Mon - April 10, 2006
nyj75: missing the grease after all
Tonight my roommate and I swapped car
stories. Although we both like healthy food and our glasses of wine, we couldn't
have more opposite approaches to cars. She'd own a nice black Mercedes with
leather seats, I dream of an apple green Volvo with stick-shift, plaid seats and
good stereo. She hated everything having to do with maintenance, while I still
boast about changing my brakes, oil, and other fluids. As I told her, I'm into
things that guys like — beer, classic rock and car repairs — just
not in a tomboy way. Something about the bonding it made for with guy friends, I
guess.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Sat - April 1, 2006
nyj74: wistful now, no foolin'
You know those scenes in movies where they
pull away from a character, and let you see them sitting or riding or living
somehow, but
thinking,
more than anything? I'm in one of those places now. Wistful sequence of tunes
tonight, thanks to iTunes and the random
mode:
Nina Simone, "I Want a Little Sugar in my Bowl"
Robert Cray, "Right Next Door (Because of Me)"
Harry Connick Jr. "Do You Know (What It's like to Miss New Orleans)"
Nina Simone, "I Want a Little Sugar in my Bowl"
Robert Cray, "Right Next Door (Because of Me)"
Harry Connick Jr. "Do You Know (What It's like to Miss New Orleans)"
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Tue - February 7, 2006
nyj73: 2005 wrap-up
I realize it's a bit late to be sending New
Year's letters, but as Sis and I were engulfed in a crowd of Chinese New Year
celebrants on our D-train last Sunday, I'm gonna sneak this in anyhow. Gotta
live up to my childhood nickname of "Last-minute Lucy" sometimes, right? ;) At
least I can blame the delay on work this year. What a reversal of fortunes I've
seen! Last winter, things got so grim my church paid the rent and my cell phone
bill one month, and gave me gift cards for groceries. At the time all I could
think about was moving west, though I hardly had funds to do
so.
In retrospect, it's almost as if that very commitment to stubborn escapism was the main thing holding up the blessings God had in store. As soon as I chose to forestall that dream, things started to change dramatically. By early summer I had an agent for my memoir, interest from Random House, and publicity in a major national magazine. When I turned 27 in July, life revolved around four basic unknowns — teaching, boy, book, work — which all resolved themselves within months, if not weeks.
In retrospect, it's almost as if that very commitment to stubborn escapism was the main thing holding up the blessings God had in store. As soon as I chose to forestall that dream, things started to change dramatically. By early summer I had an agent for my memoir, interest from Random House, and publicity in a major national magazine. When I turned 27 in July, life revolved around four basic unknowns — teaching, boy, book, work — which all resolved themselves within months, if not weeks.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Wed - November 16, 2005
nyj72: recovering from a hit of ole suburbia
Ventured down Texas way, this last weekend.
Mission: get away from the chaos that is my life and have a newly relocated
friend shoot my author photo. I haven’t taken a trip like that in a while.
It took me back to another trip to Dallas, that one to see a cousin married.
I’d just finished my freshman year of college and barely could have
identified my insides if you’d introduced us on the street. It took
answering the oft-repeated question, “How was your first year?” for
me to realize that, actually, it had sucked. A lot. In fact, when I got on that
plane out of Dallas, a great black hole of misery opened up as I realized I was
flying back Des Moines way. And at summer’s end ... headed back to the
tiny little one-silver-screen town where my school
was.
If I expected similar drama this time, it’s delayed so far. No misery on my late-night flight — just gratitude. After speeding past endless semis up the 35 north to Dallas (I’d been in Austin for a spell), I finally had to stop for gas. Alas, I chose the exit that led not to some ubiquitous Texas oil but the “Victory Way” to their convention center. And I was already tight on time for returning my car and checking in for my flight! Twenty minutes later, the downtown nearly had its victory as more wrong turns after further bad directions threatened to induce panic. But I couldn’t cry! I was wearing five times the normal makeup, vestige from the morning photo shoot that put me in this time squeeze. God only knew what sort of horrible rainbow-colored tracks such panicked tears would leave. (This is the genius of the female mind: a ravaged face creates more angst than missing a flight.)
