I can't help it. I am so disappointed by John McCain. I was never going to vote for him anyway, but I was pleased to see a presidential race with a few candidates who had integrity. McCain was a little more socially liberal than Bush and far less economically terrifying.
Then came Sarah Palin. A woman who proves that the GOP doesn't give a damn about the state of the nation. They are running a popularity contest. Shit, if we're doing that, the Dems should appoint George Clooney. He has about as much experience and is certainly as hot. I mean, the man has directed films before, which involves overseeing thousands of employees...and damn it, at least HE has been overseas.
I am not angry because th GOP managed to find the ONE woman who is not even woman friendly (really? NO ABORTION IN THE CASE OF RAPE?), but I am mad because they are treating the election of the second highest office in the land as a fucking JOKE.
Let's do the math. 9 VPs have taken over in the case of death or resignation. That is a solid 20%. There has not been a VP take over in the last 5 or 6 presidents. So we're due. There is a 25% chance that Sarah Palin will be president.
And then we're fucked. And then the GOP can see that a BEAUTY QUEEN cannot be president. No matter what. You pick Liberman, hell, if you'd picked Liberman I may have even voted Republican. But you made a serious election into a farce.
Thanks.
Wednesday, September 17, 2008
Saturday, June 14, 2008
Sell your cleverness and purchase wonder
"Sell your cleverness and purchase wonder" My best friend wrote that to me.
I say this a lot, and I will say it again. New York is a HARD city to live in, yet my most delicious, beautiful moments, the ones that prove to me that humanity is WORTH it, are all here.
Just a few of my faves:
A few years ago, I am walking through Central Park with Kimmie. We end up at Bethesda Terrace, which looks like this:
well, that is the fountain in the center anyway. And there is a woman with an old school little typewriter, selling Haikus on demand for $1. You give her $1, she comes up with a Haiku. A GOOD Haiku, mind you. Where else does that happen? Where else does a young woman, with a dear old typewriter, write you a Haiku? FOR A DOLLAR?
So a few weeks ago I end a tour. My driver offers to drop me off at 125th St. I say, no, 96th is fine. He insists. I say OK. DAMN IT. The uptown 1 train is SKIPPING 125th St. I have to take the 1 train DOWNTOWN to 96th and THEN come uptown. Really? I hate you MTA.
I do so. Better than the shuttle bus alternative. I get on the train. A little old man, black with a WHITE beard, possibly homeless, certainly on the fringe's of society is FEVERISHLY sketching a young Jewish man (Yarmulke and all) opposite him. His hands are covered in pencil lead and charcoal, he moves quickly and accurately. Everyone on the train is rapt. The young man does not acknowledge he is being drawn, but he knows it. The only time the old man acknowledges it is when the young man moves too far forward and the old man gestures for him to sit back. He finishes it before we get to 96th. I almost stay on the train to see what might come next. It certainly is tempting.
Yesterday I was sitting, when a woman got on with her three children. I stood so one of them could sit, but the train lurched forward, and as I caught this little 3 year old boy, a man reached out and caught me around the waist and arm. We both smiled. Then he and I both grabbed an arm, set this child in his seat, I sat back down, and we moved on.
That all there is. Sometimes there are no words spoken. Often, the beauty in this world is where you do not look for it. Screw the damn roses; open your heart to beauty of every kind. Someone giving up their seat. Someone drawing, and keeping a train full of people silent and attentive, a man making a box for himself (in Central Park) crafting and whittling and sanding by hand. A child squealing with delight when another child gets on a train.
It is too easy to get cynical. And, believe me, I have days of getting very cynical. But there is a time to stop it, and find the bare beauty in the world. Close your eyes. Breathe in. Open your eyes. And see all things new.
I say this a lot, and I will say it again. New York is a HARD city to live in, yet my most delicious, beautiful moments, the ones that prove to me that humanity is WORTH it, are all here.
Just a few of my faves:
A few years ago, I am walking through Central Park with Kimmie. We end up at Bethesda Terrace, which looks like this:
well, that is the fountain in the center anyway. And there is a woman with an old school little typewriter, selling Haikus on demand for $1. You give her $1, she comes up with a Haiku. A GOOD Haiku, mind you. Where else does that happen? Where else does a young woman, with a dear old typewriter, write you a Haiku? FOR A DOLLAR?So a few weeks ago I end a tour. My driver offers to drop me off at 125th St. I say, no, 96th is fine. He insists. I say OK. DAMN IT. The uptown 1 train is SKIPPING 125th St. I have to take the 1 train DOWNTOWN to 96th and THEN come uptown. Really? I hate you MTA.
