Rocking the Monday Grind

So, I'm pretty sure U2 just floated by my window in a free concert parade a few minutes ago. Of course, I only saw them from 14 stories up, but he looked a little like Bono and talked a little like him and this is, afterall, NYFC, so the possibility is great. They had amassed a swarm of people following them, too. One fan ran up to the trailer flatbed and gave them a fresh pizza and "Bono" thanked him and NYC heartily.

Actually, I just checked on their website and they are in NYC today for a TV taping north of the Brooklyn Bridge.

Cool.

[still impressed by celebrity]

One of the Better Ones

I've been walking on air today. I came in about an hour late because I was on "official business" investigating a conference room at NYU for a panel discussion on homelessness my organisation is hosting. The campus is gorgeous, seated right across from Washington Square Park. Ah. It was lovely to walk around NYC during the mid-morning hours on a weekday.

Since I've been in the office, I've been out of my chair all day, which makes me happy because it hurts my back to sit here for hours and hours. I've been walking around the office, positively glowing, greeting all my co-workers, flirting with the new girl, laughing and joking and just generally being the part of me I am in casual settings. I think a lot of it has to do with the fact I'm wearing a t-shirt and jeans with big fat boots (always an ego boost for me, regardless).

Anyway, I've been receiving "I'm sorry to hear you didn't get the job" all day long, too. That doesn't make me unhappy at all; it's not nearly as depressing or difficult as I thought it would be. Quite the opposite, in fact, as it's nice to hear such persistent, "Well, I'm not going to like the new girl AT ALL" loyal comments from folks who are truly going to miss me. And I will honestly miss them, too. Ack. I know it's only been a month or so, but I feel I've left my prints behind me. And as sad as it is to leave, it feels good to leave a trail.

Worthy Plug

This man is, perhaps, one of my favourite artists. His messages, though simple, speak to me in the most profound ways. Example:

I've always liked the time before dawn because there's no one around to remind me who I'm supposed to be, so it's easier to remember who I am ~Before Dawn

I discovered him in a small, funky art gallery in St. Augustine a few years back with my dear friend Bear. We picked up his books and stood there for an hour going through every page reading to each other. We bought two or three of his books before leaving and have been smitten with him since. On the car ride home, she read me more from the books.

More good words...
Most people she never tells about the tightrope because she doesn't want to listen to their helpful comments from the ground. ~Tightrope

Check out his work. The prints are best as gifts for loved ones and the books are necessary for a complete bookshelf. From the site alone you can filter through his written words and scanned images, you don't HAVE to own his work to appreciate it, but it's relatively inexpensive if you want it for yourself.

Faithful Service

"You could do so much more than be my personal secretary," he says to me. You're right, I thought, the lump forming in my throat, my eyes blinking obsessively to keep the tears at bay.

"You made the decision impossible," he continues on, Difficult, but not impossible, I correct his sentence for him, bracing my arms against their decision.

"She just has more executive assistant and office management experience," he justifies his decision to me. I nod my head in affirmation; I knew that all along.

And so it is. I'm here until the 29th or 30th; I've volunteered my services to help the new girl takeover my position the first week she's here. I've been offered the letter of recommendation and encouraged to find better work elsewhere.

This isn't the voice of an embittered individual, I swear to you. I'm all for the Partnership having the best employees for the job. I'm not that person, but I don't take that personally either: I've done my best.

Now come the I'm sorry to hear... 's from co-workers who were hoping I would get the position. I'll face a barage of them in the coming days, but only when they ask for an update on the position; I'm not keen on going around telling folks that I didn't get the position. My plan is to exit as gracefully as possible, talking up the new candidate to the co-workers and helping make her transition as smooth as possible.

A Wintery Spring

A weekend in New Jersey and my soul is revived.

More importantly, a weekend spent with dear friends and my heart is uplifted.

Wine, greasy diner food, excellent bud and my body is rejuvinated.

My energy abounds, my joy replenishes and I feel like I'm living again.

I Finally Popped the Question

Soooooooooo...

