Who puts Baby in a corner?

The answer, as any girl who ever wanted to make out with a boy at summer camp, any girl who ever wanted to tango with a man from the wrong side of the tracks, any girl who felt like her father just didn’t understand, and any girl who practiced moving her hips to the rhythm in a suggestive and “dirty” way could tell you, is a resounding NOBODY!

Nobody puts Baby in a corner. Why? Because Patrick Swayzee, aka Johnny, said so. And he’s still saying so, twenty years after Dirty Dancing was first released in theatres.

I’ve watched this movie dozens, possibly hundreds of times in the last two decades. Some may disagree, but try as I might, I can’t find one single flaw with the film. It’s perfect beginning to end.

If there’s anything better than watching your favorite film on it’s 20th anniversary, it’s watching it outdoors on a lovely New York night next to the Hudson River with hundreds of other fans that agree with you.

I give you the best scene in the best movie ever:

Zootiful

When I first moved to New York, I made a list of all the touristy things I wanted to do while I’m here. I’m happy to report that with all my recent free time as an unemployed freelancer, I’ve checked off each and every one. Yesterday I enjoyed the medieval artwork, architecture and lovely Hudson views at the Cloisters. The day before, I threw a penny off the Empire States Building (that’s a joke). And today was ZOODAY!

I’d been meaning to go to the Bronx Zoo forever and today I finally made it. It was a zoo – lions, tigers, bears, snakes, alligators – the animals mostly just sit there and look pretty. But then there were the primates. I could’ve watched them groom each other for hours.

Anyone who doesn’t believe in evolution needs to take a trip down to the Bronx Zoo to see the gorilla enclosure. Humans can learn a lot from these majestic cousins of ours. Just look into their eyes. Both wordly and peaceful. Silently intelligent. And the have no qualms about touching themselves in public. Seriously though, check out this shot that I got today. The gorillas were amazing.

Beep beeeeeeeeep

Honking. I don’t see the appeal, but the New Yorkers sure do seem to enjoy it. Will it get the taxi cab in front of them to drive any faster? Probably not. Will it move the delivery truck that’s positioned itself exactly in the middle of the street? Doubtful. And yet, New York City is alive with the sound of millions of drivers pounding out a steady rhythm or worse, the prolonged leans on the horn.

The cabbies, the truck drivers, the chauffeurs, and the regular folks just on their way home from work feel compelled to let the local residents, the old ladies watching Jeopardy, the babies that just went down for a nap, the writers at their computers and the trendy-mix dogs waiting at the windows know that they are mad.

Meanwhile I sit at my open window, contemplating what I would do had I the speed, agility and courage to leap from my chair and administer the appropriate punishment. A knife to the tire, perhaps? A swift smack on the head (if I could fool them into rolling down their window)? I fantasize about shock collars, pepper spray, a spiked anklet that automatically tightens with each shrill sounding of the wearer’s horn. Anything to stop the noise.

Who knew road rage could occur in the comfort of your own bedroom?

Don’t get me wrong

I think it’s super that Brooklyn has such an active recycling program. I find it inspiring that a truck comes by to collect everyone’s discarded paper, cans and loud clanky bottles multiple times a week. It’s just fabulous that they pick the recycling off the street and toss the bottle-filled bags so that they crash against all the other bottles that are already lying in the back of a truck with an engine like a fucking jackhammer. But do they HAVE to do it at 7:30am???

I have absolutely no idea

I know I wrote about the weather on Friday, but seriously, such an incredible change in the city. It’s like someone was holding New York hostage for the last four months and they just gave it back. Every New Yorker has emerged from their huddling indoors to play frisbee in the park, lay in the grass with friends and just generally soak up the rays. Like Itamar says, when the sun comes out, so do the boobies. Sundresses, tank tops, bikinis. In Central Park today, girls were just hanging out in their bras and underwear.

For those people that chose to wear clothes outdoors, it was their first chance to show off their new summer wardrobes. As I headed up Madison Avenue toward the park, I admired the lacy dresses, the strappy heeled sandals and bright-colored skirts that surrounded me.

Then there was me. I was dressed in my thrown-together summer garb – a five-year old tank from Old Navy, a skirt that looks like it’s made of terry cloth, my $10 sunglasses from Chinatown and my Reef flipflops that are pretty much worn through to the sidewalk. Basically, I was in a hurry when I left the house and threw on the first warm-weather clothes I could find.

