A Tree Grows in Brooklyn

Early this evening, I went to the cafe across the street and ordered a sandwich and a coffee.  My friend said, "I'm only charging you for this sandwich because I have to... I really don't want to."  I mean, really, in what world do I get this kind of sweetness?  

I sat down and ate my chicken sandwich that was that type of perfection that only a sandwich in my special little coffee shop could be: the bread was chewy but soft, the chicken was juicy and the aioli added the  perfect amount of balance.  As I enjoyed my sandwich, I looked out across the street to see my neighbor ride up, finished with a day of work.  He hopped off his bike and wheeled it into his apartment.  He's the same neighbor that walked with Finn and me down to the flea market on Saturday afternoon and when I realized dogs were not allowed, insisted that he take Finn back so I can go wander around.  He's also the same neighbor that came up and disposed of a dead mouse for me when I wasn't as tough as I had thought I was.  

As I sipped my coffee and gazed out the window, a regular walked in and smiled a bright smile at me, wishing me a good day.  One of the new girls left and said cheerily, "see you tomorrow, lady!"  Another barista came in smiled at me as he took his shift behind the counter.

I said goodbye, walked across the street, and as I was walking up the stairs, my other neighbor was opening his door to head out.  I called out, "Hi!"  He asked me how my day was as usual.  Exchanging pleasantries with my neighbors is not unusual.  I am lucky.  They are all really nice people.

Once inside my apartment this evening, I was struck by the blooming tree outside my living room window.  Every spring she blooms these flowers that look like puffs of cotton.  And they get bigger and bigger until they eventually become green leaves that shade my apartment slightly from the sun.  In the autumn, those bright green leaves turn various shades of orange and crimson, gold and rust.  I have watched that tree go through its cycle for five years now and it never stops amazing me.  I was completely struck by the moment; that moment of living in this little apartment made so cozy with our wall hangings from our travels, the portrait my friend painted and framed and gifted me from across the country, the beautiful plants that I walk in and find my roommate watering, with neighbors that are thoughtful, courteous, and kind, living across from a cafe that never forgets that I worked there for a brief time a few years ago, a cafe that I love so dearly with people behind the counter that matter to me.  People who have become part of my every day.  The cafe where I sit and strangers become friends that know who I am and genuinely care to hear the answer when they ask me how I'm doing.

Every January and February, I get the bug.  I get the bug to move on; go roaming where there are wider pastures.  Usually, the thought is to go back to Portland since I know I love it so dearly and I have amazing friends there, too, creep into my mind.  And I honestly don't know where my life will take me.  I don't know where I'm headed in the next few months or the next few years.  But at least I know that my life here is good.  

And I'm really happy to be here in this moment.

hey. thanks for that.

I fancy myself a pretty together person.  I look the part.  I have the career, the education, I tend to know my shit or can fake it really well.  But sometimes, I lose it.  And for a while there, I was unraveling... and fast.

Last Friday, I went out with a bunch of people and I stayed out way too long.  I can't put my finger on which drink exactly it was that put me over the edge, but baby, I was over the edge and there was no coming back.  So, I did what I am really good at doing in those instances:  I turned away from the crowd I was with and stormed out the door without any warning or so much as a "goodbye."  I walked and walked for many blocks until I realized that I was lost.  I looked at the time and it was nearly 5am.  I teetered around until I found something familiar and eventually, found my way home.  When I got home, I was in my head so deep, I was unreachable.  I had been broken.  The strange and truly scary thing is ... nothing really happened to make me this upset.  In fact, after I picked myself up off the floor, dried my tears and put myself to sleep, I knew that I was the one who had put myself in this prison from which I was clueless on how to escape.

But the thing is, you can't escape from your escapes.  For many years of my life, I had been escaping in various forms.  I escape through movies and television and food and smoking and drinking and people and shopping.  So, to be in this place of escape and it's a nightmare, well you see the dilemma?  When I woke up the next morning, I decided I didn't want to escape anymore.  I wanted to live my life and be present.  And this whole week has been just that.  I've been present.  I've been watching and listening and noticing, rather than judging and self-obsessing and withdrawing.  And it's been working.

They say you've got to break a person in order to put her back together and I believe that is what happened.  I am so humbled and thankful.  Friends have shown up and I won't take that for granted.  Instead of running from people, I am looking them in the eye and believing that they have good intentions.  I feel like I woke up from a weird dream and I don't need to escape anymore.  As a friend of mine said today, "every day you can walk out your door and believe that the world is either a bad place where good things happen occasionally or the world is a good place where bad things happen occasionally.  It's your choice."  I want to believe the latter.  And I do.  At least right now, in this moment, I really do.

word association

Sometimes, when I ask my students to play word association, they just don't get it.  Although, I think everyone gets word association; we just might not want to share the associations that our mind makes with the world.  Everything reminds us of something.  It's how we relate to the world around us.  But sometimes, you might not know where a memory is coming from or how it is being associated.

And what is it about music that can bring back memories that you didn't even know you still had stored up in your little noggin?

