadn't been paying attention, just walking along, but doug asked, "is that Danny DeVito's wife?" and we watched her: looking quite confused, with a paper in her hand, like she was following directions to nowhere.

after lunch we took doug to LaGuardia via the M60 bus through Harlem and he left around 4pm. it was such a great weekend, and it was awesome seeing him again. i hope we'll be able to hang out again sooner rather than later, but with the new job and other forseeable responsibilities, i don't think i'll be able to get out to colorado this summer. but i have a suspicion i am in for a windfall of visitors.

I'm Published!

Overheard in New York put up something I heard! Oh glory be unto me!

The Saddest Face in the World

New York has afforded me some celebrity sightings. not that i get very star-struck. so far i've seen Jean Reno (aka The Professional) at the Union Square Circuit City, Famke Janssen walking her dogs on 13th Street, Kurt Vonnegut at a WNYU radio interview, and then on Saturday i was walking on Ludlow Street after a trip to Katz's Deli and was star struck indeed.

out of the corner of my eye i noticed a hockey stick resting against a wall and thought, 'wow, free hockey stick!'

in the next step i noticed a guy sitting on a step in his hoodie and shorts, in the next step i noticed it was a face i recognized, in the next step i realized that face belonged to Mike Myers. it was somber and down-trodden, he was on his phone, he looked right at me as he just listened to whomever was speaking on the other end.

and i kept walking, and asked Heather, 'do you know who that was?'

i suspect he looked so sad because of bad news, perhaps about his divorce. it didn't seem the right time to stop and chat about fat bastard or how that movie sucked.

i would have rather talked about So I Married an Axe Murderer, but didn't want to be rude.

I can't wait to get off work and see my baby...

Work is a nice little enterprise. All I do all day is proofread, drink coffee, take in lunches with friends in/near Union Square, cruise the internet (i can't be expected to keep track of all my wheelings and dealings) and feel confident in the fact that things are falling into place.

And So On

Listen:

I met Kurt Vonnegut yesterday. I high-tailed it from Gloucester, MA to Stamford, CT in about 4 hours to catch a train back to NYC, and went straight to the studios of WNYC by City Hall.

It was a BBC World BookClub interview, specifically about Slaughterhouse Five, and I was among 20 people who got to be part of the audience and ask questions. Not everyone asked a question, but I was the first, and once they post the show on the internet, I'll be sure to link it. It was amazingly fun and enlightening, and while I didn't get my book signed, as he left I shook his hand, looked right into his eyes and simply said, 'Thank you.'

And he answered, 'Ok.'

I have to say this is by the best experience that New York has afforded me, and pretty much I should probably just move away right now, as it can't get much better. But then again, I start my new job tomorrow.

When it Rains, It Pours

On Monday, i had two interviews in a row. they were entry-level assistant positions at Court TV, which would do well for my future as a litigator/pundit/talking head cum Simpsons writer. a friend got me in the door, and i couldn't be more grateful, because i am at that point now where if i don't land something in my field of interest, i'll take anything and the last time i took anything, i was a bouncer for 18 months.

my 3 o'clock was peculiar and i can only relate it to you in the following scenario.

INTERVIEWER
(Shaking hands rather limply)
Have a seat.

NICK
It's a pleasure to meet you, thanks for taking the time.

INTERVIEWER
(Turns to his computer, works on the design of his business card)
What the hell is going on with this font?

Interviewer proceeds to damn his computer and Mircrosoft Word as he can't find the right design template or get his spacing just right on the outlay. He then proceeds to email said design to several coworkers, in silence.


During this time I tried to help, making little suggestions here and there. I basically spoke up only after several moments of wondering if this complete dismissal of my presence in his quite small office was hostile or nonchalant. Was this a test? Is his assistant suppossed to take the initiative and offer computer advice or am I to sit there quietly and test my patience and endurance for awkward social situations? If there's one thing I know it's awkward social graces, so I stayed quiet with only intermittent offerings of color and border advice. It was a good 20 minutes of this before he turned to me and the interview began in earnest. We spoke of the evolving job description, and it would basically be a liason position among the different departments at the company. Nothing glamorous nor bold, but then i've never been either of those. He was constantly distracted by incoming emails and employees asking for his signature. A small gnat had found its way into the office and chose to spend 30 minutes of it's short lifetime buzzing in my face, which made me all the more attractive with my constant light blowing of air and subtely waving my hand in front of my head.

