White Street

Walking down the same street nearly every day, I have come to appreciate its subtleties. I will likely never hang out on this street, never stop in one of its establishments. It doesn't seem to have any bars or restaurants I'll ever frequent and I don't think there is even a place for me to grab a cup of coffee. I simply pass by. Although I traverse just one block of White Street between Broadway and Church on my morning walk, there are things I have come to expect.

When I turn onto this street, I immediately look into the side window of a Chinese business on Broadway that sells paper supplies and decorations in fabulous shades of red and pink and gold. Across the street there is always an endless supply of rugged yet creative types in work boots and stocking caps, hauling film-making equipment on and off of trucks of all sizes. Further on, a grocery truck can be found pulled onto the south curb with little room to pass, its drivers rather friendly to female passerby as they unloads their wares. Just below Franklin Place, construction workers converge beneath scaffolding, their conversations shifting between English, Polish, and Spanish but their cigarette smoke smelling all the same. With their blue and yellow umbrellas folded, hot dog carts are rolled up the middle of the street towards Broadway by their bearded owners wearing taqiyahs. The sloping architecture of the Synagogue for the Arts shelters children's playthings and discarded pamphlets in its courtyard. Young men with assymetrical haircuts and young women in tights and big scarves, their clacking heels telling me a block in advance that they will ascend the stairs to the Flea Theater. The glowing charisma of Let There Be Neon that beckons with a lounging, hot pink feminine outline reminiscent of gritty, windowless, male-only establishments.

This morning the street was strangely quiet, as many New York streets tend to be when it rains. Everyone is just in a hurry to get inside and they scurry about with their umbrellas up and their heads down. But the rain wasn't falling in those few minutes I walked on White Street today. The air was uncannily warm for January, muggy and thick and seeming able to absorb any noise that might emanate from the street, and yet, none did. No one spoke. No carts rolled. No heels clacked. The street was suddenly, inexplicably, utterly unfamiliar to me and I felt a bit lost. I looked up at the soaring lofts with their zig-zagging fire escapes and wondered, "Who lives there? What goes on in those buildings?" It seemed I saw the retro yellow ARC sign for the first time and finally acknowledged that it was a record shop. I wondered to myself who thought that synagogue architecture was a good idea and thought perhaps I should look up the Flea Theater and see what was playing.

It baffles me that a street you think you know so well that it has taken on mundane qualities can suddenly become strange and mysterious just because of a slight change in weather. The light casts new shadows and the air feels strange in your lungs. You see something new and different in things you've seen a million times and you realize that you will never know everything about this city. No matter what you think you know, you realize, you are still a stranger. You are still alone. And yet somehow, you are perfectly at home.

The Sounds of Silence

I haven't posted for a while, and I really ought to try harder. I just feel as though I've had nothing to write about, though I have a million things to say. But these past few weeks I've been embracing being quiet. It started last week when Nick had a big test to study for and rather than escape the apartment like I usually do when a test is on the horizon, I just stayed home and had calm, quiet evenings with no socializing. And it was lovely. I made dinner, cleaned up, read, messed around on the computer, cuddled with the cat, and I did not talk. It was a bit frustrating at times, but overall it was strangely soothing. The quietness was something I haven't experienced in a while, something I rarely experience. I feel as though every evening, every weekend, every moment of my life is taken up by social noise, and sometimes it just has to stop.

After such a quiet week, the weekend threw me for a loop. I feel as though I talked nonstop Friday night, with some singing and drinking in between, of course... I was exhausted but I probably could have stayed up all night, blathering on and on. But on Saturday morning, I awoke to nothing but the sounds of birds and an occasional car, and the sights of sunlight and trees through the windows of my friend's home just north of the city. While I waited for everyone to wake up, I was amazed by the peacefulness. I just sat on the couch and stared out the window and drank in the silence, wondering how in the hell I would ever force myself to go back to Brooklyn. But I did. Rather than sleep on the bus, though, I stared silently out the window. I barely thought about anything, I just reveled in the sights of trees and pretty houses and the endless river and highway, and I ignored all the sounds. Once I was back in the city I was horrified by the noises and sights and people and the terrible things they were saying. Talk talk talk, chat chat chat, yell yell yell... Curse curse, blah blah, crowds crowds crowds! Shh...