I got a text from my coworker about Glee.  I started a Glee club at my school and the universe put in my path a partner in this endeavor...  not just someone who is willing to help out, but a bona fide musical person who sings and teaches and plays and writes music.  This person is so excited about Glee club starting this week that I've become accustomed to her excited texts about the songs we should sing and ideas of how we should structure our meetings.  So, then I thought to myself about what songs I wanted to do with Glee.  I put on some music and began to listen to whatever came my way from my library and pretty soon, I was memory trippin'.

What's funny is how you will associate a memory to a song.  This song may never have even hit the ears of the person it reminds you of, but in your mind- in your memory, that person is completely intertwined with this song.  Still the Same, by Bob Seger reminds me of a friend who I don't think cared one way or another about this song.  Every time I hear it, though, memories of this person come flooding into my mind.  They come in a vignette-type of slideshow, starring this person and the theme that makes up her life as I've interpreted it.  Pictures of her laughing and walking around and doing everyday things just kind of float around with the song.

Every time I hear Dangerdoom, I think of one of my ex-boyfriends.  He had mentioned that he liked them, so every time I hear it, I think of that summer we started talking.  I think of my blue 1994 corolla that I drove around in the summer that I got to know him.  I can feel the Portland summer as I listen to Dangerdoom, hearing the ring of my phone (before smartphones) go off as he calls me.  For some reason, I am always driving south on 33rd, right by that grocery store with the yellow sign whose name escapes me.

Bob Marley's High Tides brings me even further back into the late 90s.  It reminds me of college and a boyfriend I had when we were just getting to really know each other.  I think about his room in Delhi, New York.  I can remember the fall weather as we walk to his place from the dorms where I lived.  He had stone floors in his kitchen and a really big living room.  There was this sadness about him that I worried about and wanted to make go away so these lyrics became my message to him... "in high tide or in low tide; I'm gonna be your friend.  I'm gonna be your friend."

David Bowie reminds me of Portland.  My friend and I would play Bowie on the jukebox at Slabtown.  I bought my first Bowie CD my first year living there, living in Northwest.  I would play it on my stereo, which was huge and I had shipped all the way out from New York.  We don't have to do that anymore.  I haven't bought a CD in a long time and I no longer own a stereo.  Times change, huh?

I guess the truth is, you don't know what two things you are going to be associating in the future.  You might not know it, but just because you watched Will and Grace a few times, your then roommate  thinks about you every time she ever hears anything about Debra Messing... true story on my part.  Or you sing American Pie one time at karaoke and you will forever be remembered as the girl dressed up in the vintage red, white, and blue tennis dress singing that song because you thought there was supposed to be a superhero party that night.  

When I want to remember carefree spring days of driving around with my friends when we had not a care in the world, I'll always just ask for Mistadobalina...  ooh ooh Mistadobalina!

Peru

I just got back from a five week trip to Cuzco, Peru.  I had never been to South America before and something, I don't know what, maybe a cosmic energy, pulled me to the Southern Hemisphere.  Now that I had already traveled alone a few times, there's nothing really stopping me, is there?  I can go anywhere.  I can do anything.  But what is it I am looking for, exactly?

For one thing, I like to occasionally be pushed out of my comfort zone.  I like to see things from a different perspective.  I like to meet good people, I like to wander around a city but have access to nature, and I like good food.  Since I decided to go big or don't go at all, I realized that I needed something to do while I was there, so I wouldn't just wander and indulge the entire time.  I also feel it is necessary to have access to a community if you are going to be somewhere for longer than a week or two.  I decided to volunteer with this program that my roommate had told me about.  Knowing she had done the program, met the director, stayed in the house I would be staying in calmed the neurotic in me... somewhat.

I arrived in Cuzco on July 18.  It was a seamless journey.  The minute I got outside, there was a woman waiting for me.  When we got to my "home," we had to get out of the taxi and walk a little bit because the street was being worked on; exposed water pipes, piles of rubble, ditches, planks for people to cross from one side of the street to the other.  I walked into the house and nobody spoke English.  And guess who speaks barely any Spanish... this girl!  I mean, I could pass a middle school Spanish exam, probably, but conversationally, I'm no good after 'que haces esta noche' or 'tengo frio'.  Luckily, there was a family staying at the house who spoke excellent English and then came to meet other volunteers living next door who also spoke English.

Volunteering was really cool.  We worked with groups of kids who were affectionate and sweet... and funny.  The first week that I was there, we planned a parade that went through the streets of Cuzco and ended at Plaza de Armas.  There, each family (grouped by age) put on a play we had been working on all week.  Really cool.  Everyone was super dressed up and excited and had stickers and make up on their faces and wearing crazy hats and costumes.  The kids had an awesome time.  So did the adults.

Every Friday was a buffet at the restaurant that is part of the social project and often, dinner would end and dancing would begin.  Everyone stayed out super late;  Cuzco is a late night city...  Every Tuesday was Trivia Night.  And weekends were whatever I wanted.  One weekend, I planned a trip to Lake Titicaca, another I went on a motor bike trip to the salt mines, and the last weekend, I went to Machu Picchu.