I do so. Better than the shuttle bus alternative. I get on the train. A little old man, black with a WHITE beard, possibly homeless, certainly on the fringe's of society is FEVERISHLY sketching a young Jewish man (Yarmulke and all) opposite him. His hands are covered in pencil lead and charcoal, he moves quickly and accurately. Everyone on the train is rapt. The young man does not acknowledge he is being drawn, but he knows it. The only time the old man acknowledges it is when the young man moves too far forward and the old man gestures for him to sit back. He finishes it before we get to 96th. I almost stay on the train to see what might come next. It certainly is tempting.
Yesterday I was sitting, when a woman got on with her three children. I stood so one of them could sit, but the train lurched forward, and as I caught this little 3 year old boy, a man reached out and caught me around the waist and arm. We both smiled. Then he and I both grabbed an arm, set this child in his seat, I sat back down, and we moved on.
That all there is. Sometimes there are no words spoken. Often, the beauty in this world is where you do not look for it. Screw the damn roses; open your heart to beauty of every kind. Someone giving up their seat. Someone drawing, and keeping a train full of people silent and attentive, a man making a box for himself (in Central Park) crafting and whittling and sanding by hand. A child squealing with delight when another child gets on a train.
It is too easy to get cynical. And, believe me, I have days of getting very cynical. But there is a time to stop it, and find the bare beauty in the world. Close your eyes. Breathe in. Open your eyes. And see all things new.
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
Stress Ball
I am a STRESS BALL.
There are a lot of things going on now, too many too count, not the least of which is trying to figure out getting to London, subletting my place, finding a couch in London...I am SO STRESSED. Wanna know how I know? Most people just know. I am good at ignoring stress, dealing with the problems, and then things eventually go away. I cope very well. I assess, troubleshoot, and approach the situation with a calm that is the envy of my friends (unless there is someone around better at that than I am, and then I indulge my panic factor). The only way I know if something truly affects me is if I cannot sleep.
I sleep. I am a sleeper. If sleeping were an Olympic Sport, I could sleep, and win the gold, for the USA. I could. Seriously. Second only to the theatre is my passion for sleep. Sleep on planes, trains, automobiles (you had to know I was going to go there), sleep on couches, sleep standing up, on a hardwood floor, outside...you get the picture. NOTHING comes between me and my sleep, and when I don't sleep, I get cranky.
I have not been sleeping. I tossed and turned ALL Saturday night, and last night, again, barely eeking out a few hours.
This is going to kill me before I get to London. And I am NOT coping well. There are other things goings on as well which serve to exacerbate the issue, but, generally, this thing in London is stressing me out.
"Why do it?", you ask. Because I love Francis and it is GREAT for my career. Not everything can come easy to us in life (indeed, very little has come easy to me in life, with the exception of a modicum of intelligence). Ugh.
Well, I am going to go back to work. And then home to sleep. Wish me luck.
There are a lot of things going on now, too many too count, not the least of which is trying to figure out getting to London, subletting my place, finding a couch in London...I am SO STRESSED. Wanna know how I know? Most people just know. I am good at ignoring stress, dealing with the problems, and then things eventually go away. I cope very well. I assess, troubleshoot, and approach the situation with a calm that is the envy of my friends (unless there is someone around better at that than I am, and then I indulge my panic factor). The only way I know if something truly affects me is if I cannot sleep.
I sleep. I am a sleeper. If sleeping were an Olympic Sport, I could sleep, and win the gold, for the USA. I could. Seriously. Second only to the theatre is my passion for sleep. Sleep on planes, trains, automobiles (you had to know I was going to go there), sleep on couches, sleep standing up, on a hardwood floor, outside...you get the picture. NOTHING comes between me and my sleep, and when I don't sleep, I get cranky.
I have not been sleeping. I tossed and turned ALL Saturday night, and last night, again, barely eeking out a few hours.
This is going to kill me before I get to London. And I am NOT coping well. There are other things goings on as well which serve to exacerbate the issue, but, generally, this thing in London is stressing me out.
"Why do it?", you ask. Because I love Francis and it is GREAT for my career. Not everything can come easy to us in life (indeed, very little has come easy to me in life, with the exception of a modicum of intelligence). Ugh.
Well, I am going to go back to work. And then home to sleep. Wish me luck.
Friday, May 30, 2008
Work Work Work
First of all, I apologize for not keeping up with my blog. It is unfair.
I have launched a website for my tour company: www.strangetoursnyc.com and a new blog for it: strangetoursnyc.blogspot.com. I hope to see you on there!