If I expected similar drama this time, it’s delayed so far. No misery on my late-night flight — just gratitude. After speeding past endless semis up the 35 north to Dallas (I’d been in Austin for a spell), I finally had to stop for gas. Alas, I chose the exit that led not to some ubiquitous Texas oil but the “Victory Way” to their convention center. And I was already tight on time for returning my car and checking in for my flight! Twenty minutes later, the downtown nearly had its victory as more wrong turns after further bad directions threatened to induce panic. But I couldn’t cry! I was wearing five times the normal makeup, vestige from the morning photo shoot that put me in this time squeeze. God only knew what sort of horrible rainbow-colored tracks such panicked tears would leave. (This is the genius of the female mind: a ravaged face creates more angst than missing a flight.)
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Mon - October 31, 2005
nyj71: ah, the freelance life
It finally hits me today, how good I have
it. This is work: sitting in a snug, darling coffee shop (my favorite of the
neighborhood offerings), free of supervisor, laptop or modem cords, able to
puzzle over ACT problems as I please (part of planning to write a lesson). Ella
on the stereo, the last of the shop's croissants somewhere in my
belly.
It's so easy to focus on the minor challenges of planning my day, breaking down this project into manageable chunks I could forget how much I have. No dress code! No mandatory start time! No fixed desk! But that's why Eve ate the fruit after all: she focused not what on she had but what she lacked. Paradise may largely depend on perspective.
It's so easy to focus on the minor challenges of planning my day, breaking down this project into manageable chunks I could forget how much I have. No dress code! No mandatory start time! No fixed desk! But that's why Eve ate the fruit after all: she focused not what on she had but what she lacked. Paradise may largely depend on perspective.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Thu - October 20, 2005
nyj70: A little sugar in my mug
The other morning I was sitting here with my mondo mug o' latte, debating whether or not I needed to add more sugar after having added more coffee in (before the sweetness was perfect). It tasted better before, for sure, but the bitterness now was not unpalatable. In one of those strange flights of fancy an earlyish morning can bring, my brain mused how it is that sugar effectively dilutes the bitterness of coffee. It's not necessarily intuitive. Why shouldn't more water, or something like salt? Is it really "dilution" even? Somehow these ramblings got me thinking how my father always used to sweeten my cups of coffee to just the perfect degree.
I don't remember exactly when, but at some point my parents accepted my initiation into the adult world of steaming caffeine. Perhaps the mail-order savvy that finally bought and brought my own personal coffee maker and stash (thanks to Gevalia) had a role in that coup. At any rate, by Singapore days my hit was always accounted for in Mom's careful measuring out of grounds for the pot. (No doubt my younger siblings' reliance on coffee had taught her that "the junk" (as my friend likes to call it) was in our adulthood her offspring's new milk.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Wed - October 19, 2005
nyj69: book deal finalized with Random House
Yup, the writer business is well night
official. Signed the contract Sept. 23, got the money a few weeks later. Kicked
off writing with a 10-day relaxation/research trip earlier this month, funded
largely by my teaching income from Prep
Co.
Yes, that's right: despite draining sessions here and there (turns out it's wise to eat before teaching 3-hour sessions), I finished my first GRE class last month. My schedule will be quite full in the coming months, between juggling two demanding freelance writing projects and working on the book, but only Prep Co. gives me access to health insurance. The savings and security that provides would be more than worth the ongoing 7-10 hour commitment per week.
Especially since my pants are getting loose again (sigh). It's not that I can't cook (I can, and usually well) but somehow lattes are never quite the meal I wish they were. And, well, grocery shopping is such a pain when you're out of the habit and overwhelmed by meal-planning for one (check, check). At least I've had a couple good meals here and there. While Mom and Dad were in town, they took me and some friends out for a fabulous, intimate dinner at my favorite Lower East Side Italian place. And just last week, I actually got a pretty good meal (well, cocktail hour + appetizers) on the tab of Cosmopolitan magazine.
