Still Here

I'm still in NYC. Have been hiding out for a couple of months, working full time at a freelance gig that was only supposed to last 2 to 4 months. Isn't that funny? I've been at it for nearly 4, and I see no end in sight.

I decided it was time for my own office. Sure, I'm not permanent here, but there's no reason that someone with my experience should be sitting in the eqivalent of a hallway/office reception area. One of the senior people at this consulting company just left, so I moved in to his space. I now have a western view of Manhattan. If you stand up, you can almost see the Hudson.

The New House

I'm kind of temporarily here. That's what I kept telling myself for years, but this time I'm sure I mean it.

I've always meant to move out of New York, but since I've packed up once this year to go traveling in the Australasia region for three months, I feel like I can actually pack up and move for good (or at least for a few years.)

But I'm still working here for at least the summer, so I have to have a place to live. And that's why I'm moving into the artist loft, or the the hippie house (what I've been calling it in my head). It's a large loft space, just steps away from where I used to live in Park Slope, and Wendi, the "den mother" (or person on the lease) has set it up as a temporary place for travelers, artists, students and people trying to establish some roots in NY to stay. There's a large space in the middle of the apartment where Wendi is going to be giving Yoga classes, and of course, there are the requisite cats roaming around the apartment. I told some of my friends about the Yoga room, and they were somewhat horrified.

"You're going to have strangers doing Yoga in your house?"

"Um, yeah, I guess so."

I don't know, it sounded pretty good to me. And I thought it would be nice to live with people for a while. I feel like I've been floating around by myself for quite a while and it would be nice to have some people around.

I moved my stuff in yesterday. I was going to just drop my stuff in the room and go back to my old sublet to clean up, but I was greeted by an iguana and two cats on opening the door. Melissa, a biology teacher who was originally living in my room, was apparently staying in there for a couple of days. She rushed over to me and said, "I'm sorry, I'll move my stuff out right now." I told her, no worries. I wasn't staying there tonight anyway.

Seasonal Work

On my way to work this morning, I stop in the bagel store next to my subway stop. I notice that there's still a help wanted sign in the window -- a newer version of the old one put up a few weeks ago, this one written on heavy card stock instead of a paper napkin. The economy must be improving. More people are probably buying morning bagels before work. Which means more people are rushing off to work instead of hanging around their houses collecting unemployment, and more people -- those who do rush off to work -- can afford to buy the morning bagel instead of economizing and eating cereal at home.

I think about how nice it would be to do seasonal work. Working in the bagel store is only fast-paced when you have a line of hungry people in front of your counter. The only things you have to think about are plain or poppy; cream cheese or butter; to stay or to go. Instead of sitting in front of a computer for eight hours a day, you can move around and talk to people; you're exercising on the job.

I pass through the wholesale-merchandise district on the way to work every day. And I think about the other kinds of seasonal work I could be doing.. "umbrella! umbrella!" You can buy 12 umbrellas for 10 bucks at some of these stores. Now I know where all of those rainy-day umbrella sellers come from, popping out on every street corner as soon as a drop of rain falls from the sky.

Subway Series: 1

A pleasant surprise at Carroll Street -- a banjo player near the President St. entrance (and a good one, too). I was not too cheery to be getting on the train at 7:30 am, but he helped me out. I dug into the bottom of my Chinatown bag and gave him some change. He deserved it for a job well done, especially in the sweltering hades-like heat of the summer subway.

It was another sleepy morning on the train. Thankfully, I got a seat -- otherwise I surely would have fallen flat on my face with exhaustion. People either read or napped on each other. When they could, that is -- it was a rather noisy train. Not from the customers talking but from the blaring conductor's speaker.. you could just tell the poor guy was a morning-radio-DJ stuck in the role of subway conductor -- he SO wanted to talk to us, and we so didn't want to listen. He would make announcements not only at each stop but in between stops, thanking us several times for riding New York's MTA and wishing us a pleasant day. It's probably a good thing that no one knew which car he was in because his happy days would be way over had anyone from that train found him.

New York Nights

7/15/02

I meet up with a friend and a friend of a friend for a drink in a bar in a park that is open-air -- only open in the summer. They want to talk to me about my recent adventures in the East and elsewhere. I show them some photos (on request) and we chat and laugh about Bangkok and how hot it can be there at this time of year. It's almost as hot in New York City today.

They leave and I'm on my way home, but I'm hungry because it's late and I still haven't had any sort of dinner -- not any food since around noon or 1 pm at least. I stop in a noodle place, remembering my recent trip, and sit at the counter. I meet a young writer named Marc and we discuss fiction and poetry and what we're currently reading. He's taking a writing class at NYU this summer; I recommend Gotham Writer's Workshop as a good outlet for creative writing and support.

It's getting late for a Monday, and I have to go home and go to bed so that I can get up for work tomorrow. I walk towards the subway. On the way over there, my cell phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Yes?"

"Hello? Who is this?"

"I'm looking for Jesus."

"Who?"

"Um.."

"Yeah, ok. I think you have the wrong number."

"Sorry."

Click.

A moment later, the pay phone next to me rings. I answer it. I hear some breathing and noise in the background that sounds like a party. I hang up the receiver, and keep walking.

I'm almost to the subway when a guy trying to get into an office building stops me.

"Are you going in here?"

"No, I'm going home to Brooklyn."

He's simultaneously talking to me and someone on a cell phone. "Yeah, I'm trying to get into the office to get onto this conference call to Australia." This piques my interest. What kind of business is he doing?

It turns out to be a sports marketing company. Conference calls at 10 pm. I bid him farewell and good luck, and I turn towards the subway.

First Post I walked over the Brooklyn Bridge and back this morning. This is my exercise -- the bridge is my "track" since I no longer have a gym. It's not a necessity in NYC, but it is nice to have the option to work out inside when it's cold outside. Winters here can sometimes be unbearable, though so far, this one is rather mild. So I might just try to live without the gym for now.

I get up at an ungodly 6 am to do this. Well, ok, I've been getting up at 6 am to write in my little black notebook (get my brain working, see what's going on in there, and to get into the habit of writing daily) and then I go over to the bridge and walk for 1/2 hour. It's still dark at this time. But by the time I'm heading back towards my house, I'm heading east and the sun is starting to light up the sky (unless it is too overcast which was the case this morning). Today, the sky was a New England gray, and there were lots of birds in the air. I think it's supposed to rain.