Whoa.

every time you stop to pick up a penny, you are trading three seconds of your life for one cent

one month into the new year…

…and it’s already looking to be a spectacular year.  for the first time in three months, i’ll be happy with my housing situation.  though it’s a modest room for my modest needs at a modest price, it thankfully comes with an immodestly large living room and kitchen to go with it, as well as seemingly chill roommates.

the work situation has been improving too.  secured a very welcomed raise just after the new year, which is the reward for doing well at more stressful work.  a veteran associate left the firm, leaving a great me-sized vacuum.  now i’m getting much more research and writing tasks, which are far more stimulating and rewarding than the more menial duties i did at the start.  i was moved to a nicer desk by a huge window so i can comfortably sink into the lexisnexis abyss, away from the rabble of phones ringing by the reception area.   and i’m helping train the new hires, which is surprising to me since i’ve only been here three months.

regarding my person, i somehow managed to maintain the faint contours of my six-pack through the winter on zero cardio exercise.  i’m in generally good health, if a bit neurotic in the head but i’m coming to terms.

i’ve made measurable advances in my singing voice.  though i’m not totally consistent, i’m happy to be progressing.  i’m thankful i’ve got a great network of friends in the city to sing karaoke with into the wee hours of saturday morning.

since my first ever trip to the strand bookstore in october 2011, i began amassing a collection of intriguing works that i’m certain will make me better for reading them.  most of em were bought for a single dollar, though what i saved in money i probably squandered in time.  it took ages to sort through the bargin bin carts to find these little treasures.  i’m currently reading how to lose friends and alienate people, by the unabashed toby young.  i got my first glimpse of him on some season of top chef.  my first impression was that he tried too hard to be an ass, but he comes across much more appealingly on paper.  it’s fitting that i read someone else’s narrative of their own novel experience of new york  while i make my own way here.

here we go again

i’m currently in the middle of a wild sheep chase, which i would recommend over the overly ponderous “norwegian wood”.

isn’t it interesting, that your progress in a book may characterize your whole state of existence?  no matter what i’m doing, from brushing my teeth to withdrawing cash from the atm – i’m still in the middle of this book.  i’m still myself, i may be at times hungry or excited or angry throughout the day – but at all times i’m in the middle of this book.  anyway, it’s caught my full attention and i can’t wait to collapse into bed and continue the story.

i got out of the shower and stripped down to nothing, letting the muggy overheated air dry me off.  i walked to my closet and noticed how it’s full of blues and greys.  i’m exceedingly happy with the pallette of my wardrobe.  i reach in and extract the blazer i bought from uniqlo this weekend, a mute silver, 100% wool shell fabric.  wool reminded me of sheep, and in turn murakami’s wild sheep chase, which is literally about the search for a mythic sheep creature in the japanese wilderness.  i think back to my own wild pursuit for pants to match this jacket.  i asked around and a stout little saleswoman said this item was on clearance.  she showed me the only two remaining pairs of pants, which were of proportions fitting a dwarf and giant.  so i bought the suit jacket alone and walked off wondering whether i’d ever find the matching pants.  a wild pants chase.  doesn’t have quite the same ring to it.  and frankly it wasn’t so wild either.

i’m trying to revive this blog.  though in my head, this blog gives off an aura similar to the history textbooks from my public high school.  worn, dusty old books telling of old things.

if i write just one simple story a day, i’ll be better for it.

sat, sunk into my fat butt, listening to my roommate explain football to his girlfriend.  surrounded by walls that look white until you look at them hard and close, upon which they reveal their yellowness.

i foresee another year and a half in new york.  let’s make it a good one.  one filled with letters and writing in lowercase letters and long days of work that teach and make us better, black beans and hot sauces and bowls of avocados, the gradual wearing of running sneakers through parks where pedestrians bear witness to the oncoming greatness of all of this beauty that will be our 20s.

Looking back on the things I’ve done

This year, I joined the millions of other americans who dislike their job, boss, and roommates.