Yes, that's right: despite draining sessions here and there (turns out it's wise to eat before teaching 3-hour sessions), I finished my first GRE class last month. My schedule will be quite full in the coming months, between juggling two demanding freelance writing projects and working on the book, but only Prep Co. gives me access to health insurance. The savings and security that provides would be more than worth the ongoing 7-10 hour commitment per week.
Especially since my pants are getting loose again (sigh). It's not that I can't cook (I can, and usually well) but somehow lattes are never quite the meal I wish they were. And, well, grocery shopping is such a pain when you're out of the habit and overwhelmed by meal-planning for one (check, check). At least I've had a couple good meals here and there. While Mom and Dad were in town, they took me and some friends out for a fabulous, intimate dinner at my favorite Lower East Side Italian place. And just last week, I actually got a pretty good meal (well, cocktail hour + appetizers) on the tab of Cosmopolitan magazine.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Sat - August 20, 2005
nyj68: 3 years in NY
Yikes, I have been slacking, haven't I?
Well, as my excuse, the following is submitted
forthwith.
Earlier in the summer I joked how this season was being defined by four "uncertainties": teaching, love life, book, work. But really, these four open questions have in some form dogged me much of the last year. I haven't had a permanent job or health insurance for nearly 16 months, I started pursuing teaching jobs last fall, and the blog has been an unfolding odyssey involving my love life and now a book. With that much up in the air you could start to go a little crazy! But somehow just as I was finally listing out my uncertainties, they started resolving, removing themselves as summer advanced into my 27th year.
Earlier in the summer I joked how this season was being defined by four "uncertainties": teaching, love life, book, work. But really, these four open questions have in some form dogged me much of the last year. I haven't had a permanent job or health insurance for nearly 16 months, I started pursuing teaching jobs last fall, and the blog has been an unfolding odyssey involving my love life and now a book. With that much up in the air you could start to go a little crazy! But somehow just as I was finally listing out my uncertainties, they started resolving, removing themselves as summer advanced into my 27th year.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Mon - June 27, 2005
nyj67: success and death
From an email originally sent June
7.
"She's dead," he said quietly.
"What?!!" I had to lean across the plastic folding table and around the 5-gallon water jug in which he collects money for UHO.
"Alcohol poisoning. I wanted to call you, but I'd lost your card."
"When was this?"
"Last fall. Maybe October, November."
I stood there, not even numb really, but trying to process the news and what my response should be. Would I cry about this later? I had just bought 10 rolls of film at B&H, a carefully budgeted splurge for a trip to Canada on which I embark today. Within hours I'd enjoy a neighborhood bar's $5 goulash night with friends eager to hear of a Sunday photo shoot for which I was the subject.
"She's dead," he said quietly.
"What?!!" I had to lean across the plastic folding table and around the 5-gallon water jug in which he collects money for UHO.
"Alcohol poisoning. I wanted to call you, but I'd lost your card."
"When was this?"
"Last fall. Maybe October, November."
I stood there, not even numb really, but trying to process the news and what my response should be. Would I cry about this later? I had just bought 10 rolls of film at B&H, a carefully budgeted splurge for a trip to Canada on which I embark today. Within hours I'd enjoy a neighborhood bar's $5 goulash night with friends eager to hear of a Sunday photo shoot for which I was the subject.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Thu - May 26, 2005
nyj66: one year without work
Two weeks ago I returned to full
unemployment, but with the prospect of a promising interview to teach. It went
well, and the school set up a second interview and teaching demo, scheduled for
this past Monday. But as the week advanced I grew increasingly unsure about the
cost for my writing, my commitment to teaching in general, and so on. Fear of
commitment? Fondness for the unsettled life? Well, maybe. But ultimately I chose
not to waste the school’s time still “trying out” for a job I
knew I no longer wanted.
Then Monday morning — the day I was to have interviewed — something major broke in terms of my writing. No, I don’t have a book deal … but let’s just say the odds on one have suddenly improved an awful lot.