I will update much more regularly, I promise.
I hate my job. Sort of. This isn't really news, a lot of people hate their jobs. I love the people I work with (all 2 of them on a regular basis and 4 when the office is crowded). I am an assistant of sorts, although there is barely enough work to keep me remotely interested. I am an intelligent person, and the work has to be at a certain level or I screw up. Challenge me by either giving me so many tasks I cannot see straight, or by giving me a few difficult tasks, bu if you give me one, tedious, repetitive, boring task, I will fail. It will not challenge me, my mind will wander, and my otherwise sharp attention to detail will falter.
I have been doing the MOST tedious of tasks for a long while. Yesterday I screwed up. My fault. I get that, totally and COMPLETELY my fault. So the guy I work for tells me I screwed up, I say that I know. I apologize, I was able to avert the crisis. But instead of him saying, "Look, you fucked up and now I need for you to triple check your work" he tells OUR boss, who then tells him, in private, to check my work. So, I will call him Guy A, so Guy A tells Boss this. Why? So he can be a martyr and do more work? So he can have something to bitch about? So he can make sure he is the ONLY person in the office Boss trusts? I don;t care if Boss know. I FUCKED UP, I get that, but what I CARE about is, they did not come to me and say "You fucked up, fix it" they went to each other, agreed that I need to be DOUBLE CHECKED like a FOURTH GRADER, and then told me. PS I was not supposed to know that Guy A was double checking my work.
It was utterly humiliating. At the end of the day, I work for a two person boys club, and there is no room for me there. I love them both, but the only times ever in my life I have suffered work humiliations, of the three times, twice have been at this job.
It is time for me to look for new part time work.
I know I screwed up, but allow ME the chance to atone for it. DO NOT undermine me and humiliate me.
I have launched a website for my tour company: www.strangetoursnyc.com and a new blog for it: strangetoursnyc.blogspot.com. I hope to see you on there!
I will update much more regularly, I promise.
I hate my job. Sort of. This isn't really news, a lot of people hate their jobs. I love the people I work with (all 2 of them on a regular basis and 4 when the office is crowded). I am an assistant of sorts, although there is barely enough work to keep me remotely interested. I am an intelligent person, and the work has to be at a certain level or I screw up. Challenge me by either giving me so many tasks I cannot see straight, or by giving me a few difficult tasks, bu if you give me one, tedious, repetitive, boring task, I will fail. It will not challenge me, my mind will wander, and my otherwise sharp attention to detail will falter.
I have been doing the MOST tedious of tasks for a long while. Yesterday I screwed up. My fault. I get that, totally and COMPLETELY my fault. So the guy I work for tells me I screwed up, I say that I know. I apologize, I was able to avert the crisis. But instead of him saying, "Look, you fucked up and now I need for you to triple check your work" he tells OUR boss, who then tells him, in private, to check my work. So, I will call him Guy A, so Guy A tells Boss this. Why? So he can be a martyr and do more work? So he can have something to bitch about? So he can make sure he is the ONLY person in the office Boss trusts? I don;t care if Boss know. I FUCKED UP, I get that, but what I CARE about is, they did not come to me and say "You fucked up, fix it" they went to each other, agreed that I need to be DOUBLE CHECKED like a FOURTH GRADER, and then told me. PS I was not supposed to know that Guy A was double checking my work.
It was utterly humiliating. At the end of the day, I work for a two person boys club, and there is no room for me there. I love them both, but the only times ever in my life I have suffered work humiliations, of the three times, twice have been at this job.
It is time for me to look for new part time work.
I know I screwed up, but allow ME the chance to atone for it. DO NOT undermine me and humiliate me.
Monday, February 4, 2008
Modern Art
As I mentioned in my previous posts, I am really learning to love moder/contemporary art. My favorite gallery is here:
http://www.operagallery.com/art-gallery/NEW-YORK_3.aspx
While it is a snobby New York Gallery, in the fact that unless they smell money they won't give you the time of day, the art is incredible. What I have discovered is the fact that with abstract stuff, the interpretation is really more up to you. It is really about the emotion that it evokes in you and how your emotions differ from the person next to you looking at the same art. the same can certainly be said for all art; even Monet has people who don;t always like his stuff, but with Monet it is what it says. Water Lillies. No interpretation needed. I am beginning to adore the painting of raw emotion. The broad streaks across a canvas that can be lust or hatred or a streetscape. Impossible to tell, yet impossible to ignore.
