Turning Over (Not Into) a New Leaf

Okay. I was just about to start blogging when I happened to look up at the television (which is tuned to TLC so I can watch What Not to Wear in my peripheral vision as I write) and saw a commercial for an upcoming program which has grossed me out so badly that I absolutely have to mention it before moving on. The program was about this man who is half tree, and half man. Half tree! Is this for real? How is such a thing even possible??? Dear God, the pictures of him were so incredibly upsetting I can't even describe them. I'm trying to shake it off.

Anyway.

If you've already noticed, there is something very different about the technical circumstances under which I'm writing today. Have you guessed? Here's a hint: I'm not at work. I'm not blogging by cell phone. That's right, I'm at home on my very own computer! Not a new computer, unfortunately, but my very old, very outdated Gateway laptop. Remember Gateway? I'm pretty sure I'm the only person who still owns one. My version of Windows XP is circa 2001. It's very retro. Still, I'm proud of this computer. My senior year of high school I entered a scholarship competition that I read about in my guidance counselor's office sponsered by Coca-Cola and the San Diego Public Transit Authority. I wrote an essay about the (very limited) history of public transportation in San Diego, and about six weeks later I received a phone call telling me that I was one of fifteen students selected to attend an awards luncheon at Coca-Cola headquarters, at which I was to receive my winnings: a $250 scholarship and a free Gateway laptop, complete with carrying case. Yes, apparently even at 17 I could bullshit in essay format with the best.

It's been about four years since my computer connected to the internet. My first semester of freshman year my roommate Megan's parents offered to pay for our internet connection. I went totally hogwild, downloading music and AIMing like crazy, to the point where I was finally inundated with viruses. Then Megan dropped out over winter break, and I was left again without internet access. After that, I reasoned that I just couldn't afford it and didn't need to, when the computer lab at school stayed open until 2 am every night. Since graduation, I've done what I could, stealing internet access at work and paying for it at Kinko's, then breathing a sigh of relief when I got my Palm Centro cell phone which had complete, miniature internet browsing ability. Then last night, Matty suggested I try connecting my computer directly to the router, since it lived in my subletted room right by my bed. Low and behold, it worked! I'll never be the same again! DVR, cable, and internet? Matty is spoiling the hell out of me. Thank goodness I've finally started to make some money so I'll be able to pay for all these technological goodies.

So, now that I've got all those tangents out of the way, let me tell you about my day. It was an ordinary, unremarkable day, but a perfect, lovely one nonetheless. Having closed at Tabla Monday night, then worked a thirteen hour double yesterday, my body was begging me to stay in bed this morning. Alas, I had to face another lunch shift, so I hoisted my worn-out self out of bed, put myself together as quickly as possible (given my insomnia) and rolled out the door, pausing to grab an apple and a magazine for the subway.

I was just telling Matty last night that I've started to realize the only way I'm going to be able to sustain working full time at both restaurants is to force myself to adapt a healthy new routine. Last summer, I spent one month working three jobs: teaching by day at the UArts summer program, hostessing by night at Jones, and serving on the weekends at Chili's. It was insane--but I didn't get sick once, and I was the happiest I'd been in a long time because I was managing to fulfill all my needs, both personal, professional, and financial. I was grocery shopping every Sunday evening and packing my lunches, eating really healthy, and taking yoga at the gym on my lunch breaks from the summer program. I've done it before, and I know I can do it again. What gives me the strength and the stamina to endure such a saturated schedule is knowing that it is temporary. I've given myself until February to maintain this ridiculous schedule. True, it doesn't leave much room for a social life, but hey--as Carrie Bradshaw once said, "isn't delayed gratification the definition of maturity?" My main priority right now is taking care to put my life seriously on a healthy track, and that starts with building some financial stability, even if it proves to be temporary, which I've accepted that it may very well be.

This was my online horoscope today:

"You may want to have more stability in your everyday routines, such as diet, exercise and sleep. But there can be too many distractions these days, making self-discipline even tougher than usual. You may reach a point where it's healthier to let go of control, instead of frustrating yourself by trying to tighten your grip on reality. Tomorrow is another day."

Well, shit.

