Good bye, 2006

I’ve spent the last two days trying to come up some deep and insightful advice to offer as 2006 draws to a close. It’s been an eventful year for me; in 12 months I’ve had some higher ups and lower downs than many other years combined. I’ve made new friends and I’ve said goodbye to people I’ve loved. I moved across the continent. I experienced difficult endings and happy beginnings.

And, as the countdown to 2007 begins, here is the advice I have to offer from the last twelve months of my life: don't video yourself doing karaoke. It will make you want to never sing ever again. So, dear readers, here is my gift to you. Please never use this for blackmail.



Happy, happy new year,
Audrey

Diary Thursdays - Picture Day

So, I don’t actually have a diary post to put up this week because I’m in my hometown of Berkeley. And my thirteen-year-old journal is back in Brooklyn. I could go through my dad’s attic and find some of my other journals, but I doubt their contents can compare to the wisdom of a thirteen-year-old.

BUT, since I’ve been home, my dad and I have been able to locate some great photos from that time period. Including this one, where I’m actually wearing the fluorescent, splatter-dash crop top mentioned in this post. And apparently no pants. Pants were so uncool in 1989.

The love of a 14-year-old

“Hello?”

“Hi Tyler, I’m out on Jamaal’s porch to pick you up.”

“Okay, I’ll be out in a sec. I’ll meet you in the car.”

“But I’m already on the porch.”

“Yes. And I’ll meet you IN THE CAR.”

"Do I embarrass you that much?”

“See you in the car.”

And I’m supposed to be the cool, older sister. Can’t wait till I have my own kids.

A Christmas Miracle

My brother, Tyler, wanted one thing for Christmas and one thing only: A Bathing Ape (Bape) hoodie.



Yes, I know, I think they’re ugly too. But apparently they’re all the rage with the kids these days. Such the rage that a new one costs $300. No joke. I had to wait in line at the Bape store in New York (the only one in the country) for 15 minutes to find that out.

Luckily, they’re also available on eBay. Unluckily, most of the listings on eBay are fake, which I also found out the hard way – bidding on one for $80, paying the money and then watching the listing get pulled and the account close before I got the item. My three emails to the seller were unreturned. The situation did not look good and I was waiting until after Christmas to call Paypal and attempt to get my money back.

Thus, upon my return home to Berkeley I had to explain to my little brother that he wasn’t getting the hoodie he asked for and he would have to remain tragically unstylish for yet one more year of middle school. Somehow, my makeshift gift of “An afternoon of Quality Time with Your Big Sister” just didn’t measure up.

Christmas morning came and the four of us “kids” (though I’m nearly thirty) tore through our stockings and all the gifts under the tree. Tyler was once again disappointed that he had no Bape hoodie. Though, I’d warned him ahead of time, I think he was hoping I was just trying to throw him off track.

We were cleaning up wrapping paper when we heard the doorbell. Tyler went to answer it and returned carrying a package. He ripped it open and there it was: his Bape hoodie. Loud and ugly as ever. The kid actually smiled as he put it on and zipped it up.

I haven’t believed in Santa for over 20 years, but yesterday made me wonder just a little.

Next goal: Africa!

One of my favorite ways to pass the time (because I'm a dork) is to go online to my little web tracker tool and see who's reading my blog. No, I can't actually see who you are, Bronwyn, Julianne, Renna and Elise. But I can see what city and state you live in. For example, I know that of the people who read my blog yesterday, 58% lived in New York and 36% live in California. So out of all 10 people, that means I have 3.6 readers in Cali. Yay

So where do the rest come from? Well, I know I have readers in Florida, Maryland and Colorado. I have at least one or two readers in Canada, or America Jr. as Homer Simpson likes to call it (there go my Canadian fans). But if you look at the map below, handily provided by Google Maps and statcounter, you will see that I have readers in Brazil, Sweden, China and India!

Granted they've only visited my site once, and I think they stumbled upon it by accident, probably doing a search for "I was on drugs and had sex under the dinosaur fossils" or something (which, by the way, does show You Nork in Google results, but not until the fifth page. THE FIFTH PAGE!)

Still, I like to boast that my writing is appreciated by audiences around the globe, especially those that don't speak English.