The subject of news viability on television and media in general was broached, and the interviewer proceeded to lambast the very industry in which he has worked for 20 years; he denounced journalism in general; noted I have no experience in news or media per se; called NPR a "bunch of communists;" and took the last ten minutes of our time to show me what he'd been working on for the online promotion of his network, which for technical and karmic reasons beyond my comprehension took forever to upload and display; and we seemed to have come full circle with our awkwardness, just waiting there in silence. his legs and left hand shook the entire time, leading me to ponder about his medical condition, and if i should ask him about his obvious palsey. i stood up and offered and thank-you, he showed me to the stairs and thanked me for time as well. i left him and wondered if he could recall my name if i asked him, or if he even remembered what position i was interviewing for in the first place.

my 4 o'clock was by all measures a better interview, on both parts. the interviewer looked to be a Kennedy descendant, with admirable hair and skin tone. it was obvious to me that i was out of my league when, having been seated on one of his leather couches, my mouth went dry and fumbled for proper diction and clarity of voice. he was ever so polite and made me feel better about the interview process as a whole and i left wondering what life could be like at Court TV.

Tuesday I had yet another interview at an advertising firm. they are looking for proofreaders for all the copy they handle, and this was the mother of all interviews. the interviewer made me feel at ease, we talked earnestly and thoroughly about writing and work, the city and the industry. i took a proofing test and she was impressed, and since there is plenty of room for growth there, this is the job i am hoping will come through.

i am also waiting to hear from a major cell phone company about a newly created position in their newly created editorial department. i also have an interview on monday with Kaplan Test Prep and Admissions, as a student advisor. this job would entail lots of fun things, none of them in the scope of my career as space cowboy. so with all these things on my plate and really great feelings about the aforementioned interviews/jobs, it behooved me to actually TURN DOWN a job offer as a proofreader for WebMD. the pay was livable, but not as much as these other jobs, and i would have had to start Wednesday...which for a myriad of reasons didn't work. one reason: i didn't want to start a job only to have to quit it after a week, should i get accepted as a proofer elsewhere. another reason: i am attending the wedding of one Bryan O'Connor this Friday, and leaving Thursday for it, in Massachusettes.

A funny thing about this wedding weekend extravaganza, i had planned to stay away from New York for an obviously extended weekend cavorting with various friends. but then i got the following email...

From: listenerservices

To: Nickmcdowell@gmail.com

Date: Apr 25, 2006 2:57 PM

Subject: WNYC-BBC Book Club with Kurt Vonnegut

Dear Mr. McDowell:

We attempted to contact you by phone, but the number we have listed for you is incorrect (917.583.2680). We have you listed as our first alternate for the April 29 taping of the BBC Book Club with Kurt Vonnegut. One of our confirmed participants has canceled and we would like to offer you the chance to attend the taping, details are below:

BBC’s World Book Club with Kurt Vonnegut on Saturday, April 29, 2006.

World Book Club Taping with Kurt Vonnegut, author of Slaughterhouse 5

Your hosts: Leonard Lopate and the BBC’s Harriet Gilbert

Location: WNYC New York Public Radio

1 Centre Street, 25^th Fl. (directions and building security information are below)

You should arrive at: 4:00 p.m.

Taping begins: approximately 4:30 p.m.

You must arrive with a question in mind about Slaughterhouse 5 for author Kurt Vonnegut

If you can attend this taping, please reply to this email no later than 4pm on Wednesday, April 26. If we do not hear from you by then, we will have to offer the reservation to another listener.

Thanks for listening to WNYC Radio.

Kind Regards,

Lorraine Mattox

WNYC Listener Services

Needless to say, as Vonnegut has been my hero for sometime now, i immediately answered in the affirmative. this means, though, that saturday morning i'll have to high-tail it back to New York instead of hanging with friends. but it's more or less a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and if i didn't go, i'd just die.

so it goes.

Oops, I Crapped My Pants

This is embarassing to admit, but I was just watching that Maury Pauvich show. You know: that man whose soul purpose is to perform DNA tests to determine who is your baby daddy? I swear to god, the copy during the teaser read as follows, "If He's Cheating, Their Getting a Divorce."

I just about shat my pants.


I'm losing it!