When I was 16 I spent the summer in New York. A friend of the family took me to an art gallery of a friend of hers. I should say Studio, it was this woman's studio. I was unimpressed. I had no idea what I was looking at and it made no sense to me. It frustrated me. I wanted it to be the David, an obvious work, but it wasn't. Do you know that 14 years later, I can STILL recall every piece of art I saw in her studio? 14 years later. I may not have understood it then, but when I understand now is that it stayed with me. I still have those images burned in my brain, even though I had no idea what I was seeing.
I have discovered that I love the discovery. That the openness of the piece is what speaks to me. The fact that you cannot tell me what it is because it is not a thing, but rather an ephemeral and fleeting moment. And I may come back to it and feel something entirely different.
I feel so adult now!
Oh, and I love this whimsical gallery:
http://www.animazing.com/
http://www.operagallery.com/art-gallery/NEW-YORK_3.aspx
While it is a snobby New York Gallery, in the fact that unless they smell money they won't give you the time of day, the art is incredible. What I have discovered is the fact that with abstract stuff, the interpretation is really more up to you. It is really about the emotion that it evokes in you and how your emotions differ from the person next to you looking at the same art. the same can certainly be said for all art; even Monet has people who don;t always like his stuff, but with Monet it is what it says. Water Lillies. No interpretation needed. I am beginning to adore the painting of raw emotion. The broad streaks across a canvas that can be lust or hatred or a streetscape. Impossible to tell, yet impossible to ignore.
When I was 16 I spent the summer in New York. A friend of the family took me to an art gallery of a friend of hers. I should say Studio, it was this woman's studio. I was unimpressed. I had no idea what I was looking at and it made no sense to me. It frustrated me. I wanted it to be the David, an obvious work, but it wasn't. Do you know that 14 years later, I can STILL recall every piece of art I saw in her studio? 14 years later. I may not have understood it then, but when I understand now is that it stayed with me. I still have those images burned in my brain, even though I had no idea what I was seeing.
I have discovered that I love the discovery. That the openness of the piece is what speaks to me. The fact that you cannot tell me what it is because it is not a thing, but rather an ephemeral and fleeting moment. And I may come back to it and feel something entirely different.
I feel so adult now!
Oh, and I love this whimsical gallery:
http://www.animazing.com/
Great Art is Sometimes on the Sidewalk
I love art. I have recently discovered that I truly enjoy modern/contemporary art. Not all of it, grant you. That jackass who painted a round canvas green and got the Centre Pompidou in France to hang it (and the accompanying square and triangle canvases) pisses me off. But generally, I am really learning to open up and love art that is not "something." Don't get me wrong, I will always love me some Michaelangelo and Gustav Dore, but wandering through SoHo galleries I can really being to love other art.
This is not about that. This is abut a guy who does Sistine Chapel reconstructions on the sidewalks of NYC. I see them everywhere. These beautifully detailed works of art. And I just found out he is a Palestinian. And I just found out he collaborates with an Israeli. Well, he paints and the Israeli contracts him sometimes. See? The world is not total shit after all.
http://www.thevillager.com/villager_5/israeliandpalestinian.html
This is not about that. This is abut a guy who does Sistine Chapel reconstructions on the sidewalks of NYC. I see them everywhere. These beautifully detailed works of art. And I just found out he is a Palestinian. And I just found out he collaborates with an Israeli. Well, he paints and the Israeli contracts him sometimes. See? The world is not total shit after all.
http://www.thevillager.com/villager_5/israeliandpalestinian.html
Wednesday, October 10, 2007
The saga of Time Warner
I know, it has been ages since I posted. I am back in NYC now, and live far enough north in Manhattan that my only options for cable are Time Warner (please, dear God, let Verizon slip in soon). It's amazing...these fuckers with a monopoly.
Last Sat I had an appt from 2-6pm. The guy shows up at 7pm (ok, it's not like I had a hot date, but still...I MIGHT have needed to be someplace). He does the cable, puts in a box...and then...we wait. For an hour and a HALF. Meanwhile some tech in an office somewhere is "pinging" the box, which does not seem to be helping. My poor, undereducated tech thinks it just takes a long time because it's a refurbished box, which I suppose is possible, but it is probably the box. He leaves at 8:30pm and I have a regular cable box and no DVR. He has set me up for an appt today for 8am-Noon.
Yesterday I call TWC. I have not received the usual "If you'd like to keep your appt, press 1" call, so I check up. I have no record of an appt for today. They ask me if Oct 20 is ok, I say no, that they are charging me for a cable box, I explain what happened...they transfer me to Customer something-or-other. Probably customer-appeasement-so-she-won't-kill-us. Anyhow, that person asks my story...by the way, what the fuck is up with EVERY TIME giving number, name, address? Can't they transfer that shit too?
