At this current moment I am furious. I'm so disgusted, enraged, disappointed, angry, bitter and utterly pissed off. I have just been pulled off one of my biggest client accounts from two managing directors following the mishaps that occurred. I don't even know what to think. I don't even know what to do or say. I fought back tears because I felt like such a failure. Like I've somehow fucked up any chances I've had. The prefaced the conversation by saying that while I"m being removed from this one account, I'll be added to 3 other "smaller" accounts. I'll be finishing off a project for the client and then being removed from the account. What the fuck!!! I don't even know--- I really do feel like I messed this one up. I know one of the mistakes were mine, but the 2nd one wasn't! I was just following procedure and I end up having to take the fall. I think what really makes me upset is that my superiors actually had to sit around and talk about whether or not I should be removed and then have them come to the conclusion that yes it would be best if I didn't touch the account anymore. Its so easy to have everyone say- not to worry about it-- it happens-- its OK-- but really is it? This obviously doesn't fair well with my boss, if I've only been on the job for 5 months and I'm already being removed from accounts. Clearly that doesn't reflect well on me. I mean there really isn't anyone I can blame for this except myself, so it really comes down to me getting over it. AHAHAHASDFijasldfjalksdjflasjdf. I want to leave. I want to scream. I want to know why! There's just all this shit that's going on in my head right now and I'm especially bitter with the client's IR person. It's because she misses a co-worker that no longer works at the agency too much that she needs to have me off because she's worried. What the hell does that say about my capabilities! You know I ran to this blog to get my thoughts out and really it seems to have worked. I'm sure reading this makes absolutely no sense and somewhere down the line when I look back I'll realize how much I've over reacted and in the bigger scheme of things its probably all for the best. Maybe its better that I'm removed now before I really fuck things up and cost the agency a client or perhaps the company a real issue. This blows and such a big part of me wants to march into my directors office and say how disappointed I am and how it sucks that I've had to be removed and prove to them that those were minor mistakes (one of which wasn't even my fault!). AHAHASDHAHAHAHAH really there's no where to run in these damn cubicles. screw it. What a difference from my previous post this morning.
PEACE
Thursday, September 27, 2007
There Are No Ordinary Moments
Once in a while I'll get into this philosophical mood where the idea of understanding one's existence and purpose in this world is fascinating to me. This week, I was in one of those moods and netflixed a movie called Peaceful Warrior based on a book by the same name by a former Berkeley gymnast named Dan Millman. Essentially, the movie is your typical athlete movie ala Rocky or Mighty Ducks but with an underlying philosophical theme with Nick Nolte (remember Rookie of the Year?) playing a "Socrates" character spewing philosophical wisdom at a young, athletic, hard-headed college gymnast. It was something that stuck with me though in the countless, I suppose cliche, moments in the movie in which Dan (the protagonist) comes to the realization that in life there are "no ordinary moments" and "there is always something going on." Sometimes, I can imagine, we're so wrapped in ourselves and the things we have to do, want to do, did and should have done that we fail to see what's right in front of us. Pivotal to the plot, is getting Dan to live in the present, forget about the past and worry less about the future. It's the here and now that makes life...interesting. On the same note, the young protagonist finds out on a 3 hour hiking trip up a mountain only to find "nothing" there except a rock, but learns that it's not the destination that makes us happy-- its the journey. I mean really think about that...is it applicable? Can that be true? That after going through the motions, whether up or down, its really about those motions that makes us? Not the finish line?
I guess a good example would be my transition to New York. I think back and can I assume that my journey to getting to my destination of choice, New York, was really the part that made me happy? Made me learn? Well, yes to an extent I guess its applicable, but then I think about being here and moving forward with my career. It's an entirely new journey and my job now is perhaps just one leg of that journey to a destination that I dream of, but somehow the idea of "the journey being the part that makes us happiest" seems lost when all you can help but feel is as though if you could only get to where you want to go you'll really be happy. I think the real idea behind that philosophy is that no matter how far you come, we're always looking to get somewhere else. You're always looking for the next level, the next milestone, the next-best-thing, you're looking to improve, enhance and advance yourself. There is where you lose sight of the present, of how far you've really come and where you're standing. Yea, I could see that. Especially with my life now. My goal was to get to an agency in New York. Mission accommplished. Now that I'm here, rather than really be here. I'm already thinking about how I can get a raise, how I can get to an Account Executive position, how long I should put in before I move on to my next job, where my next job should be, how I can afford to someday live in Manhattan....when all I really should be doing is looking around at the progress I've made. I'm living in New York, I have a fantastic apartment in Brooklyn, a job that pays more than some of my peers in the same industry are earning, my health, a few unnecessary luxurious etc. etc. etc. So why can't I be content, scratch that--- GRATEFUL, for how far I've come? Why are we constantly chasing the rabbit? Maybe we're afraid of staying stagnant? Maybe we're just not comfortable staying put in a comfort zone where it all seems to easy, mundane and trite. Maybe it is the journey that's exciting. The prospect of success and the dread of failure. Maybe its not that we're not happy, its that we've come to expect more of ourselves. Or maybe we're just afraid of being ordinary.