Long Long Long

it's late now, but not as late as i was once used to, not as late as i wish it was, not as late as it could be, not as late as it needs to be, but just as late as it can be.

a lot of people have implored/inquired/demanded inquiry as to why i haven't kept up on this blog, despite numerous promises i've made to keep this alive like johnny five. the thing is: i wanted to blog about my triumphs and curious goings on in this new city and life, but all i have at the moment is failures. still unemployed and dangerously close to bankrupt as a result of recent tax filings. i've been interviewing at many a company and every time i seem to get my hopes up only to have them dashed by the thinly veiled message (veiled, that is, in the technical jargon of human resources professionals like, 'why do you even bother,' or 'everything you say is wrong,' or, 'you, sir, are worse than hitler!') that every choice i've made in my life regarding my employability has been wrong.

there's a very small roach that lives in our parlour (ie, tv room/office) which i've only seen once (and to which i am the lone witness) and which i've just now pounced upon with a wadded ball of tissue, only to retrieve a mere twitching leg, and now i am sure it is recouperating, very pissed off and what's more, knows whom to blame for it's new gimp.

i'm watching conan obrien reruns, in the state of new york at 1am, which seems to imply very little has changed for me since high school. this is an intriguing hypothesis, and brings to mind such evidence as my current list of friends which includes people with whom i went to high school, i am unemployed, i am up late and wondering about this life and what i've done to impede it.

i am so stunted by my own lack of talent, it's staggering. i used to write. i used to write well. i used to have ideas, and what's more, i used to have the balls to write when i didn't have ideas. but that's probably not even true either. i don't think anything i've ever done has been worthwhile and that's stopping me from doing anything else. this is the most depressing feeling in the world.

i'm amazed at anything written down on a page. that is: anything printed, which took countless people countless man-hours to print and set and edit and proof and receive in the mail and write at all. that people have ideas which other people will find intriguing and worth their time is a stupefying situation. i am amazed, in particular, with jonathan safran foer. his career and celebrity seem to be this exalted example of what i aspired to in my former days as a would-be fiction writer, and now i am just a fan in awe of someone very near to my age who has made it and is set for life. his first novel, Everything is Illuminated, was and is amazing, and what's more, was an amazing best seller. in this sense, he never has to go to another interview in which a man with a job asks him, 'if you were alone in a commerical airliner, and you had one ping pong ball in your hand, how would you go about estimating the number of ping pong balls needed to fill the volume of the aircraft?' he wouldn't have to stammer for an answer aloud and in his mind wonder what the hell is the point, and what's the real answer? he'll never have to wait for days to hear the bad news that he'd been passed over, yet again, and that he'll have to start all over again by rewriting his cover letter.

and now that i am older, a very homely 26, all i want to do is be able to sit and write something worthwhile about life which someone somewhere will ponder someday. a majority of writers are older, did you know that? a majority of them have daytime jobs. what makes you any different? probably sloth. sloth and envy.

i have ideas for plays, and this is a good city to have such ideas. but the correct response is this is a good city to write such ideas. plots have very little to do in literature, as you may know, the real story is what lies underneath the words: the message, the meaning, the revolutionary thing that evolves into philosophy and questions. the thing that will justify celebrity and best sellers.

plus i've been sick, which feels and looks awful. we have received a new couch, though, so that's cool. the cats outside are making love and sound worse than my parents did in their heyday, but not as passionate. the sirens outside my window are all unmistakable signs that someone somewhere is suffering, possibly because they can't write, and when they do, they might as well be failing another one of life's job interviews. but i'm not sad, just pensive and hungry for rice krispies.

Damn this Smarch Weather

did i tell you i went to a taping of Late Night with Conan OBrien? did i tell you i went to an awesome party and drank so much that i was drunk and hungover well into the next day? did i tell you that i didn't get that job i wanted, interviewd twice for, and didn't even rate a phone call for the letdown news? and so i am still subbing here in Bushwick, to wit:

Mr. Nick
Ok, settle down, we're going to watch this A&E Biography video

7th Grader
It better not be about Hitler, yo!

Mr. Nick
What's wrong with Hitler?

Nor'easter!

they say a foot of snow will fall by tomorrow afternoon. this will allow for a much needed sequester at home with movies and whatnot. heather will be grading papers, i will be getting ready for my second interview with an internet company, and in between long glances and veiled smiles, we'll kiss as we put on the kettle and change from a Coldplay CD to an Elliot Smith CD.

Life is good.

It Bodes Well for me that Speed Impresses You

The oddest exchange with a student involved someone in the detention i was monitoring...

Edward: Hey Mister, you watch porno?

Nick: I'm not answering that question, either!