The motor bike trip was my first time out of the city of Cuzco and also my first time meeting some of the other volunteers.  There were people from all over the world on this trip: Germany, Israel, England, The US, Argentina, Peru, Spain... so many different people from so many different places all in that little city for pretty much the same reason.  We stopped in this little town called Pisac, which was beautiful and since it was Sunday, there was a market happening.  We had lunch at this restaurant and  then we saw the salt mines  It looked like another world.  We rode back late at night and it was frrrrreeeeeezing cold; it's funny how in places like that, it is warm during the day, hot in the sun, and freezing at night.

The next trip I went on was to the islands in Lake Titicaca.  I had to take a bus at night to Puno.  The bus was super comfortable with seats that went all the way back.  When I arrived in Puno, I was anything but comfortable.  I got out of the bus at 4:30 in the morning to a crazy South American bus station with the realization that I had no clue what was supposed to happen next.  I wandered around, half asleep, looking for a sign... not a sign from the heavens but a sign with my name on it.  I didn't find it.  I searched desperately through any receipts that I had saved but nothing.  About an hour went by before I finally found someone willing to listen to my situation.  I was told that someone was there calling my name but nobody could find me.  I sat and waited and finally an hour later, a man came to pick me up.  He brought me to a hostel with no sign.  He slid open a door and let me into a room with 10 beds and not a soul in sight.  I went to the bathroom... no light and a hole in the ceiling where I could see the toilet up above... ah, Casa Ubamba, you classy joint, you.  I tried to sleep but the room stunk of smoke and, what I believe to be, some odd history.


There's nothing quite like that feeling of being alone in a weird situation like that.  It feels so funny (both funny-weird and funny-haha).   After pretending to myself that I was sleeping for about 40 minutes, I decided to get up and get dressed and go find this breakfast I had heard so much about.  I went outside and looked around and saw an open door with what looked like a coffee pot on the table.  I walked to the door and said, "hola!  desayuno?"  I quickly scanned the room and see that it's one of those rooms where the person does all their living: An unmade bed.  A small stove.  A kitchen table.  A box with a dog nursing some puppies.  The woman screams something and the man who picked me up ran up the stairs in a flash... I was in the wrong place.  Imagine you are in your home having your morning coffee and some random person came to your door and said, "HI!  Breakfast?!"  That's basically what happened.  Where Clever (the guy) brought me next was like a step up from that first scene... but only one step.  It was what looked like the skeletal remains of a once living business.  Table set for breakfast but no one there (but me), a bar that had been emptied out of everything except some garbage, a couple of dusty signs that said TRAVEL AGENCY here and there, an old, wrinkled map of Puno and Lake Titicaca.  I sat and ate my eggs and bread, wondering still, if I was in the right place being that he spoke no English and, I 'll say it again, I speak very little Spanish.  Conversation typically went something like this:
Me (in my broken-ass Spanish)- "so, we will wait at this hostel and you will bring me to the boat?"
Clever (in broken-ass English)- "yes, this is Puno."

Finally, a van came to pick me up and the one other person who happened to be staying at the hostel emerged from what looked like an underground chamber.  We were brought to a boat on the lake and rode for not very long before we stopped at Uros, one of the floating islands made entirely of reeds.  The cool thing about this island is that it is so clean smelling!  I met the Presidente.  He was the man.  He showed us how they constructed and maintained the islands and these women came out and they chewed on some reeds while people took pictures.  This island was all about tourism.  That whole "take a picture of me while I eat this reed" thing freaked me out a little, but I appreciated the gesture.  I didn't get a picture of that but I did snap a photo of a cute rabbit behind one of the reed huts...  and the Presidente.

We stopped at the next floating island and could you believe they had a little cafe?  I got a cup of coffee and felt like the earth started spinning again.  Ok, lake, let's do this.  We rode on the boat for more than three hours before we docked at an island called Amantini, where families were waiting to take us to our rooms and feed us.  The German guy who was at Hostel Ubamba suggested we stay together with the two other people traveling alone.  We had to walk a little distance to get to the house and when we did, the view was gorgeous.  Women herding sheep, chickens strutting about the yard, children running here and there, and a crystal blue sky sitting above a crystal blue lake.  These people live here?  This is paradise.

Lunch was quinoa soup, fried cheese and potatoes, with muna tea.  After lunch, we hiked up a mountain to watch the sun set.  A gorgeous walk, a gorgeous sit, a gorgeous sunset (see above).  We walked home, had dinner and then got ready to go to this fiesta they had for the tourists.  It was at the school and they dressed us up in traditional clothes.  The fiesta was funny... a bit like a high school dance.  The next day, after breakfast, we got on the boat and stopped at one final island called Taquile, which was similar to Amantini in many ways.  Again, gorgeous, no cars, no telephone wires obstructing your view, nothing but a stone path, green grass, blue sky, and people dressed very traditionally.  We had lunch on the island, walked around a bit and then headed back to the boat.  Once back in Puno, I had coca tea on a balcony and then met up with this guy Dave who was in town for the night.  Before I knew it, I was on the bus back to Cuzco.