As I was admiring all the fashionable ladies on Madison Ave, one of them came up to me on her tiny heels. “Excuse me, do you know where the Coach Boutique is?”

At first I thought she was making fun of my bulky messenger bag, but then I realized she was serious. In the midst of all the made up, fancy-pursed fashionable ladies on Madison, she thought I might know where the Coach Boutique is. Does anyone else think that’s weird?

Spring Sprang Sprung

Is it possible? Can it actually be true? A month after the “first day of spring,” weeks after daylight savings, and long after Mr. Jesus woke up from that cross of his and hid Easter eggs for all the boys and girls, spring has finally found its way to New York City.



This means one thing: outdoor beers. But it also means that it’s time to dust off the old helmet, coax the bike out of the musty garage where it's been hibernating all winter, and take it for a long ride through Brooklyn.



Ah, the sweet sweet smell of spring.

Teen mom

I haven’t done Diary Thursdays in a while. And I’m not going to do one this week either, but I will do an Old Picture Thursday. These are of me as a teenage mom.





I’m just kidding, that’s me and my little sister, Katie. I’ll tell you what cracks me up about these photos. Look at my outfit. Purple and denim in both pics – summer version and fall version. It’s like a uniform for different seasons. I’m not commenting on the horridness of the cut-offs, they make me physically ill. And the hair that I clearly crimped by sleeping with it in braids.

Fortitude

This afternoon, on my way home from the gym, I called Itamar to ask if he wanted to come over to help me build a fort. He didn’t. In fact, he asked if I’d lost my mind. But hey, it’s hard to entertain yourself when you have no job, the weather’s shite, and you’re watching your bank account slowly dwindle.

I figured with the big pillows on Cate’s couch, six wooden chairs and my top sheet, we could make a pretty awesome fortress. Plus, I was inspired by this dude: “Let us frolic in my totally dope blanket fort.” If he lived any closer than Chicago, I’d totally send him an email. Have I mentioned how much I love Craigslist?

Skeptical

After getting my eyebrows shaped* last week, I noticed something strange. The woman arched my left eyebrow a little higher than my left. It’s very subtle, but when combined with a certain expression, I look like I’m in a constant state of skepticism.

I kind of like it. I think it makes me more intriguing, particularly with people who have never met me. I appear as if I’m sharing an inside joke with myself. “Oh really, 3rd street is to the left, is it? Okay, if that’s what you think.”

*For my hippy, Berkeley audience, this means that I pay a woman money to wax, twease and snip the hairs on my brow until I look more like Ernie than Bert. Yes mom, I endure pain to adhere to false standards of beauty. I also get bikini waxes. You can disown me now.

42nd street and Lexington

A brief trip to Corporate America this morning reconfirmed what I knew was true all along.

I. Don’t. Want. To. Return. There.

After giving my ID to the uniformed man behind reception and making my way through the turnstyle, I stood and gazed at the elevator options. 1-12. 14-26. 27-40. As I read each set of numbers, I could feel my soul slowly slipping out of the bottom of my high-heeled job interview shoes.

Yes, I realize this happens to everyone when they return from an exciting vacation where they’re outside every day, galloping up glaciers and frolicking with colorful sea creatures. But really, there’s gotta be another way. Even if I do end up working for a company that supports the capitalistic world of consumerism in which we live, can’t it be somewhere that doesn’t ooze commercial carpeting from every long, overly-lit hallway?

Today I was thinking back to my job in San Francisco. If a visitor could make it past the dogs slobbering on their pant leg at the front door, they were welcome. That’s my kind of security, and the kind of company I’d like to work for. Do those places exist in New York? I’m sure they do, and I’m going to find them.

A pretty day in DUMBO

Something about kids playing in the sun always warms my little heart.



And kids throwing rocks.



Ever notice that "stop" backwards is "pots"?

Family in town

I’m trying not to take too personally the fact that I got blatantly rejected by my little brother yesterday. After all, I too was young once. I can remember what it’s like to be a 14-year-old African-American lad. Anyone over 18 is painfully uncool. And if you’re white and related, well, you may as well play Dungeons and Dragons and wear headgear.

And I’m sure when he texted “I’m hanging wid my friends. Don’t come by,” He meant it with complete love and respect.

I mean, I could understand if I was his parent, or a dorky aunt, but I’m supposed to be the cool older sister. But I’m not bitter. I know he’ll grow out of it… some day. My step-dad emailed me some old family photos recently. I’ve entitled this one “Back when he still thought I was cool."