Edward: I do!

Nick: You do?

Edward: Of course I do, obviously!

Nick: Where do you get it?

E: My dad gives it to me, we watch it together!

N: ...

E: We jerk it at the same time to see who busta nut first!

N: ...

E: I'm fast, yo. I do that shit first, son!

N: That will not help you later in life.

Month the First

The Colbert Report
Originally uploaded by pakidude.

Loads of stuff happened and didn't happen for me in January. I subbed at private schools (good!) and public schools (bad!); took on a new tutoring student; spent many days off because the universe is against me; attended, and participated in, a taping of the Colbert Report; celebrated my 26th birthday (thanks, ladies!); established a series of Sunday brunches; convinced the universe to go in my favor with two very promising job leads; ordered and had delivered a futon for the apartment, along with rugs and the last of my boxes from Colorado, which leads me to believe that the moving in portion of my New York life is over! When February pans out, maybe I'll blog then, too.

Day One

but i haven't told you yet about our new year's eve. i might take you back to a couple nights ago when my cell phone fell out of my pocket into a cab and i went crazy without it. the last thing i needed was to shell out another 200 for a phone, or to lose everyone's number or have no way for potential employers to reach me...but thankfully after calling it for 12 hours someone picks up, it was the cabbie, and we arranged to meet at a well known corner in the lower east side. i offered him a twenty, for a thank-you tip, but he refused it five times and i got the new year's eve miracle i was hoping for...so with my phone in hand, and heather on my arm, i went to dana's place for a few pre-party drinks and we all took a cab to 55th and 3rd avenue, where a party was underway. after the drinking and eating and the dancing and the talking, we cabbed it down to 3rd street and avenue B to go to the twins' place where there was more drinking and dancing (dirty or otherwise) and then we all made it up tot he rooftop for the midnight hour and celebrations were wonderful.

today, heather and i will venture to the upper west side for brunch with friends, and a walk in the park, we'll talk about the things we can't remember and things we won't forget, we'll kiss under oak trees and hold hands by the river, she will shiver with a breeze and i'll hold her close. welcome to 2006: it is overcast, 41 degrees, the world abounds with war and love and forgiveness and sorrow and promise and ambition.

i am alive.

Merry Christmas

but i forgot to tell you of the time Heather and i went out to Rockefeller Center to see the famous Christmas tree. just last week, after work (and before the strike), we braved the wind-chilled Manhattan air to find ourselves in midtown, surrounded by tourists, to bask in the glory of the prettiest tree i've ever seen. after our gawking, we turned a corner and happened upon St. Patrick's Cathedral, wherein we listened to the choir practicing their carols, and it was good. next, we ducked into a Dean and Deluca for some hot cider and mosied our way to the NBC store to find they still sell Friends and Frasier paraphenalia. With our curiosity satisfied, we took the train home for what turned out to be (i can only assume due to the strike) our last mutual trip to New York City-proper of 2005. We leave for Colorado on Saturday morning, and come back in time for New Year's Eve, but will we be stranded in Brooklyn? Is this the untimely end of Milhouse?

Strike!

the transit system is on strike, merry fucking christmas, New York. of course, i could sympathize with the transit workers, had i been briefed on the nuances of their expired contracts and failed collective bargaining, but really all i know is that there is no bus to take me to work, and so everyone i know will be getting a big fat lump of coal that i had to make myself from burnt cork and rat droppings. oh, and the mayor's brilliant contingency plan of "get a ride" or "stay on someone's couch" is fucking brilliant. his plan might as well be, "get into a stranger's car and hope you arent' raped by lunchtime." the city is slower than that corky kid from life goes on, and there's no hope in sight.

Vodkas Tonic

Saturday evening was quite fun. We made it to a going-away party for a City friend which included, but was not limited to:

1) cupcakes
2) many vodkas tonic
3) an unfortunate playlist of Britney and Mariah
4) drinking a bottle of tequila in a circle of friends in the middle of Tompkins Square Park
5) amazing pepperoni pizza on the subway home

and the fact that, while in line for a dive bar on First Avenue, we were inundated with pleas from three very homely homeless men who were carrying and offering, quite inexplicably, trays of appetizers. they offered us freshly cut vegetables and dip, cheese and fruits, crackers and spreads. it amazed me they were carrying such obvious payloads of food, but what got me more was that they were offering the snacks for a donation of $1. were i a lesser man i might have been obliged, but as i have a rule against eating food offered by hobos, i thanked them but declined, and they eventually moved on.

