Family Name

This post is dedicated to my friend, Itamar, because it’s based on his joke:
“With a name like that, they really had no choice but to go into the family business.”

Some restaurants in Brooklyn:

The man we've all been waiting to see.

Finally, the video is here. Check out the hanky in the left hand the whole time. Not sexy. The filming gets a little shakey at one point, but that's cause I decided to get closer.

Adventures with Speedy

Now that I've figured out how to upload videos, it's all over. Forget writing, why tell you my experiences when I can show them to you?

Like Speedy, the friendly turtle with whom I shared a home my first week in Brooklyn. Speedy lives in a large beautiful house in Park Slope with his owners, my friends. Speedy and I would hang out well into the night, laughing, sharing stories and eating lettuce. Well, I did most of the laughing and sharing of stories. He did most of the eating of lettuce. But we both had fun.

Here are two short films starring Speedy.

This one I call "SPEEDY GOES EXPLORING."



And this one, "SPEEDY EATS DINNER."



Some people have asked me how big Speedy is. Well, I won't just tell you, I'll show you.



He's slightly larger than a toaster.

Why do I love The Brazilian Girls so?

Perhaps it's because, despite the band's name, they're neither Brazilian, nor girls. There is one girl (singular), Sabina, and she is Italian, and beautiful, and hilarious.

Perhaps it's because Sabina sings so beautifully in German, Spanish, French, Italian and English. How clever she is.

Or perhaps it's because she referred to their hit song (Pussy Pussy Pussy Marijuana) as a "A timeless holiday classic for the whole family." I love her.

Here's a brief clip from last night's free outdoor concert at Hudson River Park. The image quality is not great (in fact it's terrible - I took it with my cell phone), but the sound is pretty clear. Sabina is the lovely spec in the middle.



Lyrical genius, I tell you!

Deep Fried

But wait, I wasn’t done bagging on the Jersey shore.

I made a discovery while I was there that I’m going to go ahead and credit as the number one cause of the American obesity problem.

Nope, it’s not the ice cream, the caramel apples, the pizza the hot dogs and no, it’s not the funnel cake (all of which I happily consumed while I was there).

It’s these…
















Nope, they’re not potatoes. They’re not donuts nor donut holes. They’re deep fried oreos. I’m not joking.

















Fucking disgusting. After like seven I thought for sure I was gonna puke. I’m just kidding, I didn’t eat any. Even I have standards.

A visit from the fam.

Four days of straight family. It's enough to drive anyone crazy. Luckily my family is so fabulous and awesome that I felt nothing but joy at their presence (they read this blog).

But really, it was a lot of fun having them here. We got to do all the touristy New York things like Times Square.
















Mom fell in love with a stuffed horse at FAO Schwartz.




















We spent a day at the Jersey shore.
















Does it look warm and sunny?
















It wasn’t. So instead of swimming, we went on rides.
















And more rides
















And ate junk food.
















And more junk food.
















This is me leaving the Jersey shore.

Las Cucarachas

We have some uninvited houseguests. We’re not entirely sure what they are, but they’re big, brown, six-legged and are certainly not contributing to rent. After some Internet research, the jury is still out as to whether or not they’re cockroaches, but they’re definitely not pretty.

Our fifth sighting was last night and rather ill-timed. My mother was visiting and came screaming and running out of the bathroom. “Welcome to my new house, mom. Apparently, we live in squalor.”

I went in to find the culprit on the wall next to the toilet, contentedly waving his long antennae at me as if to say, “This is my bathroom, bitch. And to prove it, I’m going to invite all my friends over.”

Shortly after his unspoken threat, he was squashed by a shoe, exploding roach guts all over the walls. Ick.

I’m hoping I killed him before he got a chance to send the evite out to all his roach friends.

New Yorker

I’ve worked 24 hours in the past two days. I think that makes me officially a New Yorker.

My second day of work lasted until past midnight. I worked hard, and in a strange way, it felt good. I treated myself to a taxi ride back to Brooklyn. And as I rode across the Brooklyn Bridge, listening to the driver speak Farsi into his blue tooth headset, I stared at the giant buildings getting further behind me. I marveled at the authority of the towering concrete topped with intricate spires. I looked over the water to my right to see the Statue of Liberty holding out her torch in the distance. And I thought, this is why people love New York.

I keep having to remind myself that I actually live here. I take the subway to the office in the morning with millions of other New Yorkers. I eat lunch in a shady park sandwiched between two noisy, traffic-packed boulevards. I work my ass off in an office until the wee hours of the night and when I’m done, I ride home across the Brooklyn Bridge.

I live here, I tell myself again. And it makes me smile.

