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2010-04-28T17:31:00.006-05:00

For what seemed like an entire year, but probably amounted to a couple nights a week for a few months, my dad worked on a project while we'd watch TV as a family at night. We'd all sit down to watch the latest Law and Order, Star Trek, or Murder She Wrote (my favorite at the time), and my dad would lean from the couch to work over a TV tray covered in newspaper, often with a hot glue gun or paint.

He was building my dream house. It might be the most memorable, and un-broken, Christmas present I'd ever received. The San Franciscan. I loved doll houses as a little girl. I collected not just one house, but an entire village, complete with school and church, neighbors, a store, it was a nice friendly town. I was less interested in the activities of a single family within the house, and while I needed basic furniture, I was more focused on the creation of the village as a whole, and especially enjoyed finding new wares for the store. Cheerios made lovely donuts, especially marketable to the Bear Family. My favorite "people" to reside in the doll houses, were the Sylvanian Family. These little plastic bears and rabbits with movable heads arms and legs, flocked with short "fur". They came in standing positions, and were human like in every way, well, except the fur and animal heads, but they came with clothes if you wanted, and apparently even had a popular TV show, though I had never seen it. I could hear their friendly voices and they just seemed nice, I preferred them to the cold plastic people.

Most of my houses were plastic, too (I had the one here with the red roof), with little detail except an open-able front door. But, this, The San Franciscan, this I had wanted for some time. And, somehow, my dad had been kind enough to take the project on.

The San Franciscan was a four story Victorian style house that looked just like one of the houses in the beginning credits of Full House. It was all wood. The interior walls had to be layered on the outside with individual pieces of siding. The roof was made up completely of individual shingles. And the porches had railing where each individual spindle had to be glued in-between the bottom rail and the top handrail before being glued on. The details were endless. The one I'd seen made in the toy store was pink with white details. Of course, I wanted mine to be pink. Somehow, my Dad convinced me that I would like it more if it was a nice bright sailor blue with cream details. I still don't think that's the color combination I'd pick, but I agree (retrospectively) that the blue color is a more lasting style and improves it's chances for resale, if it were an actual house. In the case of a doll house, any self respecting 7 year old would prefer pink. Girl color preference aside, I think my dad just couldn't bare the thought of toiling over tiny slats of pink siding for weeks. Maybe this way it felt just as though he were building a model ship, instead of a doll house.

I didn't see the completed version until Christmas morning, and it was amazing. It stood over 3 feet tall, with every little shingle and filigree detail, windows with real shiny plastic, stairway and opening door intact. I was even given a new children's table for four, just so the house had something to sit on. My village welcomed this new addition high on the hill (aka table), though the Bear people certainly didn't fit in the Victorian environment as they had in their one-room, wood-looking plastic house. I never really had much of a family that belonged in the San Franciscan, doll-house people (figurines?? - more like action figures!) are usually produced in a size to fit a line of houses sold with them, kind of like Barbies fit in Barbie Mansions (but, for the record, Barbies actually don't fit that well). Anyway, despite the lack of appropriately sized action figures, I did have some amazing furnishings, including a porcelain bathroom set (toilet, tub and pedestal sink) that didn't fit at all in the Sylvanian family's home, or the plastic schoolhouse (with working bell tower!). So the village hummed along. The only unfortunate part, is that I was 9 when the house was completed, and within the year thereafter my interest in such childlike things waned. I remember the sad day, when felt I had to decide, with a definitive announcement, I was too old to play with doll houses. The SanFranciscan, now missing a few shake shingles, went into storage. And I grew up.

A year ago this month, I bought a real house. It wasn't until just now that I realized the connection between my childhood love of dollhouses and my adult interest in all things home, visions of changes that could be made to the house or ways the furniture could be rearranged, and even the fact that I installed a pedestal sink shortly after purchasing. I guess I didn't really grow up, I just re-channeled, and now I have a giant dollhouse all my own!! It's true that it's complete with roommates and not necessarily filled with, or maybe fitting for, a "family", but I do have a vacant room! Now all I have to do is find a Bear-like, friendly person to move in!

Summer to do list

2009-07-17T14:22:00.001-05:00

Salt Lake city makes for amazing summers, and I wanted to make sure to use every minute of this one, so I made a list, in no particular order . . .

Summer to do list:

Go to a Drive-In Movie: http://www.drive-ins.com/theater/uttredw
See the Utah Symphony perform outdoors: http://www.deervalleymusicfestival.org/
Go to the Free Concert Series at the Gallivan - don't miss Iron & Wine!: http://www.slcgov.com/arts/twilight/
See an Alfred Hitchcock Movie al fresco: http://www.slcgov.com/PublicServices/Gallivan/gallivanmovies.html
Go on a picnic
Hike in Millcreek Canyon: http://www.utahoutdooractivities.com/millhikingtrails.html
Go to Disneyland
Run a 5K: http://www.active.com/donate/chingsanctuary/burt
Volunteer for something!
Swim at least once a month: http://www.recreation.slco.org/slcSports/
Buy vegetables, and eat breakfast, at the Farmer's Market: http://www.downtownslc.org/events/farmersmarket/farmersmarketinfo.htm
Grow tomatoes
Throw a summer party
Have family over for a BBQ
Swing on great swings
Make home-made Ice Cream
Visit my grandma in Logan
Plan a trip to New York
Walk to get food(eat out at nearby restaurant, or shop at nearby grocery store) for at least one of my meals per week
Take a weekly bike ride
Go Camping

a bit too independent girl

2008-12-02T02:08:00.002-05:00

I don't think I'll fully latch on to status updates, and twitter. I can hardly keep a blog up to date at that. But, it seems I've given up on my dear, dear friend sleep - a staple of my college years. So, back I come to my old friend Blog. Sometimes, I get an idea of something to post here, but then I realize people might read it, or, more so, because I so rarely post anything, that when I do it should be something significant. Ahh, you great many followers of my blog, read no further, nothing significant here. If you're a regular, you'd know that I try to keep posts from being news or factual updates and stick to random, ambiguous thoughts. But, if that's what you're looking for, again this might disappoint. Tonight, I'm going to try my hand at classic boring blogging, a summary of updates and shout outs to my loved ones. Now if only I had some pictures of a cute baby I could really start a cottage industry. Don't hold out for those just yet.

Lately, my time has been consumed by a focus on 2009, yet it somehow amazes me that the new year is just around the corner. My time will now be more consumed by work. But I think there's been a pretty good balance of late. I have been especially thankful this Thanksgiving for the great friends I (finally) have in Salt Lake. My friends, family and associates from work and home have been an amazing group of people this year and have helped me to weather a surprising amount of change.

From the view here in my room, it feels like little has changed - same room (for over a year!), same computer, same decor, same untamed giant pile of clothes, same emily. However, I have, in chronological order starting with the most recent first, made many changes in 2008: New Cell Phone (yay Googlephone!), Big Hair Cut, Return to Singledom, New Job (in new city... still drivable, though), Departure from Singledom, International Trip, Fundraising Campaign at Work, New Year! With only one month left, there are still a few changes I'd like to see develop, but for now, I'm pretty happy just to be weathering the current ones. So far, they all seem like great changes, the question remains where they'll lead next.

All Mixed Up

2008-05-30T19:39:00.003-05:00

I remember '92 Cool Songs pretty well. There was some Bobby Brown a little SWV, maybe Salt and Peppa, and even Right Said Fred. It was my premier mixed tape, and, well, fortunately my music tastes in no way resemble my beginnings. I was Nine. I can remember sitting in my room with my little two cassette AM/FM stereo listening to Q99.5 for hours until my favorite songs came on. I would even call incessantly to try and make requests, but I only got through once in my three years of annual mix tape production. Frantically pressing play-record when the song started, I would slowly begin my tape. Flipping in the middle and writing down the song list.Once I was finished with the tape, I would make copies for my few close friends, and label it accordingly: '92 Cool Songs. It amazes me how much time I must have had as a nine-year-old to devote to this task.

Soon thereafter I started "going out" with a guy in 4th Grade. For me, all this meant was that he had asked me if I wanted to go out, I said yes, and we stopped talking. With the exception that he called me once on the phone. Most importantly, he also gave me the first gifts I ever received from a "boyfriend" - CDs. Tyler gave me my favorite: Mariah Carey. These were really my first CDs, I had one Vanessa Williams album, and got the Aladdin soundtrack for Christmas soon after. From then on out, most of my boyfriends (or semblances of them) can be characterized by music tastes - and many in CD form. I received Nirvana, then Simon and Garfunkel, then a whole series of mix CDs with underlying messages, then CDs that I picked out, and finally a 2 CD mixed set. From guesses, to overt (and subversive) romantic gestures through music, I've gone from the high-tech future (when CDs were just becomming common) to the low tech present (regressing to another two-sided mix - but this time on two CDs), and I think -- minus my 92 taste in music, my early love for the custom mix wasn't far off the mark.

Pink Moon/There's Nothing Wrong with...

2008-05-26T19:49:00.004-05:00

Spontaneity, yes; uncertainty, no. My whole body rejects uncertainty, my mind doesn't know how to process it or where to put it. I need a plan so much that often I find I've made too much of a plan and I want to rebel and take back control of my time. Finish college, get job, then? uncertainty. What job I had never seemed all that relevant. Now that my job has become most of what's relevant in my life, I've realized I should have put a little more thought into it. or maybe a little less into doing it. So, I shrugged off the big responsibility of running the gardens and took on a new job with the Sundance Film Festival running the volunteer program. I'll be starting next week, and I'm hoping it will be a welcome and refreshing change.

Change, though, involves lots of uncertainty. I'm not quite sure how I feel about the whole thing. At the same time, as I've started to come undone from the shackles of my job, I've found new friends, rediscovered old ones and actually had time to spend with them. This is where spontaneity, wonderfully and fully, has played a fabulous role in helping me to give up my need for control and a plan. Creating something to look forward to and think about that isn't work. Unfortunately, I'm still waiting for my glorious embrace of spontaneous fun to spill over so I might gloriously embrace a future filled with unknowns.

A future full of unknowns scares me and makes me sick to my stomach. I'm not saying it's normal, but I'll also admit that it is pretty fun. I don't want to use that whole roller coaster analogy here, however it's surprising in reflecting on how I'm feeling that people might be right on with that one. There is something really exciting about being utterly and completely confused, nervous and not in control. Maybe it's good to shake things up completely once in awhile, to be this bonkers, and to let uncertainty keep me up at night. Though I hate uncertainty, I don't think I ever knew it could be this good.

Cold Comfort for Change

2008-03-31T19:25:00.003-05:00

My laptop, which crashed sometime last fall, previously revived (thanks, brother!) has now just been reunited with the recovered files on a portable drive. My Itunes are playing, on my laptop, it's a cause for celebration.

It's also time for news. I guess I just decided it was time to make some. As of this Friday I will have worked at my job for three full-fledged years now. I'm pretty much tired of being overwhelmed all the time and always needing to get more done, so I decided it was time to move on. The announcement has been made, and it's been a little tough to think of leaving this place that's become so close to my heart over the years and all the great people that have come with it - but it feels really freeing.