My last weekend there, I took a bus to a train to a town called Aguascalientes.  Aguascalientes is beautiful, but it is a big-time tourist trap.  It is tiny and there is not much to do other than walk around and eat and stuff... and the food is really really expensive and not good at all.  So, filling my time there was tough.  I found a karaoke bar and went in and sang a few songs.  I was the only one in there.  And it felt really creepy.  And I can never un-remember that night, like unless I get amnesia or something.  But that's it.  That's the memory!  Anyway, I woke up super-early and went to Machu Piccchu and that.... there are no words.  I will just say that when I rounded the corner and saw the view, I started to cry.  Pictures cannot prepare you or do it a fraction of the justice that Machu Picchu deserves. I found a spot overlooking the rolling giant mountains and I sat for a long time and just stared.  Unreal.  I ended up going on a tour for a few hours, ate some lunch and then I went back to that spot.  It looked different with the sun totally out.  Then it started to rain, so I went back to Tourist Town.  Machu Picchu taught me that the more amazing a thing is, the less there is to say about it.

My last week in Cuzco, I met with a Shaman and his wife out in Qoya and got reiki.  I also met with a Vietnamese sound healer/ mystic who I loved.  I bought souvenirs, ate delicious foods, hung out one last night with some new friends, drank coffee and read at my favorite panaderia, and said goodbye to my five week life in Peru.

There was adventure in traveling and there was also adventure in doing nothing.  I wrote a lot, read a lot, walked a lot, absorbed a lot, talked a lot, and listened a lot.  My trip was super important to my learning a thing or two about a thing or two... one of the most important things I learned is to do what I do, don't do what I don't do, and don't regret any of it.  Everything I do in the style that I do it in is to be respected because it is the way it is for a reason.  No regrets.  So, no regrets.  My friend told me that my last night there.  And he is right.

mirrors

I had a moment this morning that I think might linger with me for the rest of my life.

I've been taking a class on 42nd Street and have been riding in all week on the subway.  For those of you who don't have to do a morning commute by subway (which is me; luckily I walk to work), there is a subway culture and there is also a very distinct feel to the morning ride.

First off, it is crowded.  I have been getting on the train by 8:20 and I never get a seat and usually am pushed up against several other people.  I have hair grazing my arm and there are about six hands piled on the pole, holding on tight.  This is the time that you look at no one.  That is part of the subway culture.  I've lived here for five years and in those five years have probably ridden the train about 1300 times round trip.  True story.  I did the math and even subtracted for those months that I go out of town or don't leave my little neighborhood.  It's safe to say that I'm a seasoned subway rider.  I only ever was talked to by a stranger, probably, twenty times.  Nineteen of those times were direction-related and one was a shoe compliment.  Suffice to say, people don't interact on subways.

It's because we don't look up.  Everyone is either on their phone playing a game, reading a book or the newspaper, in a conversation with people that they are with, or simply zoning out.  I'm the person that plays solitaire on her phone.  I think I mostly do it to avoid interacting with others.  I'm a bit of a lone wolf when I'm out in the world, I think.  I like to be incognito and not draw attention.  I hide behind my phone.  So, that is why this morning's moment was so ... touching, for lack of a better word.

I was jammed into the subway car, carefully staring at nothing and going over the twenty million thoughts and feelings I've been having surrounding my friend and her death.  I've had sleepless nights and tears out of nowhere.  I feel as though I have been living in a weird dream.  I have been feeling lonely, scared, and ... well, kind of just mourning this thing.  So, when I think about myself on that subway and what I might have looked like to others, I imagine a crinkled brow and really sad eyes that well up slightly every so often.  So, it made me feel a sense of connection with someone when I looked up into the mirror image of what I imagine I must have looked like.

He was probably in his twenties, darker skinned, maybe Dominican.  He was listening to music.  He was wearing tan shorts and a white shirt and when I looked up, he had the pained expression of a person who must have also just lost someone close to him.  I could see that he was fighting to hold back some tears.  He saw me looking at him and must have recognized my look because, within a second, we both nodded our heads and with our eyes, we said to each other, "I'm so sorry and I know it fucking sucks."  He looked up at me a few more times, each time with a slight, understanding smile.  I wanted to touch his arm.  I wanted to say, "I hope you have an ok day today,"  But I honestly felt like if I did, we would both start bawling and we didn't know each other.

Ever since I heard the news of my friend, I swear, I have been gentler with others.  I have been taking the time to see people more and to say things like, "it's ok" when someone says "sorry" after knocking into me.  Maybe that is the good that can come out of this sad situation; that I learn to accept people for who they are more readily, love a little more, and take the time to look into someone's eyes and be there so they don't feel so alone.  Because this world can be a cold and unforgiving place, but there is so much love around when you open your eyes and your heart and really look.