I just asked Stephanie where the Partnership is in the process of hiring someone fulltime for my position and she told me, hesitantly, like I had just put her on the spot, that it was up to Arnold now whether or not I would get it.

I have tried not expect that I would get this position, but it's been hard not to with all the support from the co-workers.

It feels like failure from where I'm sitting. He has a second interview with a candidate on Monday. She's my strongest competitor (unless, of course, I have over-estimated my value here and am completely out of the running). I don't understand why, if he was going to hire me, he would want to interview her again.

I am certain he will offer her this position on Monday.

The trick is getting through the next 45 minutes without any tears.

On a Good Night

At 1.30 in the morning, half-drunk and tired as fuck, you will not find it hard to bargin with me.

$7 for a car service from the bus station home? Sold.

Plus a $3 tip upon delivery.

Please, just take me home. Take me home and leave me there.

Remember to Remind Me

Last night I found myself staring down 5th Ave at Washington Square Circle, just under the Arch, the place where 5th Ave splits and trickles to the other side of the park.

I was holding a banner, which boasted anti-Iraq war propaganda, and a candle in an opaque blue plastic cup (the irony being that a group of protesters who would normally protest for the environment were accidentally burning plastic for this particular demonstration). We were holding vigil for, specifically, the recent Falluja "insurgents" under US-led attack, and for, generally, the anti-war movement.

On my walk over to the park from the F train station, I thought about what I was about to do. Since I've been paying attention to our military manoevers in Iraq, the thought of going back into Falluja to squash the centre of the rebel uprising sounded, unfiltered in my mind, like a good idea.

My support of the war in Iraq has wavered since before it began. I was one of the first ones out there protesting the idea, back in January of 2003, on the basis of "Give Peace a Chance." Since then, I have heard stories from soldiers returned, telling of children and women they've saved, the gratuity some Iraqis have expressed them and the heartbreaking sights they've seen. I've heard from the Iraqi citizens who support the War and their arguments have been convincing.

All along, I've felt conflicted by my overwhelming desire for peace at all costs. In fact, confliction is the mot du année. I am surrounded in a sea of truths, jetsammed from my boat "Apathy," and clinging desperately to "I Don't Know."

I stood last night, with George Washington staring over my shoulder, wondering how I got there from "Squash the insurgency!" just hours before. And so,
because it felt like an appropriate response,
because I didn't know what else to do,
because the thought of so many deaths since the start of this war flooded my mind,
because I didn't know which side to choose,
because passers-by nodded their head, donated money, took picutres and cheered in approval,
because the icy winds were burning my eyes,
I cried.

The circle I have travelled in the last year has been an arduous path, though not as difficult as most. I've avoided most of the difficulty by sitting on the fence, watching from the sidelines, arguing for both defenses and voting for Nader (fnar). As with most challenges I don't feel ready to take on, I've ignored this one, claiming "neutral" all along.

I don't know what else there is to say about this; I'm not proud of it, but I'm not ashamed, either.

I leave you with a quote I'm sure you're familiar with; it haunts all of my neutrality decisions and weighs heavily always in my mind:

"First they came for the Communists, but I was not a Communist so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Socialists and the Trade Unionists, but I was neither, so I did not speak out.
Then they came for the Jews, but I was not a Jew so I did not speak out.
And when they came for me, there was no one left to speak out for me."
-Martin Niemoller

Julianne and Jesus...

BOTH in the same night! Can you BELIEVE my luck?!

As we walked down 7th Ave this Saturday night, headed for Henrietta Hudson's, Amber noticed Julianne Moore walking past us in the opposite direction. It wasn't until she was out of earshot that Amber pointed her out, at which point I turned to see for myself just as Julianne gave us a profile shot, securing, in my mind, that she was, in fact, Her.

Then, as if seeing Her wasn't enough for one night, at Henrietta's, Jesus Christ HIMSELF was hanging out with the sexually deviant crowd. A great reaffirmation considering I was told the day before that Jesus would still love me if I was gay.