A map is also appropriate for today's post because this evening I shall be traveling across it. Back home to the Bay Area, where I hear it's even colder than New York. Looking forward to it. Cali, here I come.

Diary Thursdays - Part 6

Last night, I was flipping through my old journals to choose one for this Diary Thursday and was struck by this entry. Not because it made me laugh, but because it made me sad. Well, except for the fact that I spelled “buggs” with two G’s, that made me laugh. Also the P.S. is funny (guess which kitten is the black one).

But the rest of it made me remember a time when certain feelings were so new and unfamiliar, that I didn’t realize everyone had them. And I didn’t realize that I’d have the same feelings over and over for the rest of my life. And, worst of all, I didn’t realize that it was okay to have them.


Saturday, May 12, 1990 – 13-years-old

I’m depressed. Annie has a “boyfriend.” I don’t know why it buggs me so much. I’m so jealous. It’s not that I like Adam. Definitely not (too short). Maybe it’s because she’s so happy all the time, maybe it’s because I really want a boyfriend, maybe I’m worried Annie will spend too much time with Adam and not enough with me. Maybe it’s all three. Another thing that buggs me is I’m a terrible friend. I always get so jealous. It ruins everything. I wouldn’t blame Annie for hating me. I try to act like I’m happy for her (like I should be) but I think she can tell. I hate being jealous. It’s a terrible feeling. I hate me sometimes.

Audrey

P.S.
Lucy had kittens. Three Siamese and one black. Their names are: Samson, Lancelot, Guinevere and Nelson Mandela.

NOTE: According to the journal, Annie and Adam "broke up" on June 6th. A long-term relationship in those days. Annie, I hear, is now married with kids. And Adam, rumor has it, became a Hare Krishna.

Lunch at Google

Have you heard the tales of the glorious Google campuses? Word has it that they’re magical lands where little elves write code while beautiful fairies dance around them.

I’ve never had the pleasure of visiting the original Googleplex in Mountain View, but I happen to work in the same building as Google in Manhattan. I first figured it out when one of the magical fairies accidentally got off the elevator on our floor and flittered through our office with her sparkling Google wand – performing web searches for everyone in sight.

The California Googleplex is rumored to have eight cafés, a basketball court, a free gym for employees, washers and dryers, massage rooms, a grand piano, roller hockey, a tree that actually grows money and a Fountain of Youth from which all employees can drink freely for immortality.

The smaller office in Manhattan is not quite as impressive, but it does have an amazing café that takes up one floor of our block-sized building. An amazing café that is FREE to employees, and to non-employees that get past the door by flashing the security guard. I, however, was not one of the flashers, at least not yesterday. I was legitimately snuck in by a friend of mine who’s a Google employee.

She gave me the tour of the free organic salad bar, the refrigerator with every beverage every created (free), the ceviche bar (free), the “cuisines of the world” bar (free), the “comfort food” bar (free) and more (and did I mention that everything is free?). Eventually I decided on the tuna tartare, wild grain rice and grilled Alaskan Sea Bass with miso reduction sauce, but not until after I’d juggled Andalusian baked oysters, skated through wasabi mashed potatoes and rolled around naked in rich chocolate mousse.

It was a lunch to be remembered. And also, it was all free. Time to start looking for a job at Google.

Reason #857 why I love Brooklyn

Christmas caroling with the neighborhood association.

These low-res camera phone videos don’t quite do it justice, but hopefully the soundtrack will give you the warm and fuzzies of 40 neighbors raising their amateur, off-key voices in joyous song.

New York, you've done me proud

I was prepared to be disappointed by the Sweater party outfits, but I grossly underestimated New Yorkers' ability for cheesiness. I was blown away by Saturday's showing. It was the most stunning spectacle of glorious gay apparel I have ever witnessed. I know that baby Jesus would have been very pleased by our horrendously colorful tribute to his birth.



As the hostesses, we had to set the example for tacky.



Our four festive finalists.



But Gordon’s the winner in my mind.



What frightens me most is that somewhere in the midwest, people are dressed like this without the irony. Well, maybe not like Gordon.

Camera Phone

Out my window this moment.