That is, until I think about figuring out what I'm going to do next. Fortunately the transition is going to take about 2 months, so I have a little time. But I have to think about it. Stay in nonprofit? Going back to school might be nice, but it's not shaping up to be an option for this fall. Start a restaurant. Hmmm that might be too expensive. If only there was a way to live but not work but be productive. I'm thinking I'll stay in non-profit... but time will tell.

We got goldfish at our house, too!

Sunny Day

2008-01-03T19:47:00.000-05:00

Happy New Year! It's once again time for one of my favorite yearly occurrences, and one of the oddest non-profit ventures in Salt Lake -- the Sundance Film Festival! We've selected tickets for 32 of our 52 films, and the rest will be selected tomorrow, filling in this schedule through the end of the 10 day festival. Although this schedule won't be very interesting to most of you, this is the only spot on the internet I have where I can turn google calendar's HTML code into a pretty little agenda to send along to my fellow festivalgoers. You know who you are, this agenda's for you! (It doesn't include it, but as requested Thursday, Saturday and Monday have time set aside for skiing).

When it rains it pours

2007-08-31T17:51:00.000-05:00

I always have to wonder why Morton Salt's iconic symbol is a girl with an umbrella, protecting her from the rain of salt. If it rained salt, well it would be bad. For you non-gardeners out there, let's just say, it would be really bad. We've been waiting for rain here in Salt Lake City - and while we seem to have more than enough salt, a little water would do. We just installed a giant, 1,000 gallon barrel in one of our community gardens - which at that size, is called a cistern, and because we put it pipes to collect rain off the nearby roof, it should be called a "Rain Catchment System". I had to give a speech at the ribbon cutting ceremony. It was exceptionally hard to come up with a speech to commemorate the opening of a giant barrel - especially without rain in the forecast. I think it went ok in the end, though - the lack of rain really sells the idea of water catchment pretty well. So go get yourself a 55 gal barrel from pepsi, or coke, which used to hold syrup, and hook it up to your downspout. You can have your own ribbon cutting, if you like, too.

On another note, my friend Dave sent me an excerpt from a dream of his, since I've been hounding him lately to help me out with a project, it's pretty good since I don't really see this happening:

Get this...I had a dream where you were trying to build an ark a la noah's ark, except you wanted to collect silverware instead of animals, and you were standing in the salt lake with your sleeves rolled up and everything and you asked me which countries you could get to from here.

Apparently, I'm always waiting for rain. .... and collecting silverware ??/

Tidal waves don't beg forgiveness

2007-05-03T21:50:00.000-05:00

Finality is so rare in our society. There are few things that are final (I'm glad to have just received my tax returns), so when I found myself in a discussion about a final point at a long journey, it was somewhat surreal. I don't think the reality really sunk in at the time, but now it is just that - the journey ended, final, not really for any logical reason and not necessarily at a natural point. It's not really a tragedy, or a sorrow, just final. Done.

It makes me think about what I would go back and change, and what I'm glad to be done with. Everyday thoughts of the past and the future enter my mind. Too often I think about the loss of someone I'm close to, and not often enough do I think about the quality of my own life.

There's a quote that life is frittered away by details. I used to just think it meant forget about the details. But I realize that almost everything I do, or think about is the details. In being faced with finality in one course of my life I realized how little thought I gave to the bigger picture. Beyond grad school decisions, tasks at work, plans with people. But now, it's spring, so all I do is talk about how busy things are at work, and think about how busy I am, and work busily, and fritter.

Silence is Beauty

2007-03-02T00:39:00.000-05:00

What do I think about when I think about nothing. When I don't think of things I need to do, need to remember, need to work on. All this thought about me, work, details, tasks, pursuits. Do I think about things when I'm not thinking about that. Where does my mind go when I sleep? Back to work? Do I really ruminate about the things I post here, certainly not, this is a dumping ground too often for the trite.

My days are filled with music, conversation, writing, words, melodies, listening. Do I even think about the things that pass me by. I check them off. I check off my day, and I start making lists for the next. I look forward to mundane tasks, making a meal, cleaning a space completing a job. I have become a simple, small, person in a world filled with so many words and so much silence.

The snow is silence that speaks. So loudly. It draws me back to daydream. And as I converse, I daydream, I realize that perhaps everyday I daydream - as I believe in this self of fun, dynamic, exicing. A vision I once created from imperfect mirrors of others, of my own, me -- doing things! I did things! and I still think of myself as with that real person of life! . Now I feel so chained to stress and a desk, but it is so small, and so simple, and so mundane - so far from a chain or deep stress. I glaze it over with the daydream vision of an alternate self. A mysterious future. Factual and vague blogs usually wallpaper this space. But today, I speak to daydreaming. I daydream too much of a fictional path, the same daydreams I had as a little girl, though somehow, as I've drawn closer, only the rigid details have come into focus, and so much of the rest remains obscured that together a youthful daydream of adulthood has become a tenuous blur. Perhaps I have arrived, or I am still too far off, or I'm going through much to quickly to see the images.

But we made snow angels and tasted the nothingness on our tongues.

Do Men love Beck ?

2007-02-03T02:17:00.000-05:00

Clap your hands. Bob Dylan's easy to love. Elvis Costello takes time for some.

I seem to be attracted to Pearl Jam, or at least men who are. While love for classic talent runs deep, do music tastes evolve? My older brother seems to still love Metallica and my Dad the Beatles. A drunk guest at a party this evening requested Michael Jackson -- which brings up a whole different question about the resurging popularity of the late eighties -- what's with men in tight, tight pants. These men, I don't think I could be so attracted to. But, then comes the question of Beck. I have some serious admiration for his music, but are male Beck fans tight pants wearers?

It seems I either end up dating pop fans or serious Pearl Jam Fans --- three serious pearl jam fans to be exact, the kind who know obscure facts about Eddie Vedder and travel miles and miles to see them in concert. Don't get me wrong, Pearl Jam's some good stuff, but, well they've played out in my relationship world. I was thinking, I could be very compatible with another Beck fan, but then again, the tight pants. And really, I don't know many obscure facts about Beck at all, or any band for that matter, I find I go through phases of obsession. No Beck or Pearl Jam played at the party filled with tight pants wearers and a definite Bob Dylan look alike (ala Blonde on Blonde). Granted, the party was for a younger, or errr more mixed crowd. And it made me wonder if I was much younger today, what would the music fan equivalent of a Pearl Jam fan be today? Maybe there isn't anything like Pearl Jam ?

Popular Mechanics for Broken Hearts

2007-01-31T01:02:00.000-05:00

I'm a little behind, so I think an end-of-2006 post is in order.

In Feburary of 2006, a kind person to whom I had loaned my passat decided to inroduce my trunk to a tree. They bought me a trunk lid to replace it, but no one (i.e. them or me) seemed to have time to replace the dented trunk lid.

As the year went on, people began to recognize me as I drove around, and even my employees knew when I was in the office, or elsewhere, due to the dented lid on my more common place car.

But, I was determined to ring in the new year dent-free. So together, my Dad and I removed the dented lid and corresponding wiring and interior panels. My Dad, who works with old jaguars for a living, became frustrated with what he called "typical German Enginering" -- meaning an overkill securing things and including unnecessary parts. So, after the two hours it took us to deduce how to remove the lock from my former trunk (which matched my car's key) and place it in the new trunk, we put the trunk back on. And Voila! we closed the trunk. We went to open it, this is when my Dad, who typically likes to parade around as the all knowing type of Dad, began to panic in a way I had never seen before. He tried strenuously to open the lid, but to no avail. He was envisioning having to rip out the back seat and cut a hole in the steel to access the trunk compartment (to brits / jag users we should appropriately call it the Boot).

This is the point at which I decided to tell my Dad that the seats conveniently fold down from the interior to access the trunk. It will be the first time I've had a body in my trunk, let alone my Dad's. You'll be glad to know during a 15 minute stint in the Boot, we fixed the problem, I have a prestine working trunk.

All the lonely people

2006-10-23T14:56:00.000-05:00

The US population has reached 300 million this month. McDonald's has served over 99 billion worldwide. Aren't we at critical mass yet?

Labor Day

2006-09-04T13:06:00.000-05:00

Last night I was at my Mom's house having dinner along with my brother, sister-in-law, and their two year old son, Nathan. We all sat down for dinner and Nathan was wantering around swatting invisible bugs or something. His mom told him he needed to cme sit down and eat. To which he said, "I have to get my laptop." He wandered onto the lawn mumbling things that two year olds mumble. His mom followed him and told him he had to sit down right now or else go and take a nap....
"I have to go to work. I need my laptop"
To which Nathan's mom replied, "Nathan I'm going to count to three, come sit down."
"I have to go to work."
"Nathan."
I have to go to work, I have to get to a meeting."

At this point, everyone at the table was trying to laugh as quietly as possible while his mom still tried to be serious in disciplining the little workaholic. Eventually, his need was quelled when we told him dinner was his meeting, we were waiting for him, and pointed him to his seat. He shouldn't be late for his meeting.

I left my laptop a few minutes ago to come into work and update the books. I don't feel too bad that i'm typing this on my work computer, because it's Labor Day. I'm not even late for a meeting... or dinner.

bells ringing

2006-06-29T00:14:00.000-05:00

My two year old nephew has recently asserted the power of a common phrase, "What about me?" On last week's family fishing trip to Montana, we talked about going fishing or hiking, or any other activity, to which came from the back of the rented twelve passenger van a sweet and ernest "What about me." Fortunately, while Nathan may have protested to not getting to fish, he also won't remember whether or not he did the next day. We're all just glad he's integrated pronouns into his speech. Previously in such situations, he would let out a demanding, "Nat-an do it."

Seems around these parts I find myself thinking like Nathan from time to time. Most especially as I have reached my 23rd year (24th, really). My parents seem to be saying "What about you" a LOT more than I do, though. During the past two weeks, a rash of engagements, well, actually two - one of my dearest friends from High School and one of six coworkers have become engaged. More shockingly, those two, along with another long-engaged coworker (all female) are all getting married in August. Today, some of us ladies from work went shopping for wedding dresses, and myself and the other non-engaged coworker felt the pull of wanting to try them on. It reminded me of being in Jr. High, dropped off at the mall by a mother, my best friend and I would try on dresses for fictional proms. It was great fun. Something about actually putting on a wedding dress seems more daunting and cerimonial. We resisted the urge hesitantly, as our curiosity continued. Perhaps, just like Nathan, a bit too young or just not quite ready enough to wield a fly rod, I'm not prepared to don the dress. But somehow, when the talk is fresh and sparkly white satin surrounds, it's easy to get caught up in the "what about me?"