Today at work we had a potential new client coming into the office to meet with the President of my agency and a few managing directors. I had worked on the company's account once by disseminating a press release for them and now it seemed as though they'd want some more from the agency. This was my shot, I thought. I could finally prove to my superiors that I'm anxious, willing and motivated. I asked one of the managing directors if I could possibly sit in on the pitch. I had wrote the press release, set up the power point presentation and bound the presentations for the meeting. The managing directors response was that "we normally don't have assistant account executives sit in on new pitches." I was confused, offended and relieved all at once. It took a lot for me to even muster up enough courage to ask him to sit in on the pitch with the company's CEO and President, in addition to our agency's President despite knowing that people in my position don't sit in on those kinds of meetings. The managing director finally came around and said it would be OK for me to sit in on the pitch-- and I got excited (internally of course) and was ready for my first shot at sitting with the big players at the large round table in the big conference room. My first glimpse at where the money comes from...my shot to prove myself as a player in the world of investor relations/ public relations. I was ready! I got worked up, nervous and my hands wouldn't stop sweating (to which I tried airing them over a fan to keep from seeming all clammy when I shake the CEOs hand). Well, the meeting started at 10 A.M. today and I am sitting in my cube writing this blog entry. Needless to say, I didn't get a shot to sit in on the meeting. I was never summoned or notified the client was here or that they were ready to start. I'm hurt...was hurt. Is that my worth? I mean, I was willing and ready, and a simple shout would have sufficed! I don't get it. So, maybe he forgot-- big deal right? But--c'mon! I've always said that when I become a big shot in the industry, I'll always remember the struggle (journey?) it took me to actually get my foot in the door and reciprocate. I wonder how many big shots today said the same thing? But I really mean it-- I want to mean it. It's no fun.
So it comes full circle. Forget it. Move on and its really about right now. Me sitting in front of the computer venting to my blog (an electric diary). Haha. (sigh). Nice. That's all I can think of right now to write-- is Nice and with that-- I end this entry.
I guess a good example would be my transition to New York. I think back and can I assume that my journey to getting to my destination of choice, New York, was really the part that made me happy? Made me learn? Well, yes to an extent I guess its applicable, but then I think about being here and moving forward with my career. It's an entirely new journey and my job now is perhaps just one leg of that journey to a destination that I dream of, but somehow the idea of "the journey being the part that makes us happiest" seems lost when all you can help but feel is as though if you could only get to where you want to go you'll really be happy. I think the real idea behind that philosophy is that no matter how far you come, we're always looking to get somewhere else. You're always looking for the next level, the next milestone, the next-best-thing, you're looking to improve, enhance and advance yourself. There is where you lose sight of the present, of how far you've really come and where you're standing. Yea, I could see that. Especially with my life now. My goal was to get to an agency in New York. Mission accommplished. Now that I'm here, rather than really be here. I'm already thinking about how I can get a raise, how I can get to an Account Executive position, how long I should put in before I move on to my next job, where my next job should be, how I can afford to someday live in Manhattan....when all I really should be doing is looking around at the progress I've made. I'm living in New York, I have a fantastic apartment in Brooklyn, a job that pays more than some of my peers in the same industry are earning, my health, a few unnecessary luxurious etc. etc. etc. So why can't I be content, scratch that--- GRATEFUL, for how far I've come? Why are we constantly chasing the rabbit? Maybe we're afraid of staying stagnant? Maybe we're just not comfortable staying put in a comfort zone where it all seems to easy, mundane and trite. Maybe it is the journey that's exciting. The prospect of success and the dread of failure. Maybe its not that we're not happy, its that we've come to expect more of ourselves. Or maybe we're just afraid of being ordinary.
Today at work we had a potential new client coming into the office to meet with the President of my agency and a few managing directors. I had worked on the company's account once by disseminating a press release for them and now it seemed as though they'd want some more from the agency. This was my shot, I thought. I could finally prove to my superiors that I'm anxious, willing and motivated. I asked one of the managing directors if I could possibly sit in on the pitch. I had wrote the press release, set up the power point presentation and bound the presentations for the meeting. The managing directors response was that "we normally don't have assistant account executives sit in on new pitches." I was confused, offended and relieved all at once. It took a lot for me to even muster up enough courage to ask him to sit in on the pitch with the company's CEO and President, in addition to our agency's President despite knowing that people in my position don't sit in on those kinds of meetings. The managing director finally came around and said it would be OK for me to sit in on the pitch-- and I got excited (internally of course) and was ready for my first shot at sitting with the big players at the large round table in the big conference room. My first glimpse at where the money comes from...my shot to prove myself as a player in the world of investor relations/ public relations. I was ready! I got worked up, nervous and my hands wouldn't stop sweating (to which I tried airing them over a fan to keep from seeming all clammy when I shake the CEOs hand). Well, the meeting started at 10 A.M. today and I am sitting in my cube writing this blog entry. Needless to say, I didn't get a shot to sit in on the meeting. I was never summoned or notified the client was here or that they were ready to start. I'm hurt...was hurt. Is that my worth? I mean, I was willing and ready, and a simple shout would have sufficed! I don't get it. So, maybe he forgot-- big deal right? But--c'mon! I've always said that when I become a big shot in the industry, I'll always remember the struggle (journey?) it took me to actually get my foot in the door and reciprocate. I wonder how many big shots today said the same thing? But I really mean it-- I want to mean it. It's no fun.
