29 April 2005

this is the reservoir in nederland. gorgeous. my view is of a yucky street. one day i'd like to have a view, but really, for starters, i'll take clean air. Posted by Hello
here's a photo of venessa at her picturesque bus stop. trevor says she looks like a hippie here (i think it's the glasses), but we both agree she's cute. great shirt. venessa was wonderful enough to invite me into her home, and remind me of how the chaos new yorkers invite into their lives isn't always healthy. Posted by Hello
me and anna in the allen ginsberg library. anna is also going to library school--she reminds me of the excitement i once had for library school. i hope one day to work in a creative institution like the allen ginsberg library. Posted by Hello
this is a photo of me and one of my naropa library patrons. my trip to colorado has reminded me of how nice things can be. i am never going to work in a corporate library again. Posted by Hello

it's time to leave

i know it's time to leave corporate america when i get mad looking
at magazines at work.

for example,

"David Boies takes on Eliot Spitzer in the Fight Over AIG" (Forbes,
May 9, 2005)
Um, as far as I know, AIG did many things wrong, and I think Spitzer
rocks b/c he is making corporate crooks pay...and I like that about

"Why Google Scares Gates: It's Not Just Web Search. Google Attacks
Microsoft on its Own Turn: Your PC. How Gates is Fighting Back."
(Fortune May 2, 2005)
I don't like the monopoly that Google has on web searching, and I do
like vivisimo (www.vivisimo.com) but I HATE the monopoly Microsoft
has. Yes I have Windows, but I read a lot, abt what MS is saying abt
Linux (that Linux users and creators deny). Grrrrr. We the people
need more choices!

Information Week (April 25, 2005) also has Gates on the cover, as if
he doesn't get enough publicity. I do like that Gates has donated
many computers to various libraries around the country, including a
library I previously worked at!

what is important to me: my life, not my job

i was getting my new laptop at work when one of the IT people tried to
give me an instructional sheet on how to access the internet from
home. she said, "you probably don't use this too often," and i
said, "actually, as a junior librarian, i never work from home." she
said, "well take it anyway. keep it in the bottom of your computer
bag, and if anything ever happens again...then you'll have it." i
immediately think of sept 11th, and think, fuck work, like i would
stop to detach all the wires and shutdown my laptop, put it in the
bag, etc, if planes flew into my bldg. perhaps she noticed my
expression and said, "like if the building is closed for some
reason, you know." like what reason? that totally pissed me off. it's the idea
of business continuity and even if planes have been flown into
buildings and people have died, i should be sitting in my apartment,
not mourning, but doing research on my laptop in my living room.

fuck that.

28 April 2005


i went to colorado for nearly a week and had a wonderful time. i felt so free. no work, no apt that needed to be swept, mopped, scrubbed, no dealing with annoying cell phone calls, with hating work and annoying commutes. instead i relaxed, saw friends, and stared at the beautiful views.

i feel so mellow, so chill still. the pace of life here in nyc is a bit too much at times, and i hate bullshit at work. taking off has helped me feel so relaxed. nothing like a little distance to put life into perspective. seeing old friends was wonderful, and i really missed colorado.

i feel it's hard for me to write abt this, so i'll include some stuff i wrote in my journal:

colorado is filled with a beauty and a cleanliness unlike new york. the people here allow less chaos into their lives. i feel since i left here i have tremendous growth--juggling a full-time corporate job with library school, seeing t leave, etc--it's been hard, but i've learned what's important to me--family, friends, writing, staying true to myself. this trip is heaven--i think of how nice it was to live in boulder, yet i call new york city home.
for the first time in a while, i feel at peace.
people are impressed at how i'll be getting my MLS, going to europe, being a professional librarian (yet i like to focus on my writing as who i am, not my work). it's wonderful to see the trails i used to run on, the mountains i used to gaze at, the friends who helped me with way too much. i feel more settled, more grownup, although the energetic cheryl is coming out.
v's life seems much calmer compared to mine, more relaxed. i envy the many elements of her life--such as growing her garden--and i delight in the beauty of nature that colorado and v share with me.
so many memories...so much love. i left too soon, even as i was here.
i can't believe how much i've missed colorado, and how much i will miss it: my true friends, the wonderful health food stories, pearl street (yes, even the wonderful restaurants and cute stores), gorgeous mountain views. i miss tea at the dushanbe-boulder tea house, naropa chai, knowing familiar faces everywhere i go. i love it in boulder. my insane schedule in nyc accomodates my job, not my life.
i can't believe the snow, the rain, and cold, but i can say i had a wonderful time. i feel so relaxed, so at ease, so completely comfortable in my skin.
i wonder why i was in such a rush to leave.