Dixie

2006-05-31T19:51:00.000-05:00

To celebrate Memorial Day, and apparently a much belated Martin Luther King Jr. Day, I took a whirlwind trip with a well-traveled friend down to Southern Utah - known as Utah's Dixie. It basically involved a tent, 3 days, about 1,000 miles of driving, 4 fantastic National Parks and seven great hikes. HooDoos, Arches, Cliffs, Rivers - and many shades of red rocks are the familiar sites I have come to love throughout my childhood. There is something really comfortable about the warm dry desert air and the vibrantly colored sands. While it was certainly a doing vacation, there's always something relaxing about connecting with the desert. The natural simplicity and warmth combined with childhood memories spawn an enthusiastic love for Utah's deserts and national parks. Fortunately, my friend was patient with my childlike enthusiasm and tourist-board like excitement. I came home to my porch's vegetable garden. Which, unlike me, was exposed to unseasonably cold temperatures while I was away. I'm hoping my tomatoes will survive. But I'm most excited to report that one bean seed and two broccoli seeds sprouted. So I continue to tend to the forced nature on my front step, I'll keep you posted on the other seeds soon to sprout (it's almost as exciting as the desert!).

Email Update

2006-05-22T16:21:00.000-05:00

I just moved into my own apartment at the beginning of the month. I'ts a two bedroom, and I'm debating on whether to get a roommate - it's my finances that will ultimately determine if I do. I have to say it's really nice to have my own space. It is the beginning of the gardening season here, we just finished a plant sale and the tomatoes and just about everything else have just been planted at work. Work, though, is still work - I'm hoping to join the grad school track in fall '07, too

I have started a garden on my own balcony, as well - I'm hoping to make it a jungle of veggies that I'll eat. I'm pretty excited about it, but doubtful that all of the things I'm trying to grow will turn out - it will be awesome if they do - I'll have tons of food. It's odd that I'm totally motivated by the idea of eating it, and much less so to put flowers and stuff in - I love the utility of a vegetable garden. I'm going to be planting strawberries in a hanging container today and seeding broccoli, lettuce and carrots --- I'm super excited! it's weird.

Only last for one night

2006-03-21T01:19:00.000-05:00

I saw a friend I hadn't seen in two, maybe three years yesterday. It made me realize how little I think I've changed, but how much my life has. I've worked two jobs, and I'm starting to approach the one year mark of living in Salt Lake. That thought disturbs me most. I have yet to establish roots here, and continue to look at my situation as a temporary solution. I seem to float around here, I observe little, do little and feel as though I work a lot, though I doubt I work all that hard.

Like the route I drive to and from work every day, monotonous. There are new restaurants on the street I haven't been to, and one's I have. There's a light rail line down the middle I have yet to drive. I contemplate renting the places where signs are posted. I'm typically late for work. I return on the route, drive it again, day after day. I still don't eat at the restaurants, rent or ride anything new.

When I wasn't living in all that is familiar, I was fascinated by the people, the nature, the places, the vernacular, the things. And here, things are new, there are unique people, the world changes. I wonder if this is the end of living life and the beginning of letting it live, and then I think, maybe I'm just bored.

Glitteratti know how to sundance

2006-01-22T01:52:00.000-05:00

I decided to volunteer for the Sundance Film Festival during the first week. Since most jobs required an 8hr. shift committment 4 days a week, and I (as you may recall) have a full time job already - I went with one that only asked for 4 hours shifts. Why only four hours ? Because you work outside. Let me emphasize that Sundance is held in the mountain ski town 20 mins. away from my home, meaning it's cold outside. It's cold outside everyday.

On my first day directing people to the correct shuttle bus to get from our theatre to one of the theatres, hotels, restaurants, parties, parking lots and resorts in town, famous people sightings seemed low. Well, everybody kind of looks famous in quirky coats, footwear completely inadequate for 3 feet of snow and gucci/dior/D&G sunglasses (sunglasses being key). I might have seen the actress that played the Cameron-diaz-ish character in Lost in Translation. None the less, day one was fun as a volunteer, but fruitless as a festival goer.

I just completed Day 2 of volunteering. While the truly famous are carried around by private drivers and cars (not the shuttle system where I work) they do have to walk down mainstreet like the rest of us. While not volunteering, I saw with certainty, Toni Collette, Joe Pantaleon (sp?) and Dave Mathwes. Wow, I have had a really long day if I'm having a hard time spelling that one. From 7am - 10pm I was "sundancing" - and just couldn't muster the energy to try and waitlist the Beastie Boys documentary tonight. I did however, have the chance to see Imogen Heap perform, and hoped to see Rufus Wainwright (whom I ran into the day before inside a theatre, guitar and all) but had to leave before he performed. My only goal now, is to actually see a film - then I'll truly be at Sundance. oh yeah, and to finish up some deadlines at work - but where's the glamour in that ?

SUNDANCE FILM FESTIVAL

All Wrapped Up

2006-01-03T01:15:00.002-05:00

Like an accident, where you can't quite see it all, but you know exactly what happened. A slow blur, I have holly jollyed, peaced, and rung all the way past Christmas into the New Year. I don't think I realized getting the week off from work (fringe benefit of the job) between Christmas and New Years' would add up to this many days and yet such a miniscule product.

It seems the holidays and I have fought it out, battle for battle. Surprisingly good Christmas Eve with Dad's family, even perfect gifts, followed by a car accident more expensive than all of the Eve's and Day's gifts combined would cost. Me backing a friends' car into my brothers. Fixing that mistake sucked some of my productive time during this ten day break.

Fortunately the new laptop I had ordered on the third of December had decided not to make an appearance before or close after Christmas, so I was able to reorganize my room and help my brother in law with his dismally behind project house. Fortunately, my laptop arrived on the 27th. Conveniently enough, I had also received for Christmas a DVD collection of a series for which I am (and remain) a closet fan. Ironically, from the same friend whose car I managed to scrape. But DVDs, lots of family and little personal space work perfectly with new laptops. I have watched a season and a half. Fortunately, while I watch, my car mistake is being fixed (although I'm paying by the hour more than I make) and the primer I painted on the project house has long since dried waiting for the paint. I don't plan to return and put on the fresh paint. In fact, I plan to enjoy more quality time, such as this singular moment, with my laptop. Less with the hustle and bustle. Not to mention the fact that I received a new feather top for my bed for Christmas. As a result, I imagine all blogs I post in this setting will be as long as this one. Today I refused to help take down the Christmas decorations, as I had helped to put them up in three houses, I figured I had paid my dues.

I am glad to see the hustle bustle go. Grateful for the sense of renewal I feel and my renewed connection with what is meaningful to me (laptop finally not being the answer here). But while I'm at it, let me thank the millennium for wireless internet. My New Year's resolution: during next year's week off - take a vacation and make the 10 day break enjoyably unproductive.... and bring my laptop.

Emily('s) Post: on Gift Ettiquitte

2005-12-16T01:21:00.000-05:00

Rules for Gift Giving:

1. Either make the gift a surprise or discuss fully, no fishing or hinting.

Situations in which it should be discussed beforehand:car, trip, engagement ring, real pet (rocks and items including "chia" in the title do not qualify), and purchases requiring scheduling, sacrifice or relocation.
Avoid complete surprises on clothes, shoes, major works of art, unless they are fabulous, timeless, or you are confident AND they are returnable.
In all other situations, it is preferable you present a gift in which you are confident enough to happily surprise the receiver with it.

2. If you aren't sure of their initials or correct name spelling, don't give them a personalized gift.

3. Books are only exciting to certain people, but then they're usually a sure thing.

4. Your gift should not be a burden on the owner.

5. Remember the context between the two of you, and the audience. Don't make them feel guilty or inadequate.

6. Maybe adding to their obvious collection isn't the most thoughtful choice.

7. The Joke wears off quickly, the bad gift remains.

8. Occupations are also known as work. Few people like gifts related to them.

9. Gifts that are functional are typically good, gifts that are too functional (paperclips, paperweights, foodstuffs) are never good.

10. Only send a perishable gift if you know the receiver will be at the location when it arrives.

11. That big giant clock that seems perfect for them? You gave it to them last year - that's why it looks like it belongs in their house.

12. Personal refers to a shared memory between the two of you or a great knowledge of the receiver, not an embarassing item.

When Giving to Emily:
Personally, I prefer things that are useful but neat, things I have been conjuring up in my mind thinking they would be a great gift to get. I never talk about these things because I want someone to figure them out. Therefore, I am impossible to buy for. In essence, my one desire to be surprised by just the thing I wanted (i.e. the perfect gift) never occurs. Even this list will not help all the many of you out there wanting to buy me gifts. Someday I will compile a list of my favorite stores, a great beginning. Amazon.com will not be one of them. Nonetheless I have had fun putting together a list of good stand-ins for the awesome (yet secret) gifts I have in mind. You can by more to compensate for your lack of mindreading.
My Wish List

If only I was as good at figuring out what you wanted.

Pictures Talk

2005-12-03T03:15:00.000-05:00

While I still have yet to set up my original computer of college and NYC days, I had to search through what random photos happen to be on my parents computer for a recent project. Thought you might be interested in reminiscing with me - http://www.snapfish.com/photolibrary/t_=9138281 These pictures span Jr. year to this summer ? Enjoy~! ps, any good photos should be credited to Andrew. If you have any pics I might enjoy, please send them along so I can add!

Well, it was a nice idea, anyway - seems snapfish isn't good at sharing unless I e-mail you the link. yuck! Maybe I'll figure out how to share soon - any ideas, let me know.

Putting to bed

2005-11-28T02:40:00.000-05:00

I typically put myself to bed 8 hours before I must wake up, when I have the luxury. Sunday nights are most problematic. Currently, I am looking at five hours, well below quota. Since my thoughts typically go to waste, as does the time spent lying in dark room on bed with eyes closed, here I am. Now I have become distracted with the cleanliness of my ring, a JC Penney catolog sitting by this computer, and this computer. If I were not here I would be in bed, as previously mentioned, I would be thinking .....

Wardrobe possibilities for tomorrow. Review of conversations of the day. Mental list of tomorrow's things to do. Admitting what will not be done and planning alternate activities. Idea for poli sci thesis. Have to send check for work. stop.
Perhaps thesis on (civil liberties, religion v. politics in some specific form, random political theory issue) would be more effective as novel. Begin writing mental abstract for novel. Compare to a non-fiction work on life's story. Scratch autobiography. Search for first sentence of novel. Seeking Dickensian brilliance and breaking of rules with banal yet striking beginning. Envision novels impact on society like Steinbeck. Put novel writing on to do list for next week. Determine to set up computer in room. Begin new, bold (unrealistic/crazy, but not late at night) idea for building revenue at work. Full stop.
Apply above thesis to family members and friends, to appear in novel. Scratch thesis idea for more current, potentially popular related theme. Contemplate past relationships. Compose emails to involved parties, move on to emails for friends I should have contacted more recently. Now, include Christmas cards to write. Remorse negates completion of email. Run through dialogue of next e-mail/conversation with board members. stop.
Touch upon frustrations with parents, funny comments and happenings. Move on to things I can change right there in my bed with these powerful thoughts. Meaningfulness of job? New color scheme for room. Which class to take at local university next semester. Switching to complete whole-grain diet. Songs I should get on my ipod. Better yet, CDs that must be purchased. Future career choices? Room might be greater affected by moving furniture than switching color. Shouldn't human hair growth be more random? Why are hairs so evenly spaced and how can it not be extremely painful for hair to come back, penetrate skin, after shaving? Decide to subscribe to NYTimes and Economist starting tomorrow. Added to mental to do list. Follicles, protein, something like that. yes. Potential volunteer activities, times. New clothing item I would like to purchase but have yet to find (currently very specific brown, thick knit button up/wrap sweater). Christmas gifts remaining to buy.. what to ask for. What about switching the color of my bedspread? Does cracked wheat count as a whole grain? My brother appreciates freedom of religion, step brothers right to bear arms, step sisters mother-in-law freedom of the press, me freedom to assemble, quartering soldiers does really stump the theory, dated amendment. Did I leave my shoes in the bathroom? Reminded of many things I have to do tomorrow, turn to side.... and repeat.