So it comes full circle. Forget it. Move on and its really about right now. Me sitting in front of the computer venting to my blog (an electric diary). Haha. (sigh). Nice. That's all I can think of right now to write-- is Nice and with that-- I end this entry.
Friday, September 21, 2007
T.G.I.F.
I suppose it says alot when the first chance I've got to write this week's post comes on a Friday morning. It's also unwise to postpone my morning duties as a working professional for a post on my blog, but I just felt compelled to keep my loyal readers up-to-date with my life this past week. I know some of you have grown to appreciate (and love) my posts, which makes writing them that much more exciting for me. So thank you again.
This week has been uncharacteristically busy for me at work. Talk about getting the ball rolling and diving right in and out of summer splendor. It's finally beginning to feel like fall in New York-- just the way I like to picture New York. The weather has been more than pleasant this week with mornings that feel about as cold as Florida's coldest winter night and sunny afternoons that make eating lunch in Bryant Park nice enough to enjoy without dripping sweat on your meal.
Yes, this is the New York I love and I'm more than stolked for the fall to come. Except maybe not as excited for the immense blow to the wallet I will undeniably have to suffer from the purchase of winter gear so as to survive the bitter cold. So, this week since I had little to nothing to report I figured I'd give a little insight into what I've been thinking as I make the most of these cool days.
1. It never seizes to amaze me how New York has yet to develop a mass public transportation system that rivals those of other metropolitan areas like London's efficient Underground. Twice this week my morning commute to work has been an obstacle course in the saunas of subway platforms, herds of people and frustration. I find myself checking my watch every 30 seconds and peering down the subway tunnel in hopes of seeing the lights beyond approaching...or days (like today) when commuters have no idea the subways are being stubborn and I stand on the platform for the better part of 15 minutes before realizing that no trains are stopping at Union Square. It's madhouse sprint back to the 'Q' Train uptown and morning jog 3 streets and 2 avenue blocks to work. If only there were some way to make trains run on some sort of schedule or warning us patrons of delays prior to stepping foot into the torturesly hot basements we call subways. London, Paris and Barcelona all do it right...why don't we? I miss driving.
2. Walking through Grand Central in the mornings reminds me of the video game Frogger. Except, instead of playing dodgeball with cars on a highway, you're playing dodge the 350 lb linebacker of a CEO, unkempt-haired secretary with knit stocks and white tennis shoes and avoiding the whords (hords?) of tourists dragging their suitcase-on-wheels at an obnoxiously slow pace-- in hopes of arriving to work a semi-reasonable time or just stealthly enough to come-in late unnoticed (welcome to corporate America). So, here's what I've been thinking. I wonder how many of pictures I've been in since I've moved here. I mean 4 out of 5 of my days walking up the stairs of Grand Central I get an-all-to-fantastic welcoming by a flashing camera. There's no doubt I my giant forehead made it into grandma's picture...C'Mon! I mean...seriously people take pictures of the buildings, the streets, the terminal and I'm curious to know in how many of peoples' memories I've somehow managed to be in. It's kind of humorous to think about actually because I could be 'that guy' in one of the photos who is awkwardly glaring at the camera, or in mid-blink looking like a knocked-out, pill poppin' 15-year-old in business attire. Funny.
3. Turns out my new apartment had (has) a mouse. I discovered it the 2nd day I moved in about 2 weeks ago as I stood in front of my closet and something darted along my floor board and dashed into my closet only to disappear behind a box and down a tiny dime-sized hole in the corner of my closet. I was so startled by the tiny thing I wasn't sure whether to jump, step on it, scream, laugh, cry, choke on my salive, move out, throw up or die that the only thing that came out of my mouth was the sound I'd imagine a guerilla making if it were cholking and its mouth was duct tape shut.... uuhhhh...eeee.....uugggh (that's hard to spell). I was so shocked and it happened so fast that I stood in silence for a bit before having a minor panic attack at the thought of having to deal with a f*cking mouse. SHIT! Really, this was one of those incidents that I would have rather had out-of-sight, out-of-mind because had I never seen it, I wouldn't know what the little hole was for in my closet and I wouldn't be tip toeing around my kitchen, peeking through the door before entering the apartment and practically sleeping with one eye open at night fearful of it crawling on me at night. Instead, I did research online about the little rodents and became even more anxious at the thought of my little friend living with me (and possible 100s of his friends because they breed by the 100s). I found out steel wool (had no idea what that was before now) can divert the little buggers temporarily by causing them to chew on it, scratch their little mouths and through Pavlov's classical conditioning never to return to their entry point again. I was lucky in the sense that I saw where he was coming in and out of because if I hadn't the steel wool wouldn't have done the trick. I'm happy to report I have not seen my ratatoulie (its not a rat) so I'm calling him Stuart in weeks. Chances are he's already working on his next point of entry somewhere in my closet or making his appearances while I'm out of the apartment, which is fine with me as long as I don't see him again. Oh yea and the landlord said he'd conduct a massive genocide of the things at the end of the month (not exactly his words, but I'd rather not have to deal with them again). Ah the many wonderful things of living in New York-- rodents. Gross.