Dear Galina:

Dear Galina-

One night, back in 2006, I was browsing through the videos at Videorama on Alberta Street in Portland when I heard someone say, "Galina!"  I thought, I know that name!  Could this be the infamous Galina that lives with Mitzy?  I went right up to you and asked.  Your hair was super short at that time.  Your eyes were quizzical.  You were probably thinking, who the hell is this girl?  But as we got to talking, the laughter started and before I knew it, you were asking me questions about NYC (I had just gotten back from my visit) and recommending movies to me.

I always knew I wanted to be your friend.  I always thought you were super cool.  You have a great sense of humor, a curiosity for others, and a genuine heart.  Hanging out with you in Portland was fun, Vita Cafe, the waffle cart, coffee, smokes.  We had a good time, but I was moving back east... and was thrilled to find out you would be too.

You moved here in July of 2008.  My summer got so much better when you arrived.  Your mom helped moved you in and I bumped into you guys in the street while I was walking Finn.  You were super excited to see Finn and said Hi to him first.  I gave you shit for that.  You guys brought me and Nick to dinner at Wild Ginger... it was so nice to meet Glenna.  She was really sweet to us.

That summer was full of surprises and fun.  I got to do the exploring with you that I hadn't done on my own.  Remember the time we walked across the Williamsburg Bridge?  We walked all around the Lower East Side and the village, drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes, eating snacks, and of course, taking pictures.  Remember that cool community garden we stumbled upon all the way down St. Marks?  We sat in that gazebo in the garden and talked forever.  That was one thing, Galina; we were never short for conversation.

One day, I was going to the beach and asked if you wanted to watch Finn.  You walked for 20 minutes to my apartment to pick him up that morning and bring him all the way back.  I don't know why I didn't drop him off, but I didn't question it.  I figured if you offered...?  You said he lied in bed with you and you guys watched the Wire, which you were kind of obsessed with that summer.  Finn adored you.  Remember that waffle dog treat you bought for him?  Only you would manage to find a dog treat in the shape of a waffle.

Hanging around with you that summer was what gave me the much-needed courage to break out of my relationship that was all wrong for the both of us.  And I was always grateful to you for that.  I also went on my first roller coaster with you at the Jersey Shore that summer.  That was one of the most fun trips.  We laughed so hard, it was ridiculous.  All we did was walk up and down the boardwalk, ride the rides, people-watch, and smoke, but it was laughter-filled.  I can't remember a single conversation we actually had, but I remember us laughing a lot.  We stayed at Doctor's Inn, which was the strangest name.  You found that hotel.  It was an odd place but cool at the same time.

I remember on my birthday that year, August 19th, you showed up at my door with a little present.  It was a dollar sign necklace.  I wore it that day. I have it on in that picture you took of me by the East River, but I never wore it after that; it was too goofy and I felt silly.  Sorry for that.

That summer, I became obsessed with the song, Hang On Little Tomato.  You started calling me Tomato.  You even bought me vintage salt and pepper shakers in the shape of tomatoes.  That was one of the most thoughtful gifts.  You are a very VERY good gift-giver.  One Christmas, you gave me a book on spirit animals.  Remember?  Your spirit animal is the spider.  Mine is the hawk and it said that hawks and spiders get along very well together.  And I think we did.  One year, for your birthday (33rd maybe?) I gave you a necklace with a tiny wishbone. You actually wore that necklace for a really long time.  I had a bad cold that night but you insisted on hugging me anyway.  That was a funny moment in our friendship.  The two of us were not really huggers, but I remember one day, out of the blue, you said "we can be friends that hug, ok?"  and I said, "ok."  And from then on, we'd hug each other goodbye.

Another thing I thought was really cute about you was  the way your goodbyes would last forever.  We would, literally say goodbye and start talking again and get into another 15 minute conversation, say goodbye again, and then bump into someone, say goodbye again, and .... so on.  It was always in odd places too... like right by the subway entrance.  Speaking of subways, we would always get each other lost.  Remember that time you were following me and I was following you from Atlas on 2nd to the L train... the L doesn't run on 2nd.  We walked all the way to Chelsea before we realized that neither one of us were actually leading the way.  But I loved getting lost with you.  Because we would talk and laugh and talk and laugh.  Your laugh.  It is the best, isn't it?  Every friend you had and every friend of mine that you met all agreed on one thing: your laugh is infectious and nothing short of wonderful.  Remember that time I was walking with you to Urban Rustic and someone said something funny, you laughed and we bumped into Zach.  He said he heard your laugh from a block over and that's how he found us.  

I do miss my movie buddy, Galina.  You and I spent so much time and money at the IFC, Angelika, and Sunshine.    Did you know that a new theater opened up here in Williamsburg?  I go a lot but today, a friend of mine and I went to see a movie at the IFC and guess what?  We sat in the same theater you and I saw Antichrist in... that was a lot of fun.  Seeing Antichrist with you, Flemming, and Fryd.  Remember that part where she hammered his penis, that girl in front of us screamed bloody murder and the whole row of us burst out in laughter?   I still laugh when I think of that moment.  Remember the time we were standing outside Angelika smoking in the freezing cold and you spotted James Franco?  I, of course, insisted we follow him.  You were way not into my uncool plan, but you humored me and we followed him for a block and a half... thanks for that.  