2005-11-17T15:55:00.000-05:00

Anyway, there's not much of note going on around these parts. Thanksgiving is coming up and I have to go up with my Mom and Steve to my grandma's with all my beautiful cousins, I'm not really looking forward to that, esp. since my other siblings have found a way out of it. Work has gotten better and worse at the same time, in one sense it's less stressful because some much needed money has come in, but I'm also kind of hmm... dis-enamored with it, something like that, not so interested, maybe just lazy, I don't know - but maybe having the long thanksgiving weekend will be good for that.

I just finally finished house sitting last week, just a bad idea altogether, and since I haven't really gotten it together and found an apartment, I'm living at my Mom's house for the time being. It's kind of nice, sad that Candy isn't around anymore, weird because I still live there like a kid and slack a bit, and fun because baby Nathan is there, and he's really cute. His new word this week is Wacky from a Theo ...(dr. suess) book - Wacky Wednesday, it sounds more like aCKeee when he says it, but it's fun all the same, he makes that CK sound really well - drinCK truCK, yuCKy, he's got it down.

With such exiting things to write, it's a wonder why I haven't posted in a bit. Seems I need to be observant, reminisce or get inspired once again. I should wish my blog a belated 1st birthday, and promise to it I will be more excited/interested or do more exciting/interesting things so I might write more often.

This Song - Badly Drawn Boy

Rain and Tiffany's

2005-09-21T23:07:00.000-05:00

Just before walking down the stairs, I stopped to listen. I missed the rain. I complained about it all the time before, how it never rained in Salt Lake, and seemed to rain all the time on the East Coast. Most especially, it seems to rain there for the whole day, once a drop falls, you’re in for it – but those drops always caught me so unexpectedly. I can remember countless times I’d be without my umbrella, or caught slipping in my flip flops. Here, I’ve never used my umbrella, I don’t even know where it (one of two) is, since moving here.

There’s something contemplative about all that rain. The subway rides, and the walks to and from, you stop being surrounded by people. It’s the subtle nuances I miss the most. Perhaps, subtle is the wrong word, since nothing in New York is subtle, and the differences between Salt Lake and New York couldn’t be more contrasting. It rained this morning, for a brief moment. I was still in bed, determined (although awake) not to get out of bed at the call of my alarm clock, but on my own time. This, I also answered in my head to the terrible cats that meow at my door in the morning so I’ll get up and feed them breakfast. The cats are the downside of house sitting. The upside, is they allow me the freakish amount of control over my own life that I inexplicably need to assert. They will wait for their breakfast until I decide to feed it to them. So instead, I stress in my bed about what I should be doing so that I’m not late for this or am sure to complete that for work.

Tonight, I came home early, just as another brief rainstorm was finishing up, determined to finish a grant. Instead, I took a small trip to New York, via the weekly New York Magazine gifted us by our landlord there. It has somehow found its way, via mail-forwarding systems, to Utah. The Fall Preview includes a look at an upcoming Capote film, among other exciting things only relevant to New York. Apparently, his hardest work was a non-fiction about a Midwestern murder, the Midwest was also cast darkly in Breakfast at Tiffany’s as the oppressive, limiting yet unenlightened loving home of Holly Golightly. I’m guessing it has some significance for Mr. Capote, or symbolizes some lack of freedom. While I contend Utah to be the West, it is not far off from its agrarian rooted, red state neighbors. There’s a moment where Holly is torn by her love for her family and her desire to be free. In the end, though, she’s most heartbroken as she finds she cannot be separated from the one who loved her unconditionally – her cat.

To my doom, then I must go, for hating cats. However, I have found the same attachment, to my dog. My dog of 12 years is suffering severely from cancer. In a new twist on life and love, it seems for pets, we still have the choice in whether or not to help them survive painfully or help them die peacefully. My mom is very concise about the whole thing, and the decision comes easy to a woman you expect to be the most compassionate. Her view of life is so scientific, and perhaps much less attached, seeing it come and go as an ER Doctor for 30 years. My life is short so far, and my dog was a part of more than half of it, and my best friend for far too much of it during my awkward adolescent years. The choice might perhaps be somewhat easy to make, but it is difficult to make. It seems this might be her last week, and sadly, she is too sick to spend it lazing in the park or eating Bacon. I guess I never realized I had so much in common with Ms. Golightly, and am continually reformulating my opinions of the West.

I have an opinion ... or at least a job

2005-09-04T17:59:00.000-05:00

Due to an odd series of events, mostly resulting in me meeting an architect who would be a great business contact at my old elementary school, I was compelled to write. It was published today in the Salt Lake Tribune, considered the mainstream newspaper here that isn't closely affiliated with the LDS Church. After I went to church, I went and got myself a paper to see how they edited the thing, you can't tell online, but my picture's included as well - which is altogether kind of odd.

www.sltrib.com/opinion/ci_2999017

to a see saw

2005-08-27T23:08:00.000-05:00

Maybe it's that I have time to think. I know I have time. I know it's the moment when I'm driving at night in my car. Alone. As I come down from the benches I watch the yellow lights over the valley twinkle across the broad open space. I roll down the windows letting the summer's night air loosen the day. I listen to soulful music and sing along. I pause, shift, and think. I make facial expressions as though someone is watching me and they might understand what's in my mind simply by looking, and then cry out with the pangs in the music. I bring my hands to me head, or my eyes or my cheek. A drama being played out to the theatre of my windshield, and my thoughts. I watch in the windows as I drive through the neighborhoods. Broken up by speedbumps and stop signs I peer into the lights inside.

My thought on the houses, the neighborhoods or the city lights are fleeting. They're about what was, what is, what will be and why, how. like everyone's alone thoughts, I imagine. There's more here, but it's not alone when it's on the blog, and the mood's set by the music, the car, the night, and of course the facial expressions. But you'll never know, because they're only alone thoughts. Now it's time for the all to quick and trite sum-up sentences. Maybe time and thoughts will collide someday, or maybe I'll just arrive at my destination.

close your eyes to the lullabyes

2005-08-24T01:53:00.000-05:00

In the crowded amphitheatre tonight I listened to Jack Johnson singing ..... "ain't there nothing sacred anymore" ... and watched the four boys in front of me pass a joint.

Earlier in the day, I had been driving and watched the sign on the bank change from the time to temperature and then something about homeloans, and next to a phrase that charged my mind,

"we never forget...."

Then completely, uncharacteristically I began to cry, as I thought of "we will never forget" the all too familiar phrase of September 11th. I was overwhelmed with the pain experienced by so many, by the battle that continued to rage on, and the lack of closure in the common statement, never forget. But more than anything, what caused my sadness was the power of one person to cause pain, injury, death to so many people. The power of one to do so much harm. I wondered if we also posses as much power to do good, but couldn't get past the amount of pain brought on by so few. The bank sign changed and stopped my reflection for a moment,

".... who keeps us in buisness"

Yesterday, President Bush had come to Salt Lake to speak at a Vets convention, and our mayor had called for citizens to rallye in a park to protest the war, which Bush explained the need for its extension in his speech. The protest gleaned a surprising number of supporters. People advocating for peace.

Today, I went about my day, ending in the concert, sitting in traffic on the way to and from the moonlight amphitheatre. 20,000 people were in the audience.

"who's the one to decide that it would be alright to put the music behind the news tonight?"

EMisms

2005-08-14T23:38:00.000-05:00

It seems since graduating college, I've been smarter then ever. I've said such brilliant things, that already they're being quoted by those fortunate enough to be in attendence as jewels of wisdom came out of my mouth. In fact, I believe the employees at my currnet non-profit job where I'm manager, have been foortunate enough to be the one's in my presence as I've said these things. Naturally, they look up to me ever so much. I thought it was important that they be recorded:

During a hot day while working in the garden with my employees, I stated:
"It is so hot out here, it's like this intense solar heat."

While admiring the speed of my cuisinart food processor to ... process food, I declared:
"Wow, it's so fast it's like a machiene!"

There was another precious jem, but somehow, it has slipped my brilliant mind . I think it's important to note that it is especially sunny here, and on each of these occasions, I had spend considerable time with that "solar heat" beating down on me.

I found a liquid cure for my landlocked blues

2005-07-07T14:48:00.000-05:00

I walked into a coffee house here the other day and asked for my typical stressed-day order: an iced hot chocolate. The barista at the Salt Lake Rosting Co. looked at me, a little puzzed, and asked: " you mean chocolate milk? I can put some ice in it for you." Some Mannhattan markleting genius had found a way to sell chocolate milk to adults for outrageous prices and let them feel cool while doing it. Not the case in Salt Lake. Maybe I'll start my own little cocoa house. ? Iced Hot Cocoa will be all the rage in Salt Lake - any investors?

high expectations

2005-04-25T22:51:00.000-05:00

A good education will cost you. It's important that you know the price tag. After graduation, you can compare your the cost of one year of education to your annual salary.

If you chose the right major, odds are you technically might recoup the cost of your education in two to three years' salary, that is if you don't pay living expenses. But it's not the money that will get to you. It's your quality education.

For years, you're taught to think analytically, to question, to problem solve, to create something independent and original, to lead and to build your own project. They build your social skills and your critical thinking skills, but mostly your confidence. You get used to this independence, you're encouraged to question, your original ideas are appreciated. Perhaps this is the scenario at any college, but a good college just adds insult to injury. Not just confident in your problem solving skills, you feel you've been privy to excellent opportunities, you've met powerful people and worked directly on valuable projects. Something had to be said to justify the price tag, and most "good" schools will at least leave you feeling as though you certainly got what you paid for. They'll give you some kind of pride that your ready for something as unique and excellent as your good education.

You get a job in a competetive program for a nationally known company, or somewhere highly recognized in your field. You landed the second interview, (no) thanks to the career center, and now you sit out the end of your senior year, contemplating your amazing new apartment and wardrobe for your high powered job. When your job begins you're optimistic, but two weeks in you realize you're not getting what you paid for in college. You've been put in a trainee program, along with numerous other well-credentialed (for college grads) 22 year olds. They don't work to keep you happy or to keep a high retention rate - they don't need your money, you need theirs. It's their intention that many of you won't choose to continue into the next year. Training manuals, protocalls, power point presentations, set reports, fact checking, researching. Researching for someone else's report, previously against the honor code. Gone are the encouragements of questioning, analyzing, creating. Gone is independent thought or any type of exciting quest. You realize that the work you're doing now is as challenging as what you expected out of high school. Your time of serious idealism, and oddly strong desire to independently create and complete projects is lost in memos and e-mails. Lost in the training session. Only the other skills you learned in college (not unique to "good" cooleges) offer you any sense of joy.