Geek Love

I've decided that I like Heidi, an attorney for the Partnership, because she reminds me of my roommate, only Fizz is funny and hot.

"O.K., Folks: Back to Work"

This is what Bob Herbert, columnist for the NY Times, had to say this morning:

Which brings me to the Democrats - the ordinary voters, not the politicians - and where they go from here. I have been struck by the extraordinary demoralization, even dark despair, among a lot of voters who desperately wanted John Kerry to defeat Mr. Bush. "We did all we could," one woman told me, "and we still lost."

Here's my advice: You had a couple of days to indulge your depression - now, get over it. The election's been lost but there's still a country to save, and with the current leadership that won't be easy. Crucial matters that have been taken for granted too long - like the Supreme Court and Social Security - are at risk. Caving in to depression and a sense of helplessness should not be an option when the country is speeding toward an abyss.

Roll up your sleeves and do what you can. Talk to your neighbors. Call or write your elected officials. Volunteer to help in political campaigns. Circulate petitions. Attend meetings. Protest. Run for office. Support good candidates who are running for office. Register people to vote. Reach out to the young and the apathetic. Raise money. Stay informed. And vote, vote, vote - every chance you get.

Democracy is a breeze during good times. It's when the storms are raging that citizenship is put to the test. And there's a hell of a wind blowing right now.

I know there is an epidemic of Election Depression right now, but I, like others who have begun to look down the road of recovery toward the future, stopping to find the bright spots and the hope that remains, I want to encourage you to take heart! and not give up the good fight just because we lost this one. We may have lost the battle...

Unfolding

The following is an excerpt to my UB from a recent email exchange. I thought I would share with you all, too:

As irrelevant as it may be, when you were a kid, my dream for you was somewhere in the medical arts, I thought doctor. I remember your pretty, platinum haired cranium with wide, friendly and eager eyes. You had the most delicate hands and charming persona. I was certain you would become a doctor. I really felt that is where you belonged. Politics? How ever did you get there? - UB

Funny you should ask, actually, but only because you constantly tell me who I am and how I got here, yet you've no idea how I made the switch from Republican Madame Doctor to Brilliant Liberal Intellectual (like so many of my brilliant, underachiever relatives and foreparents are/were).

How did I get here? I was left, all alone, out in the desert, with no one to look like but myself. And instead of scrambling to burn someone else's identity, I worked on finding my own on my own. In those nine months I grew 21 years. I was impassioned, inspired, in-love, in tune (with myself and the world) and happy.

And I was in a relationship, a difficult one, with challenges visibly built into the walls. But for a long while, I was eternally grateful and constantly maintained happiness. Family and friends noticed immediately, taking wild guesses at what was the cause. I'm honest with and love myself, I told everyone confidently.

It wasn't until February that I came out. That's right, of the closet.

In my delirium, I was able to deflect my mother's gut (and guzzled) response; I had faith that she would eventually get over it.

But my relationship with my father stumbled. He and I didn't speak, except through mom, who, when I asked, exaggerated the way my father felt about the situation, and, in my fragile state, I broke down. Soon after, our traditional after-dinner discussions discontinued altogether. I tried communicating with him, but was so desperate at the thought of losing him forever that I couldn't muster up clarity enough to actually be honest with him, let alone rational.

Before my in-love relationship broke up, I was having an intellectual crisis. I questioned EVERYTHING, smoked a lot of pot, and went crazy for a month or so. This may have had something do with the breakup, or it just may be my fear of commitment. Either way, alienation being the cause or the effect, was a contributing factor in the crisis.

The Summer of last year was spent dabbling in taboo and academics (another reason for the breakup); I learned a ton of information that semester, it was probably my favourite semester at UCF. I studied hard and learned about modern political ideology (with a preaching liberal) and public opinion (with a moderate Brit). I was more focused on school than anything else. I loved it and was planning graduate school.

And in October I fell in-love again. Same barriers, same cracks in the foundation. And then I fell in-love again, but forgot it right away (he was a boy and I was a girl and I panicked trying to figure out how that was supposed to work). Then I got my heart broken for. the. first. time. and continued to be delusional for four more months.

