nyj44: 2 years in New York


In case you haven’t noticed lately, I’ve been a little, ahem, negligent about updating notes from the Navel. Bad thing, too, because the top item for a week now has been that Kerry-related politics item, which I’m convinced will turn off all Democrats coming to the site who would’ve otherwise considered me a nice, quirky person.

But enough about my blogger paranoia. Since I recently passed the two-year anniversary of my arrival in New York, it seems about right to pause and reflect on the 24 months since I moved here. Some well-meaning friends have recently questioned my decision to stay here, in light of my ongoing unemployment (now into something like week 14). One even commented that my luck doesn’t seem to have been to good. “Have you been reading my emails?!!” I wanted to query. Then again, they do tend to be rather long-winded ... so scratch that; you’re excused. ;)

Contrary to more pessimistic assessments, however, I think I’ve had a pretty great ride so far: free haircut at the Waldorf, featured extra part in an indie flick, numerous tours of the Brooklyn Brewery and admission to local TV shows, meetings with fame, and friendships with the homeless.

I’ve had crazy interviews and crazier jobs, offers that don’t bear repeating, and many that did.

I’ve sold knitwear and photographs, published numerous writings online (um, yes, including this) and one scholarly book-review offline, and gotten involved with a fledgling online journal recently profiled in the New York Times.

I’ve met colorful geriatrics — from a lively British journalist once held hostage in Beirut, to a 71-year-old drag queen walking barefoot in the rain. And let’s not forget that Rock-n-Roll Hall of Famer, Les Paul!

I’ve developed D.I.Y. skills (as if changing my own brake pads weren’t enough): from refinishing a bedroom floor to painting the walls and reworking a ceiling electrical fixture. And I’ve worked with wood, from stripping and staining a recent street-side furniture bargain (a desk that might even be antique), to making bookshelves out of F.O.S. lumber and a futon frame.

I’ve survived three inter-borough moves, four roommates, three cats and other pets, a basement electrical fire, a year in Mensa, the blackout of 2003, cold-remedy mishaps, countless dates with strangers, an awkward sublet and a stalker, random water bombings in Chelsea and the Lower East Side, and encounters with subway masturbation.

I’ve run in Prospect Park and Central Park, along the West Side Highway and East River, and walked across all three bridges linking Brooklyn to Manhattan (the Williamsburg, Brooklyn and Manhattan).

In short ... a full 24 months. With such diversity and richness of possibility, why would I ever want to leave just as I’m really getting settled? Not even unemployment (which surely won’t last much longer) has slowed me down. Take this last week, for example.

Tuesday night I munched on garlic-laden pizza at a Brooklyn landmark restaurant on the waterfront, swapping stories with friends from a home fellowship group I joined sometime this summer. Wednesday night I got hit on by a homeless man, then had fish and strong margaritas with an Iranian friend (an activist) and her husband. Later that night as her politic passions slipped away for the moment, she let down her hair — literally — to reveal a younger, gentler side. While I recounted a recent date (whom we unsuccessfully googled), she played favorite Abba songs and offered advice on how a friend of mine might address the ever-present shvitz of her new boyfriend. Thursday I mingled with a bunch of supposedly top-level editors at a Mediabistro function, then passed out my home-made cinnamon rolls at the opening of a friend’s new weekly comedy show, dubbed Sweet (best of all, comedian Demitri Martin actually made a joke about “cinnamon buns” without knowing of the treat I’d brought; he had one after the show). Though Wednesday I meet with an event-planning group helping to organize lots of stuff for the RNC, I cheerfully fed my sweets to the predominantly liberal crowd gathered to laugh.

Friday I went out with a lawyer; Saturday a girlfriend and I did the Upper West Side: Mexican for dinner, world-famous pianists performing in the annual Mostly Mozart festival, and dessert at the nearby Cafe Mozart. On Sunday I visited a mostly black Church of Christ service in my neighborhood, then spent all afternoon and most of the evening picnicking in Prospect Park with a collection of actors, writers, stage directors and their friends.

It’s not that I consciously move from crayon to crayon in the multi-shaded holdings of my social “coloring box” (as one friend described it), but New York just offers an unparalleled array of stimuli and opportunities. Although I moved here expecting it would serve as a two-year break between an M.A. and Ph.D, I’ve realized the needs and enrichments of this place are far greater than I’d find in 5-7 more years of school. Until this dynamic environment ceases to challenge, I’m staying put a while.

Thanks for tuning in to the journey.

posted @ 04:53 PM on Tue - August 10, 2004 remark! Email |  as quoted:
before I said ...  but more recently: 

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