Second Day

I used to get nervous about starting a new job. But I realize now, that it never gets better. Being brand new is like having a get out of jail free card.

It's not hard to make a good first impression (especially when you’re as charming as I am ;). And when you do fuck up, no biggie. "Oops, sorry. It's my first day."

It's your fifth and sixth days you need to worry about.

"Are you lost trying to find the bathroom again?? But you've been here over a week!"

I did in fact get lost trying to find the bathroom yesterday. Three different times. I'm sorry, it's a big office – all the cubes look the same.

Other than that little snafu, my first day went incredibly well.T he people seem nice, the project is fun, and we got free pizza (a thinly veiled excuse to make the creatives work through lunch), and they really liked my work. But, most importantly, this office fulfills my one main requirement, far more critical to me than pay scale or hours – I’m allowed to wear flip-flops to work.

I may be a slave to corporate America. But my toes can wiggle freely.

Taking weather into our own hands.

Three girls and a drill, every man's greatest fantasy.


Right before it fell out the window and killed the cat.


Cate is ever so helpful.

Audrey mounting (as always!)


Ahhhhhhhh.


Thanks to Julie for playing paparazzi.

An end to my beautiful freedom.

Today is my first day at my NEW JOB. Yes, it was a blessed two-week vacation. But now I’m back on the corporate grind. Hopefully not for too long (this is just a freelance gig) because I had some great Brooklyn bike rides planned out.

But, so far (three hours into it), I actually really like it. And I’m making a terrific first impression by taking time out of my busy day to write in my blog. Do you see how devoted I am to my readers (all 6 of them)? Do you see new Creative Director? Clearly, I’m destined for success.

Okay, back to work.

Stoop-id.

Not built for this weather.

New York is HOT in the summer. Why didn’t anybody tell me this? Okay fine, everyone told me this. But overnight it went from pleasantly warm to uncomfortably, painfully, hellishly hot. The kind of hot where all you can do is take a cold shower and then lie naked in front of the fan, carefully positioning your body so that no skin is touching skin. And even then, it’s still hot.

The positive side of this is that last night I was able to stay out till 4am in nothing but a skirt, tank top and flip flops. That was refreshing. Cate had to remind me three times before leaving the house, “You’re not gonna need that hoody.” We were at an outdoor bar on the Hudson, with a gentle breeze blowing over the water, and no jacket was needed. Insane, I tell you. It was great.

But today, even in the shade, it was simply horrid. Luckily, Cate’s mom came over this evening with new air conditioning units for our windows. We worked up a sweat lugging them up the stairs. And then it was just too hot to install them. It’s too hot to move at all, actually. But I did manage to go downstairs and fill a bowl with ice water. I put it in front of the fan, to spread the coolness. I needed something to prop up the fan so that I could feel the cool air while lying on my bed. It looks like the air conditioner is already doing its job.



P.S.
If one more New Yorker tell me, “What this? This is nothing. Just wait till the humidity starts.” I think I might just have to move back to San Francisco. Or perhaps Antarctica.

A Day in Brooklyn.

Pictures, pictures. Everyone wants pictures of my new home. So this Thursday morning I set off with my camera to get some breakfast and a few shots around the neighborhood. However, my little photo session turned into a big Brooklyn adventure, all of which I caught on film. Well, on my digital memory card, anyhow. Here it is, step by step (you can read the story underneath each picture)

View the slideshow.

Getting back on the horse.

I’m feeling somewhat defeated. After two weeks of being a New Yorker, and three weeks of being unemployed, I’ve decided that maybe it’s time to get a job. Money’s been going fast, as I expected. But now that I’m a New Yorker, it’s important that I have certain things, like an air conditioner, new sun glasses, a bikini wax. You know, all the essentials.

I made today my official “Get a Job Day.” If anything, it was a big step up from yesterday’s “Get a Rug Day” (there will be more on that adventure later). I woke up early (10am) and donned my winning interview clothes. My first stop was a meeting with the Big Important Creative Director at a Big Important Ad Agency. I had been trying to set up this meeting for weeks, and as I ascended the seven stories in the elevator, I felt pretty good. I was oozing confidence through my shiny new heels, my crisp button-down shirt, and my snazzy pin-striped pants.

Big Important Creative Director (we’ll call him BICD) of the Big Important Ad Agency (we'll call it BIAA) greeted me at the elevator with a messy uneven half-beard, jeans, and a sloppy T-shirt. “Sorry I’m kinda out of it. I went out last night and I’m a little hungoverer.”

I looked from my shiny new heels to the shoelaces that trailed from his untied sneakers. Perhaps I overdressed a tad.

