not to be unoriginal, but why I love NY

Do you remember having a doll house? Remember the tiny furniture and the stiff little dolls that only bent at the waist and laid flat in bed? The way it was open sliced down the middle where you could jet pack fly in and out of rooms? So I didn't dig the doll house for all of these reasons. Then I made friends with the Jenkins girls who did something original. They made an open doll environment with whole shoe boxes representing individual rooms. Your doll could walk in and out of rooms that were porportionite with their size and the shoe box sized rooms allowed for walking around your play situation and it felt very real.

So NYC in one word: pedestrian. In NY you walk, and everyone walks with you. Public transportation is the great equalizer and the size of the city and the walking necessity is the universal life blood. I mean it when I say that more than great food and absurd entertainment of all kinds and all the shit you love to hate about NY, it's running into good friends, co-workers and your waitress crossing the street or on the train.

FOUND: only in NY

You think only in a small small town could the following occur, but actually it happened right here in Manhattan:

On Friday I dropped 3 signed checks walking down 6th Ave to the bank on 23rd st. They fell out of my back pocket presumably when I adjusted a wedgie. When I got to the bank and reached into my back pocket I said, nofuckingway! I traced my steps and didn't get too far when, sure enough, 2 out of the 3 checks were sticking to the sidewalk. The rain had been to my advantage, turning the checks into post-it notes. Deciding that two out of three weren't bad and since the third check was just under $100 I gleefully took these wet checks and went home, where they dried into full value, not stolen or lost items for deposit on Monday.

I had meant to call to put a stop payment on the lost check but never got around to it, even by Wednesday. Though I knew it was signed and begging to be cashed by the finder, I figured realistically it had just turned to wet pulp underfoot.

I certainly did expect to get home and have an envelope addressed to me from a complete stranger who I'd hoped had heard about We'll Never Have Paris and was offering to publish the zine. Nope, it was the finder of my check who had mailed it back to me with a nice letter. So if you are googling my name (or maybe you did when you first found the check because maybe you are young and single. Or maybe you are old and single and you were wondering how old I am but once you realized I am thirty years younger than you decided to just send the check instead of a check and a photo. Or, maybe you did see that I make clocks and zines and check them out on various internet media and decide that I was without any talent. Or you are like 87 years old and don't own a computer) then here is my thank you, John A.Grigley.

more asthma fun

More tales of continuing asthma fun. I have allergy-induced asthma and the only two triggers are cats and high humidity paired with pollen. Cats are by far the big winner. I had to figure out the hard way that I was allergic to cats. My reaction varies on the conditions of the house and of the cats but generally I cannot be in a house with cats for more than a few hours, certainly not an overnight. I’ve come to learn how the body’s fight reaction resembles a jealous friend. Will she come slowly to taunt me, chiding you in the kitchen until she feels satisfied with itchy eyes, followed by a runny-snuffy nose 1-2 combo and then the tightening chest and wheeze, or tease me with no symptoms so you think they never found out about not calling you back about that party and then wham! All at once you can’t inhale or exhale and do you have an inhaler in your backpack? No of course not because you don’t have regular card-carrying asthma.
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The weather I am less sensitive to. It was last year in Austin. Man, that city gave me allergies. I had to try three different stores to find an inhaler over the course of 2 days. You know that time of year when the heat finally spikes up and takes all the pollen with it and have a pollen-baking party in the air? Like this weekend here in NY? This time it was the sneaky girlfriend hiding cigarettes and waiting for you to want one and find they are gone. I do that. I find them and cut them and put them in the garbage. I always fear he will retaliate upon discovery but he just quietly buys more. Anyhow, my seasonal allergies were mild. Some sneezing, nose blowing, but nothing major. I was taking herbal nettle which usually does the trick. I even threw in a few zyrtec for good measure fooling myself that I was the one in control of this power exchange. Allergies weren’t getting me so far this year, ha ha! I could just eat chocolate chip cookies instead of popping these pills! So far so good.

Because, I have never had such a delayed reaction attack before like this in my life. After a day of drinking at Brooklyn Brewery and Radegast, enjoying friends, eating kielbasa, walking around, followed by a show at the Cake Shop, I got home deciding I would read and write. I sat on the couch. BAM. Entire beach sized towel shoved instantly down my throat into my lungs. One minute I was looking on Hulu and the next I was questioning myself, is this really happening? I got up and put on the AC and shut the window. I tried to cough it out. Each breath was shorter and less efficient. Fuck, ok, go get the primatine mist because I don’t have a prescription product. Shake. Insert. Press.

Wait.

That seemed like a long time. Finally it kicked in, followed by the shakes. Sit down, your lungs are having a heart attack. Stare at the computer screen like a moron. And then write. Good. Wrote the essay I wanted to on 3rd period data entry class, had good voice and flow. Wow, almost 2am. Drink water, go to bed.