21 April 2005

i'm finishing the marathon here! Posted by Hello

avoiding eye contact in the corporate world

an extension on that thought yesterday of the lack of friendliness in new york city....

while sometimes i feel like the whole world is rude, i think my job is filled with way more rude people. i will be washing my hands at the sink next to other people at my job and they will not look at me. in the bathroom, it's silent; everyone is pee shy, and they don't breathe while applying lipliner. people will go out of their way to use a sink where they don't have to make eye contact. if they are next to you, they're stare at their appearance in the mirror, ignoring any timid smile attempts i may make.

no one goes out of their way to look at others, smile, say hello. if i do research for someone for two days and talk with them, discussing their research needs, and see them a week later--they don't even make eye contact. i can't deal with this. "this is a voicemail company," my boss told me when i started. people will send you a voicemail instead of calling; direct interaction is too scary.

i want to work someplace where you say hi to everyone in the hallways, where laughing and smiling among
coworkers--even during small talk, is common.

20 April 2005

i want to break into the rigid lines

in the summer of 2001, a group of activists (mostly radical cheerleaders) learned a dance, and performed it on the trains of new york city. we called ourselves the boxcutters (almost immediately, emailing each other on september 11th, knowing our name would be changed and forever feeling somewhat sick when hearing the very word, boxcutter) because we saw ourselves as cutting through the walls new yorkers put up around themselves and getting close to the real people and uniting us. (little did we know, a different set of boxcutters weeks later would transform new yorkers into what we were hoping art would do.) we would be standing on the train, reading ads, or sitting, bored, when the music would come on (a song called "hey lover") we'd get up, start snapping, and do our dance. we would sit when the song was done and talk to the riders about what they thought of our dance. we got some interesting responses.

i have been getting sick of these walls new yorkers erect; let the love in. i'm a hippie in the big city, but in no way am i gonna start living in a tent, wearing a fleece daily and never bathing. i just have a big heart. i hate standing next to people, stone silent, staring at nothing (even if they are staring at your ear, they don't absorb it, they just focus on where they're going next)--why don't we talk? i had a great conversation with a guy reading jorge luis borges on the train, when i was reading michael ondaatje. and then some guy had a huge suitcase with hair care products in it, and we just chatted.

why not lean over to the person next to you, comment on how nice their sweater is, what book they're reading, how wonderful/sucky the weather is, how tired you are, small talk. maybe you'll make a friend, enlighten someone, learn something, or just make your commute a little more pleasant.

the first days of sandals

i wore my black aldo fancy flip flops and though they are comfortable by the end of the summer, after i running around doing errands in soho and by union square, they are hurting. red marks overwhelm my feet. on line at h&m (for 20 minutes, for one skirt!), all of the women around me were taking off their shoes, gazing at their blistered, red, sore feet. we stretched our toes and rubbed our feet against our naked thighs, all aching, all cursing the start of the sandal season yet loving it. mini skirts, tshirts insisting others fuck off, beads made right here in soho, big sunglasses, tanned skin, ipods dangling...the women of new york city all are happy to wear sandals.

revelations at work

everyone at my job thinks i'm an optimist. an optimist or a hippie.
i'm neither, but compared to the all-black wearing look on the dark
side of things, stressing over every little email and memo--what's
the point? is this my life? no, it's merely a period of time where
i'm working at a job that isn't perfect. is there a perfect job?
probably not. even if i'm working at an academic library, chances
are i'll have a stalking patron or a psycho coworker or a long
commute or whatever--nothing is perfect, and bouncing around from
job to job won't solve that either. paychecks are a good thing,

i have been thinking a lot about how our society exists--there's a
lot of anti-capitalism energy, yet i'm not sure what the solution
would be. is canada heaven? switzerland? where is the perfect
society? then you think about it, all that snow in canada, and in
switzerland those hidden explosives in the road creep me out. (do we
have those in the USA?)

i hate the point of view that if you're anti-bush or anti-bush
administration, you're unpatriotic. right now i am not a fan of the
USA at all, and would not call myself patriotic. i love many things
about new york city, and never want to leave. but the inequality of
the USA is disturbing. but is that everything? although, no matter
how poor you are, in canada or the uk, you can go to a doctor. i pay
my own health insurance, and truly value it. i'm glad, and i go to
the doctor when i'm sick or when i need to. i hope whatever job i
have next will offer me health insurance, and even then, i plan on
always looking on the bright side.