This concludes my random thought post for the day as I have severely delayed all my morning duties. Good talk.
This week has been uncharacteristically busy for me at work. Talk about getting the ball rolling and diving right in and out of summer splendor. It's finally beginning to feel like fall in New York-- just the way I like to picture New York. The weather has been more than pleasant this week with mornings that feel about as cold as Florida's coldest winter night and sunny afternoons that make eating lunch in Bryant Park nice enough to enjoy without dripping sweat on your meal.
Yes, this is the New York I love and I'm more than stolked for the fall to come. Except maybe not as excited for the immense blow to the wallet I will undeniably have to suffer from the purchase of winter gear so as to survive the bitter cold. So, this week since I had little to nothing to report I figured I'd give a little insight into what I've been thinking as I make the most of these cool days.
1. It never seizes to amaze me how New York has yet to develop a mass public transportation system that rivals those of other metropolitan areas like London's efficient Underground. Twice this week my morning commute to work has been an obstacle course in the saunas of subway platforms, herds of people and frustration. I find myself checking my watch every 30 seconds and peering down the subway tunnel in hopes of seeing the lights beyond approaching...or days (like today) when commuters have no idea the subways are being stubborn and I stand on the platform for the better part of 15 minutes before realizing that no trains are stopping at Union Square. It's madhouse sprint back to the 'Q' Train uptown and morning jog 3 streets and 2 avenue blocks to work. If only there were some way to make trains run on some sort of schedule or warning us patrons of delays prior to stepping foot into the torturesly hot basements we call subways. London, Paris and Barcelona all do it right...why don't we? I miss driving.
2. Walking through Grand Central in the mornings reminds me of the video game Frogger. Except, instead of playing dodgeball with cars on a highway, you're playing dodge the 350 lb linebacker of a CEO, unkempt-haired secretary with knit stocks and white tennis shoes and avoiding the whords (hords?) of tourists dragging their suitcase-on-wheels at an obnoxiously slow pace-- in hopes of arriving to work a semi-reasonable time or just stealthly enough to come-in late unnoticed (welcome to corporate America). So, here's what I've been thinking. I wonder how many of pictures I've been in since I've moved here. I mean 4 out of 5 of my days walking up the stairs of Grand Central I get an-all-to-fantastic welcoming by a flashing camera. There's no doubt I my giant forehead made it into grandma's picture...C'Mon! I mean...seriously people take pictures of the buildings, the streets, the terminal and I'm curious to know in how many of peoples' memories I've somehow managed to be in. It's kind of humorous to think about actually because I could be 'that guy' in one of the photos who is awkwardly glaring at the camera, or in mid-blink looking like a knocked-out, pill poppin' 15-year-old in business attire. Funny.
3. Turns out my new apartment had (has) a mouse. I discovered it the 2nd day I moved in about 2 weeks ago as I stood in front of my closet and something darted along my floor board and dashed into my closet only to disappear behind a box and down a tiny dime-sized hole in the corner of my closet. I was so startled by the tiny thing I wasn't sure whether to jump, step on it, scream, laugh, cry, choke on my salive, move out, throw up or die that the only thing that came out of my mouth was the sound I'd imagine a guerilla making if it were cholking and its mouth was duct tape shut.... uuhhhh...eeee.....uugggh (that's hard to spell). I was so shocked and it happened so fast that I stood in silence for a bit before having a minor panic attack at the thought of having to deal with a f*cking mouse. SHIT! Really, this was one of those incidents that I would have rather had out-of-sight, out-of-mind because had I never seen it, I wouldn't know what the little hole was for in my closet and I wouldn't be tip toeing around my kitchen, peeking through the door before entering the apartment and practically sleeping with one eye open at night fearful of it crawling on me at night. Instead, I did research online about the little rodents and became even more anxious at the thought of my little friend living with me (and possible 100s of his friends because they breed by the 100s). I found out steel wool (had no idea what that was before now) can divert the little buggers temporarily by causing them to chew on it, scratch their little mouths and through Pavlov's classical conditioning never to return to their entry point again. I was lucky in the sense that I saw where he was coming in and out of because if I hadn't the steel wool wouldn't have done the trick. I'm happy to report I have not seen my ratatoulie (its not a rat) so I'm calling him Stuart in weeks. Chances are he's already working on his next point of entry somewhere in my closet or making his appearances while I'm out of the apartment, which is fine with me as long as I don't see him again. Oh yea and the landlord said he'd conduct a massive genocide of the things at the end of the month (not exactly his words, but I'd rather not have to deal with them again). Ah the many wonderful things of living in New York-- rodents. Gross.
This concludes my random thought post for the day as I have severely delayed all my morning duties. Good talk.
Thursday, September 13, 2007
breaking New York
There's not doubt that New York has a magnitizum to it. That there is this gravitational pull forcing hundreds if not thousands of people here every day-- be it to live or vacation. It's the buzz. The hype. The glitz. The glamour. The prospect of success. The hope of starting over. The American Dream. The melting pot of the U.S. The culture. The fashion. The entertainment. The struggle. The challenge. The idea is all consuming. It's all encompassing...it's an identity of itself. It takes on its own character. It's own personality. It lives and breathes through its hustle, the commotion and the players within it.
