One of Those Days

This perfectly describes my day. That is all.

Introducing Cassandra. Or Maybe Juliet. Or Sabrina?

Did you have a really common name growing up? I definitely did. Not only was I never the only Katie  in a class, I went all through grade school being one of two "Katie S."'s, and we were always in the same class.

If that weren't bad enough, by the time I got to college there were TEN Kate/Katie/Katherine's on my floor in the dorms. Including my roommate. Yeah. That happened.

So while I feel like being one of many encouraged my adolescent desire to change my name, I also think it is really common to want to change your name in your early teens. The feeling of wanting to be someone else, and that maybe, if you had a different name you'd actually be that other person. Someone cooler, or more feminine, or whose actually been to France and talked to boys.

I always saw myself as a Sabrina or a Cassandra - those girls sounded like they knew how to wear eyeliner and skirts and were probably from Europe.

What would you have named yourself at thirteen?

The Truth About Being an Adult

My mom loves the idea of living in a city. When we talk about it, she loves the idea of being able to walk everywhere and being close to parks and having so many options for everything around you. Not that those perks aren't true, but I tell her you don't get to walk everywhere, you have to walk everywhere and you're close to parks because no one has any outdoor space at home and there are so many options because there are that many people using that many resources.

The idea is more romantic than the reality. I feel the same way about being a grownup

Growing up in the suburbs I was so anxious to be an adult. I couldn't wait to get to call my own shots, to decide what I wanted to do and when I wanted to do it. I'd move away (check!) and live in a big city (check!) and do what I wanted with my money (sort of check!). Because we all know being an adult is not all it's cracked up to be.

Sure I can eat cake for breakfast and spend all my money on lipgloss and earrings, but when you have to buy groceries and pay for the internet, it looses it's appeal.

One part of being a grown up that always leaves me feeling like a hapless adolescent is finding services like a hairdresser or a doctor. How exactly do you go about finding those people? I haven't gotten a haircut in a year because I have hairstylist paralysis - and the cut a year ago was an impulse on vacation!

I have, however, solved the doctor problem but only because of the internet. ZocDoc is my go to since I don't have to call and talk to anyone, I can book an appointment online, and they check if the doctor takes my insurance. AND they have reviews like Yelp.

What are the things you find the least romantic about being an adult?

The Self-Improvement List

I stumbled across this amazing blog and it reminds me that I've always wanted to be able to draw. I suppose I can draw acceptably well. Not WELL, mind you, but my dogs look like dogs (as long as we aren't trying to depict a specific breed - "Dog" is as good as it gets.).

My list of things I wish I could do well is pretty arbitrary:
Draw and watercolor
Play the piano
Sew clothes
Speak Spanish
Play tennis
Host dinner parties
Play the guitar
Juggle
Accessorize outfits
Blog

Some are really talents, but for the most part I just need to pick a project and start practicing!

Maybe I'll quietly start one or two. I love a new project but am really intimidated by all of these - the people in my life are so good at them (sisters and husband, I'm looking at you!) that the bar to entry seems high. 

Get Out of Town

The past year has been a real nose-to-the-grindstone, all-work-and-no-play sort of year. I started a new job, Ben had professional exams (a lot of them!), and we had some debts to pay. So all our money and all our time was spent on things we had to do and not things we wanted to do.

Suddenly, it feels like the clouds have parted and the year-and-then-some of no fun has come to an end. I have antsy energy and a desire to start a million new projects all at once. The one I am starting right away is leaving town - I am leaving the city every weekend from now until it snows. I don't even know where I'm going!

Anywhere but here. I'll keep you posted...

What I think about on the Subway

Two days of subway observations.

I sit on the train facing backwards. The lights slide by the windows like a sci-fi movie warp speed. The train is full and for the first time in weeks I look at the faces of people on the train with me. The absurdity of the whole situation strikes me and I have to suppress my giggles. The car is full, I can see I to the car behind us and that car is full too. We are all silent. No one even sees me looking the full in the face because we have trained ours selves to look through people. We are hurtling at top speed - no seat belts! -  towards very important jobs. In all likelihood we are all heading to grab a cup of coffee and to see what's happening on the internet since we left it yesterday. But we all take it so seriously.