You came here to study photography and that you did.  I think you breathed, ate, and dreamed in photography.  I love the fact that I got to see your scavenger hunt show at ICP before your classes began and I got to see your exhibition at the end when you graduated.  I felt so proud of you.  I knew how hard you worked.  I also got to see how much your work changed over time, yet that style was still there.  You are so very very talented, Galina.  I always felt silly showing you anything I'd done, yet you always called me an artist and cheered me on.  And I thank you for that.

One of my favorite memories was when we made a little bed on my rooftop and watched Tim and Eric outside.  I loved Tim and Eric and I think I got you to love them too.  We watched the whole disc and we joked around about that Brownie Mountain song... I felt like we were always going to milkshake mountain... So Many Milkshakes with you.  Vegan cookie dough milkshakes that tasted like frosting... mmmmmmm.  

Remember when I made you watch The Baby.  You were going to leave but I wanted you to just see the first 10 minutes of what I thought to be the most terrifyingly funny cult movie in the universe... You couldn't leave after 10 minutes, though.  You stayed for the entire movie.  It was just that good, wasn't it?  And I also got you to watch Jersey Shore!  On New Year's Eve, you came over with two snuggies that you found in Arkansas (I remember you were actually concerned because all the stores were sold out of them.  You texted me an urgent message that you couldn't find any snuggies! But then you did, and they were pepto pink), pumpkin waffle batter, and a waffle iron.  We made waffles, coconut french toast and watched the Jersey Shore season finale.  Flemming dropped by and I got really embarrassed of the snuggie because we had just started dating, but then he insisted on taking our picture in them.  I loved that New Years.  

I also loved that October we went to that farm sanctuary in Woodstock to visit my chicken that I sponsored, Olive.  The funniest and best thing that happened was when that goat head-butted you and knocked you over!!!  That was ridiculous... I laughed really hard.  Sorry!  You might have been a little embarrassed, but it was way too hard not to laugh.  We stayed at my brother's that night and his canary, who lived right outside the room we stayed in, was making noises that sounded exactly like guitar riffs, which my brother warned us about.  You liked my brother and he liked you too.  But that's not saying much; everyone likes you because you're just so likable.

There are so many memories.  I know the minute I stop writing this, I will think of five other funny things that happened.  I know it wasn't all good either.  I wish that we could have talked again.  I wish that we had stayed close.  But that's life, isn't it?  Filled with ups and downs and times of silence and separation...

 So, maybe I will just imagine that we are still standing on the corner saying one of our never-ending goodbyes filled with laughter and "one more cigarette."  Maybe we don't need to say goodbye after all...

I love you forever, Galina.  I don't think you'll ever comprehend how much I adore you.

the load less carried... or should be

I've been carrying around an extra suitcase everywhere I go for the past few days.  This, of course, is a metaphor.

I'm not one of those people who starts sentences with, "my therapist says..." and I never want to be that person.  So, I will simply say that lately it has felt like I have been traveling through life in slow motion listening to a fight going on in my head and a certain person agrees with me.

That's some schizophrenic shit right there.

In my mind, there is a critic; a really high-strung one who comments on everything I say and everything I do.  This critic has got something to say about simply everything, from how I wear my hair to all the decisions that I make, big and small.  Something as simple as an invite to a party or happy hour turns into a heated debate in my mind and, given the right fuel, can bring me to tears.  It may seem like I am being dramatic, alas, it is 100% truth.  I welled up yesterday when I was invited to go to City Island with some friends.  There were, in my mind, a million factors to be considered: how we were getting there, who was going, how long we would stay, whether I could handle being around everyone for that long, my bathing suit unready body.  So, I decided to stay home and there were a million factors to weigh there too... you could see the challenge.

I feel like I'm willing to change.  I'm willing to hear how I could be wrong.  I try to be happy and do the right thing, yet still, I am hindered.  All by a critic who lives in my head.

Today, I moved one of my student's seats and his reaction was the usual, "why me?  you always move me!"  This is the same student that looks for all the things that go wrong; he will do something nice and then throw a fit when he doesn't get praised because he feels like he is always caught in the 'wrong' and never in the 'right'... which sucks.  I get it.  But at the same time, it's a self-fulfilling prophecy.  There's a dialogue going on in his mind, too, and that inner voice is telling him that the world is against him.  So, when he doesn't get the praise or he gets his seat moved "again," he feels justified for being angry.

Is this the way I'm walking around?  Because it sucks.

And it doesn't help that I feel like a pregnant woman.  Not an adorable pregnant woman who looks like she's not pregnant until you see her profile.  I'm talking the cankled, weighed-down, fanning herself, too heavy to get up and walking everywhere leading with her stomach pregnant woman... completely burdened, physically.

I also hate this fucking weather.  It is hell on Earth, pea soup, swamp-ass, sweating-under-sunglasses, too-fucking-hot-for-shoes weather.  Mad props to people who live in Key West... then again, you could always just jump in the ocean.  Mad props to us city-dwellers without a car.  I will take clouds and 65 over sun and 90 any day of the week.