(Notice that I am wearing my favroite tie-dye dolphin shirt pictured here. And he thought I was cool then??)

In search of eggs

They should deliver room service to apartments. I don’t mean Chinese take-out or anything. I mean real room service – Eggs Benedict and on a plate covered by a metal lid, freshly-squeezed orange juice and a latte. On a tray. In my bed. Delivered by a nice man in a white coat and bowtie. Is that really so much to ask?

I’m now faced with the fact that it’s 1pm, it’s raining outside and I’m starving. It looks like I’m going to have to get out of bed in search of eggs. I don’t think I have any in the fridge, which means I may even have to leave the house. And that brings up a whole nother set of obstacles, like putting on pants. When did life get so difficult?

Clearly, being unemployed is making me lazy. It's only been a week and already I'm sleeping till noon and using words like "nother." Somebody needs to hire me soon before I buy a Playstation and disappear from the civilized world entirley.

Life of leisure

It took me some time to adjust to new routine. This routine of the unemployed. For the first few days I was stricken with a harsh case of post-vacation blues. Then I was bored and a little overwhelmed by the lack of planned activity. But now, I think I’m getting used to it. In fact, I like it. I see these nothing-filled days as valuable practice for when I marry a rich oil tycoon and lounge by our pool all day, reading magazines and eating foie gras. Only now I’m reading blogs and eating gefilte fish (it was on sale at the supermarket).

I find it helps if I make lists of what I need to get accomplished each day. That way I can feel productive as I steadily cross off each goal on my notepad as it’s achieved. It doesn’t matter that my goals sometimes include “brush hair” or “email Roy,” the point is that I’ve completed a task and I can feel good about it. Plus, you’d be surprised how quickly the day passes when you wake up each morning at 11:30.

Album up!

I’ve finally put all my pictures up online and given them all captions. It took me a week, but it's done.

The good news: I’ve narrowed them down to 20%. The bad news: when you start with over a thousand photos, that’s still 200 left. But it was just so pretty, I couldn’t stop shooting. Don’t worry, they’re all masterpieces. Like this:



And this:



And anyway, what else are you doing right now? Working? Click here to see them all!

P.S.
You don't have to join to see the photos, just click "VIEW SLIDESHOW."

Watch Animal Planet!

My masterpiece is complete. Following is a short montage of some of the videos I took while in Australia and New Zealand. Okay, I’ll be honest; it looks like a poorly shot ad for Animal Planet. But what’s exciting to me is that I shot all this footage, which lets me recall vividly my experiences getting up close and personal with all these amazing animals, just like the late, great Steve Irwin. Although none of the animals I played with were nearly as deadly. Except maybe that Tasmanian devil, but he’s in a pen.

Most of this was done with my digital camera (it’s hard to hold still when you zoom in) and the pics of the dolphins were shot with an underwater disposable camera. Also, that giant tail you see, that’s a sperm whale. Please enjoy the animals of the sea, land and sky. In roughly that order – seals and surfers kind of fit under two categories.

Traveler Mentality

Two days after arriving home, I’m reluctantly unpacking. Here’s what I miss most about traveling – the person that I become when I’m on the road. Or maybe it’s just that different aspects of my personality are accentuated when I’m traveling alone.

When I’m in a new city where I know no one, I see everyone I meet as a potential friend, a possible source of valuable information, or at least someone to hang out with for the afternoon. When I’m in New York, my blinders go up. My shield of “I already have friends, I don’t need to get to know the person sitting next to me on the subway.” But why not? I’m sure New York has many interesting people to meet.

So here’s my goal, bring Traveling Audrey home. Stay open to meeting new people. Even if they’re not cute. You never know who could be your next best friend.

Back in Brooklyn

Going from flipflops to boots overnight is a jarring transition. But, rain and chilly wind aside, it’s good to be back in New York City. Seeing friends and family in Berkeley was a good buffer between vacation and returning home to my messy desk, unopened mail and dirty laundry. Not to mention the special surprise desktop photo that my roommates and their naked friends lovingly left on my laptop. I’m not going to go into details, but let’s just say that I can never look at my Kermit doll the same way again.

As hard as it is to return from vacation. I have to say that returning to no job, no responsibility and no have-to’s makes it much easier. Except for opening my mail, cleaning up my room and doing my laundry, I have not a care in the world. Though there is that whole pesky find a job thing. But first, I’m going to spend the next three days uploading all my photos and videos and paring them down from 1,134 to a reasonable 567 for everyone to look at. I know you’re on the edge of your proverbial seats.