Another subway morning, this time contemplating death. I'm not religious, I don't believe in an afterlife. If you ask me, this is it. The only thing we leave behind is traces and objects, and those slowly fade and break and then it's truly over. I miss my grandparents. I try to call up very particular details about them. Butterscotch pudding and lotto tickets and wearing the sweatshirt that said "Nana" in puff paint that I made when I was four until she died. I like to print pictures and use film so there is an object. That one day someone will look at them and say "Look how young they were. They look so happy." When I'm at flea markets I love to look through the pictures for sale and imagine their lives. I have a file folder full of the ones I can't resist, other peoples long ago vacations and little happinesses.

Queens, the forgotten burough

Today we took a giant bike ride in Queens. The purported purpose was to go to the Queens Museum, which is in the middle of Flushing Meadows Corona Park*.

We ended up finding a previously-unknown wetland preserve (Turtles! Nature!), a Colombian Independence Day parade and dance party (Stilt-walkers! Children in costume!), and a really nice, newly-reopened museum (Art! A GIANT model of the entire city!).

*This must be the worst name for a park in the history of the world. It sounds like a euphemism for the sewage treatment plant of  New York City. 

The Smokers

I learned to smoke my sisters freshman year of college. I remember this because a friend of hers was going to visit and asked if I'd like to come along. On the drive down she asked me to reach in her bag and grab her a cigarette and light it.

I pushed the car lighter in (do cars still come with those?) and grabbed a cigarette and said I didn't know how.

She talked me though putting it in my mouth and explaining that you had to inhale to light a cigarette. It never occurred to me before that every one lit cigarettes in their mouth because you had to, not because it took two hands to strike a match or shield the flame as you went to light it.

Eating While Hot

Once, Ben had an intern at work who was from Korea. It was his first summer in NYC and he was miserable. So one day Ben said to Intern "I always thought Korea was really hot in the summer, too." To which intern replied, in a line that has lived in infamy ever since, "Yeah, but in Korea even poor people have air conditioning." Ha!

An undiscussed secret of New York is that summers are miserable. It's hot, it's muggy, the subway is like a garbage dump sauna, and when the wind blows from the west the whole place smells like the Hudson River. Plus the normal joys of living on top of 8 million other people. And of course, no apartments have central air.

Last year Ben and I broke down and bought a little portable air conditioner. I hate air conditioning, but finally conceded that it was too hot to sleep so something needed to be done. It half cools one room of our apartment, but it is better than nothing. My goal is to never break it out before July, and so far we've been successful.

But today we pretty much had popsicles in our underwear for dinner.

Here's hoping we can make it 12 more days.

Memoirs of a Time Well Wasted

When I was in junior high and high school I had a friend who always had the most ridiculous things happen to her. In retrospect, they were pretty normal things, but she was just such a great story teller that they seemed ridiculous and hilarious and story-worthy. We always joked that we would pen a memoir one day to be titled

I Was a Teenaged Teenager

Memoirs of a Time Well-Wasted

Now she is a mom and a teacher and we don't see each other (circumstance, not any "thing") and I am certain our memoir will never be. But I hope large groups of people are still benefitting from her ridiculous knack with a story. 

An imaginary excerpt: 

SO there was this time when my best friend and I had a crush on almost the same boy. I say almost because they were brothers and not the same boy at all, but looked remarkably alike and existed as one unit in our heads, but we liked separate ones so there was no friend conflict. Not that there really would have been, because we were NEVER going to do anything about it (not ever. ever. never.).

So we nursed our collective crush. We knew their phone number. Screen names. Sports schedules. Knew how to play the cards games they liked to play (and how to cheat most effectively). Knew the best route to walk to totally accidentally run into them. I'm sure we were completely subtle. 

One day, in spite of our careful planning, there was an accidental, non-scheduled encounter in the library. He came in to the library, where Friend was working as a library assistant. She saw him coming and froze completely in anticipation of this unplanned rendez-vous. 

Will he talk to me? Should I talk to him? Where is he coming from? Where's K when I need her? What am I even wearing today? Does my hair look ok? Why is he here, he's not supposed to be here now. I wonder where he's going. Is he on an errand for the teacher? Is he leaving school early? I can't wait to tell K about this. His hair is amazing. Ohmigod he's coming up to me. Do I acknowledge him? Do I pretend to not see him? Was I staring?

All this in about 3 seconds (it was a small library). 