19 April 2005

looking back

in high school, i used to be one of the arts students--i took tons of art classes, photography classes, was in the thespian guild (which many people called the lesbian guild), and every year, went to the olympics of visual arts in albany, new york, where schools from various parts of the country competed. our illustration group did not win, but all three years i performed in the performing arts category, we won. we wrote scripts, acted them out (whether we were characters in the painting or artists themselves), did research about the paintings, designed our sets, put together costumes. i just started thinking about that, and wow, i really had so many outlets to channel my creative energy.

as adults, to get involved in creative aspects of the world, you must seek it out; it does not come in the form of a flyer on a hallway in your high school or an ad in the school newspaper. you must conscientiously read the village voice and the l magazine, browse through craig's list, even post ads on craig's list. why is it so hard to be creative? if i want to play poker, or talk about football, or discuss the exciting world of hedge funds (what is a hedge fund, by the way? i only research it, but my disdain has prevented me from learning more about it. yuck, financial services industry.)--it's easy. being creative--that's hard.

so i'm glad i creative. i make presents for my family, fashion unusual cat toys for the laziest cat on the earth. i write stories, read novels, write notes to my friends. i make soaps, paint watercolors (even though i have crappy paint and crappy paper and crappy brushes), sketch when i'm bored during class. i think it's important to not forget my creative roots.

viva la creativity!

18 April 2005

hungry and weary

i went to a police brutality protest and rally after work today. the energy level of the crowd was low at times, but the fact that there were a lot of youth (esp queer and trans youth) and emotional family members of people who had been shot made up for it. the speeches of the mothers of the shot people--so upsetting. people from copwatch were there, as well as many youth angered about the police brutality. the cops were there, doing nothing. no anger, no tension, just there. i want to make a difference, yet how can we against this police state?

constants in life

my mom says these are the constants in life:

t is asleep; luna is asleep and/or hungry; i am hungry.

i guess luna is what links t and i together.

11 April 2005

heaven, new york

i'm somewhere between your arms and the pile of dirty laundry and messy papers in the place i call my apartment. my foot feels like someone ran it over, a 70 year old man has a crush on me and makes kissy lips, i have a tendency to fall for straight girls and gay men, and suddenly i'm wearing all black like any other new yorker. in the sticky summer heat, i'm sitting on your fire escape, drinking chocolate milk. you are watching tv inside, not picking up your telephone, and not answering my questions. i want to leave so badly, but for some reason, can't. i watch two teenagers down the block attempt to figure out how to open up the fire hydrant, and the tears on my face are mixing with sweat and dirt.

cat fur is sticking to my legs, and my skirt is too short and keeps riding up. "you wantin' people to look at you or something?" you asked me. "what, you don't care anyway," i said. you insisted upon a crucifix above your bed even as you engaged in premaritial sex and positions that could never have been condoned by the bible. you called it love and now you called it over.

i stare at the peeling paint on your fire escape, your one dead flowerpot that probably used to have marigolds in it, and two girls making out below me. if only i had it so easy.

when you're passed out and your apartment stinks like bad weed, i climb in the window and walk softly by you, hoping i won't wake you. you call my name as i approach the door, but my slam is the reply. i take the stairs two, three at a time, needing to get out of your house so fast. i know i don't belong.

not wanting to go home, but being too late to wander, i duck into a lounge on my way to the train. i order a martini, and wait for you to meet me. i know you won't; you'll just temporarily curse my absence. i drink two martinis unnoticed. no one talks to me, hits on me, bumps into me. save the bartender, no one knows i am there.

the train is empty. when i get to my stop, i stumbled on shadowy east village streets. streets are ghosts in early mornings. i remember how you kissed me, how you said you hated me.

in my apartment is my cat mewing for food, piles of dirt, sheets that have been on the bed longer than our relationship (and even they are dirty). unable to go in, i smoke cloves on my stoop, one after another, until i have convinced myself i am okay. in my apartment, there are no messages on my answering machine, and i fall asleep on the pile of laundry, cleaner than my sheets and cleaner than you.