The moral of the story is this:  don't always assume you've got people all figured out because chances are, you are more wrong than mayor bloomberg's mother for giving birth to him.

My two cents.

brother, can you spare a dime?

This evening, after my awesome-amazing-super-fun-time class about Japan, I went into this little place called chickpea to get some dinner.  As I was waiting in line to say that I wanted the hummus platter with the mushroom and almond falafel and bulgur wheat, this man comes in the door and starts asking this woman if she has a quarter.  She said "no" and when I heard, "Ma'am, do you have quarter?" I knew he was talking to me.  I said no because unless I have one right in my pocket, there's not a chance.  But this man made me think, what the hell does he need a quarter for in this generation?

As all four of us in the restaurant said no to his demand for $.25, he proclaimed that there were dead people outside and that he guessed since none of us could cough up a measly coin, he'll just let the dead people stay dead.  Before you go imagining a frantic man, freaking out over dead bodies, don't.  He was calm as could be, which made the whole scene that much more bizarre.

There are two thoughts going through my mind as I recall this experience that happened only a few short hours ago: 

1. Was he really in need of a quarter to place a call with a pay phone?  I don't understand.  Everybody has a cell phone.  AND even if you don't have a cell phone, calling 911 on a pay phone is free.  And pay phones, by the way are still wildly abundant throughout NYC.  It's funny because I never notice them and this weekend, on my commute to and from my class, I started picking them out and taking note of the fact that we still have plenty of pay phones around... just in case.

And if said people were, in fact, dead, wouldn't there be other people around the extremely busy East Village neighborhood we were in.  He probably would have had a relatively easy time asking one of them to call 911 if they were in the presence of the dead people.  Why did he need to run into chickpea and ask us one by one for a quarter?  It was odd.

2. I'm tired of people being so manipulative.  How could you put that on us, the patrons of chickpea?  We're just trying to purchase some falafel and you're telling us it's our fault that those dead people won't have a chance of living?  I had the worst experience yesterday with a manipulative man who worked at a third party AT&T store.  He basically talked me in circles and used the slimiest ways possible to get my information and make it really really hard for me to back out of buying a new iphone.  The thing is, my old iphone was purchased at the end of 2009 and was starting to split in half.  I did, in fact, need a new one.  But this guy didn't even wait for me to say I wanted to do it before he started looking up my account, photocopying this and that and started to run my card.  Psychologically, it's proven that when a salesman starts the process or puts something in your hand, it's that much harder for you to turn around.  And I felt like I'd been had.  I felt vulnerable and weak.  So, I left this third party shop with one shiny new iphone and zero pride.  I did, however learn a valuable lesson: fuck manipulative people.

And this wandering- pondering has brought me to my final thought: what would this guy have done with that quarter?  Was he saving up for a forty?  Was he going to make a phone call?  Was he going to save the dead people's lives?  Would he have grabbed my wallet and run had I been so kind (and foolish) to go fishing around for that quarter?  Why did he really need the quarter?

 Because, believe me, when I left the shop five minutes later, there was not a dead person in sight.

a call for chivalry

Tonight, as I was leaving the gym, this guy was talking on his cell phone. I was in front of him as we walked in sync down the stairs and by the time we got to the door, he was so close behind me that I just held the door for him as he busted through and entirely ignored the fact that he had cut me off and that I had held the door open for him. So, I did what I always do in that situation: I said, "you're welcome!" in a clear and assertive voice, forcing him to look at me and acknowledge the fact that he hadn't said "thank you" and also, to acknowledge the fact that he had cut off a woman.

A few weeks ago, I had class in the city early one Saturday morning, and so, toting my large bag full of my books and wallet and everything else I need for my class, I made my way down to the subway platform to wait for my train to carry me off to midtown. I was right in the front of the doors as they opened, an extremely desirable place to be, and I made my way in and headed straight to an open seat, when a guy, without daring to look up at me, cut me off and sat in what should have been my seat. Well, I did what I felt was necessary in that situation and stared at him for the duration of the ride, delighting in his obviously careful aversion of my eyes. Rude. It would be rude had it been a woman; but even more rude that this was a man doing that to me.

I give you one final story. I'm again heading to the city. I make my way down the stairs and get in place to be next in line to swipe myself through the turnstile when a guy, holding a girl's hand, shoved in front of me and swiped their cards. I was taken aback a bit, so I looked at them and said, "by all means, please, go ahead!" Bitchy? Yes. Necessary? Totally. But I wasn't done. I, somehow, managed to beat them down the stairs and into the car, which made me happy. Then I decided I would openly stare at them; not an angry or disapproving stare, but a purely observing, unreadable kind of stare, as if I were watching the penguins at the Bronx Zoo. The guy finally came over to me and said, "I guess chivalry really is dead, huh?" I said, "it doesn't have to be."