the next morning we met Pat (not hungover) and Jay (newly arrived from Pittsburgh) at a place called Libation in the Lower East Side, which, while a pretty trendy and hard to-get-into-joint by night was a relaxing and quiet place to find an extremely affordable (i'm talking 3 mamosas and eggs florentine for $15) brunch. we stayed and talked for what seemed like hours, after which i accompanied Jay back to LaGuardia Airport and saw him off. I caught the M-60 back into Manhattan and eased my way back to the East Village to meet Heather and Dana at Winebar for an evening drink and conversation. The evening was serene until, inexplicably, another patron's hair caught fire from the candles on the bar. we took this as our cue to leave and Heather and I returned home for Chinese food and Futurama DVDs, Jay's gift to us (and by us i mean me).

as you can see, i didn't paint my face...

My friend from Colorado, Jay, made his way out to the east coast in order to see his (and my) favorite team, the Avalanche, handily trounce the New Jersey Devils. Upon arrival we drove (in his rental) directly to the Seinfeld Diner (aka Tom's Restaurant on 112th and Broadway) for a quick lunch and then, after a coffee at my apartment, it was off to Port Authority Bus Terminal to catch the 15 minute bus to the Meadowlands for the game. It was, hands down, the best game I've ever witnessed in person (with three unanswered Colorado goals after the first period, a tie at the end of the game decided by a shootout in the Avalanche's favor). The next morning I went to work and Jay drove to Pittsburgh for the Colorado game against the Penguins at which he ran into the Great One, Wayne Gretzky.

Well I just had to laugh, I saw the photograph...

it's the 25th year anniversary of John Lennon's death. in Strawberry Fields, in Central Park, there will be a barrage of fans and ex-hippies, all crowding around the small tile mosaic that reads, "IMAGINE." would-be artists will adorn the memorial with flowers and flags and albums and candles. many people will bring their stereos and guitars. the youngest of attendees will mistakenly play Hey Jude, at which point they will be beaten with War is Over protest signs. at 10:50pm (the time Lennon was shot) they will have a moment of silence and once more at 11:15 (the time he died). at 1am the Park closes and people will have go home or look for other gay men for anonymous sex.

Funny HaHa?

The Importance of Being Bushwick

the major line that takes me into New York City proper (Manhattan, that is) is the L train. it's not a bad commute, the 15 minutes to Union Square go by quickly when reading or listening to the iPod. these two passtimes, by the way, seem to be requisite duties of any New Yorker using public transportation.

i asked someone, once, at what point did she feel like a true New Yorker [as you may know this city is made of natives and transplants, this person being a transplant] and she noted that when one can sleep on the train and wake up at their desired stop unprompted, this is the moment of achieving New Yorkdom.

i believe i am only weeks away from this. i take the L train many, many times a week, usually to explore the lower east side and the east village, union square and so on. what i have learned about the subway system is which stops or transfers i prefer compared to others, which platforms contain which performers and food vendors, which stations smell like feet and which stations smell like urine.

i won't lie, there are many gross things about this city, but many great things too. the thirft stores, for instance, are great (though evidently thrift in New York means the exact opposite of what it means in the dictionary) and the flea markets, i am just discovering, are prime venues in which to anger grizzled old men by offering obviously naive and offensive pittances for otherwise expensive, if used, camera lenses.

but i love this life i lead with Heather and find a certain solace in living here in Bushwick. it's a nice little place, even if it is disengaged from what people normally think of when they think of New York. i am among puerto ricans and ecuadoreans, families and singles, and an obvious influx of young, white, would-be artists and poseurs. we leave the windows open so the sounds of our neighborhood (and flies) can compete with NPR when we make dinner. those sounds frequently include:

• the rumbling of the elevated M train up the block
• children playing in the street
• honking horns from cars and busses
• squealing police cars and ambulances, either going to an emergency or trying to mimic a hiphop track on their siren
• construction crews here and there
  
• the wind, the wind, the wind
  

walking down the street, everyday, we watch as a funnel cloud of pigeons circulates above one house, prodded by a man waving a large pole to command them. they are multicolored and when the sun hits them just right, they look like falling ticker tape, and heather and i are the only ones in our own parade.