Well you'll never guess what happened next...

I fell in-love again, though, this time- I resisted, for a little while, before being consumed again, this time by two fires at once. (I resigned the boy to excellent intellectual conversations [wherein I reflected, off him, your arguments from our discussions to gain perspective] and friendship love, only to have him confess his love for me on the Holiest of Holy Days: St. Patrick's.) I made brilliant observations, expanded my horizon and inspired others (no, really, it's true).

But then my Sundays with J were abandoned, and with them my favourite intellectual challenger. I stopped sparring with you right around then, too.

Now I find myself sort of floating, trying to strike a balance between vaguely ignoring my responsibilities (of getting my degree, of supporting myself) and being depressed and/or lonely and/or a gladfly. I'm SURROUNDED by liberal gits who never give second thought to Conservative or alternative possibilities or sources of information (or information at all, for that matter). I've gone from delusional to disillusioned in one year flat. That takes skill.

And I would have voted for Kerry after the first debate, if not for a friend who challenged my reasons for voting third party when, like a fortune teller, he knew they wouldn't win.

So now you know who I am and how I got here. I'm still working on my third long-distance relationship, this being number three in two years. I know enough people up here that I'm never alone, but lonely enough to want to be alone, however too scared to make that choice. I'm rapidly absorbing personalities and apathy and I can feel myself beginning to blur. 'Scuse me while I fade out for a while...

Compulsive Politicking

Today is election day, as you know, and it's quiet in the office here. Aside from the interview I just gave for the HR Director, it's felt like the calm before the storm. My vote has already been cast (having done so two weeks ago in Florida via absentee ballot) and so I feel no trepidation about today.

At this point, I have already accepted that Bush might win the election, an effect, I am told, due in part to my "irresponsible" voting. And I have also accepted that Kerry may win the election. I am at peace with both outcomes of the race and would not have remembered today was The Day except that every newspaper is showcasing the fact.

The "fact" being that pollsters are expecting record numbers to show up and vote today, quite possibly the only consolation in Bush or Kerry being elected. Yes, I have resigned myself to be content with, "No matter what happens, at least people cared this time around." Regardless if you consider those people to be the wrong people, at least they were engaged. At least Democracy was the chosen medium. Whoever wins today, Democracy will not be the looser. And I will sleep soundly tonight.

(Lo)(nel)(in)(ess)

I had what you might consider a "busy weekend." First of all, let me start out by saying that I didn't get home until at least 8.30 every night last week; Monday was a foray into the Village for thrift stores (all of which close by 6 pm Mon-Fri)- a complete bust.
Feeling: disappointed and annoyed. Fizz sprung for the bottle of wine that night.

Tuesday Fizz and I ventured to our "regular" spot- Zanza, a bar featuring Yogi, a friend of ours who spins, excellent Veggie burgers and $2 draughts. We were joined by Sav, a (shameless) promoter of independent arts; a good guy, cool, but reeks of "I'm everybody's friend."
Feeling: disappointed and amiss.

Wednesday was dinner with Whammy at the Zen Palate in Union Square. Vegetarian cuisine reasonably priced, fun company.
Feeling: still amiss.

Thursday was an off-off-Broadway play written by Leslie "Copy Bitch" Bramm. The play, Oswald's Backyard, performed at Beckett Theatre, was very well-written and acted; I enjoyed it immensely, though I'm slightly confused about the point of it. I went out with Whammy, Wamber, The Boy and Fizz, and Fizz's (and Leslie's) co-worker, Quanta Wade (the woman who 'recommended' me for employment at my temp agency). Afterwards, we drove down to the Village so The Boy could get food and the rest of us drinks. We picked The Slaughtered Lamb, a reference to "An American Werewolf in Paris." All fried food, all English beers. The topic of conversation was Bush-bashing, that is, sources uncited, preaching to the choir, Air-America Liberal bashing. I kept my mouth shut until I couldn't take it anymore; "I'm tired of your one-sided bullshit conversations!" I snapped at my friends. There is only so much one can take.
Feeling: frustrated and tired.