Luckily for me, I've spent the last year purposfully working to accept that change is inevitably out of my control. The tide will always ebb and flow, and while I may not be able to change it, learning to roll with it allows for a sense of flexibility and ease in my life that has taken away my fear of failure. Yes, the confusion still remains, but the fog seems to be clearing little by little and it's fabulous.

I took a bite out of my Golden Delicious apple on the D train this morning and was surprised at how easily my teeth sank into the fruit, and what a satisfying crunch it made. My coppery-pink lipstick left a ring around the bite that glistened in the morning sunlight. I usually only buy Granny Smith apples (for some reason red apples or even Macintosh apples gross me out...I prefer the tartness of green ones.) The Granny Smiths are usually much harder to bite into than this Golden Delicious. Suddenly I was hit by the sensation of Autumn, all at once and very intensely. The potential for beauty and change fills the air everywhere I go in New York; I can feel nature vibrating as the leaves are perched on the very tips of their stems, just itching to change color and fall to the ground. The biggest changes in my life have always happened in the fall, from all the years I moved from school to school as I bounced back and forth between my parent's houses, to every new semester of college that held so much possibility, to last fall when I piled into the UHaul van with Alee and moved myself to New York. The big changes happen between September and January, and through the Winter I hibernate, settling into the new and improved version of my life that I've turned over.

The trains have been running very slowly the past few days, and I was about eight minutes late for work (though I called on the way to alleviate my fear of sullying my brand new unblemished reputation at Tabla.) Once I got onto the floor I settled down, and after several cups of coffee I was ready to work. It was a good shift--I've stopped making mistakes and I've started to create a new muscle memory for the restaurant. I feel settled and satisfied, and very relieved that my schedule has stabilized. As I neared the end of the shift, I started to plan out the rest of my evening. I have the night off and was determined to spend it in the most pleasurable, relaxing way possible so I'd be rejuvenated for my back to back doubles over the nest couple days. When I left the restaurant at 3:45, I headed straight for Union Square. The Farmer's Market was in full swing and I was determined to take advantage of it for the first time, since I had a little money to play with and double paychecks coming on Friday.

Tonight is the finale of Project Runway. Matty and I have been looking forward to this for weeks. It's an even bigger event since it's the show's final season on Bravo before it transfers to Lifetime next season. Miraculously, we both happened to have the evening off, so we planned to spend it together for the first time in weeks. He doesn't get off until 7:30 or so, so I'm cooking dinner for us: turkey burgers and sweet potato fries, with some kind of veggie dish on the side. Matt and I constantly bicker about our opposite beliefs regarding grocery shopping. Both of us love grocery shopping, and love crafting our own meals, although our styles and tastes couldn't be different. For one thing, Matty doesn't really buy or eat much fruit, whereas I crave fruit and juice all the time--it makes up for a large percentage of my shopping. He also buys pre-grated cheese (which I'm just so against), Kraft Singles (ditto), and frozen vegetables. He claims that every time he buys fresh produce it goes bad before he has time to eat it. I think it's a matter of buying less, only as much as you know you can eat in a week. Very few things actually spoil in a week if they're stored in the fridge, even if they're organic. He uses garlic powder instead of fresh garlic. The difference is obvious: he's all about convenience and practicality, whereas I'm all about authenticity and richness of taste and quality. You can tell which one of is is the restaurant snob.

At the market, I look for fresh organic garlic, onions and bell peppers--it's the first time I've ever bought produce at a farmer's market. It feels so fantastic for so many reasons. I feel like I'm getting back to the earth, taking a break from Corporate America with all it's overly-processed, pre-packaged, wasteful superstore glitz, and supporting local vendors at the same time. I feel like I'm making a difference--resisting over-economy, putting my money in the pockets of normal citizens instead of corporations. Shopping at the farmer's market feels like an act of rebellion. And, it makes me feel like part of a community.