Your synicsm once reserved for the university dining services, the registrar, the war, or politicians is transferred to your job. The active life you lead as a student, in extra curricular and extra extra curricular activities is diminished to either late nights in the office, with your lap top, or late nights in dark places. It angers you more because you feel you know more than this, you put in your time for better than this, you thought you'd moved beyond entry level.

And so, your good education becomes your prison. And you forget how you complained about your General Eds, the miserable dorms, or the terribly hindering administration. your parent's strict rules and high school in general before that. The problem, perhaps, is not the industries, but the high expectations that come with a high priced education. and the answer ?

expect the best. make the best. never settle.

ok, so it was just getting way too long and wordy. maybe it'll be continued ... or edited....

New to the Old

2005-04-15T18:36:00.000-05:00

I came back last Tuesday from work to the smiling face of my awesome step-mom Debbie. It seemed to be an abnormally intentional smile. She asked me if I had seen my room yet. I was worried. In the last week and a half I had completely packed up and relocated all of my useful and prized posessions of my college and so on era, my time on the East Coast. After coming back to live in my old room after over a four year absence, I was less than excited about putting my things away in drawers and hanging them next to my old prom dresses and winter coats. Then again, I'm also just pretty messy when it comes to clothes and an empty floor. I was worried she had taken the initiative to clean. My Dad put his paper down. Usually my Dad does not hear conversation directed at him when reading the paper, so noticing I was home made them even more suspect.

Slowly I opened my door, pleased to find my bed still unmade, clothes still half in and half out of my suitcase and boxes scattered near my bed with easy access to books. Nothing seemed different, yet they followed me. They were still smiling. My Jr. High trophies and HS diploma were still on my desk next to birthday pictures taken by waiters and junk, known as knick knacks because such items were also gifts. I finally looked in a corner. A green frog hamper (see similar). A large cylinder of bright green with floppy legs and arms, giant eyes, and of course a wide mouth, opening to the cavernous hamper. It was bigger than my night stand.

My dad said, "We noticed you didn't have a hamper, and thought this might be helpful." They could not tell me to clean my room, in my new "adult" state, so as not to infringe upon my independence and shorten my length of stay. After being at work and discussing in depth the budget with the chairman of the board, talking to a local newsreporter, signing the checks, and meeting with my 4 staff members, I had felt as though I was quite an adult. Fortunately, my parents had not forgotten my youth. I wore a much larger and less suspicious smile than that of my step-mom for the rest of the night. It will always be good to be a kid.

box it up

2005-03-21T23:40:00.000-05:00

July concert tickets, in a box. Nights at Bowery Ballroom, Irving Plaza ... boxed. Broadway programs placed below. New York City sidewalks on a summer night at 3am. Bus trips to Boston. Late nights sharing soulful thoughts in a Brooklyn basement. Sunday dinners. That moment when the Mingus Orchestra finds it's perfect harmony. Fridays after work at the met. Buying something new to wear to something new. Pina Colada night. Getting guest towels ready, or not, again. Picking up the visitor pass at the front desk of a coporation who's products have been in your house your entire lifetime. Talking through the walls. Pad Thai, Union Square. Waiting for the R train. and waiting some more. The deli guy and the sushi man. Central Park's rambles. The houses on my street lined up in the late afternoon sun. Riding over the Brooklyn Bridge and being reminded of the time by the digital "watchtower" clock. Montague and the promenade. Bleeker Street, north and south. of course, the Lower East Side. Concerts in Central Park. and Autumn. Switching from flats to heels under the desk. Mamoon's. getting lost in the Bronx. Finding somewhere new to go in Manhattan, good enough to go to again. Weekend trips to.. or with... Lehigh. Standby tickets to Conan. Boxed. Pictures, maps, notes, nametags. Boxed. taped, soon to be stored. Thanks to the players on the stage. Fortunately, you cannot be boxed. and neither can I.

You Just Might Find

2005-03-09T22:48:00.000-05:00

Change.

It is the name for small bits of money, that aren't quite whole. It makes prices more enticing, and, ultimately, lower than they would be without change. People make change. People have change. Change must be exchanged for most things we attain if we intend to pay the asking price.

So, I'm making change. I'm exchanging it for what I'd like to get.

Item for Purchase: Better Job - with new and improved salary and working conditions, free time with awesome family, also included.

Price: Me and some change, change being: Location, lifestyle.

Basically, lately I've found myself working really hard trying to make change. Making a change. So many thoughts are flooding my mind. I'm mixed in many ways about the decision, but ultimately, I obviously chose my new job in my same old city. I've quit the first real, salaried job I ever had. Now, in the mean time I'm spending most of my free moments soaking up everything that is New York to me, that I never got around to doing, and seeing the people that won't be so conveniently located to my new Salt Lake diggs. Oh yeah, and inbetween, my job is sucking every last drop they can from me, while I'm also packing the four years of stuff I've collected while living out here with idealistic notions on how to move it, and finding a subletter. One year ago, life was really simple. It was mostly a Dollar store.

You Get What You Need.

More to Come

2005-03-03T15:52:00.000-05:00

TWO roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,

And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—

Paix, Pace, Paz, Peace passe

2005-02-23T22:49:00.000-05:00

Among the hundreds of faces, passing half conversations via cell phone, jaunting cars, and signs vying for attention it's difficult to find a peaceful space for a thought, a conversation, or just a moment of zen. So for my many missed moments of zen, inadequately replaced by stairwell conversations or unnecessary bathroom visits, I went somewhere more peaceful, and celebrated the Presidents.

This time, the sky caught my attention before I even thought to look at it. Orion's belt vibrantly displayed over the rustle of palms, peace. And when the wind was calm, so was everything else. Back in my Brooklyn bed, I've tried to convince myself that the soft roar of cars on the expressway down the street are really crashing waves. The honking doesn't sound like birds, though, and the skyline still nothing like the stars. And so I go, to see landscapes in oil at the Met, fake palms and oceanscapes on Broadway, and wind meeting the trees in Central Park. These extraordinary things to the tourist are merely replacements for the mundanities that flavor life. The details that make a walk more than utilitarian, a night more than an end, a life more than a function. And in the masterful paintings, the unparalleled performers and impeccably landscaped parks, we find the details that are life. Revered entertainments become the ordinary scenery. and thus, New Yorkers invented the word passe.

The park is draped in bright orange gates, by an artist who's too modern for the confines of paint and canvas. When paint is on the canvas it is not an image but a thought, displayed inside revolutionary space. Dinner takes on a new look and new combinations. Until it, too, is no longer entertainment, but scenery. passe. In many ways, it's reassuring to know that humans can constantly reinvent beauty, art, entertainment and enjoyment. But for me,the confused casualty of man's latest, nothing will ever be as satiating as nature inimitable.

Valentine You Belong . . .

2005-02-14T16:49:00.000-05:00

What could be more sappy than songs about love ?
Here are my top ten - gushing with romance:

1. Something in the Way She Moves - Beatles (George Harrison)
2. The Nearness of You - Norah Jones
3. Magic - Ben Folds Five (tough to pick only one from Ben, Missing the War gets an Hon. Mention)
4. Mona Lisa - Guster
5. The Blower's Daugher - Damien Rice
6. Green Eyes - Coldplay

7. Just the Way You Look Tonight -Frank Sinatra

8. February Stars - Foo Fighters
9. Such Great Heights - Iron & Wine

10. L.O.V.E - Incredible Moses Leroy

Also qulity, but just not sappy enough to make the list:
Only In Dreams - Weezer
Friday I'm in Love - The Cure

This was a quickly assembled list while at work. Share the love - make your own additions/suggestions in the comment section - you don't even have to sign in.

Love,

Emily

Chapter and Verse

2005-02-10T23:54:00.000-05:00

Haven't felt inspired lately. Taking one from the archives of random writings not originally intended for web view.

She asked me why I came here. In her habitually upbeat voice, she told me how dumbfounded she was when, unlike all the times she said her daughter was living in New York City, the woman actually asked her why. She asked me why I came here like it was the first time the thought had occurred to even her.

Occurring in my mind on a daily basis, the answer to why I came to live in New York City had yet to be articulated, but always to be known somewhere on the tablet of my mind. Twenty-one had seemed a milestone of age before I had reached twenty, and now it seemed younger than any age I had been before. My skin had an oily sheen and a suppleness that could not be concealed. The baby fat still remained on my chubby and rosy cheeks. My evident youth was noted by the delivery men and loiters on the street as they emphasized my beauty in some oral fashion. While I for that reason, combined with the adult nature of New York and the working world, wished that I could conceal every faucet of youth, while at the same time look and feel beautiful in the way that mature seasoned New York women seemed to be.

Two weeks past my twenty first birthday, I had signed a lease on a basement apartment in the upscale Brooklyn Heights neighborhood of New York City. Just one day prior, I was hired for my first salaried job. It happened one month to the day following my graduation from college, and it had all happened so quickly that the question of why remained distant from my signatures on the many dotted lines.

I signed again and again as I made credit card purchase after credit card purchase. I owned a bed. A bookcase. A desk. Dishes.

Why?

Today's Song: Mint Car, The Cure

Underachievers Please Try Harder

2005-01-31T19:07:00.000-05:00

This giant solid mahogany desk sat in the cluttered storage room in the shop my Dad had when I was a little girl. I used to weave my way through the bookcases filled with miscellaneous car parts smelling of grease to get to the abandoned desk. It had three drawers on each side, and a top so big my arm could not reach the wall when I was seated at the desk. The dark reddish wood drawers (say it with me now NJ residents: droors) had simple u-shaped handles of a tarnished silver color. Together, the wood and the metal handles, and perhaps the age of the desk made the drawers very heavy and hard to open and close. They made funny sounds and smelled of old pen ink. What fascinated me most about the desk was the sense of ownership I felt over this imposing piece of furniture. My desk, my office. Here I came to work. I snatched up paper and office supplies from the offices on the lower floor and made myself letterhead. I tried to think of important things to do while in there, but mostly it involved getting the drawers open and putting my office supplies away in them. Sometimes, I'd try to teach myself cursive, or at any rate how to sign my name in cursive, to seem more official. The best part of my office, my desk, were the two boards of polished wood secretly hidden above the three drawers on each side. You could pull out either, or both of the boards, to create additional desk space. I'm sure they have a name, no clue what it was. This feature was the highlight of the desk. As, it was, ever so important that I have more desk space to complete my important office tasks and sign my name on my important office documents.