They say it takes 7 years to consider yourself a "New Yorker." But what does that really mean? That by year 7 you're so tainted by the mysticism the city provides? That by year 7 you're so far beyond the ever changing expansion of the city? That by year 7 you've become so cold and accustom to the concrete, urban jungle? Is it in 7 years that you develop a "New York state-of-mind?" Are your first 6 years practice? A scrimmage for the rough-n-tough lifestyle of a "real" New Yorker? I don't know, but without question there is a sense of pride that comes with those 7 years. Perhaps its paying your dues because so many have walked through the city, left their mark or perhaps failed and were spit back out into the world. New York is not for everyone-- not so much that if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. I've come to learn that it does take a certain "type" of person as diverse and cultural as this city is...there's some underlying thread linking people on this island (and its neighboring boroughs).
I've been prompted for this post by the thought that New Yorkers are jerks, cold-hearted, rude, selfish, pretentious souls. They're bitter, aggitated, rushed and frantic about life, work and the pursuit of happiness. I mean....really? Here's my perspective on that whole stigma. Yes, you encounter hostility, perhaps unwarranted disrespect and selfishness, BUT (there's always a but) I truly feel that it is a mechanism of adaptation. That's not to say that everyone in New York is out to ruin the party or is full of themselves (though it may seem). My observation is that in a city that draws so many people, from so many corners of the world, in a tiny mass of land whereby the disparity between the rich and poor is present no matter which block you walk down... if you don't suck it up, step up or speak up... you're more than likely becoming someone's doormat. You'll either pay for something you didn't want, pay more than you should be, be undermined, undervalued, unappreciated, misunderstood, trampled, chewed up (or out) and you'll be pissed, frustrated and aggitated. So what's left to do? Develop a hard outer exterior-- a "New Yorker" attitude. Fuggetaboudit! Don't sweat the small, protect your intergrity, character, dignity and self and pray you dont' lose sight of the person you once were when you first arrived on the island. It's Darwin's survival of the fittest. I'm not saying anything new here.
I've come to learn that its not joke trying to make it in New York. It's daunting. It's tiring. It's tough. You have to be tough. You have to be willing to accept things you may have never though twice about. You have to be comfortable in your solidarity, confident in your actions and have a stance on issues, but (there it is again) this is not to say that you should remain closed minded or (the horror) unwilling to let yourself change, evolve, transform, develop, grow, learn and live. You'll miss out on a lot....duh!
Perhaps one of my favorite moments in the city occurred this past Monday night when I was meeting MS and KM for dinner in Chinatown. The restaurant was Wo Hop deep in the heart of Chinatown off of Canal St. at the very end of Mott St. It was late and the street were sparce. The garbage was piled up on the curb for collection, the cages on store fronts were down and people were scattered about....but it wasn't that late. As I walked down the narrow street it was lined with the usual garb of apartments stacked upon small restaurants, bubble tea shops, bakeries etc. It felt like (you guessed it) like Europe. As I walked to the restaurant, the street glowed from the neon store signs shining there chinese scripts. It was as you'd picture it in a movie...capturing the heart of New York's Chinatown. To the newcomer, you'd feel hesitant walking down the solemn street alone. You'd fudge your nose up in disgust at the odor, be weary of the man standing smoking a cigarette and think twice about eating anywhere in the neighborhood. I loved it and what made me love it even more is that as I walked down Mott and passed people...I heard not a lick of English. I heard simply a foreign language I could unknowingly characterize as Chinese, but could easily be Mandarin, Japanese etc. etc. etc. It was fantastic. It made me happy to know that even in America you can still find cultured people and that people like me can see just a snippet of that walking down a street.
I don't think you come to New York to find yourself. I think when you get to New York you're merely here to evolve upon the person you already are-- because if its naivety that's pulling you in, then its naivety that'll spit you back out-- at least that's how I see it.
They say it takes 7 years to consider yourself a "New Yorker." But what does that really mean? That by year 7 you're so tainted by the mysticism the city provides? That by year 7 you're so far beyond the ever changing expansion of the city? That by year 7 you've become so cold and accustom to the concrete, urban jungle? Is it in 7 years that you develop a "New York state-of-mind?" Are your first 6 years practice? A scrimmage for the rough-n-tough lifestyle of a "real" New Yorker? I don't know, but without question there is a sense of pride that comes with those 7 years. Perhaps its paying your dues because so many have walked through the city, left their mark or perhaps failed and were spit back out into the world. New York is not for everyone-- not so much that if you can make it here, you can make it anywhere. I've come to learn that it does take a certain "type" of person as diverse and cultural as this city is...there's some underlying thread linking people on this island (and its neighboring boroughs).