10 April 2005

being a cat lady

it's happening. i'm about ready to start looking for studio apartments (though i'm more thinking of bed-stuy instead of the bronx) where i can become a cat lady. i need about twelve more cats first.

today i took luna on a walk to emily's (around the block). she walked fine sometimes, other times stopped and tried to hard. i got in a conversation with several old polish people, and they though it was great i was walking my cat. some guy told me he saw a woman wheeling her cat in a cat carriage. i saw it in dr foster & smiths; i totally want it. at emily's, luna hid under the couch. now she's cleaning herself at my feet, so sweet and cute and warms my heart like nothing else. i'm on my way to being a crazy cat lady.

my first plan was love; as that's not working out, the cat lady approach seems more attractive than ever. i have a lot of furniture, but it was be crammed into my studio for my cats.

my cat lady idea is somewhat a joke, somewhat not. i don't want my apartment to smell like cat pee, but i really do want another cat. a furry little friend for luna.

i always said if things with t didnt work out, i'd get 15 cats and move to a studio apartment in the bronx (b/c how else could i afford to live if i'm feeding 15 cats?).

today, i'm thinking i'll probably stay in my greenpoint apartment with just one cat, but sometimes, it's nice to fantasize. wouldn't it be fun sleeping in a bed with 18 cats?

wine and whine

i had a meltdown on friday. i was hating my job more than ever all day at work, annoyed at every little thing my boss asked me to do, ready to quit. i took a mental health break around 230 and took a long walk. i spent time in borders looking at all the travel magazines, soothing myself. really, my ticket is bought, i'll be gone soon. this won't matter.

even better: i give my notice in three weeks!

i got the naropa magazine in the mail and i looked at it, what my former peers and classmates and library patrons were doing and i started crying. naked, in the fetal position of my futon. the corporate world is pointless, and i can't believe i went from snazzy cosmopolitan girl in the mountains to a corporate librarian...i'm too much of a hippie to work in the corporate world.

i'm stuck somewhere between a martini and a microbrew.

these day jobs just suck the energy out of us. my dream life would involve writing, running, yoga, doing creative crafty things. instead, i work at a job i hate, come home and seethe and eat chocolate to pep me up, and then feel too low to do much besides schoolwork. i want to be the creative person i was at naropa.

i had a pretty good weekend, except for the parts when i was thinking about, talking about, or doing schoolwork. train rides prove useful for the editing of papers. i'm almost done with a paper that focuses on how academic libraries changed with the popularization of the internet, now i just have to write 16 more analytical annotations for children's books. (so basically, i'm writing theoretical mini-essays on childrens' books, with more words in my essays than there are in the books!) this weekend i watched and the band played on, gave a radical cheerleading workshop, went to the donkey show, spent the rest of that random saturday night wandering around manhattan (high on life but yearning for a little bit of sangria to go along with it), took my cat on a walk (thus winning over the elderly polish population of greenpoint), prepared elaborate meals, ate cookies with emily...and here i am, sunday night, realizing i still have way too much work to do.

sometimes this schoolwork seem so pointless. like, yeah, it's great to know of the history of libraries and to know these things, but these analytical essays--i mean, i doubt this will make me a better childrens' librarian. it's busy work, like you did when you were in third grade and your teacher was sick.

06 April 2005

dear reader

dear reader,

look at the person you are madly in love with. or look at a photo of them. or if you are not madly in love with someone, but are married (with or without children), or in a serious committed relationship, perhaps planning a wedding or talking about children's names (you argue: your partner thinks it should be duncan for the boy, while you prefer chaucer) or you live together, perhaps are pooling your funds together in a joint bank account or even that old cookie jar that is made up of mostly quarters. picture this person, your saturday night date, your bed hog, the person who buys you flowers on your birthday and feeds your cat cheez-whiz when you are not home, picture them not there.

hard to imagine?

picture them moving away, even disappearing. picture your love starting a separate life: picture them living alone, or with someone else. is this person sexier than you? what will their new apartment look like? will there be any photos of you kept? picture them dating, your old beau buying drinks for people at bars, doing things that were never done with you.