Friday night was the St. Petersburg Philharmonic Orchestra at Carnegie Hall. Fizz lent me The Boy for the night and we got all gussied up in our finest rags; he in his suit and I in my "symphony" dress (formerly my bridesmaid dress). Boy, did we feel silly and spiffy. The orchestra was beautiful, nearly moving me to tears in the first movement. The sound quality in Isaac Stern Hall was, of course, AMAZING, even in the rafters we could hear just as well as if we'd been 3 feet from the stage. The only distraction was a poorly sound-proofed exit door that, when nearby cars honked or sirens cried out, you could hear through very clearly. Boo-hiss, but whatever; I chalked it up to NYC saying "hi" and enjoyed myself anyway.
Feeling: calm and at ease, though distracted by thoughts of my job.

Saturday, even though I was asleep by 1 am, I slept to 4 pm, alone in the house and misery.

Saturday night was an evening at Kenny's Castaways on Bleeker to watch Raining Jane, an all-girl band from LA with whom Fizz acquainted herself when they played Salt Lake City last year. They're funky and fun, but in serious need of new music; I now know every single one of their 18 songs.
Feeling: even among friends I felt alone (a recurring theme of late). Riding home Saturday night in my lonely misery, I decided that an evening home alone the next night would be the best thing for me.

Sunday morning I woke up refreshed and jolly, partly due to the end of Daylight Saving's Time and partly due to Fizz's equally joyful demeanor (likely induced by morning 'relations'). We went to breakfast at an Irish restaurant up on Grand Ave; the walk 4 blocks away was divine with cool, blue skies, bright sun, and shorts-friendly temperatures. A Traditional Irish Breakfast was my choice, with 4 kinds of meat, a few eggs, grilled tomato and some home fries. Need I say more? In my joyful mood, Fizz suggested I go to the Halloween Parade with them later that night; I forgot all about my social misery and decided to go with them.

That evening started well: handing out candy to children (I feel like SUCH a grown-up!) and getting ready with Whammy in the house is always amusing. She's freaked out by kids, so I made her dole out candy to them (I'm so cruel); panicked as they ran up the porch steps, she asked, "What do I say to them?!" but handled the goblins perfectly.

When we got down to the parade, 6th Avenue was PACKED! We were standing 7 people deep to watch the parade, only able to see the stilt walkers and puppets going by. I was bored and Whammy was irritated with the crowd, so we jetted off to hook up with Yogi at Nevada Smith's (yes, named after the Steve McQueen flick), leaving The Boy and Fizz to meet up with us later.

Later that night, as we left Nevada's, I was angry and annoyed- at what, I couldn't say, but that sense of loneliness that has been plaguing me the past few weeks is the closest to how I was feeling. In the subway, waiting for train, I sat on the ground and quietly cried, the only thought in my head was, I wanna go home. Even now, sitting in my office typing this up, my eyes are welling up with tears. An irrational thought, of course, as a) I don't even know where home is anymore and b) home is not the solution to my problem. I spent the rest of the trip back to Queens avoiding eye contact with my friends and determinedly chewing my finger nails.

All I can attach to the way I feel is loneliness, a feeling I have no idea how to get a grip on or get over, other than to just avoid everyone altogether. So far, I've done a piss-poor job of that. I keep thinking being around people will lift my spirits, but spending time with them is never as fulfilling as I hope it to be. I keep going out, hoping that "this night" will be The One to pull me from my funk.

This Tuesday we're all supposed to go to Zanza to watch the Election results roll in (the idea is: why go through that alone?) and I'm thinking: another night of LOTS OF PEOPLE and POLITICS- two subjects which have been the only common denominators in all of my sad evenings lately. I'm thinking I want to sit this one out, even though it will be a momentous, contentious occasion (a moment I am not usually wont to pass-up).

When it comes right down to it, though, fond memories of time spent with good friends tend to overshadow the unhappiness that sometimes trails behind.