I've been prompted for this post by the thought that New Yorkers are jerks, cold-hearted, rude, selfish, pretentious souls. They're bitter, aggitated, rushed and frantic about life, work and the pursuit of happiness. I mean....really? Here's my perspective on that whole stigma. Yes, you encounter hostility, perhaps unwarranted disrespect and selfishness, BUT (there's always a but) I truly feel that it is a mechanism of adaptation. That's not to say that everyone in New York is out to ruin the party or is full of themselves (though it may seem). My observation is that in a city that draws so many people, from so many corners of the world, in a tiny mass of land whereby the disparity between the rich and poor is present no matter which block you walk down... if you don't suck it up, step up or speak up... you're more than likely becoming someone's doormat. You'll either pay for something you didn't want, pay more than you should be, be undermined, undervalued, unappreciated, misunderstood, trampled, chewed up (or out) and you'll be pissed, frustrated and aggitated. So what's left to do? Develop a hard outer exterior-- a "New Yorker" attitude. Fuggetaboudit! Don't sweat the small, protect your intergrity, character, dignity and self and pray you dont' lose sight of the person you once were when you first arrived on the island. It's Darwin's survival of the fittest. I'm not saying anything new here.
I've come to learn that its not joke trying to make it in New York. It's daunting. It's tiring. It's tough. You have to be tough. You have to be willing to accept things you may have never though twice about. You have to be comfortable in your solidarity, confident in your actions and have a stance on issues, but (there it is again) this is not to say that you should remain closed minded or (the horror) unwilling to let yourself change, evolve, transform, develop, grow, learn and live. You'll miss out on a lot....duh!
Perhaps one of my favorite moments in the city occurred this past Monday night when I was meeting MS and KM for dinner in Chinatown. The restaurant was Wo Hop deep in the heart of Chinatown off of Canal St. at the very end of Mott St. It was late and the street were sparce. The garbage was piled up on the curb for collection, the cages on store fronts were down and people were scattered about....but it wasn't that late. As I walked down the narrow street it was lined with the usual garb of apartments stacked upon small restaurants, bubble tea shops, bakeries etc. It felt like (you guessed it) like Europe. As I walked to the restaurant, the street glowed from the neon store signs shining there chinese scripts. It was as you'd picture it in a movie...capturing the heart of New York's Chinatown. To the newcomer, you'd feel hesitant walking down the solemn street alone. You'd fudge your nose up in disgust at the odor, be weary of the man standing smoking a cigarette and think twice about eating anywhere in the neighborhood. I loved it and what made me love it even more is that as I walked down Mott and passed people...I heard not a lick of English. I heard simply a foreign language I could unknowingly characterize as Chinese, but could easily be Mandarin, Japanese etc. etc. etc. It was fantastic. It made me happy to know that even in America you can still find cultured people and that people like me can see just a snippet of that walking down a street.
I don't think you come to New York to find yourself. I think when you get to New York you're merely here to evolve upon the person you already are-- because if its naivety that's pulling you in, then its naivety that'll spit you back out-- at least that's how I see it.
Monday, September 10, 2007
I work out with John Mayer
caught your attention didn't it? Well, let me explain that in the 4 months (yesterday officially) I have not spotted one "A-list" celebrity since being here aside from the scattered reality television rejects that include America's Next Top Model and lesser known shows that don't even come to mind right now. So--this weekend's "adventure" was something noteworthy despite the fact that I'm not a particularly HUGE fan of John, but seeing as how he's been in the news with his on-again, off-again relationships....it seems like something to blog about.
I'm not one to get star struck, which when I explain the way things unraveled you'll see that it makes me more uncomfortable too admit that I know who a celebrity is, than it is for them to get recognized. Plus who wants to be bothered? Especially when at the gym?
I was working out on the eliptical putting in my 10 mins. of cardio to get the ole ticker working a bit and a tall (bit lanky) guy with unkempt hair and arm tattoos hops on the machine next to me. I wouldn't have normally thought anything of it, but this fellow also happen to be ferociously texting on his blackberry while pedaling away on the ellipitical. A talent I couldn't master-- not to mention a blatant disregard for the gym's strict no cellphone policy while on the gym floor.
It was at the New York Sports Club in SoHo about noon and with his texting back and forth with who knows who (maybe Jessica Simpson? Cameron Diaz? I dunno). He seemed familiar. I knew I had recognized him from somewhere (he's currently on a Gap campaign with his face plastered on billboards and public busses). But that's not where I knew him from. Obviously, I came to figure out it was John Mayer. At first it was exciting-- to be working out next to a pseudo-celebrity? Musician? Then I realized he's just another dude doing his routine and I was not going to blow up his spot with a "Aren't you John Mayer?" question. Really? What would that have accomplished? He probably would have just looked at me and said "Yea" and I would have looked like the cool kid who asked the stupid question. I didn't bother and I preferred to save my integrity and just casually continue my work out.
To confirm it was him, I hopped off the machine (when I was done of course) walked around and just double checked to make sure. It was. What surprised me was that during all his appearances, he has woman swarming him, coveting his very being, reaching out in desparation for a chance to touch the guy-- yet all the had to do was work out at NYSC in Soho and they could chill with him. I was curious as to how he was going to escape from the gym following the work considering the gym resides on the busiest (and perhaps most well-known streets) of New York-- Broadway.
