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.