Then Monday morning — the day I was to have interviewed — something major broke in terms of my writing. No, I don’t have a book deal … but let’s just say the odds on one have suddenly improved an awful lot.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Wed - April 27, 2005
nyj65: life on the 'cheap', pt. 2
Ever since return from my winter trip out
West, I’ve been obsessed with putting my house in order. At first the
motive to downsize was the prospect of another cross-country move. But then I
realized I had a lot of “accumulated wealth” I could be living out
of — using it up instead of packing it in. I first noted such domestic
capital stores out in California, when I found myself marveling at
friends’ and other hosts’ pantries. They just had so much
food.
Partly it was size-driven (greater storage in which to stash it all), partly it
was transit (cars in which to haul it all, instead of the common hand-carry
here). But secretly I suspected it was also comparative wealth. Now that
I’ve been unemployed so long — nearly 12 months in this week-to-week
limbo — I’m used to getting by on
less.
Then I came back to my cramped-but-cozy Brooklyn pad, back to my well-stocked cupboards, shelves and cabinets. Generally speaking, I’d argue that much of my volume of stuff has to do with how many things I’m into, not how much stuff I have for a particular hobby (candle-making supplies fit into a smallish box). I didn’t think I had much accumulated wealth of my own.
Then I came back to my cramped-but-cozy Brooklyn pad, back to my well-stocked cupboards, shelves and cabinets. Generally speaking, I’d argue that much of my volume of stuff has to do with how many things I’m into, not how much stuff I have for a particular hobby (candle-making supplies fit into a smallish box). I didn’t think I had much accumulated wealth of my own.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Wed - April 20, 2005
nyj64: limbo continues
You might say this blog has been neglected
lately. Which it has, as I've been dividing attention and energy between
maintaining the blog with the larger readership, revising a book proposal, and
holding down my ongoing full-time temp assignment. Which, as I learned Monday,
will not become a permanent gig. Looks like come May 7, I'll be celebrating a
one-year anniversary of losing permanent employment. One year not quite
unemployed, not quite at loose ends, but certainly uninsured. As one friend
suggested, I can mark the occasion by having friends buy me beers ... except
that ya'll have been doing that the last 12 months already. Right.
One occasion for such acts of liquid charity rolled around tonight. Not long into the evening, I realized I was wiped and a little bored. Next thought: maybe I'll just head home. But the chaser thought, unexpectedly, was straight out of a pastor's sermon: so because I don't see anyone whom meeting might be useful to my career, I'll just head home? There's nothing to gain — that is, to give — by chatting up "lesser" folks?
One occasion for such acts of liquid charity rolled around tonight. Not long into the evening, I realized I was wiped and a little bored. Next thought: maybe I'll just head home. But the chaser thought, unexpectedly, was straight out of a pastor's sermon: so because I don't see anyone whom meeting might be useful to my career, I'll just head home? There's nothing to gain — that is, to give — by chatting up "lesser" folks?
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Wed - March 23, 2005
nyj63: staying in a New York state of mind (after all)
Someone on the office iTunes network has a
couple Billy Joel albums in the library, one of which includes the song in
reference. I joked about this song prior to moving here in 2002 —
initially I literally planned to take Greyhound east from Arizona. Right now, if
I were to leave anytime in the near future, that’s probably the only
transportation my budget would
cover.
But I won’t be leaving, for that reason and others. After much soul-searching and more than a few head-congesting weeps, I’ve decided I need to stick it out here at least another year or so. In spiritual terms, I think I’ve been fighting God a long time on this and not fully submitting to what I knew I was being asked to do, even though I don’t completely understand the why. For those to whom such language is a bit incomprehensible ;), I don’t think my motives for leaving are wise (to the degree I’ve sorted those convoluted spaghetti strands into a neat row of noodles). There’s more to life than just doing what you want or chasing down dreams. Character counts for much too — and sometimes it’s the missing ingredient necessary for the dreams you hope to realize. So, though it right now feels like the primary benefit of staying planted a little bit longer is mostly the character sculpting, I’m confident this is the right choice.