Give Thanks

last night heather and i went to see the inflating of the Macy's Thanksgiving Day balloons, which takes place near 77th street and Central Park West. it was a wonderful time: once we got there we noted the huge crowds and both decided to simply view from afar and go home. but we got in the wrong lane for the subway during our walk and inadvertantly wandered smack-dab in the viewing area, bypassing a line of thousands. and so we took it all in.

today's Thanksgiving was the best one i've ever had, simply because it was my first time ever away from family but solely with my love and we made it work. we cooked our turkey and baked our pies and had a quality feast. later we watched The Godfather and a Marx Brothers movie (does it matter which one) and just basked in each other's glow.

I'm thankful for Heather, I'm thankful to be happy again. I'm thankful to be in New Yok City and living a life I thought would never be, and thankful to be able to share it with someone who has taught me that love is the best thing to give (and receive).

In a station of the Metro

three homeless people were sitting in the subway station, one of them had a large laundry tub on wheels (like you'd see in a hotel) filled with empty soda cans...

MAN:
yeah you know, so i gotta fill up this cart and then take it on down to the center and they pay big money for this.

WOMAN:
yeah, a lot?

MAN:
oh you know, i got to go to different centers to drop off, otherwise if i be taking in too much they start to ask questions and make receipts for the money. and next thing you know, they take out taxes on that shit.

WOMAN:
oh yeah, you gotta watch out for taxes. that's what did me in.

Daily blog

many interesting things and goings on afoot, the most recent of which was my trip to the Daily Show today. it was a simple enough task to get in: simply call them on Friday between 11 and 11:30, leave a message and expect a call back later on that day. it was a really great time, fun to see how they make that show. the comic who warmed up the audience was funny enough, jon stewart was hilarious (as was the day's material) and the guest was Al Franken. the only con was the studio is way the hell over on 11th avenue in Hell's Kitchen, not a great trek in 40 degree weather. we were explicitly told not to ask for autographs or take pictures, so you'll have to make do with my camera's little snapshot of the set.

i would have rather gone when Kurt Vonnegut was a guest, though i found solace in the fact that i was going to see him last friday during a reading at the Union Square Barnes&Noble...to no avail. he cancelled, though i don't blame him, he is like 83 years old, after all.

the one author i have seen, though, was one whom i admire greatly: Jonathan Safran Foer. heather and i saw him a couple of weeks ago at the Brooklyn Public Library during their "Brooklyn Writers for Brooklyn Readers" series. he was great, he was young, he was my would-be doppleganger, and i have to say i was just a little bit turned on...

there have been parties (kudos to Mark in greenpoint) and comedy clubs (kudos to the Upright Citizens Brigade Theatre and Gotham Comedy) and amateur sketches, dinners, drinks, just a little bit of dancing, and many many hours lounging on the weekends writing letters and reading the paper. heather and i have been growing fonder of each other over the weeks, carefully making our apartment the way we want it. we've got internet in our place finally, cable...we finally got a TV, and so i've started my netflix account again. surprisingly, heather has not seen a huge catalog of movies anyone from our generation would deem necessary and definitive.

heather and i have been crafting our own language, our own culture here in our apartment. this is something couples do, i suppose, and after awhile we may get to a point where we won't understand anyone who isn't us, who doesn't live in (what Kurt Vonnegut would call) our nation of two. but that's ok with me, because i'm willing to be a citizen here. i'm in love.

Framingham, MA

went to a bachelor party for an old high school friend. and from what i remember (and i think it's a lot!) i'm pretty sure i'll never look at bottled water the same way again.

time out of mind

currently, as i am ttyping, drunk in framingham, massachusettes, at a bachelor party. we're drinking beers and of course i'm out of my gourd on onlyl 4 beers.

tap the rockies my ass

the details of My life are quite inconsequential

i know it's been a while since i rapped at ya, but things have been pretty busy in my world. so many things to share, not the least of which was that i made a trip to my old hometown of queesbury for labor day weekend. a lot of my old friends were there, sort of a homecoming for me in the sense that i hadn't been there for like six years. and to tell you the truth i don't think i ever would have returned had it not been for the promise of seeing people with whom i still love to laugh.


in other news, i've taken a part time job at the local barnes and nobles during the down time of my tutoring escapades, but as September is upon us now, i assume that i'll have to quit in order to make even bigger bucks as a tutor.

aside from that, new york is full of charm (if not grace) and the importance, history, emotion and ethos of this town are not lost on me, just, seemingly, on the locals.

She's a MAN, BABY!