“Okay, let’s see your book.”

I admired the view of Manhattan from his Big Important Corner Office as he flipped through my portfolio. My baby. My two years of hard work bound with a thin silver spiral.

“Uh huh. Yeah… you want my advice? I’d gut it and write some new stuff. More exciting. More hard-hitting. You could get a job with this portfolio, but it probably wouldn't be a very good one.” I’m paraphrasing here, but that was the gist of it.

I left his office ten minutes later with a bottle of Aquafina in my hand and my dreams shattered in pieces on his blue office rug. I took my flip flops out of my bag and changed out of my heels. I took off my button-down shirt and headed down Madison Ave. in my tank top.

I stopped by a couple more ad agencies to drop off what I had previously thought of as my ticket to a great job, but what I was now starting to think of as a spiral bound piece of crap.

I sat for a while in Maddison Square Park watching the nannies push their charges on the swings. Maybe I could be a nanny. I like kids. I’m a real good swing-pusher.

Then I went to the one of the three nearby Starbucks and got a Frappacino. Caffeine makes everything better. I started to reexamine things.

The fact that I’m putting myself out there and showing my work (that I’m proud of, by the way) in a big new city, trying to get a great job. I think that’s pretty damn cool. I know I’m smart. I know I’m a good writer. And I’m not going to let a BICD with a hangover tell me otherwise. Even if he does have a corner office with a really good view. I wouldn’t want to waste my BA working in his BS BIAA anyway. Hmph.

Is that a knife in your pocket or...

Cate made the mistake of sending me a news article about a man who was stabbed on the subway. Just stabbed, unprovoked, in the middle of the afternoon. Why would she send me that?? It's only gonna freak me out.

So now, when I get on the subway, I'm always careful to sit next to the PLLSM (Person Least Likely to Stab Me). I've mostly been choosing the elderly and women with small children. It's been working pretty good so far; I have yet to be stabbed.

Hipster on the Roof

Today I continued my “job” of exploring Brooklyn by bike. I rode the five miles over to Williamsburg. I pedaled through so many random and run down neighborhoods. They’re the ones I don’t usually see because I’m usually in a subway train, heading for one gentrified pocket to the next. But a bike let’s me see each pocket neighborhood and everything in between.

If I were to pitch Williamsburg as a movie (and somebody really should, though I claim partial rights), I would describe it as “Reality Bites” meets “Fiddler on the Roof”. (Oops, I’m showing my age. I know Reality Bites came out in the 90’s, but I can’t think of any current hipster/Gen X movies.)

Williamsburg features a Haight&Ashbury-esque row of bars, restaurants, a Buffalo Exchange, and oodles of white, urban 20-somethings. Then just one block away, nothing but orthodox Jewish families. And I mean serious orthodox. The men with their paes and big black hats, the women wearing wigs, the whole spiel. It’s like entering another country, everything’s in Hebrew. Then a few more blocks down, it’s an all black neighborhood.

A city of many faces, this Brooklyn. And I shall not rest until I’ve seen them all.

Nice Rack!

Claire and I have been having fun with home improvements. Do you like our new shower rack?

We also put in our own shower curtain. We're like, totally Martha Stewart and shit.

The warming of globe

I just got back from seeing Al Gore’s new film, “An Inconvenient Truth.” It wasn’t as much depressing as it was just plain scary. Humanity and nature are basically at war, it would seem. And while, at this point we are winning, nature is fighting back. Hard. With floods, hurricanes and droughts, all of which are caused by global warming.

This film demonstrates that we need to make some serious changes, and fast, or else this planet will be a much different place for our children to live in. My solution – I just won’t have any children. Ha. In your face, climate crisis.

But seriously, I feel it necessary to tell everyone to see highly this informative film. So I will encourage all the readers of this blog – mom, dad, go see this movie. Find out more online at www.climatecrisis.net

How Tweet it is...

I’m sitting in my NEW room in my NEW apartment in NEW York. With a new room comes new things. I bought my very first queen-sized bed (only $200 of Craigslist, what a steal). And since I’m feeing all grown-up with my first queen-sized bed, I’ve decided to do something very mature. I put my bed in the middle of the room. Only ONE SIDE is against the wall!


I know, I’m like, totally an adult now. Also notice the use of more than two pillows.

While I’m feeling very grown up in my new bed, in my new room in my new apartment in my new city. There are a few old childish habits that just die hard.



So I can sit in the middle of my room, in my lovely queen-sized bed, with my stylish new pillowcases, in front of my antique real wood-burning fireplace, and stare at the ceramic Tweety Bird I bought when I was drunk in Tijuana ten years ago.