do you feel hurt? it's okay to feel hurt. jealous.

picture yourself moving on, though you could never imagine living without them. you'll cry for several months, bore your friends while your moan over their wonderful qualities, bitch about the problems--which is, of course, why you ended it. or maybe you didn't end it. maybe they disappeared.

everyone has problems. yours just led to the separation.

picture yourself fumbling along in life. you are glad you two broke up anyway; what did we really have going for us, you ask yourself, denying yourself memories of days spent in bed making love, sunday morning brunch, permanent friday night date, someone to laugh with, someone to come with you to a horrid wedding or a dreadful cocktail party. now you are alone, flossing your teeth before bed, staring at your pale face in the mirror, and you wonder about the point of it all.

meanwhile, you quit your job, or go back to graduate school, or have a baby, or get into credit card debt. you go to weddings and cry; at these weddings, you think of what could've happened.

your lives are totally different. you've completely moved on, perhaps are even living in a different country. you speak latin and icelandic now. you have two masters' degrees and a phd. you are well-respected, toil over articles about obscure issues, are happy even though you know you are underpaid and overworked. or you are a failure, still waiting tables with your unpublished poems and high dry cleaning bills. you stress over trinkets and furniture to fill your house, fill your heart.

it's ten years now, and you wonder what it was like to be in love. do people even really think like that? you wonder. you are buying cheese in a local store, and you see a couple--that could be you, and that could be them. they are handling different cheeses, walking too close, laughing softly. under the flourescent lights, you see yourself tilting up towards your old lover, letting them kiss you in the middle of the store. you are dreaming of babies, or of a lifetime of travel, or of goals--houses, loans paid off, seeing the taj mahal, a great job, multiple orgasms, seeing your partner get an advanced degree or a promotion or recognition of some sort.

suddenly the couple moves on, and you're left alone. alone, so very alone. you wonder what has happened; a decade of empty dates. you wonder if it was even right in the first place to have broken up; you remember endearing smiles and massages on greek islands; you can't remember why you stopped loving each other. or how. or if it was really love, or why, how, what.

you select your cheese. you want to leave immediately, but know you need food for supper. mechanically, bread, milk, chocolates, spinach, roma tomatoes. at the register, you are standing behind the couple, who are laughing as they place items on the conveyer belt. you think about how your life could have been. you move over to the next register, where there is no line. the cashier smiles at you and engages you in a conversation about the weather. you find yourself talking too much, and the cashier’s cheeks are pink, and the cashier tells you to come again soon. you think, yes, maybe you will.

in the parking lot, you watch the couple struggle with their bags, and you turn in the opposite direction. you know it’s the long way, but you don’t care. you have all the time in the world: to think, to live, to be.

i am a runner

last night as soon as i got home from class, i was shrugging off
corporate clothes for the clothes i feel most comfortable in:
running clothes. my orange saucony shorts, a white t-shirt from a
5miler i ran last october, a sports bra. sneakers, my brace, and
socks. puff albuterol (twice), foradil (once), flovent (once) and
intal (once). and i'm gone.

outside, the sun was slowly setting, and i appreciated daylight
savings time. i ran quickly, from franklin to bank and down wythe,
over to berry. i ran efficiently and happily, loving the spring
weather, the air on my bare legs and arms, running fast,
smiling. "everything is wonderful." i turned around on north 3rd,
then ran along the water on kent. i paused twice on kent, ostensibly
to stretch, but really, to gawk at the beautiful view. the sky was a
mess of blue and grey, swirls, like a painting. buildings were light
up in white, blue, pink, yellow. it was simply so beautiful. i
couldn't touch it--because i was part of it. it was so real and so
fresh and so wonderful. yes, i'm in dirty nyc, but this is a
wonderful place to live, my home, where i feel so right. and
running? why it's the only way that i can possibly explore the world.

one day i'd like to do a forrest gump. not the usa, maybe, but a
small country. or even--iceland! there are so many places in the
world that i can learn about by running. i know other travelers are
like, "i don't work out when i travel" but i insist upon my two
running outfits. i'm not just working out; i'm learning about the
culture and myself--and it is my practice.

i am a runner.