I spend $2 on two small yellow onions, a clove of garlic and a green bell pepper...already I can smell how fresh and delicious they will taste with our dinner tonight. My next stop as I meander through the masses of green shoppers with their reusable shopping bags (I left mine at home) is at a little flower stand. The woman running the booth has backed her van into the tent, and its doors are open revealing her dwindling stock of fresh-cut flowers (I'm a little late...the market will start to close down in an hour or so.) I pick a small bouquet of fall-colored chrysantemums, and she tells me they're on sale, so I buy two for $10. The smile up at me with friendly red and yellow faces as I continue on through the market. I stop, on a whim, at a baked goods stand (my weakness) where I pick out a homeade pumpkin loaf and a large chocolate chip cookie (all I've eaten today was that apple and I'm dying for a snack) for a total of $4.50. Down the street from Union Square is a Trader Joe's, complete with an absolutely astounding wine store. This is my favorite new discovery in the entire city. Trader Joe's has a decent little wine selection from all over the world, and not one bottle is over $30 or so. I've purchased two bottles for $10 before...and it's still good quality wine. It's so worth going a few blocks out of my way for: I pick out an Il Valore Sangiovese from Puglia for (are you ready?) $4.59.

So, in half an hour, I've spent about $21 and I've purchased flowers, a bottle of wine, fresh organic veggies for dinner, a cookie for a snack, and a pumpkin loaf. All fresh, all organic, all deliciously satisfying.

New York is possible to enjoy on a budget, after all...you just have to know the little secrets. And stop assuming that the best things come with big price tags.

I'm divinely satiated on the N train ride home, even though I'm exhausted and have to stand (I always forget about rush hour.) I get home, arrange the flowers, and open the bottle of wine. I've decided to try drinking more in an effort to trick myself into going to bed earlier. I know, I know... it's a lonely, treacherous road to alcoholism. Luckily, it doesn't run in my family, and my body is so vulnerable to drugs and alcohol that one glass pretty much always does the trick. And besides, a glass of red wine with dinner is supposed to be good for you, isn't it? Wishful thinking?

"Still Life With Groceries"

How wonderful it feels to take comfort in small pleasures. My attitude has improved so much in the past few weeks...I'm sure it's a sign of ever greater developments to come. I have short-term goals in mind that serve only to take me from one phase to the next. I'm keeping my mind open to possibilities that are impossible for me to forsee. Right now I'm focused on my holistic happiness rather than my long term world-changing goals. Those are all still there. But focusing on the short term makes it easier to trust that the long term will fall into place. It's kinda like the way I see without glasses or contact lenses: everything that is within a foot of my face is clear, and everything that is farther away becomes blurrier and blurrier. I can still see it--the colors and the shapes are there, but fuzzy and blended together. The closer I come to an object, the more it comes into focus.

Clearly, I am near-sighted in life.

I've been blogging all summer to cope with a serious crash of my morale. Thank goodnessI'm finally changing with the leaves.

(...though thankfully not changing into the leaves...I just remembered the tree-man again. So gross!!!)

"For the person for whom small things do not exist, the great is not great." - Jose Ortega y Gasset

I have always been afflicted with chronic lateness. It's a very serious issue. I'm very rarely more than fifteen minutes late, and to things that really matter very rarely more than five minutes late. Somehow, I cannot figure out how to reprogram my internal clock to run on time let alone early.

One of the nice things about working the am reservations shift at Morimoto is that I am always the first front-of-house employee to arrive at the restaurant. I cherish my alone time in the office. It's my time to drink my coffee, eat my homeade breakfast sandwich, check my email and read the news online. It's heavenly. Also, and this is both a blessing and a curse, there is no one here to notice when I'm late.

Whenever I manage to make it to work on time, or early, I feel an enormous sense of satisfaction and pride akin to, I imagine, what it must feel like to run a marathon or adopt a small child in Sudan. I realize that it's completely ridiculous to feel such a grandiose sense of accomplishment for being on time to work, but for me, it's a big deal. It truly is the little things in life that count, after all.

I desperately wish I was a morning person. There is something so divinely grown-up about eating breakfast at home, at the table, before going to work. Or having the time to take the long route to work and not having to speed down the sidewalk like a bullet train, instead having the freedom to take in the crispness of the morning air, the quietness of the city, and the twinkle of the morning sun. The energy of New York changes so beautifully from the crisp potential of the morning, to the vibrant buzz of the afternoon, to the smooth coolness of the evening, to the hazy decadence of the night. My absolute favorite days are when I am awake for a long enough stretch to experience all four stages of a New York day...and then am able to sleep through all of them the following day.