But then holy shit abrupt awakening of how long have I been having the second asthma attack? Not even awake enough or getting enough oxygen to get down the loft bed ladder and into the bathroom. Incoherently realize what I am doing, get the inhaler, stumble back to living room. Shake. Insert. Press. Fuck, it released late when it was already halfway out of my mouth and got that taste on my lips and it kind of froze them. Try to suck in a breath.

This is the worst asthma attack maybe ever to have them this close. I let the first one go like a Monopoly ‘get out of jail free card’. I didn’t know what triggered it but oh well, joke’s on me. Now it is waking me up at dawn and acting all bossy so I am forced to ‘what the fuck, man?’ with it. Now I review yesterday.

When did I touch a CAT? Where was the cat? Did a cat get into my apartment? How? Breweries, mental revisualization, cat? Hugged Ben, Shanta, Opus, do they have cats? Moses and Georgia I know they have a cat but could I get this fucked up from one hug? My shirt, did a cat sleep on it at some point? When I was walking home did a cat hairball get inhaled? Does a cat live at the Cake Shop?

I don’t know where this came from and it scares me a little. Is this just a reaction to 4 days of weather hiding and building an army inside the breathing pockets on my body? I am still wheezing and I don’t want to exert myself to shower but the steam will possibly loosen up this sticky phlegm I have been weakly coughing up.

Inhalers are amazing. If you have never experienced this before, it is a little drug. I don’t need one often at all but when you need it you better hope it is there. The side effect sucks for a few minutes to an hour but even when you are trying to be cool and low maintenance with your friends, forcing smiles and coughs is like putting off going to the bathroom. I’m gonna get in the shower and then look high and low for the bottle of zyrtec I was too lazy to find yesterday and swallow like ten of them. I hope this is over and I am good for the day. Damn.

pangea paper dolls

if I were to liken myself to Pangea, the world super continent, I could explain how my life feels to me. That plate tectonics happened and land masses began to separate, no time to say goodbye. grade school films of 2 dimensional cartoons of pink asia and orange africa and pale yellow north america, a little music and action! Millions of years of drift by inches sped to the speed of a slow walk. with no time to say goodbye. now that millions of years have passed the continents are separated and far and distant with different histories and cultures of people. but once they were one.

and sometimes I feel like that person, that I have been drawn and quartered. there are events and careers and people in my past. there is me in my past. and I have been removed from myself and now that the moment is gone I know this makes little sense.

There but for the grace of God go I

I was having breakfast at my second favorite place in NY today between jobs. I've been waiting for a job that brought me to Murray Hill so I could eat breakfast there since they only serve breakfast during the week and not on weekends. I'd gone in with a limited amount of time, factoring in being a little late for the next job (I know her and she won't care) and with my mind set on pumpkin waffles (but they weren't on the menu so I ordered French Toast). I took a table instead of the bar and sat down next to a mother and daughter. I noticed the young woman's hot chocolate and waiting for a chance to interrupt asked if that was hot chocolate with marshmallows. She said yes and I said 'then that's what I'm gonna order'.

Then she asked me if I lived in the neighborhood and when I said no, if I worked in the neighborhood. They wanted to know what were some good restaurants in the area. I noticed the young woman with the hot chocolate was friendly. Then she asked about good restaurants in the East Village. Now I was kind of center stage. I thought, shit, are they gonna wanna talk all through breakfast? I'd just ordered so we were looking at at least 15 minutes. I hate talking to strangers about 'the best of' anything. I don't know other people's preferences. After giving a conversation-ending answer I got up and went to the restroom. When I came back, they were in their own conversation so I figured I was off the hook and it was over. But as I sat there (without my book because I'd forgotten I did have one) I was listening to them. It was impossible not to because our tables were separate by less than a foot, and all they were talking about were restaurants and food! I thought, who are these people with nothing else to talk about? This is sad for a mother and daughter to have nothing else to talk about. They must be tourists and the mom must be high maintenance, needing all her meals planned out and Zagat surveys filled out.

Mom observed my French Toast and said to the daughter, 'Oh, that looks good. You could probably eat that, if you can chew it, it looks like the bread is cooked well enough'. I jumped back into the conversation and here is what I learned.

No, they were not tourists on a luxury vacation spending all their free time searching for the city's best eats. As we talked, nothing was further from the truth. I never did get their names but the young woman was here for medical treatment at the cancer center, indefinitely. Her mom took her to treatments during the week and her husband took care of her on weekends. They were housed at the cancer housing center which was near Penn Station, and there were no grocery stores nearby, and even if they could cook in the dorm, there was one kitchen and stove for so many people and going out to eat was their only opportunity to kind of get out and do something before a long day of chemo. To add to this, the only reason they were talking so much about food was because there was so little she could eat, either by doctor's orders or her own ability to stomach certain tastes and foods. She was very open about her condition and seemed to want to talk about it, since I certainly didn't ask.

I also quickly did the calculations that her husband probably stayed behind in their home state to work because he had to. Someone has to keep the money coming in to support them, and I'm eating out and blowing all that money everyday was the last thing they wanted to do. But didn't they need to have a little dignity and enjoy a good meal, keep themselves as healthy as possible, and who knows how many weeks or months this person has left? Now that I looked at her I guess I could see that it was a wig and that having serious cancer would incline you to having conversations with anyone new who wasn't gonna talk about cancer.