Today I realized I have a once in a lifetime opportunity.  To have Christmas dinner with my coworkers.  Because I fully intend to leave before the next one.

Day 2

On my way to work this morning I bought 3 bananas for $1 from a stand on the side of Maiden Lane.   I ate one on the train to Grand Central and glanced around at the many attractive and many many almost attractive people.  I wore my grey suit with the superthin red and white stripes to my first day of work where I incidentally kind of knew what I was doing.

New

Back aching from landscaping the front yard with pop on Sunday.  I wake in a living room slightly colder than comfortable.  And take the elevator down 40 floors, the stops along the way trigger high-rise nostalgia, from the days of Harnwell and Rodin.  McD’s Dollar menu breakfast, salty crispy chicken sandwich.  A calculated exchange of money for calories.  I purchase an unlimited 30 day metro card and head out to the sole PNC bank in this city, only to find it closed for the holiday.  Yes, today was apparently a holiday.  Where were the decorations?

Tomorrow I start work and I’m a little anxious.  I’ve no sense of home at the moment.  But I have internet.

Hopped the 7 train to a stop I can’t remember.  I see a decent, slightly-nice apartment building and walk to it.  I find the leasing office and fill out an application before asking about the rent.  The man offers me a water, wait he looks young, close to my age I believe – so the boy hands me a water and I take it and drink it.  I wait for the leasing agent, woman enters, oh $1600 for a studio and  $3200 for a 2 bedroom.  Haven’t a roommate yet, I’m sorry.  Maneuver my way out, head further west along the 7, make stops and find nice buildings and mostly nice doormen and nice leasing agents who show me rooms.  Only now I regret not taking pictures.  I’m new, you see.

PRESENT, NEW YORK, NEW YORK: Super sensitive music plays from this Starbucks.  I sit at the counter facing Broadway, for once actually busy.  Alternately refreshing Craigslist and other aggregated housing pages, adding to my to-do list for the week, taking a call from a broker or landlord, writing housing cover letters, eavesdropping on the two, slightly-affected business women conversing on my left, interrupted by French girls who use my laptop to search for a restaurant called Naked Lunch and disappear with a fleeting merci.  I pull my arm back and nudging my knuckles into the sore spots at my back’s bottom, refresh this page and that, check my bank account, update my spreadsheet of housing inquiries, whisk up my phone into my face to check the time, how silly, I know, when I’m typing and facing the time in the bottom right corner of this windows operating system…wipe the crumbs off the counter, she blows her nose softly, too softly – so I know she is embarrassed, and continues one two three tries to put it down.  Have no idea the distinctive details of her face.

Outside it is dark and busy.  I feel unpresentable at the moment so I invite no one to dine with me.  A McD’s Dollar Menu dinner it is.  I need to get back and shower, won’t have time in the morning.

More Harmon

Can’t believe I’m double posting from Dan Harmon’s Tumblr- but I had to.  I lifted this post in its entirety because I enjoyed it so very much.  I wish I had written it.  Is there a word that captures these sentiments?  What -ism does it fall under?  Because whatever this is – that is where my mind is.  Like I said before, I feel truly kindred with Dan Harmon.  Though I’m not wholly put off by Good Will Hunting.  I like the (minor) scene where Matt Damon and the cocky math professor work out a problem with ease and give each other a high five.

Things They May Never Tell You 002

1.  Everyone is basically a liar, because you can’t possibly tell everyone the truth about everything – we’d never get anything done.  That being said:

2.  There are the people that, by default, prefer you to know what they’re thinking, and there are the people who, by default, prefer you not to know.  Nobody’s good and nobody’s bad but it’s safer to keep to your half of the world.

3.  To complicate things, there are people that think “Good Will Hunting” is a good movie, and there are people that cringe while watching it.  There are honest people and dishonest people on both sides.  And if you are an honest person that hated Good Will Hunting, you need to minimize your contact with dishonest people that loved it, and I don’t even want to get into why this gets nearly impossible to accomplish.  Let’s just say that there has never been an easier lie to tell than “I hated Good Will Hunting,” and there has never been a lie more incentivized than “I thought it was fine.”