Donning gay apparel

Last year around this time, my San Francisco super pals threw a Tacky Holiday Sweater Party. It turned out to be one of the most fun nights I can remember. Every last person showed up decked out in the cheesiest, most festively horrific woolly wonders. Sweaters that glittered and shined, sweaters with 3-D baubles protruding proudly, sweaters that sang Jingle Bells. It was nothing but pure joy.

This weekend, I'm attempting to continue the tradition in New York City. Already I've gotten emails from friends: "Do I have to wear a sweater?" "Do you have one I can borrow?" “Does not wearing a sweater count as wearing a sweater?”

I know you're cool and all because you live in the city that never sleeps, but get with the program, people! If you can’t take the simple steps to find, purchase and then drape a hideously ugly piece of fabric over your chest, well then you just don’t understand the meaning of Christmas. I know I’m not the religious type, but I can assure you that your drab black and grey attire upsets Baby Jesus.

So this Saturday night is a test. Can New York match San Francisco in pure dork-out, don’t-care, anything-to-have-a-good-time-with-my-friends-iness. OR are New Yorkers just too cool for a little crazy cashmere?

Results and pictures to follow next week.

Diary Thursdays - Part 5

Wednesday, January 3, 1990, 12 years old

There's this boy in my science class who likes me and he asked me to “go” with him. Now, you have to understand the meaning of “going with someone.” Actually, I'm not even sure what it means. I think you just go around saying that you go with this person but you don't really do anything. His name is Noah and I've never spoken to him in my life. In fact, he sent his friend over to ask me if I would go with him and I said “Sure, I guess.” But I don't know if he was really serious because he still hasn't said a word to me.

Funny how my dating life hasn't really changed all that much over time. Oh wait, not funny, sad.

Night owl

Why is it impossible for me to wake up in the morning? Even if I get in bed early (which is a joke because I can never fall asleep until 1am anyhow) and even if I don't have to be at work until 10am, I am physically incapable of getting out of bed until five minutes after I was supposed to leave for work. This is why I show up to the office daily with uncombed hair, unbrushed teeth and pillow creases still branded pinkly and painfully into my cheek.

I have a number of theories of why this is so. One involves the gravitational pull of the earth being particularly strong directly under my bed between 7 and 10am every morning. Since I have moved many times and this is an issue everywhere I’ve ever lived – LA, San Fran, Scotland and New York – this means that the gravitational pull moves around with me. Crazy thing, science.

Another theory is that I am just, by nature, a snoozer. No matter when I set my alarm for, I snooze until exactly 9:25am (5 minutes after when I should have left for the subway). That means I can get from 20 minutes of snoozing to 1 hour of snoozing. Again, crazy science.

My last theory is that I am, in fact, on time and the rest of the world is just early. This is my favorite theory, and the one I’m going to stick with. Soon the rest of the population will get their shit together and realize that the 11am-8pm work day is where it’s at, and everyone is currently just wasting precious morning sleep.

Until that day comes, I will hold firm to my belief that the only time anyone should ever see the sunrise is when they’re still up from the night before.

Been busy

I realize that my blogging has been lacking recently, and I apologize. But it’s not entirely my fault. See, there are two reasons:

1. Work is making me work. What’s up with that? They think just because they pay me, I have to sit at my desk all day and write for them? I guess so. And that leaves little time for my own personal creativity.

2. When I started this blog, I vowed that I was going to keep discussion of drinking, sex, drugs, and rock and roll to a minimum, seeing as my family reads this. (God forbid the rock and roll). But since that’s pretty much all my weekend entailed, that leaves me with nothing to report. I’m just kidding, Mom. (No, I’m really not). Yes, Mom, I really am.

Actually, I did go to the Museum of Natural History on Saturday, that was fun and cultural. Granted I was on drugs and had sex under the dinosaur fossils, but, still… cultural.

So THAT'S why I have friends

I bet Paris hangs out with Britney Spears because she is so wacked out of her mind, that it makes Paris look moderately normal. I get it, I mean, that's why I hang out with Audrey." - Carolyn N., 2006

Now it all makes sense.

Feels like 12??

“How do you like it now?”

“Um, how do I like what now?”

“Winter.”

“Oh. I'm enjoying it.”

“Liar liar pants on fire. No, seriously, set your pants on fire, it helps.”