I sure didn't want to talk about cancer, so suddenly talking about restaurants was the greatest thing on earth, and I sure knew where to send them. "Near Penn Station, that's easy! Do you like Asian food?" I asked excitedly. Andria doesn't like to lie. I like to be real. I could tell them about Korean and Vietnamese food because I really do love it. I could talk to them both with respect and not with fake cancer pity because that's something natural to me.

They were both real talkers. She wanted to know what I did for a living and mom was still talking about food. Then we all had to leave. She told me to get a mammogram early. They don't pay for women to have them until like age 50. And she was now 35 and already was quite a ways into the struggle for proper treatment. She looked at me like she didn't just mean women should have one, but like I should have one. I thought about it. Was it fate that I should meet them or just another NY moment? What were the odds? I left one job early to make it to eat here today between 10:20 and 10:50am. I sat next to them and sat alone, easy to talk to. It reminded me that cancer man, wtf? When they go to Pho 28 on 32nd St tomorrow or Thursday, are they going to strike up a conversation with a Chinese herbalist who specializes in cancer, or is mom going to choke on a chicken bone? Or when I see my doctor this month, should I ask for a mammogram and tell her, just because I have a feeling? God knows I never have been able to give myself a breast exam because it freaks me out just thinking about cancer.

While we are on it, you know, I've changed over the years to feeling very vulnerable where I'd originally felt invincible. I felt strongly that illness would never fell me and not just because I was young and cocky. I felt it. I knew it. Now I feel differently, like a victim ready to be blindsided and victimized by the uncontrollable unknowns in my body. There but for the grace of God go I.

We already have a George

Tonight I watched a show at Mercury Lounge for the first time in a long while. The North Carolina band, the headliner, was really good. I was attentive and engaged but out of practice as well; my feet hurt. I shifted my weight from foot to foot. The band reminded me of who I consider one of the pioneers of Freak Folk, the Dirty Projectors.

Anyhow I studied each member of the band. The lead singer kind of reminded me of a cross between my friend Christoph and Mr.Dirty Projector himself. Then I wondered why Christoph or any of my friends never buy copies of my zine. The singers lips bordered on undesirably large. The girl had a beautiful voice but was too shy, too young. Mostly envy enducing too young. The bass player reminded me of Dave Brainard from college. It was the beard. The drummer just looked vaguely familiar. He looked like a Jason. I decided his name was probably Jason (it was Matt). Then I wondered how he looked familiar to me. He looked like Jasons I knew. He was also scrawny and hipster. He looked like scrawny west coast guys I'd known. There were so many. Did he remind me of a drummer? Had those too. Or did he remind me of a deaf guy? Deaf or hearing? In what state, what year?

Didn't we have one of those already? Haven't I had one of everyone already? It's like that episode of Seinfeld where Elaine makes 3 new guy friends that are the opposite of the gang. When her new three meet Jerry, Kramer and George, Elaine has to choose who she is going to walk with. George asks Elaine, "Can I come, too?" Elaine replies, "We already have a George". That's how I felt at this show. The most honest moment in my day is when someone comes up to me that I cannot remember having met and I look at them unable to lie.

I'm taking an Arabic class. I've wanted to do this for years. The potential benefits include getting in touch with my ethnic background, being able to impress my family and practice with them, getting CEUs for my continuing education, possibly become trilingual. Isn't it amazing what we come up with as reasons to change the course of action in our lazy lives? As if one of these reasons wasn't good enough, no; I needed 4 full fledged reasons to sign up for this class. And, it's great! Better than I expected! I like the teacher, the room has plenty of natural lighting, the pace is almost slow enough for me.

Why then can't I do my homework? Here are some actual benefits that result from continuing education: what one accomplishes in the midst of daily procrastination.

I tell myself I will stay in to do my homework. I tell myself when I get home, I will have to do it since I have been out. When I go to work, I say, "I could be doing homework" and when the job cancels and I have a paid day off, instead of practicing I do the following:

1. Make more clocks. When that is done, make more clock labels for bags, organize clock photos, advertise clocks.
2. Schedule a yoga class. Get mysteriously hungry before class. Oops, just ate a whole meal and won't digest in time. Skip yoga and skip homework, too.
3. Plan to nap, never actually lay down.
4. Email! One never runs out of chores related to email.
5. Remove and reapply nail polish to toes. Clean stove while toes dry.
6. Hulu TV. As if I can't watch it any other time.
7. Clean.
8. Phone calls that could be made while walking to yoga were I also not procrastinating that activity also.
9. Typing up invoices earlier than needed.
10. Writing this blog posting.

Well, I guess it has worked, because it is now 3:33 and I can do a half-hour of homework then get to 4:30 yoga and there is nothing else I could try to do today but nap and even I accept that it's impossible at this point. Beside I invited my dad to class this Saturday and how would it look when I'm called on and don't know the answer.