4.  There’s no such thing as love.  There’s infatuation, there’s obsession, there’s addiction, there’s ritualistic, compulsive repetition, there’s horniness, but there is no such thing as love.

5.  I hate being alone.  I hate waking up alone.  I hate waking up with strangers.  I hate my empty rented house on my dangerous winding street full of rednecks that can’t wait for an earthquake to kill me because I had a party once.  I hate not having feelings.  I hate having too many.  I hate not being able to express them, I hate the way I express them, I hate people’s reactions to my expression of them.  I hate people trying to cheer me up, I hate people casting me adrift, I hate being alone.

6.  I hated being in a relationship.  Every day in a relationship is a lie.

7.  I hate Good Will Hunting.  It’s a terrible film.  It’s a crime.  If you like it, I think you’re stupid.  Remember the “apples” scene?  Do you remember it?  Really think about that scene.  Are you smiling?  Then I hate you.  But thank you for being honest.  I would hate you more for lying.  Thank you for letting me hate you.

8.  I love you.

9.  I love my show.

From the brilliant mind behind Community

I am kindred with Dan Harmon.  I know that for certain.

http://danharmon.tumblr.com/post/8343742608/you-are-a-moon-for-a-while

summer fling, don’t mean a thing

Over the weekend, I chanced to meet a lady (hereafter referred to as ‘L’) at a friend’s house party.  I use the term ‘lady’ for all its grand connotations.

A crowd of us were lingering in the foyer when she entered.  Heads turned and remained fixed on her dainty, petite figure.  Her long hair settled whimsically on her chest and accentuated her umm…features.  She obligingly shook my hand along with everyone else’s.  I looked into her bright, beaming eyes and saw an unyielding confidence within her.

I expected the others would vie for her attention all night and that I wouldn’t stand a chance of getting close to her.  So, as the spectacle of her entrance subsided, I resumed socializing with my friends and felt content to sip from a cup of water.

Several conversations passed with the time.  It was getting late, and guests had been trickling out for hours now.

But then I found myself outside with L, idling on the patio away from the group’s rabble, our faces gently illuminated by the drowsy, yellow porchlights hanging overhead.  I broke the ice easily enough with a question about her job, and the conversation flowed freely from there.

We chatted about the food, which we agreed was delicious, the defining moments in our lives, our favorite places around the city…  As it turned out, we had quite a  bit in common with each other.  We grew up in similar neighborhoods, had similar passions and similar ideals.  I could tell she was older than me, though it was her poise and language that betrayed her age and not her looks.

She seemed sexy, smart, kind, and sexy to me, in that order.  I actually had to set down my plate of food so that I could stuff my hand in my pocket and umm… hide my excitement.  That was how utterly thrilled I felt to be the object of her attention for an hour.  Which unwittingly turned into two.

I teased her with my best humor and paid out compliments as well.  She accepted them with a quick, spontaneous laugh that seemed almost simultaneous with her speech, as if voiced by an invisible friend beside her.

Before we had realized it, the day’s mystique was exhausted and it was time to part.  As I walked her out to her car, I began to muster up the courage to ask for her number, when she suddenly offered it – and we exchanged effortlessly.  She sent me a text message that night, and now, a week and some later, the conversation is still going – and the surprises are still unfolding.

Sweet white wine, cool silver bucket.  Scrumptious scallops, sudden showers.  Rain prattles with the cobblestones.  A leopard spotted umbrella au lait.  Sun reluctantly sets over speechless suburbs.  A Thursday night movie, a cozy embrace.  Quick cocktails in a lost piece of Maui.  A kiss on the cheek, and then the lips.  A wish for more time.  Falling towards fall.

me, you, and Camus

http://www.macobo.com/essays/epdf/CAMUS,%20Albert%20-%20The%20Stranger.pdf

What’s this? A copy of Camus’ The Stranger available for free online?

Oh, let us read together and spring into spring!