I work in an office now. I sign my name far too often and it doesn't feel important. My floor is being renovated, so everyone was relocated. I'm down a couple floors in a hallway-like group of cubicles, complete with a desk. My large wooden desk is similar in size, not color or smell, unfortunately. The handles have been improved to a more art-deco style in tarnished brass. But the desk is complete with the additional pull out desk space. Unfortunately, it is now actually useful to my job. When I first situated myself at the desk last Friday, I pulled the wooden shelf in and out, happily. Then I wondered what I was thinking as a child and why the situation I now found myself in was something I had once pretended to do for fun. Maybe next time I'm at work, I'll pull out the shelf and pretend I'm David Geffen or Jacques Chirac. or maybe I'll just get my work done.

Economies of Scale

2005-01-24T01:56:00.000-05:00

In a love affair with New York City you never get any sleep.

Money, raucous laughter, scheduling, planning, dreaming - always wanting more, always more to be done. Listening, observing, reading, investigating, enjoying, thinking, discussing fills the days. Thinking fills the nights, and sleeping gets left behind. In a world where high-stress, high-demand jobs are as much as a status symbol as certain last names - money and stress are the order of the day. And yet, there is more to do with your spare time, more to amuse yourself with, and more to spend your money on than anywhere else in the United States.

The culture here will always be unique. I've taken in a bit of culture of late, visited the Guggenheim and saw an Aztec exhibit, that was interesting, but an odd fit as the form-focused exhibit lacked the context in history and details that makes the society most interesting. Then visited Central Park to take pictures of the snow, but found I was too cold, and remembered I'm not really a photographer. Saw a Broadway musical, attended an impromptu house party, and went to the movies. Of all the activities, going to the movies made me feel the most like I actually lived here because I was among the obviously local masses. The culture in all of it wasn't the activities, but the opportunity for people watching.

I've decided most people here are observers of people. In being observers, oddly, we often forget we also have the potential to be observed at times, and at others, think of nothing but that possibility. Here, we're surrounded by other people at almost every moment with fantastic opportunities to observe people when they forget they're being watched, or when they know it.

Initially, when first moving in, I certainly used such observations to learn how to act on the subway - to get up just before the train stops at your station, to stare blankly. I observed what to wear and when, what to say, how to be prepared always with a book and umbrella, but mostly what people are doing, while making up my own subtitles. All that observation has to cause something, more than just to copy a style or to remember not to make a particular facial expression. Do we watch to see if we're normal or to remind us we're different. What do we hope to see? Will our, will my, curiosity ever be satiated? What is the effect of such frequent opportunity for observation among such a large and diverse sample of human beings?
In a city with so many people, is there a mass consciousness? Are we afforded anonymity, individuality or a tacit conformity? Where are we from monopoly to perfect competition ...

Today's Song: Optimist, That Fleeting World

between reason

2005-01-16T17:03:00.000-05:00

"When the bus shelter windows and napkin-dispensers surprise with distorted reflections, it's never the someone you're hoping to recognize. When the rent is too high living here between reasons to live and you can't sleep alone and your memories groan and the borders of night start to give. When you can't save cash or conviction; you're broke and you're breaking - a tired shoelace or a wave. So long past, past-due. A new name for everything.

When the one-ways collude with the map that you've folded wrong and the route you've abandoned is always the path you probably should be upon. When the bottle-cap ashtrays and intimate's ears are all full with results of your breaks and the threads of your fear are unfurled with the tiniest pull. One more time, try. Stand with your hands in your pockets and stare at the smudge of a newspaper sky and ask it to rain a new name for everything.

Fire every phrase. They don't want to work for us anymore. Dot or Dash our days. Make your face the flag of a semaphore. All you won't show. The boxes you brought here and never unpacked are still patiently waiting to go. So put on those clothes you never grew into and smile like you mean it for once. If you come back, bring a new name for everything."

-the weakerthans, A New Name for Everything

In nobody's eyes but mine

2005-01-13T09:55:00.000-05:00

I never look up at the night sky in New York. I've only seen the skyline.

Always seems odd to me that I don't even know it's possible to see stars while you're in the city because it never occurs to me to look up. I only think about the fact that I don't know what the sky looks like at night when I'm inside, but by the time I've gone outside, I forget to look. I think it's time to get more sleep. The week has been good, though. Rhett Miller was awesome. and - I even made it back to Bleeker Street once again. Work has been unusually productive, and therefore, somewhat less tedious - and - we have Monday off. Unfortunately no one else does. I con't decide whether to waste it on sleep or diligently use it for an adventure. . . stay tuned. you know you want to.

Most of the Time

2005-01-10T20:18:00.000-05:00

I had found a new passion for Bleeker Street. All of it, I think. I'm making a resolution to frequent there. On the way home today on the subway, the solicitations began with a man requesting food, change, anything anyone had. His story was the first original one I've heard, he had just gotten out of the hospital that day, he was carrying a patient's plastic bag and even produces a bottle of pills and some pink carbon-copy papers. One would think visual aids would be a powerful thing. He was unsuccessful. Usually, there's only one solicitor per ride, selling something, telling a sad story or performing. Tonight, I was lucky - it was a triple feature. He was followed by a mime, well, not literally. There are these women who in their fannypacks and plastic back packs must be carrying all the noisy and flashing items they sell. For some reason they are always women and always asian. They never say anything but shake the bobble-headed elephant that is clear colored sparkly plasic and not only lights up but also makes noise as it shakes. They also display the other items for sale, and the occasional sales person is sometimes even conveniently selling suspiciously packaged name brand batteries. I have never seen these toy peddling women sell anything. The third man tells perhaps the most about sales and the most about the mentality of a New Yorker. Dressed as the average subway rider, complete with nice kicks and a decent watch, he used a black and white laminated cover of Vibe, picturing the hip hop group of which he was a member. He proceded to tell the car that they were independently and individually selling their CDs and DVDs. Explaining that thier hip hop was progressive and non-violent and they did not promote gang involvement. They had all graduated from college and were just looking to sell their CDs. His shirt also listed a website on the back, he noted. where riders could find out more. Along with your purchase, he would also provide promotional materials. At least six people out of the 25 in the car bought either a CD ($1) or DVD ($2) or both. When he had to make change, he pulled a giant wad of dollar bills out of his pocket after working quite hard to get only that small wad and not the entire pile contained in his pocket. He changed cars at the next stop.

Reality . . . check.

2005-01-07T18:12:00.000-05:00

A vocal moment of silence:
There's a huge dose of reality abounding in the world. I can't begin to say how incomprehensible and heartbreaking the results of the Tsunami in Southern Asia are. I am incapable of empathizing or relating, but I commend the efforts of those giving and serving. I have no basis of knowledge to share or be helpful, so I'm not going to even attempt to blog relevantly on the matter or compete with the work of the SEA EAT Bloggers.
___________________________________________________________________

It is no wonder that fiction outsells non-fiction. Even the words, communicate fiction's preferential treatment in society - like factual and historical novels are the "other" section when it comes to bookstores which are mostly just purveyors of fiction. (Note, however, that Bob Dylan's current book Chronicles Volume 1 is so good you'd think they were fiction). The important role that fiction plays in our lives can't be overlooked, and it hit me while reading on the subway yesterday:

Every fairy tale offers the potential to surpass present limits, so in a sense the fairy tale offers you freedoms that reality denies. In all great works of fiction, regardless of the grim reality they present, their is an affirmation of life against the transience of that life, an essential defiance. This affirmation lies in the way the author takes control of reality by retelling it in his own way, thus creating a new world. -Azar Nafisi, Reading Lolita in Tehran

My adult life had, until now, always been my own work of fiction. The Hollywood version of reality. And now, here I am, creating my own masterpiece of non-fiction (certain NOT to be shelved near Dylan's). So then, I've figured it out, and I'd like to choose fiction, please. I'd like the show to go on. Yet here I am, in an unfulfilling job, not only with underutilized potential, but ceased dreams. What would Langston Hughes say ?

So this is the new year

2005-01-02T01:35:00.000-05:00

It's been a long time.

Christmas in New York. Anticipation mixed with dazzling displays and crowds to match. Kindness and consumerism, selflessness and worldliness all to the extreme. Experiencing this season was like nothing else, especially while working on the program to provide gifts for the children at our shelters. I have too many experiences, wroght with emotion, to begin to share. The season was different for me, it was good. Unfortunately I found myself stuck in the Ohio valley storm, spending an unexpected night to wake up on the floor of Cinncinatti airport for Christmas eve. In the end - I made it back to Salt Lake, and more than ever I felt what home means. While I usually avoid being overtly religious in my web log, I must say that I had pause to reflect on the reason for which the setting of Christ's birth was in a manger - not in a home, a hotel, a castle or a church - but a manger. It's certainly not happenstance, even if the bible isn't your thing - you can at least note that the author/storyteller certainly chose the setting carefully.

At any rate, Christmas ended - even "the holidays" have ended, and the above is old news. I have been in Salt Lake for eight days now, and have been reflecting on my own sense of home and birth. Mostly enjoying the confluence of factors: physical, emotional, circumstantial that have defined my Salt Lake home over the years. It should be useful as I figure out what in the world this coming year is to bring. I don't know where I'll live or what I'll be doing this time next year. Fortunatley, for some reason, that doesn't frighten me, but it does make me confused an anxious. Maybe I should want my life to be a page turner, but then I'd have to relinquish my desire for control. hm. At least I will always have this "home" to come back to, whether physically or not, at least mentally, and often with good company. For the new year and the last, I must say, I am especially grateful for that. So thanks to the city lights, the Queen of spades, Big Cottonwood, the pink house, little Hun, baby Nathan, the gateway, la Puenta, snowflakes, deans, Desperado, taquitos, Foothill, Mount Olympus, gasoline, 4WD, heck and miss for being "home" this time.

. . . carry me back.

WordsWorth

2004-12-21T23:06:00.000-05:00

Party at the casa and more, per my flat mate:
http://community.webshots.com/album/235423934MsbYnI

Today's Song: The Great Love Sound, the Ravonettes

one flake / snowstorm

2004-12-20T22:59:00.000-05:00

"Pop, pop, pop, Bang. Pop, pop, pop, Bang. That's what you do, that's what you do when they slap you. Pop, pop, pop, bang. Hit 'em in the ribs. Learn how to do that and your make your mama a lot of money. lot of money. a boxer, a boxer. pop. pop. pop."

He laid along three seats with a small shopping cart in front of him. Gestured as he spoke to the 7 year old boy across the subway car avoiding eye contact. I avoided eye contact, too, concentrating on the "Best Smile in Town" add for orthodontics lining the wall of the train car. I was glad I wasn't alone. In our hands we held bags from Toys R Us with gifts for kids living in the shelters of the agency for which I work. I decided I much preferred the cuteness of homeless children to homeless men. But I wondered who needed more help, while also realizing who was most likely to accept it.