INT. OFFICE - DAY
NICK is at a table with three other girls, all of whom are casually checking the Village Voice.

GIRL 1
Man, there are A LOT of ads for porno!

GIRL 2
Tell me about it, the prostitution ads are right next to the horoscopes, so everyday when I check my horoscope it looks like I am looking up call-girls.

NICK
Yeah, I just moved here and I've noticed that New York has an inordinate amount of she-males.

GIRL 3
(SILENCE)

the times, they are...

one of my favorite things to do now is poke myself out my 4th (and top) floor window and take a gander at the neighborhood. up the street there are kids playing baseball amidst regular traffic and ambulences, behind them the high-risen M train pounds the night's shinanigans flat like a penny. down the street many busses flash by, the same bus, tailgating its doppleganger for the sake of making their rounds on time. many puerto rican families just inhabit the sidewalks, showing off their babies and smoking. their music can be heard for blocks, sometimes, and it's all very authentic. the neighborhood is also inhabited by the likes of me and heather, young couples hoping to take the city by storm. our music only fills our apartment, but is authentic all its own.

we've painted one room red, one room green, and the other have been left white. it's not as christmasy as you may guess, and once we're all moved in i trust our authenticity as new yorkers will be as heart felt as the couple in Edward Hopper's "Room in New York," which i've mentioned before.

i'm rambling, but that's how i know i'm home.

Splinter

We're slowly but surely getting things in order: we've recently acquired a bed, painted a room and are in the process of settling some hash down at the NYC Board of Education.

there are so many things to blog about, but all i want to say is this: if someone ever tells you a sewer rat won't bite your pinky finger, they's lyin'.

Ringo No More

i'm not sure if you are aware of this, but we initially flew out here July 18th, on the premise that our apartment would have been ready by then. upon arrival we were assured by our agent that the unit would be ready no later than august 1. that date got pushed back to august 15, which then in turn got pushed back to september 1. at this rate, we would be in our place by september 15, meaning we would have squatted at my cousin's place for 2 months inconveniencing everyone we know in the process.

so last week we walked around Bushwick all day and found another place: a little better, a little cheaper and A LOT newer. so here it is, in all its glory. we move in today, you may ship your well wishes and care packages accordingly.

by edward hopper...

there's a painting, if you can find it, by Edward Hopper. it's called, "Room in New York." it shows a couple: the man reading his newspaper intently, the woman casually tapping keys on her piano. and all i want is to capture this moment (forgoing any insight one might cull from a deep reading of the blocking of the characters, and the way light plays not with them but on them) in my own apartment with my own girlfriend, piano or not.

it's been almost four weeks since we've arrived in new york, and we have not one word on the move-in date of our coveted apartment, except that it theoretically should be happening soon. i'm starting to wonder if we'll ever get in there, as it's the only one we've deemed perfect for our purposes.

minus the apartment thing, everything else in this city is grand.

the Ocean State

we've been in Providence, RI since Saturday visiting my parents and other family. the Atlantic is a wide dream.

one night we went to staten island (the ferry is free and takes us right under the statue of liberty) at sundown, became so disenchanted with this forgotten borough that we ate chinese food and fled soon thereafter. heather does look wonderful with the sea wind blowing in her hair, though. one night we went to chinatown and had, hands down, the best chinese food we've each ever had. after our meal we walked down canal street where an ornery old coot insisted i buy his strange fruit. "i give you two pounds, one dollar!" he said, obviously doing me a favor. but i wasn't in the market for street fruit, let alone fruit i had never seen before. he gave me a sample, and i sucked its juice. it was slightly sweet, mundane if not tart. i didn't like it that much, and the man shook his fists at me as heather and i walked off. we turned north on mulberry street, into little italy. and looked at shoes and the wannabe Sopranos. if the mafia is dead, tourism killed it.

that you do so well...

i've taken on another student. he lives in the bronx, is named dennis, and is terribly bright. i take the 5 train to east 180th street and walk a few blocks to his house. on my way i pass by an old cemetary which a sign says contains the graves of veterans of 4 wars, starting as far back as 1812.

so i stand there and marvel a bit at the green lawn, unkempt and ramshackle mosoleums. as i grip the locked gate, i look down to my feet where a plate of rice and fish sits, uneaten but decaying, like it's been there for weeks. the rice is black, the fish mummified. i wretch a bit and an old man walks next to me and sees how i react to this food that someone seems to have placed there as an offering.

"voo-doo," he whispers and walks on.