Itamar’s got a point. Here’s today’s weather report:

A good example for his daughters

Unfortunately, I left my diary at home today, so Diary Thursdays will have to be pushed to Friday. I know you’re all SO disappointed and were looking forward to this all week, you’ll just to have to wait one more day. And Travis, I’m working on that picture of Audrey the 13-year-old for you. Dad – can you find a good picture of me from the late 80’s/early 90’s and scan it for me?

And speaking of Dad, he says he likes it when I write about him in my blog. So let me tell you a little something about my dad.

My dad is one of the few people I know that managed to turn his passion into a profession. For that, among many other things, I will always respect him. He’s loved photography since his first camera when he was 14 (is that right, dad?). Since then, he’s built up his own photography company and is now, in my opinion, one of the most talented photographers in the Bay Area. This is just a hypothesis, but I think his photography got so good because he had such a fabulous model at his disposal.


Audrey, age 3.

Some of my favorite memories as a child take place in the glowing red light of the darkroom with my dad. The smells of the developing chemicals are the scents of my childhood. That’s why I am thankful that digital photography wasn’t popular until after I left for college. He now works only in digital, which allows him to capture beautiful moments like this one:



My dad also tells funny jokes. He also tells not funny jokes. But he never leaves a message on my voice mail that doesn’t make me smile. A few weeks ago, he left a message that said “Having the puppy around the house brings back fond memories of taking care of you as a baby. Only the puppy is much smarter.” He later called back to apologize, but I wasn’t offended. How can I compare with this:



You can click here for more of my dad’s work. As you can see, I’m very proud of him.

No humor on the subway

Random Girl On Subway: [looking up from book] Are you wearing perfume?

Me: No.

R.G.O.S.: Oh, something smells really good.

Me: It could be me.

R.G.O.S.: (blink)

Me: Maybe I just have a lovely natural scent.

R.G.O.S.: (blink, blink) [returns to reading book]

The Brooklyn Botanic Gardens

Here are some of my favorite shots that I captured with Roy the other day.

Who knew the gardens would have...

Fish in the branches.



Magical purple berries.



Giants amidst the trees.

40 degrees

It’s official, Winter is here. And New York is coooold.

I would like to thank Al Gore for the extra month of warm weather in November. But that, alas, is over. It’s fun though – watching the crowds hurry by in their stylish coats and hats. Always stylish, those New Yorkers.

I like the cold; it makes coffee that much warmer and soup for lunch that much more enjoyable. It makes my bed that much cozier and the holiday decorations that much more appropriate.

Soon I’ll have to start lighting the fireplace in my bedroom (and I don’t mean that metaphorically, I really have a fireplace in my bedroom).

And if you've already experienced an East Coast winter, you can keep your "This? This is nothing. It get's a lot worse, just wait and see" comments to yourself. I'm sure I'll be just fine.

In which I used the word "doffed"

It's come to my attention that my workouts are getting shorter and shorter. That's partially due to the fact that work is getting busier and busier. But mostly because I'm finding the gym boringer and boringer.

Seriously, going to the gym is about as interesting as going to the movies. Only, instead of eating popcorn you lift dumbbells up and down. And instead of watching a movie, you watch sweaty people in spandex.

I've lost the drive. So, instead of stopping when I'm done, I stop when I'm bored. In other words, I now count putting on my gym clothes as working out.

Just now at lunch, I ran across the street to the gym, found a locker, doffed my slacks and sweater, donned my sports bra and Lululemon pants, sat there for a couple minutes, and then changed back and returned to the office (stopping at the café to buy lunch).

Well, that was a good workout. I must've burned at least ten calories lifting that sweater over my head. And the stairs down to the locker room are fairly steep.

I'm sooo in shape.

They don’t teach the bible in public school

Me: Chad, I like your T-shirt – Noah’s arc sinking and all the animals in lifeboats. Cute.

Chad: Thanks. Did you notice the unicorn drowning in the middle?

Me: Oh shit, you’re right. So sad – no unicorns for the new world.

Cate: Uh, the new world?

Me: Yeah, ‘cause Noah was sailing to explore the new world – oh... no, wait…. that’s not right.

Cate: Yes Audrey, the Pinta, the Santa Maria and Noah’s Arc.