Toys R Us had not been in vain. Following a whirlwind weekend: working, again with kids gifts, late all week long, then prepping for the party ala emails ... and yes finally partying, (thoroughly enjoyed hosting all those who came out to our place!) a few of us found ourselves in the late night toy-store crowd. Immediately upon entering the store, one of us got in line while the rest shopped. Unfortunately, we were all so tired from the week and weekend's events, we weren't much for shopping. We were disturbed by the hokey pokey elmo and stuck with the toy staples of legos and play dough. Checking out, we walked out to snow on Union Square -- first time I'd seen snow live in New York City. It was freezing cold out, too - funny how that works. I had inadvertently left my umbrella at the restaurant, and as we headed back, Emily broke out in song. We all joined her, and were greeted with some odd looks as we waited for the light to change. We didn't seem to care much about our newly bought toys, or the cold weather, or the lack of umbrellas. What seemed to matter most was that we weren't alone. In taking part in giving out the gifts to the families, I've seen what seems to matter most to them - and the parents don't seem to be as moved by a box of legos for their kid or a doll here or there, but by the fact that someone else cares. That they're not alone, that they're heard, that they're human.

let it snow, let it snow, let it snow ...

Today's Song: One Great City, The Weakerthans

Where my thought's escaping

2004-12-06T14:49:00.000-05:00

I come up for air on the weekends. After swimming through rush hour on the downtown train, crowds around 34th street and piles of memos, applications and spreadsheets, I breathe.

Sometimes breathing involves lots of sleep, lots of doing nothing, or lots. This weekend it was the perfect combination. Excessive amounts of sleep. Excessive amounts of fun. Adequate amounts of productivity. and thought. I wasn't ready to dive in again to the torrid sea of my job, and Monday mornings always feel much more like a belly flop, but here I am. Perhaps the best part of being at work today is realizing that it's become normal. Normalcy is also what I've realized has set into my daily routine. My apartment is now my home. It's all normal, I'm living it. Yet, it's anything but mundane. Concurrently I devote most of my thoughts to realizing how extra-ordinary it all is.

As I walked home late Thursday night I remembered to look down the streets I was crossing instead of strait ahead. I reminded myself to see what was in view all around me at the moment and keep from focusing just on the path ahead. Down the street, the buildings come to an abrupt end, as does the street. In the gap between the buildings the blackness of the East (?) River borders the horizon. Without fail, there is always a ferry breaking up the blackness, dotted with lights. And filling the view are the lights of New Jersey in the distance and Downtown Manhattan in the foreground. The vibrant lights breaking up the nothingness, signaling life are my everyday scenery. Like thousands of visible electrons, the dots of light are contained energy full of potential. Parallel to life. and I'm home.

Lolita, Charlotte and Abbey

2004-11-28T02:34:00.000-05:00

Three little ten year old boys filled the hidden corner of the store, lying in a messy pile of merchandise. Splayed around them were books they had rejected and now they sat, silently perusing their piles. Reading actual kid-targeted novels. There I was, also, at 10pm on a Saturday night, wishing I had a corner to lie in as I stepped over the woman sitting in the isle. Barnes and Noble, somehow managed to make a bookstore and books popular. When there is an entire universe of free printed material available on the web, people still come out of their homes, away from their computers and head - not to the free libraries - but to the bookstores - even just to sit on the floor. The music industry should take notice and stop worrying about pirates. That's another tangent in itself.

I must say, it is refreshingly hopeful to reflect on the popularity of the printed word. The millions of people writing - in web logs or at their websites, and the people reading. Of course the corner bookstore could use our business much more than the book giant, but repopularizing reading is something the small bookstores never achieved. Can places like Barnes and Noble really take credit? Whatever the cause, it's interesting to see reading as a social activity. People come with friends, come to meet friends, or make it a destination, a place to get out and be social. Anyway, I'm not really seeing the point here - cept to say that I like bookstores. I'm glad to see society supporting writers, but I really just like the feel of it all. I'm hoping to get started on Reading Lolita in Tehran soon, and then I'd really like to read I am Charlotte Sims. And you know how I figured out what I'd like to read these books, as opposed to the bunches of other books in the store ? - by reading about them in various periodicals. Reading about reading. crazy, however, something about it excites me. Before I finish my current book and move on, I'll have to stop having such wonderful visitors as my step sister Natalie, and my upcoming visit from three of my cousins - it may be somewhat country/city mouse ish - but we shall see.

Tomorrow is Thanksgiving around here (because it's when the cousins and natalie's husband arrive - making it enough people to warrant turkey cookin). I made pies. Tomorrow I will cook turkey. That will be more than enough domesticity for the month. Right now, I'm just amazed I cooked pies, we'll see if anything is actually good when we eat.

Today's Song: You Never Give Me Your Money, Abbey Road, Beatles
usually, I try not to explain the song of the day, although it's the most telling of my thoughts or relates to something I did. For example, the last Beatle's song appeared in a dream of mine. This one, however, has played both times in the past week that I've been to Barnes and Noble, and I like it so much (I really just like theBeatles so much - but this son's especially nice) that it makes me stop walking and I can't concentrate on the books. Plus, it also seems to be quite fitting with my current situation.

thanks in order

2004-11-25T15:13:00.000-05:00

Seems I've spent the last month honing a new talent in displeasure. While not only isolating the negatives of my current situation, I've also found new and innovative ways to explore and create unhappiness. Naturally, I should probably follow by saying now that this blog is some kind of denial ending confessional in which I will turn over a new leaf. By the way, I despise the word blog.

I think I'll continue to be honest with myself, and choose to learn. While I haven't had a banner week, in fact, I've found it tough to write here because I don't like glazing over my true feelings. Writing for random readers on the internet also isn't a venue where I'm eager to bare my soul. Fortunately, a Thanksgiving has come to save me from divulging anything and reminded me of the power of perspective.

Above all else, I am thankful for having a sense of the value of the meaningful bits of life - and ever grateful for possessing such, which I define as relationships. So gratitude is in order for relationships: my family, for the people who have been and are friends, for the relationship I have with faith, beliefs and hope, with a good book or a good view, with thought. Thankful for my limited but existent knowledge of choice, of existence, and of joy. Possessions might be nice, but even they would have no meaning without some capacity to appreciate them (even utilizing them is in some way appreciating them tacitly). More importantly, they would be lesser, as would people, without one's ability to relate to them. In the end, I guess I realize, I'm most thankful for the ability to be grateful. So let it be - a Happy holiday.

Reverie for Rivalry

2004-11-20T19:49:00.000-05:00

Dark by 4pm, the pathetic fallacy of Lehigh's loss. The sky mourns more than football. Here in one of my favorite buildings in the world - Linderman Library - I sit looking out the stone bordered window panes to the bare trees turned into black sillohettes by the evening light. The flag slowly waves in a shaft of light from below. The white pole and bold reds and whites don't fit in the somber scene, or with the warmth of the wood panels surrounding me here. Am I the sobering dark, cold autumn day? The bold awkward flag? The wise enveloping wood? or simply the window. Where do I fit on this campus? A year that would be my senior, and yet I am senior in life to the students here - fully employed in the infamous "real" world. I don't know what to say anymore to people who ask how I like my job. I don't know how to tell them what I spend my spare time doing, it's more to be said in simple conversations. Sometimes, I don't know why I come back. Except that somehing here feels like home. Fun can be created anywhere. Friends can be relocated and contacted throughout the world. But the wood, the windows, the view - it's wholistic. Still the setting for some of my dreams at night, or the wanderings of my mind - it is tough to realize how long this place will stick with me. How very long I will miss those day. It cannot be recreated. Coming back, it will always be less than it once was. Hopefully, I will be more. But for now - I remain a little disillusioned by my displacement in a distant working world. For the first time since I've been here, I have heard the bells from the University Center Tower ring on the hour. 5pm.

Today's Song: I Will, Beatles White Album

Cut with Carmine

2004-11-14T22:41:00.000-05:00

Carmine, the 60(ish) year old man who cut my hair can be credited with the only accomplishment of the weekend. I set out with lofty goals to clean the apartment, maybe find some Christmas gifts or cards, and see a movie - but in the end, I've just taken off some hair. Nothing drastic, to be sure. Although Carmine seemed quite pleased with his work, and after the kind man talked me up and complimented me profusely, I realized something about myself: I am weak.

The already exorbitantly priced haircut (mind you not nearly $200) got more expensive when I decided to be a generous tipper to kind old Carmine. I usually make an effort to over tip, often to compensate for what I assume is bad mental math on my part and ensure that I'm not a rude tipper, but mostly because I'm weak. There's a soft spot in my heart for people's income. I guess I'd like money not to be a big factor in anyone's life. So if I can tip a little more and help them out, or even make them a little happier - so be it. Ah the do gooder in me - see also: my current occupation - demonstrating my true weakness for the income inequalities in society. So weak that I didn't do much to protect my own income level. Much like Carmine's cut, I'm feeling all I'm accomplishing at my job is going home at the end of the day with a little less of myself, and less cash. I like my weakness, to an extent. I think everyone should tip as generously as they can (which I should also reevaluate for myself, again see: my current job), and that we should help each other out. However, I'm also a firm believer in helping people help themselves over just handouts, and here I am - not helping myself out of my current situation.

I did help myself to that quality haircut and an excessively relaxing weekend. Hopefully soon I'll be able to help myself to a new TV, as the current one was busted in a little steam/condensation incident, and while I'm at it, I'll just throw in a new job. Thanks go out to Carmine - Brooklyn born and raised, and the beautiful weather on Saturday!

"today, well lived, makes every yesterday a memory of happiness and every tomorrow a vision of hope. look well, therefore, to this day" (apparently an ancient Sanskrit proverb - also happens to be printed on a card that sits in a frame next to my bed and above a sketch of the brooklyn bridge and the NYC skyline.)
ps - I know you're out there - comment! this would be more interesting for me as a DIAlogue not a MONOlouge. Maybe I'll have to come up with more scandalous or exciting things to get a little rage from the folks out there. Is Carmine not good enough for you ?

Vapidly disjointed

2004-11-11T23:31:00.000-05:00

I spend a lot of my time trying to avoid talking about politics and reading about them instead. As a result, or perhaps just naturally, I end up thinking about politics a lot. Staying inside because I'm having a hard time adjusting to this colder weather hasn't helped the situation. The majority of my day is spent reading- reading at work to write reports or newsletters, reading the times online over lunch, reading random websites to find a place for dinner, a new job, or a salon that doesn't cost $200 for a haircut. When I come home from work, I return to the job search or reading to catch up with friends at sites similar to this one, and then cozy up with a mediocre periodical or random book. (so far I've read Capote's Breakfast at Tiffany's, Kafaka's Metamorphosis, and due to a book club Wicked; the only magazine worthy of mention, The Economist - my favorite)

New York magazine was a new purchase for me today. I participated in the exit poll, in which they surveyed 100 New Yorkers - I was one of them! Considering this is the most honest I've been with someone about my political views, I figured I'd better buy it.Normally, I don't like to talk about politics because it's much more interesting to observe, even though I often have lots to interject, but in the polls case, I respected the craft. Other problem is, I'm a political schizo, and working in a non-profit I'm influenced by liberal views... while visiting Salt Lake ... you get the picture.

On the way home I picked up a Village Voice from a stand on the street to compensate for the lack of interesting material in a magazine unworthy of its namesake. There's a reason I don't regularly buy New York magazine - it's also written for people who have not just the $3.99 cover price, but a whole lot more. Not my favorite New York.