I continued my routine-- still in a bit of surprise that no one else realize or perhaps cared that he was there considering there were a couple of younger females working out at the time as well. I guess it's that New York state-of-mind that nothing phases New Yorkers and everyone seems to wrapped up in themselves. Speaking of which, he kept checking himself out in the mirror that lined the machines...I dunno it was weird.
After wrappin' up my workout I headed to the locker room and where he was packin' up. Just to confirm his status symbol he slipped on his dark aviators and casually strolled out of the locker room. I suppose it's a good story to tell, but nothing of magnitude or true awesomeness occurred. I guess it could be considered lame and it makes me laugh thinking about it. Now had someone of a true calibre been in his shoes--- there's a story!
I'm such a pop culture junkie though-- it's fun to recount. haha. But no I didn't talk to him and no I didn't blow up his spot. It just isn't me and it wasn't the right circumstances.
I'm not one to get star struck, which when I explain the way things unraveled you'll see that it makes me more uncomfortable too admit that I know who a celebrity is, than it is for them to get recognized. Plus who wants to be bothered? Especially when at the gym?
I was working out on the eliptical putting in my 10 mins. of cardio to get the ole ticker working a bit and a tall (bit lanky) guy with unkempt hair and arm tattoos hops on the machine next to me. I wouldn't have normally thought anything of it, but this fellow also happen to be ferociously texting on his blackberry while pedaling away on the ellipitical. A talent I couldn't master-- not to mention a blatant disregard for the gym's strict no cellphone policy while on the gym floor.
It was at the New York Sports Club in SoHo about noon and with his texting back and forth with who knows who (maybe Jessica Simpson? Cameron Diaz? I dunno). He seemed familiar. I knew I had recognized him from somewhere (he's currently on a Gap campaign with his face plastered on billboards and public busses). But that's not where I knew him from. Obviously, I came to figure out it was John Mayer. At first it was exciting-- to be working out next to a pseudo-celebrity? Musician? Then I realized he's just another dude doing his routine and I was not going to blow up his spot with a "Aren't you John Mayer?" question. Really? What would that have accomplished? He probably would have just looked at me and said "Yea" and I would have looked like the cool kid who asked the stupid question. I didn't bother and I preferred to save my integrity and just casually continue my work out.
To confirm it was him, I hopped off the machine (when I was done of course) walked around and just double checked to make sure. It was. What surprised me was that during all his appearances, he has woman swarming him, coveting his very being, reaching out in desparation for a chance to touch the guy-- yet all the had to do was work out at NYSC in Soho and they could chill with him. I was curious as to how he was going to escape from the gym following the work considering the gym resides on the busiest (and perhaps most well-known streets) of New York-- Broadway.
I continued my routine-- still in a bit of surprise that no one else realize or perhaps cared that he was there considering there were a couple of younger females working out at the time as well. I guess it's that New York state-of-mind that nothing phases New Yorkers and everyone seems to wrapped up in themselves. Speaking of which, he kept checking himself out in the mirror that lined the machines...I dunno it was weird.
After wrappin' up my workout I headed to the locker room and where he was packin' up. Just to confirm his status symbol he slipped on his dark aviators and casually strolled out of the locker room. I suppose it's a good story to tell, but nothing of magnitude or true awesomeness occurred. I guess it could be considered lame and it makes me laugh thinking about it. Now had someone of a true calibre been in his shoes--- there's a story!
I'm such a pop culture junkie though-- it's fun to recount. haha. But no I didn't talk to him and no I didn't blow up his spot. It just isn't me and it wasn't the right circumstances.
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
3rd Times A Charm
That's what I've been told. Actually, I've never been told that, but more like overhead it being used. What does it apply to? And what was its original context? Was it the 3rd time somebody got hitched? The 3rd time caveman attempted to get fire going? The 3rd time Dru moves in 3 months, while living in New York? I'm going with the latter.
In a little under 4 months (September 8th will be 4), I've managed to move apartments 3 times. Yes, I moved yet again on a whim this past weekend. Now before I go any further let me start out by saying that I came home from my last summer Friday to my neighbors that live below me on the 3rd floor moving out of their apartment. I'd been in the space before and really liked the layout of the apartment. It was more evenly distributed between the two rooms, the kitchen and bathroom were bigger and it felt more like an apartment.
Upon discovering their departure, I jumped on the opportunity to switch apartments. That would be moving from the 4th floor of this building to the 3rd floor. I simply needed to get my roommate on board and the landlord's approval. I wasted no time to make my interest in the space apparent and spoke to my landlord immediately. He was Ok with it. Now it was up to my roommate LH to be Ok with the move. For her, the deal would mean more effort than for me. She'd already had the bigger room in our current apartment, she had all the furniture and was comfortable in the arrangement. Me on the other hand, had the smaller rooms living in what felt like a glorified shoe box that just barely fit a twin size mattress and a night stand.
The living quarters were tight and my rent was going up $25 anyways. For a few bucks more each month I could move downstairs and have a MUCH larger room, 3 awesome windows overlooking a blossoming tree and the capability of purchasing a full/queen size bed somewhere down the line. How could I not?
Needless to say, the final arrangements-- after a bit of a debate with the roommate and a stipulation the landlord failed to mention when I first brought up switching was resolved-- we started hauling all our stuff one flight of stairs. By 10 p.m. I was exhausted and drained. I don't recommend wearing flip flops when lugging things up and down a flight of stairs. It can really work a number on your feet (especially if you're flat footed).