I'm no dummy. I'm entirely aware that times are different and women fought hard for equality and so then, with it, chivalry has apparently taken a nose dive in popularity. Then there are those people who argue about rigid gender roles and expectations that accompany those roles. I know that some people are thinking that my preconceptions about a man holding a door for me or the whole 'ladies first' philosophy is ridiculously outdated, but I think it's not quite so simple. It's not that I want to be home cooking and cleaning and not being able to make a living for myself so that a man has to take care of me and treat me like the fairer sex, it's something else. It's something deeper. It's a need I have to show that I can do it but to have men still acknowledge that I am a woman and to treat me as such.

My coworker is one of the kindest men I have ever met in my life on this Earth. He treats each and every person with respect and he always holds doors for women, jumps to take heavy loads out of our hands as we're walking down the hall, comes in willingly to drill a hole in our plaster walls to hang our clock, and always lets female students enter and exit rooms first, saying 'ladies first.' Is he a sexist? Absolutely not. He's a gentleman. He makes life brighter for people that he comes into contact with. Instead of looking out for himself, he looks out to take care of his coworkers and, with it, comes that warmth of knowing that someone is noticing you and looking to make your burden, whatever it is, a little more bearable.

The last day before spring break, my classroom-mate and I had to put away all our valuables because our floor was going to be redone. One of my former students, an eighth grade boy, was in the room looking to help out. Eighth grade boys have a way of coming in one day without warning and towering over me, by the way. One minute they are little pipsqueaks and then, out of the blue, boom! They're looking at the top of my head and speaking to me in a deep man's voice. It's unreal. Anyway, we have one of those heavy duty printers and so, I said, "Matthew, you know, I work out quite a bit. I could totally handle that printer on my own," to which he replied, "right, or I could just do it for you since it's the right thing to do!" I loved that he was looking to help in this way and I acknowledged how appreciative I was to have him there while I picked up the heavy and bulky printer and lugged it over to the cart to be moved into another room.

And there it is. Acknowledgement. It's nice to know that someone is there to help if you need it. Trust me, I would never survive a day in the 1800s where women were expected to do such difficult work, giving birth, raising kids, staying home and cooking and cleaning and tending to everyone while you were invisible and lacked any rights. I would have been burned at the stake. I would have been called a witch and burned alive. I know it. And so, maybe, when I think about it that way, we're not so bad off, are we? I mean, it's not like it was better to have your father trade you for four goats to the farmer down the street. Is that chivalrous? Not really. I get to fend for myself, make my own living, show off my strength of spirit and body and when a guy forgets that I'm a lady, I totally have the right to remind him. Not so bad, really. And to all those guys who are always chivalrous: we ladies thank you even when we act like we don't need it... it's nice to know it's there.

manifest destiny

east coast vs. west coast

the inner dialogue that has been happening since circa 2008

EAST COAST PROS (NYC):
rap! kidding but not
break dancing on friday afternoons at the Union Square subway station
mega-movies... so many awesome movies
history galore
i don't need a car
proximity to my family
so many museums
art
star sightings
fashion
my friends
my living situation
i walk to work
my students are hysterical
cultures residing in such close proximity
ny is REAL-- in your face
food- all of it
my gym
architecture
if you can make it there (here) you'll make it anywhere!

So the thing about NYC is that it is amazing; no doubt. There is something about it; the energy, the amount of things I have going on, the classes I take, the fun I have, the people I meet. I love it. But on the down-side, I really do miss nature. I also totally miss having space for my things, both at home and at school. And I'm also pretty sure my dog would not really miss Brooklyn.
Taking the subway can either be really awesome or it can really suck. The amount of stairs I climb in a day, every day is ridiculous. The subway is draining and occasionally you'll get to sit near someone who barfs or thinks it's ok to clip their nails.
Walking around NYC, I find myself thinking about fresh air; sweet air. I want to smell trees. I want to smell lavendar and ocean, pine. I smell urine, garbage, and car fumes normally. Except for two nights a week that I get to smell the bread baking at the Polish bakery a few doors down.


WEST COAST PROS (LA):
nature
weather
cleanliness
space
finn can get more exercise
i'll have a car to take road trips
i can take finn swimming and camping
proximity to the beach
i would probably have a ton more space in my school- a middle school with a bell system and lockers and teachers have their own classrooms
healthier living
people are more eco-conscious/ friendly
laid back
sunny
mmmm... mexican food
lemon trees
palm trees

I think mentally, I might need it. The thing that scares me about LA, though, is the lack of community. Nobody walks around. Also, Charles Manson lived there. That fact kind of freaks me out. I know I'm being silly and, yes, I'm kind of kidding, but it's still a bit chilling. People in California generally aren't as dirty as New Yorkers. I wake up and walk through trash and that is a total downer. Sometimes I'll walk out my door and there will be garbage left behind on my stoop. Not cool. That's the thing about LA; more space that is YOURS. But then again, I meet lots of cool people because we're all so crowded in... It's a good thing and a bad thing. However, I am thirty-five. I need room to breathe. Yes, I'm thinking mentally and physically, the westward migration might need to happen sooner than later. I'm sure the universe will open a door and send me a signal.