I just got my most interesting periodical I receive by mail, Political Science and Politics. Sounds like a page turner, doesn't it? The American Political Science Association thinks so, and as a member, I guess I must too. The edition came out before the election - out of 9 election prediction studies, most were quite accurate - percentage of the vote and all, just one group went for Kerry. Either way it doesn't seem that those predictions were well publicized outside of this happy little journal, or at least to the optimistic New York community and heavy Kerry donors. Most of New York seems to feel singled out and alienated by the rest of America because of Bush's win. There's talk amongst some of potentially leaving, utter disgust amongst others - but any way you look at it, our political system and our basic liberties (hopefully) remain, our day to day lives are the same no matter the election outcome.

Some poli sci followers believe Thomas Jefferson intended for government to change drastically with every generation, or for at least each generation to consciously work for and bring about their new agenda. He felt it should be built into the framework in someway, for a bloodless revolution - he called it - to take place every 20 years or so. Sure, people may be up in arms or celebrating at the moment, but for the most part, we'll continue to live our lives. We lack true appreciation of the freedoms of our nation. We lack conviction and insight, we lack the passion and cohesion needed to make Jefferson's vision a reality. Bush and Kerry may be from differnt political parties, but they're still following the same politics. Surely, in his time it would have been difficult for him to imagine a nation filled with bystanders. On the sidelines the next generation remains - on the sidelines I remain. Silent and motionless - except for maybe that exit poll. I'll leave it at Burke- "A cheap, bloodless reformation, a guiltless liberty, appear flat and vapid to their taste." Happy Veteran's Day.

Current favorite album: Air, Talkie Walkie (excellent soundtrack to life)

Song I liked hearing today (aka Song of the day): So says I, the Shins

Fun Link: Mr. Picassohead

More rock and less roll

2004-11-10T03:10:00.000-05:00

"brevity is the soul of wit" said Shakespeare. According to the previous posts, I'm not especially witty. The missing days, however, might best be filled in by saying silence speaks volumes. Since I last left off, fun has transpired, including a good Halloween, an election has passed (no comment currently), I have been back to Salt Lake and in the midst I have managed to create enough condensation in my living room to leave puddles on the floor and ruin the TV.

Menial stuff and trivial observations aside, the fulfilling meat of life is lacking here. Contemplations and research motivated by the new and different environment of New York combined with unabashed amounts of fun have not been enough to compensate for the mediocre job situation. I have been freely optimistic and careful, until now. At which point, I must admit something has to change - I need to not only realize what the light is at the end of my tunnel or actually get myself in the right tunnel. Cliches, a tragedy greater than Will's, yet what he has mostly become. Clearly, time for bed.

"we only come out at night"

2004-10-29T20:27:00.000-05:00

Big Brown Bag, Saks, BCBG, Lassen & Hennings, Whole Foods, K-Mart, Macys plastered on plastic with handles, riding the subway, wandering the streets. Century 21 Bags are especially popular, and particularly revealing with their clear plastic sides. Paper, plastic, canvas, in addition to a purse or briefcase New York subway riders always seem to have shopping bags in hand.

Normal enough, buying something entails carrying it in a bag. But there's no Saks in Brooklyn. Bloomies doesn't open before the morning rushhour. And that woman certainly doesn't seem to have any way of incorporating BCBG apparel into her wardrobe. Some bags are clearly years old and just two days ago I saw a man sitting on the subway trying to pull a off a bag from a Vermont restaurant, address included on the bag. Clearly, subway riders aren't doing this much shopping or eating. And the clear bags reveal the juice bottles and old magazines that definitely cannot be purchased at the bag's namesake department store. Some women seem to hold on to bags from high-end stores as long as possible, reusing a rumpled Gucci Bag that's probably so last season. But really, why are they trying to pass off their lunches and scarves for high end apparel ? Image driven consumerism.

I found myself on the subway with shopping bags today, too. But I was a true consumer - and I didn't buy the image thing - mine were crappy K-mart bags. Amazing that New York has a K-Mart (you can enter above ground and exit 4 stories lower inside Penn Station right near your subway stop - Bizzaro world). My K-mart bags were also actually filled with the merch I bought at K-mart -- 6 bags of Halloween candy. Ahh Halloween, like all holidays, evil, I mean consumption focused. I actually decided I like Halloween as I watched men in business suits and other New Yorkers stock up on hordes of what candy remained (the Halloween-themed stuff was all sold out). Here we were, spending out time and money to buy candy to give out to kids we don't even know. People will knock on our doors, and we'll actually give them something for it, and not just anything - overpriced candy. Kids will end up with shopping bags full of it, and the adults ? Well, at least we get empty shopping bags in which to carry our Monday lunches.

Band of the Week: Matt Pond, PA

Song of the Day: We Only Come Out At Night, Smashing Pumpkins

de fault of New York

2004-10-26T01:23:00.000-05:00

(length in two entrys attempting to compensate for missed days. Complaints or kudos? Post comments.)
Random:
People walk faster, they expect mail the next day, they're too busy to take lunch and even have it delivered, they lift their hand and a car appears to take them where they want to go - these people are New Yorkers. From the outside they seemed like work-a-holics, but observed closely, I have found they're just time misers. I know it sounds like a synonym for the impatient, but it's the best way to describe how the sense of wasted time is inherent in the soul of these people. They understand how one must get the most out of each moment when there are as many potential options as exist in New York.

Here I sit, typing at a computer in my apartment. A fast paced New Yorker I am not. However, I have been attempting to take advantage of a few of the wonderful array of things to do here in the city ... and on the East Coast. Maybe the best part of having so many things you could be doing is knowing that what you usually do is never just your default, but a conscious choice of action, or in this evenings case - inaction. Without being my normal verbose self, I'll just sum up the events since I last wrote, in another blog entry for some visual variety, and given that they were all extremely awesome and in one case, an opportunity of a lifetime - they deserve more in print, and maybe I'll get to that.

Random Fun:
This amused me while I was at work - determine your own election outcome, find out if your vote really might count, or just use it as a resource when placing your bets on the tight race.
http://www.nytimes.com/packages/html/politics/2004_ELECTIONGUIDE_GRAPHIC/

Good times never seemed so good

2004-10-26T00:35:00.000-05:00

For now, here's the last few days in review:

- Thursday: Cooked Mexican with friends, including one who not only make a mean salsa, he also fixes dressers. The salsa man also showed us to the club in the basement of the bar at the back of the restaurant a.k.a Fez for some fantastic Jazz by the Mingus Big Band.

- Friday: It's tough to rival Thursday's evening, Death Cab for Cutie played a pretty good show, but being surrounded by pre-highschoolers definitely made me feel old. Spending the night scrambling to find a plan for Boston wasn't all that exciting either, but fortunately I had company to liven things up.

-Saturday: I never expected that I'd be able to say this, so while I don't like to boast much, today I went to the World Series. The 7 year old me would have meant literally and as a player, but being in the grandstands at Fenway far exceeded my expectations. There was an entire fiasco in getting there, which I don't want to touch. Lessons learned, however, and my advice: only use the phone and not the internet to rent a car. There is a reason everyone has a credit card - get one. If you don't know the neighborhood, take a cab or a big friend. Yogurt and writing don't mix. Don't plan on wearing flipflops outdoors in New England past October. On the positive side: Go to a game at Fenway Park in your lifetime. F --- the Cardinals sounds great in a Boston accent. Just because your team loses doesn't mean you can't have fun. Learning to curve it around the pole is an art worth mastering. The monster really is big.

-Sunday: Seafood on the Harbor, Faniel Hall, and generous doses of my favorite thing: trees - and in spectra color. Doesn't really replace the loss I feel for not getting to see my brainchild in action without my brain (therefore much improved). But making it to Spooktacular from Beantown was 6 hours that didn't exist in any day.

Sure I could use more sleep (why I'm home now), but I can't deny the fun. Grand thanks goes out to the three wonderful people who each in their individual ways went above and beyond to make the weekend come together - glad to call you friends.

Today's Song: The Sox have a penchant for Neil Diamond's Sweet Caroline (anyone know why?) But today I'm a fan of Carolina boy Ben Folds' Don't Change Your Plans.

misting

2004-10-20T00:36:00.000-05:00

White, diaphanous and mysterious, the clouds next to my window and over the wing of the plane were always my favorite thing when flying as a little kid. For much of my childhood I had memorized the names of various formations and studied the watercycle, but what had always interested me was what clouds looked like close up. Flying satisfied that for me, despite the fact that I now realize my breath, steam and condensation in general closely resemble the high-altitude view. It was the scale, however that fascinated me most. Being already inside something as gigantic as an aircraft, the ability of a cloud to envelop both sides and obscure a nearby wing or a farm down below was awesome. Of course, that wasn't enough for me, I had seen clouds close up, then I wanted to know what they felt like.

Pretty simple minded to be fascinated with clouds, but my fascination with clouds wasn't unique, I was and basically still am just fascinated with basic stuff, not that I should admit that here. That might explain my fascination today with the rain type stuff that was sort of falling from the sky. Rain happens in Utah, but these light airy droplets are unique to my East Coast experience. The first time I was surrounded by the stuff at Lehigh someone called it "misting". All official titles aside these superfine drops of gently falling water moved me to keep my umbrella closed, hold my head up high, and smile. Today's mists were like touching the clouds.

Useless observations aside, today many important things appear to be tied across the nation. Both the ALCS and the NCLS seem to be leaning that way, as does the presidential election. The real question no one seems to be answering is how the outcome of the world series will affect the election. Maybe because their is no relationship, although once I did hear a study of a correlation between the superbowl and either something political or meteorological. I could research this phenomenon, but it's far too complicated for my simple musings, I'm going to leave it up to you.

Today's Song:
Warning Sign, Coldplay

Random Fun:
play the cloud matching game http://www.ucar.edu/educ_outreach/webweather/cloudmatch.html

It's Autumn in New York

2004-10-18T20:22:00.000-05:00

This same time during my freshman year at Lehigh I was in love with a CD I borrowed from a friend. It was some compilation of Ella Fitzgerald standards, not my most likely choice. I fell in love to the CD, though, and wish I had at least it to listen to today. The song still plays in my head, and I must say, that semester I never thought the words to the song would be the only thing that would come to fruition.

Suprised as I might be, sans soundtrack, I'm falling in love with New York. So here I am and, well, I'm going to leave it to the lyricist (despite the blatant plagerism) to say it better than I could, and recommend the complete verison with Ella and Louis' voices to haunt you enough that 4 years from now, you may just end up living in New York, too.

Autumn in New York
Why does it seem so inviting
Autumn in New York
It spells the thrill of first-nighting

glittering crowds and shimmering clouds
In canyons of steel
They're making me feel - I'm home

It's autumn in New York
That brings the promise of new love
Autumn in New York
Is often mingled with pain

Dreamers with empty hands
They sigh for exotic lands
It's autumn in New York
It's good to live it again

Oh, yeah, and admittedly, while I'm at it -- welcome to my new web log. I've just figured for awhile that there was already enough info. on the web, why add to the chaos without purpose. Purposeless as it may be, I have thoughts and fortunately I know people who'd like to read them. thanks for tuning in.