But I won’t be leaving, for that reason and others. After much soul-searching and more than a few head-congesting weeps, I’ve decided I need to stick it out here at least another year or so. In spiritual terms, I think I’ve been fighting God a long time on this and not fully submitting to what I knew I was being asked to do, even though I don’t completely understand the why. For those to whom such language is a bit incomprehensible ;), I don’t think my motives for leaving are wise (to the degree I’ve sorted those convoluted spaghetti strands into a neat row of noodles). There’s more to life than just doing what you want or chasing down dreams. Character counts for much too — and sometimes it’s the missing ingredient necessary for the dreams you hope to realize. So, though it right now feels like the primary benefit of staying planted a little bit longer is mostly the character sculpting, I’m confident this is the right choice.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Thu - March 17, 2005
nyj62: lurching back to my lamp post
In C.S. Lewis'
The Lion, the Witch and the
Wardrobe, the central characters first
enter Narnia by way of a massive and surprisingly deep wardrobe at the back of
which they find themselves standing in a strange and foreign winterland, next to
a lamp post. That beacon becomes a kind of homing device, the red shoes they
have to click together; the place where they find that portal between conjoined
gaps in the skins of two worlds. The lamp post is the sign that they've left
home and the wardrobe behind, but also the hope that home and the wardrobe are
nearly theirs again.
My "lamp post" in New York has always been Columbus Circle, dating back to the very first, May 2002, visit when I emerged from an inbound V train to goggle at the Trump Hotel globe and then dash into the safety of a nearby Starbucks. I had flown into LaGuardia by night, and stayed in Queens, so that exit from the station, coming up out of the ground into Manhattan, on the southwest verge of Central Park, was a memory marked down vividly.
My "lamp post" in New York has always been Columbus Circle, dating back to the very first, May 2002, visit when I emerged from an inbound V train to goggle at the Trump Hotel globe and then dash into the safety of a nearby Starbucks. I had flown into LaGuardia by night, and stayed in Queens, so that exit from the station, coming up out of the ground into Manhattan, on the southwest verge of Central Park, was a memory marked down vividly.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Wed - March 2, 2005
nyj61: notes from the sick room
Sorry it's been so long since a real entry
on this site. About a week and a half ago I got a fever and whatever my body was
trying to fend off then has clearly prevailed. One friend blames malnutrition.
All I know is ... this is possibly the worst, most miserable head cold I've ever
had. :( And though it makes things dicey for the bank account, I sure am glad I
haven't had temp work since Monday. I'd be a terrible worker at this
point.
in detail: the whole story | remark! as quoted:
Current Quote, uh ...
“Sometimes trying to start writing is like feeling all over a wall for the secret place that, when touched right, will open the door.”
— journal entry, Sept. 12, 2002
— journal entry, Sept. 12, 2002
ego e-bolstery
"Queen of bloggers" tippler-about-town
"Funstuff..." NY musician
"There are so many blogs whose writers deserve to be flogged. Your stuff reads well." former journalist
"...eloquent..." long-time penpal
"Full of fascinating stuff." British novelist
"Nice haircut." friend from church
"Always makes for good reading on a bland day." small-business owner
Support this blog!
Categories
Who's the crazy dame?
Christi A. Foist is a writer, swing-dancer and knitter who also maintains the Ouroboros. Visit the Navel often for travel-writing, pictures and other observations on life as seen through (l)-4/(r)-2.25 vision.
for the suicidal cat
☀ more from my life
Love > Revenge Fund worthy site I’ve assisted with
❦ friends on the web
Alarming News
The Golike Gazette Joe & Jen Golike’s site
A Healthy Fear of Botulism the blog of Dead Serious
I don’t want to blog Paul Britton blogs against his will
Katie Meier she’s down with the streetspeak, yo
The New Vintage Jessica: fellow knitter, NYer and all-around fun blogger (also another Republican woman)
13 Pt. the guy who estimated the airspeed of an unladen swallow
✈ just for kicks
Live in New York? Make new friends through the Lunch Club.
Live vintage wood? Shop reZurrection gallery!
... And a kick-ass Oakland-based band, Tremolo
☂ references
All Music Guide fab music db