He strolls up and says with perfect nonchalance and a desire to waste time, "Whatcha' doing?"

And in that moment, form the vast array of options of responses to such an easy opener, she replied "Filing books," blushed, and turned back to the shelf. And that was that. 

When I found her 10 minutes later, melted into a puddle of shame and self-loathing, I asked her what happened. All she could say was "I carried a watermelon."

Espearto

Sports are not my thing - but every four years I get way fired up for the World Cup. Maybe it's because I only need a concentrated burst of energy to be really into it. There's no long season and endless stats. You've got a couple weeks. You win or you lose. And that's it, see you in four.

So, in honor of my recent vogue for jazz and the just-started World Cup, I give you my playlist. A little jazzy, a little international, all cool.

Enjoy the weekend.

PS. I'm rooting for the Netherlands. I love how many yellow cards they get.

PPS. Espearto is portuguese for "Clever with a hint of mischief." Perfect.

My New Thing

Any time I develop an interest in something new I tend to be pretty shy about it. Especially in areas where there are a lot of self proclaimed experts, who are not always welcoming to newbies. I feel like a lot of people try to defend their turf instead of welcoming people into the fandom.

"How dare you be in to this on a whim. This is my thing, and I'll shame you with the depth of my knowledge, you who only have this as a 'cute hobby'."

I feel like you encounter this a lot in things like collecting records, or high end alcohol, or really realms that tend to be affluent white-guy interests. And so when I develop a new hobby I keep it to myself for fear of exposing my ignorance and feeling embarrassed.

Which is a long introduction to say, recently I've been listening to jazz and I'm really liking it. I'm not sure why I suddenly felt inspired, but I googled a song (a piece? I don't really know what you call it in jazz music) that was referenced in a manga I loved, Sakamichi no Appollon (another hobby I don't discuss out of embarrassment. I should make a list!) and have been listening non-stop for days.

I don't have anything informed or intelligent to say about jazz yet, but so far, nothing beats a lazy Sunday with John Coltrane playing.

People I would like to be when I grow up

1. Anne of Green Gables

2. Steve McQueen

3. Haruki Murakami

4. Katharine Hepburn

5. Pippi Longstocking

6. Beryl Markham

7. Diane Keaton

8. Ralph Lauren

9. Wes Anderson

10. Sophia Coppola

The Flame Throwers

The feeling of being 22.
The feeling of wishing someone, anyone would come find you, save you, tell you who you are and what you should be doing.
The feeling of being alone in a new city.
The blank canvas of your life when you are first cast in to the world.
The terror and desire to prove yourself.
The desire for a connection to something more than yourself (love? art? justice? friendship?)
The credulousness of inexperience.
The willful ignorance of not wanting to know, be responsible.
The hunger for experience, to eat the world in huge starving bites.

The Flame Throwers was a great book. I find myself wondering what happened to everyone after the last page. The magnetic assholes, the ambitious youths, the fragile psyches masquerading as personalities.

It reminded me of some of my favorite "coming-of-age" novels, and like This Side of Paradise and Norwegian Wood, I can picture myself rereading this book and getting more out of it each time. Maybe even more so, since it was a woman's experience navigating the unknown world.

Things I do when I'm putting off doing what I need to do

1. Check for updates on Tumblr
2. Hang up the not-quite-dirty clothes that congregate on my dresser
3. Call my mom
4. Lie on the couch and tell myself just five minutes
5. Makes lists
6. Facial scrub (St. Ives Apricot scrub since 1995)
7. Snuggle a cat whether they like it or not
8. Contemplate my next meal
9. Flip through the nearest abandoned magazine or book I've been meaning to get back to
10. Make repeated visits to the dried fruit and nut jar that is NOT FOR SNACKING, breakfasts only!!!

Three X Ten

“I don't want to repeat my innocence. I want the pleasure of losing it again.” 
― F. Scott Fitzgerald, This Side of Paradise

Three x Ten from 3by10 on 8tracks Radio.

Hello World

So I turned 30, which shouldn’t have been surprising but somehow was. Any milestone birthday (and really for me ANY birthday) seems to call for some stocktaking and self-reflection. 30 years. What have I done? What do I have to show for it? Does that matter?

Not really. Except I’m bored. And only boring people are bored.

So I’m going to have to change that.

Here goes.