I've spend the past two nights in the new apartment and I'm so excited about the space. It's nice to be able to move around and have the option of getting furniture (which I'm still attempting to save for). There is one downside to the room--- it's painted teal from floor to ceiling. Not - I'm OK with this color teal -- it's more like this is nauseating teal. Florida Marlin's teal. Some may call it seafoam green or aqua, but I call it temporary lapse of psychosis by the previous tenant. Why?! Why?! would someone want to paint an entire room that hideous shade of blue/green? It escapes me.
All-in-all, I'm happy and settled in the new place. I'm officially signing the lease this week-- making my transition permanent for a year and I'm calling it home. Now, it's just a matter of sprucing it up for when the family arrives in December for the holiday. This will be my first apartment that I sign for on my own! That's a major accomplishment. No guarantor, no help from the parentals-- just me and my money. Whoat?! (my made up word to mean Whoa! and What?! simultaneously. It's a big deal and it's frickin' sweet to say.
Just be advised that if visiting New York and you need a place to say...I'm gonna have to say that I gotta really like you. Considering the unraveling of recent events where I had someone invariably crashing at my place turned out to be a sour experience-- prompting me to once again reevaluate my generosity with people and become more exclusive about who I want to extend a hand to. Some people, despite how much or how nice you think you're being, take advantage or grow resentful. However, I have not been completely tainted by the experience because while particularly unpleasant-- I haven't lost much from it and have gained back my space. Sometimes you need a wake-up call to realize you may be, becoming someone's doormat. Not me. Not here. I didn't move to New York to fall into the SAME EXACT social scene and context I found myself in while in Gainesville. New beginnings, new experiences-- that's what this blog and my adult life is about 'nough said.
In a little under 4 months (September 8th will be 4), I've managed to move apartments 3 times. Yes, I moved yet again on a whim this past weekend. Now before I go any further let me start out by saying that I came home from my last summer Friday to my neighbors that live below me on the 3rd floor moving out of their apartment. I'd been in the space before and really liked the layout of the apartment. It was more evenly distributed between the two rooms, the kitchen and bathroom were bigger and it felt more like an apartment.
Upon discovering their departure, I jumped on the opportunity to switch apartments. That would be moving from the 4th floor of this building to the 3rd floor. I simply needed to get my roommate on board and the landlord's approval. I wasted no time to make my interest in the space apparent and spoke to my landlord immediately. He was Ok with it. Now it was up to my roommate LH to be Ok with the move. For her, the deal would mean more effort than for me. She'd already had the bigger room in our current apartment, she had all the furniture and was comfortable in the arrangement. Me on the other hand, had the smaller rooms living in what felt like a glorified shoe box that just barely fit a twin size mattress and a night stand.
The living quarters were tight and my rent was going up $25 anyways. For a few bucks more each month I could move downstairs and have a MUCH larger room, 3 awesome windows overlooking a blossoming tree and the capability of purchasing a full/queen size bed somewhere down the line. How could I not?
Needless to say, the final arrangements-- after a bit of a debate with the roommate and a stipulation the landlord failed to mention when I first brought up switching was resolved-- we started hauling all our stuff one flight of stairs. By 10 p.m. I was exhausted and drained. I don't recommend wearing flip flops when lugging things up and down a flight of stairs. It can really work a number on your feet (especially if you're flat footed).
I've spend the past two nights in the new apartment and I'm so excited about the space. It's nice to be able to move around and have the option of getting furniture (which I'm still attempting to save for). There is one downside to the room--- it's painted teal from floor to ceiling. Not - I'm OK with this color teal -- it's more like this is nauseating teal. Florida Marlin's teal. Some may call it seafoam green or aqua, but I call it temporary lapse of psychosis by the previous tenant. Why?! Why?! would someone want to paint an entire room that hideous shade of blue/green? It escapes me.
All-in-all, I'm happy and settled in the new place. I'm officially signing the lease this week-- making my transition permanent for a year and I'm calling it home. Now, it's just a matter of sprucing it up for when the family arrives in December for the holiday. This will be my first apartment that I sign for on my own! That's a major accomplishment. No guarantor, no help from the parentals-- just me and my money. Whoat?! (my made up word to mean Whoa! and What?! simultaneously. It's a big deal and it's frickin' sweet to say.
Just be advised that if visiting New York and you need a place to say...I'm gonna have to say that I gotta really like you. Considering the unraveling of recent events where I had someone invariably crashing at my place turned out to be a sour experience-- prompting me to once again reevaluate my generosity with people and become more exclusive about who I want to extend a hand to. Some people, despite how much or how nice you think you're being, take advantage or grow resentful. However, I have not been completely tainted by the experience because while particularly unpleasant-- I haven't lost much from it and have gained back my space. Sometimes you need a wake-up call to realize you may be, becoming someone's doormat. Not me. Not here. I didn't move to New York to fall into the SAME EXACT social scene and context I found myself in while in Gainesville. New beginnings, new experiences-- that's what this blog and my adult life is about 'nough said.
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