OK, I tell my story to person number 2, she asks again about another appt, I say NO, I want my appt for TOMORROW. She transfers me again, to someone who is a supervisor...supposedly. Nope, another worker bee to whom I tell my story yet again, explain that I will probably have to speak to a supervisor. he puts me on hold, comes back says something about a tech, puts me on hold again. Comes back asks if I can be called back. I say yes.
I get a phone call, same shit, different person. By this point, I have it well rehearsed:
Me: I am home tomorrow from 8am-Noon
Her: You are not home ANY OTHER TIME?
Me: No
Her: No other time at all? Even later?
Me: No
Her: Even in November?
Me: Let me explain. yes, I am home, for you, I am not. This is how this works, you get me an appt for tomorrow or you cancel my cable. yes, I am home on Sat, probably Sun. I am home the next few weekends to, but as far as you are concerned, the only time I am home in the foreseeable future, up to, say, January, is tomorrow from 8am to Noon or I am no longer a TWC customer.
Her: Oh. I see. Well, not even the 19th?
Me: I AM HOME TOMORROW FROM 8AM-NOON AND THAT IS IT OR CANCEL MY CABLE
Her: I don;t have the authority to do that. Maybe my supervisor can.
Me: I was supposed to be connected to a supervisor TWO PEOPLE AGO.
Her: Oh, I am sorry. Let me get him.
Me: Don't bother. Cancel TWC.
Her: I can't change your mind?
Me: Not likely.
This morning, buzzer at 9am. TWC guys. Holding a new box.
Noon today: waiting for fourth box from TWC guys who keep having to go get a new one since every one they have installed is faulty.
Please, Verizon, come to Upper Manhattan. you too RCN!
Last Sat I had an appt from 2-6pm. The guy shows up at 7pm (ok, it's not like I had a hot date, but still...I MIGHT have needed to be someplace). He does the cable, puts in a box...and then...we wait. For an hour and a HALF. Meanwhile some tech in an office somewhere is "pinging" the box, which does not seem to be helping. My poor, undereducated tech thinks it just takes a long time because it's a refurbished box, which I suppose is possible, but it is probably the box. He leaves at 8:30pm and I have a regular cable box and no DVR. He has set me up for an appt today for 8am-Noon.
Yesterday I call TWC. I have not received the usual "If you'd like to keep your appt, press 1" call, so I check up. I have no record of an appt for today. They ask me if Oct 20 is ok, I say no, that they are charging me for a cable box, I explain what happened...they transfer me to Customer something-or-other. Probably customer-appeasement-so-she-won't-kill-us. Anyhow, that person asks my story...by the way, what the fuck is up with EVERY TIME giving number, name, address? Can't they transfer that shit too?
OK, I tell my story to person number 2, she asks again about another appt, I say NO, I want my appt for TOMORROW. She transfers me again, to someone who is a supervisor...supposedly. Nope, another worker bee to whom I tell my story yet again, explain that I will probably have to speak to a supervisor. he puts me on hold, comes back says something about a tech, puts me on hold again. Comes back asks if I can be called back. I say yes.
I get a phone call, same shit, different person. By this point, I have it well rehearsed:
Me: I am home tomorrow from 8am-Noon
Her: You are not home ANY OTHER TIME?
Me: No
Her: No other time at all? Even later?
Me: No
Her: Even in November?
Me: Let me explain. yes, I am home, for you, I am not. This is how this works, you get me an appt for tomorrow or you cancel my cable. yes, I am home on Sat, probably Sun. I am home the next few weekends to, but as far as you are concerned, the only time I am home in the foreseeable future, up to, say, January, is tomorrow from 8am to Noon or I am no longer a TWC customer.
Her: Oh. I see. Well, not even the 19th?
Me: I AM HOME TOMORROW FROM 8AM-NOON AND THAT IS IT OR CANCEL MY CABLE
Her: I don;t have the authority to do that. Maybe my supervisor can.
Me: I was supposed to be connected to a supervisor TWO PEOPLE AGO.
Her: Oh, I am sorry. Let me get him.
Me: Don't bother. Cancel TWC.
Her: I can't change your mind?
Me: Not likely.
This morning, buzzer at 9am. TWC guys. Holding a new box.
Noon today: waiting for fourth box from TWC guys who keep having to go get a new one since every one they have installed is faulty.
Please, Verizon, come to Upper Manhattan. you too RCN!
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