Some things never change.


He's pretty darn cute though, isn't he? With his little sombrero...

Minority

One of the things I like about New York is the diversity. Numerous times in the two days I’ve lived in Boerum Hill, I’ve suddenly realized that I am the only white person in sight. In a crowded subway train, standing room only, I’ll find myself looking around for someone who looks like me. And there is no one.

It’s a new experience for me. And I think maybe now I have more of an understanding of what it’s like to be a minority - I stand out. I wonder if the people around me are making judgments about me because I don’t look like them. I wonder if they’re whispering “What's this white girl doing on the A train heading to Flatbush?” (it turns out that I was, in fact, on the wrong train).

It’s refreshing. It’s eye-opening. And it’s humbling.

It’s also educational. Today was the Puerto Rico Day Parade up 5th Avenue. Huge crowds of Puerto Ricans all dressed up in red, white and blue, waving Puerto Rican flags flocked to the Upper East Side for the festivities.

I was fascinated and wanted to join the party, but all day we were busy driving back and forth to Costco, Bed Bath & Beyond, Target, etc. Finally at 5pm, we finished our shopping and drove back to Cate’s parents’ on the Upper East Side.

The streets were so mobbed with people coming from the parade that we could barely drive, much less park, near their building. We ended up pulling up at a nearby corner and unloading everything from the car through the crowd in multiple trips.

So not only was I the only white girl in a crazy mob of Puerto Ricans, but I had my arms full with 36 rolls of toilet paper. Talk about standing out! Afterwards, Claire and I could not stop laughing about it.

Shifting Gears

My bike has arrived.

I can’t believe I ever considered not bringing it here. I picked it up at Amtrack yesterday and rode it all over Brooklyn. It was a much better view than I’d been able to see from the subway and I was able to finally grasp the layout of Brooklyn and view city for what it was. The coolest city EVER!

I pedaled through the cutest yuppified babyvilles, to the hippest lanes lined with cafes, to the sketchiest ghettos, and through beautiful tree-filled Prospect Park all within a few miles.

Guess what else… There were NO HILLS. I know! Crazy, right?

One would think that with neighborhoods called “Park Slope” “Brooklyn Heights” and “Boerum Hill” there would at least be a minor grade. Nope. Flat as a 10-yearold girl. It’s a whole new bike-riding experience.

FREE

Note to self: stop Craiglisting drunk.

I came home last night, got on the FREE section of Craigslist.org, Brooklyn and started emailing everyone, offering to take their furniture. I mean, yes, I have a big empty house to move into on Saturday. But do I really need a “FREE Hamilton Beach Juice Extracter”?

I don’t even know what that is. But apparently I’m scheduled to pick it up on Saturday.

Unemployed, Overjoyed

My plan before I left was to hit the ground running. I was going to pound the pavement looking for a job from day one. I was worried that I’d get bored and depressed with nothing to do.

On the contrary, I’m loving it. I haven’t been unemployed for any lengthy amount of time in over six years and you know what? It’s super fun. I love having nothing to do. Granted, it’s only been a week. But so far, what a relief! Every day is a Saturday!

Today I woke up at 11, walked up the block to get some coffee with Itamar, and then we sat on the stoop drinking our coffee and reading the New York Times. I could really get used to this life of leisure.

Maybe I just won’t get a job after all. Now if only I can figure out how to pay the rent…

Goodbye Bay Area

San Francisco and the bay looked unreal from the plane window. Like a beautiful land out of a Tolkien story (plus some skyscrapers). After a stressful week of packing and tearful goodbyes, the earth and sky conspired to give me a more stunning and serene send off than I could have ever hoped for.



As the plane ascended and whispered my last goodbye, I was surprised that I didn’t feel more sad. Instead, I felt fortunate. I felt lucky that I have the means and the ability to start this new adventure. Privileged that I live in a place where people can just pick up and start a new life across the country with nothing but a plane ticket. But most of all, blessed that I have such amazing friends, such a wonderful, loving family and such a beautiful part of the country to come home to.

Good bye Bay Area and everyone in it, you mean so many things to me. I promise I won’t stay away for long. My heart couldn’t stand it, I love you too much.

Title Explanation

When I was little, I used to get the name of New York mixed up. I could never remember if it was “New York” or “You Nork.”

My Aunt Kathy was the one who set me straight. She explained that when you say “You Nork”, it’s like you’re calling someone a “nork” (which I assumed, at 6-years-old, was some sort of dirty word). Since then I’ve been pretty good about it. Although occasionally “You Nork” still slips out.

I’ll have to work on that now that I’m going to be living there; those You Norkers don’t take too kindly to insults.