While I would have gladly spent my Saturday night curled up in bed reading, I forced myself to go back out for birthday parties because I'm a good friend like that, dammit. Once again I felt as though I had entered a portal into another world, making my way on the subway to the East Village and then Union Square for one party after another, filled with laughter and talking and drinking and dancing and loud, loud, loud music. I didn't quite know what to make of it. The clatter of high heels on the pavement, the sloppy drawls of drunk college kids, the unwelcome cat calls emanating from every corner... No noise escaped my ears, it was so overpowering. I could hear people taking drags of their cigarettes. I couldn't hear myself think. I wasn't thinking, I was just acting, just moving, just going with the flow of a noisy city that didn't give me a choice, just carried me along in its tornado of sound.

Sometimes the noise of this city is overwhelming. Perhaps it's because no matter where you go, no matter how many noises you hear, now matter how many people who are talking and yelling and laughing and crying in your ear on every street and every subway car, everyone is still alone, confined in their own little worlds. We are interacting with so many different people at so many different times, and yet, we interact with no one. It's a very isolating feeling, to hear so much and see so much and still know that you're just one tiny speck among millions, all of us endlessly prattling away about next to nothing.

I'm escaping the city this weekend. There will be no cars honking, no subway announcements, no sirens, no chatter of people on the street who you don't know and you will only pass by once in your life. And if you pass them by twice you'll never know it.While there will be family and friends talking on and on, when I wake up in the morning I can have my breakfast and sit on the porch and revel in the quiet that I've been craving. And when I'm hiking, I will hear only the leaves under my feet and the wind in the trees.

I feel like I need to counter this post someday with something that praises the noise and insanity of city life. I love it, I really do. But sometimes I just need to escape into the silence. Surely you understand.

New Slang

I haven't exactly been keeping up with this thing, have I? Sorry to my millions (ahem, four) followers. There just seem to be too many other important things in real life to do that I just forget to sit down and wax philosophical about my observations and experiences and all that crap. Is it really that interesting anyway? Probably not.

I just finished writing thank you notes to the three former employers of mine who acted as references for my new job. If they were women I'd send them flowers, but what do you send a guy? An expensive and overpriced gift basket? Sorry, I don't have the cash flow to send three $80 baskets full of crackers and cheese and olive tapinade. So a note will have to suffice. I've already thanked two of them in person anyway. I really do appreciate their help, though. Starting this new job should be a breath of fresh air into my life, which from 9 to 5 on weekdays was beginning to feel stale and stagnant. Well, not quite beginning...it had been that way for a while. The only things that keep me sane are the lovely ladies who I shared my time there with, and they're what I'll miss most about my old place of employment. But I have to grow up and take on new challenges, figure out what the hell I'm actually meant to be on this Earth for -- and I knew I wouldn't find that where I was, no matter how many lovely conversations and shopping trips we have day to day.

Speaking of coworkers, one of mine got MARRIED recently (and she will soon be reading this post when she gets back from her fabulous HONEYMOON!)!!!!! Six other current and former coworkers attended, dragging along two boyfriends (one of them mine) and a husband. We had an AMAZING time at the beautiful wedding, and it was a really nice way to wrap up my time at The Organzation That Shall Not Be Named. Angela looked GORGEOUS in her gown and as far as I could tell, the day went smoothly and everyone was happy. At least that's what I thought, since all I could see when I looked at Angela were her teeth because she was smiling so much. Congratulations, little bride. You got wifed!

I've also been bopping around the city recently doing all those fun things you do when the weather is warm and everyone is in a good mood. We had a book club meeting in Washington Square Park, complete with gourmet snacks and way too much wine, and recruited two new members to the club... The book club has been good for me since it's made me stop being such a literary snob and just pick up something light and entertaining once in a while. Or to pick up an international bestseller that I'd previously snubbed and realize that it's a bestseller for a reason -- because it's awesome -- and then continue to read the next two books in the series. Sometimes it's nice to just kick back and be a normal girl, rather than reading all these harsh and depressing novels all the time... Then again, in between the book club books, I find myself gravitating toward stories about Prague Spring or Agfhan immigrants, so I don't think I'll ever change.