03 April 2005

things to do with really, really ripe strawberries

  • chopped them up. put them in a bowl with yogurt (i prefer brown cow's cream top vanilla), coarse brown sugar, and sliced almonds. stir and eat.
  • throw them into a blender with ice, other fruits if you desire, juice, and yogurt. blend. drink.
  • mash and spread onto thick slices of bread for a homemade jam.
  • blend with ice and vodka in the blender.
  • search on the internet for sangria recipes, and other fruity drinks like daiquiris.
  • spread across your lover's body.
  • feed them to your lover or self covered with a fine sprinkling of sugar.
  • add to cereal.
  • make strawberry walnut oatmeal. here's how: follow directions for old-fashioned quaker oats. when it's done, add walnuts, strawberries, brown sugar, and milk.
  • add to a light mixed green salad.
  • add to rice pudding.
  • top plain brown rice with butter, a little sugar and salt, and strawberries.

i have some really, really ripe strawberries (which is why they were on sale). here are some of my ideas. enjoy!

some books you just need to read right now

i've been doing a ton of reading lately, and wanted to make some suggestions to ya'll. a lot of it is travel-related, surprise, surprise. right now i'm involved in the drama of the backpack, but here's some reading to keep you occupied.

  • A Thousand Days in Venice: An Unexpected Romance by Marlene De Blasi. This book is fantastic. Marlena is "of a certain age" (I'm guessing in her late forties/early fifties) when she falls in love with a Venetian. She sells her home in the USA, and moves to Venice to consumate their affair. It is such a beautiful, sweet book. I was practically crying as I finished it, for reasons of happiness.
  • Tales of a Female Nomad by Rita Golden Gelman. You can find more information about it on Rita's site, http://www.ritagoldengelman.com/book.html I found this book absolutely fascinating, and again, it dealt with an older woman traveling. She doesn't fall in love, but she has such a fantastic and wonderful life. It's truly a terrific memoir.
  • Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami. I have read all of the Murakami books that are translated into English, and he is a fantastic Japanese writer. You may find yourself addicted to his writing style. His books are very unusual, and may seem to be science-fiction but I can't stop reading them! (This is why my huge paper has practically nothing on it, while I have finished that book!)
  • Into Thin Air by Jon Krakauer. This book is a fantastic retelling of a crisis on Mt. Everst that led to the death of many hikers. Krakauer was there, and you really feel like you are there. Yes, you may even cry.
  • Without Reservations by Alice Steinbach. This is another tale of a forty-something woman who travels around the world. So inspirational.

What have I been listening to?

  • The new Moby CD, Hotel
  • http://www.kcrw.com/online/ My fave online radio station
  • Judge Jules on the BBC (accessed through www.bbc.co.uk, click on radio, and it's under dance music)
  • Some mix CDs Venessa made me
  • My cat

01 April 2005

happy hardcore has inspired me with its lyrics

think about what this means to you (from my old dj indecent tape):

"love, it's just a dream away"

that's all it is in my world, always a dream away, never quite in my grasp. once, years ago, i had it, but since then, it's only a dream away.

sometimes i really hate men

when i was younger, and was asked out on dates by patron who were at
least ten years older than i was (and possible 20 or 30 years
older), the director of the library suggest i dress "less
attractive." as it was summertime and we had crappy air
conditioning, i wore skirts and dresses daily (shorts were not
allowed). i took offense to that; i should not have to alter my
behavior because there are perverts who are into 16 year old girls.
THEY should be the ones doing the changing.

likewise, this is how i am feeling today. i LOVE summertime, and
yes, i LOVE short skirts. i love skirts of any kind, but especially
short ones, ones that are pleated or that flutter out as i spin.
today i was wearing a knee-length one that had a slit, and it has a
tendency to hike up around my waist so every so often i need to pull
it down. so i'm crossing broadway by city hall and this asshole
truck driver is like "nice skirt." i gave him the finger and told
him to go fuck himself.

it surprises when my strong, feminist friends are shy of telling
guys to get the hell away. i like to make them feel shitty--they are
making me feel shitty with each "compliment." it's not a compliment,
go away!

and i know i'm beautiful, i know i have great legs (which is why i
love to wear skirts), and i don't need reinforcement from some
disgusting men.

and as the cheer goes,
My body's nobody's body but mine,
You run your own body, let me run mine!