Let's see, what else have I done... I went to the Native American Heritage Festival in Brooklyn with this lovely lady and her boyfriend, where I watched some stunning Polynesian and Aztec dancers and bought some lavender body spray, a beautiful white linen dress, and brass earrings based on a design by the Moche tribe of Peru. Yesterday I went to the Mermaid Parade in Coney Island and met up with an old coworker as well as my cousin and her friends. When I first went to the parade two years ago I vowed to march in it, and then last year I completely forgot about it... Maybe because the weather was so crappy EVERY DAY last June. Ugh. This would have been the perfect year -- the weather so PERFECT, but of course I completely forgot to check when the date was. Next year, I fully plan on gluing seashells to my nipples, painting myself glittery green, and donning a ridiculous wig and a sequined skirt and being the most fabulous mermaid I can be. How can I live in Brooklyn for so long and NOT take part in this incredible tradition?

I also rediscovered some old music on my computer that I had never converted to mp3 format after I got this new computer... So now I'm listening to Belle & Sebstian and The Shins again (hence the title of this post). Lovely stuff that takes me back to freshman year... Ahhh....

Ok I'm over this. Today is Father's Day, and I guess I really ought to have been writing about how much I appreciate my dad and all that. But I'm not going to bore you with all that. I love my dad and he's an amazing guy, and I think I'll just give him a call right now.

Then I'll clean this apartment and try to get back to writing some fiction I just started up again. Aren't you proud of me?

Nature Girl

Tomorrow morning I will leave this city of sin for the soul-cleansing purity of the country. My dear friend and I are driving to New Paltz, where we will scamper through the meadows and mountains and breathe some fresh air. I can't wait!

The city can be so stifling -- there is always pressure to be here or there and do this or that... For example, I'm going to some fancy club for happy hour and I have nothing to wear since I can't go home first as I had planned. This means I had to go shopping... Wahh, poor baby! Life is so tough.

If I was just in the country right now, I would be in flip-flops and dirty jeans and a t-shirt and that would be that. So this weekend, I vow to put vanity aside and just relax.

Goodbye, soul-sucking city. Hello, Zen.

Country vs. City

As I drove through the streets of Raleigh, NC on Friday afternoon, I thought to myself, "How could I ever live anywhere but New York? How could I ever be satisfied in a little city like this?" As much as I make plans to leave my beloved Big Apple within a year or so, I fear what lies ahead. I have lived in New York since I was barely 18 years old -- I've learned to drink and eat and shop and play and walk and run and scream and cry and laugh and love on these streets... These filthy, crowded, magical streets...

Where do you go when the majority of your most important experiences have occurred in the center of the universe? Where you hear 6 languages as you walk down the street, where you can have any food from any country at any time of day or night, where you never have to go to the same bar and restaurant twice (but you always do), where everyone comes to visit and gawk and then (thankfully) departs again, and where you can walk the same route every day and still be sure you'll never see certain people again in your life... I've discussed before how I love the anonymity of this city, so how could I ever move to a smaller place where people actually know your name?

When I travel, people label me as a New Yorker, and I know they will when I move away from here. But I'm not one by nature, only by osmosis... I'm from Maryland and I always will be from Maryland. As I walked tearfully through the house I grew up in on Sunday, as I gazed into the woods where the birds flitted about and the trees swayed quietly in the breeze, I thought, "How can I ever go back to New York?" As I prepared to leave on Monday, I just lay down for a few minutes and stared out the window, where all I could see were trees and sky, listening to the tuneless symphony of birdsong and wind chimes, and wished desperately that I could stay. I wished I didn't have to return to the insanity of this city, the constant noise, the constant chatter, the millions of words I don't understand, the millions of places to eat and drink and shop, the millions upon millions of people. How overwhelming it all is. I am not a New Yorker.

I'm not a country girl either, however, and especially not a suburbanite... As much as I would love to be home again, driving back country roads and spying wildflowers and deer at every turn, I'm not sure that's right for me either at this point. I just know that in North Carolina and Maryland, things seemed so small and plebeian, so behind the times, with everything moving so slowly... When I came back to New York I realized it all goes too fast, the future is in your face at every turn, everything is always changing and there is always something new and different and unknown... There is good and bad in both of these extremes, and I want both every day. But I can't have both -- that doesn't exist.

It will always frighten me to leave New York for good until I finally do it... But it always frightens me to come back and probably always will. Now that I'm here, I'm back in the swing of things. I went out to dinner and had a drink at the bar last night, and today I'm back to work after my usual morning commute... It all seems so normal. Hard to believe that only yesterday I was desperate to leave it all behind.