Today, I was determined to leave early and enjoy my walk from the subway to the restaurant. I was scheduled to come in at 10am, and to be alone in the office until the manager comes in at 2pm. To clarify, I'm not proud of my chronic lateness. I'm actually extremely ashamed and embarrassed by it. I wish I could brush it off, but I'm still a little too much of a people-pleaser to avoid feeling guilty about being late. And I really love my job and all of my managers, which makes it even worse. Although they won't know I was late this morning if I don't tell them and they never scold me when I do, I still feel like crap about it.

I have two main subway routes that I can take to Morimoto. I can take the D train (which stops a block from my apartment) into Manhattan, transfer to the A,C,E at West 4th, then get off after one stop at 14th street and 8th avenue and walk three blocks. Or, I can take the N train (which stops six blocks from my apartment) straight to Union Square, and then walk seven long blocks to the restaurant. Though the blocks between avenues are very long, I actually prefer to walk from Union Square for a number of scenic reasons. First of all, Union Square is one of my favorite parts of New York. It is such a vibrant cross-section of people, what with the publishing district up the street in Flatiron, the NYU campus starting just down the street, Chelsea just the the west, and Gramercy just to the east. It's all of New York coming together, professionals, artists, students, street kids, bums, and rich people. All in the same square.

Union Square (not my pic)

Fifth Avenue is around the corner, there are tons of amazing restaurants, and just as many tiny diners and cheap pizza places. The Green Market goes on several days a week in the square, with produce and flowers and fresh breads and apple cider from local vendors, and though it's maddening to fight through the crowds if you're late for work, it's lovely to stroll through on a lazy afternoon. And best of all, when I have the time to walk the long walk, I get to walk through Chelsea and dream of the day when I'll be able to afford a beautiful brownstone apartment on a beautiful tree-lined street like the ones along 15th street between 6th and 9th avenue.

15th st. between 8th and 9th

Unfortunately, since I've apparently become nocturnal and can rarely fall asleep before 4am anymore, and had to pack for my weekend in Philly this morning, I left the house 20 minutes late and had to forgo the scenic route. I spent the entire subway ride planning my post-work errand schedule in my head and trying to figure out how I could get a quick breakfast and a cup of much needed coffee for the $2 and change. I haven't been able to find a coffee cart on my route, and I was pretty sure the designer coffee kiosk in Chelsea Market would charge at least as much as Starbucks. Luckily, I wasn't as late as I thought I'd be; I reached the corner of 9th ave and 15th street at 10:08 and decided that a cup of coffee was worth an extra few minutes that no one would ever know about. And even when they told me at Starbucks that the coffee was brewing and would take another 2 minutes, I consented. I've got a long day ahead of me, after all.

"There's perfection in simplicity." Well said, Starbucks.

In the three blocks from the C train to the restaurant, I did get to see a little of the urban scenery. And it's such a clean fall morning, if a little overcast, that I couldn't help appreciating it as I sped down 15th street. I can't help finding ordinary things interesting and beautiful.

An alley on 15th st between 9th and 10th

This city never ceases to inspire me. I just love New York. As difficult as it is to live here, as much as we're all suffering from the economy crash, and as much as I feel the city has toughened me up, every time I find a spare ounce of energy in a spare second to take in the little urban idiosyncracies around me, I am always flooded with emotion, nostalgia and pride in a place I haven't even lived in for an entire year, and the same sense of awe I felt at 16, the first time I visited the city, in a simpler time when Times Square seemed like the most beautiful place in the world. And even though I now absolutely cannot stand walking through midtown, it's not the city's fault. There will always be swarms of tourists and newcomers flocking to New York, no matter how bad things get financially, because New York is still the absolute icon of the American Dream, the place where anything still seems possible, even if it no longer is in actuality. In a time where I feel like I'm systematically being robbed of all the opportunites America is supposed to offer, all the opportunites my parents had at my age to build their lives the way they wanted to without worrying about the economy collapsing beneath them and things like health insurance and social security that should be fundamental rights being abolished, I can't help feeling like New York may be the only place left in America where it might still be possible for me to find my heart's desire. Without New York, I may as well move to Canada where the taxes are higher but nobody bitches about it because the streets are clean, public parks and pools are aplenty, and everyone can go to the doctor when they're sick.

Am I being naive? Perhaps. I prefer to think of it as full of the hope that only youth can sustain.

"This is not the same country as it was when I was growing up," my dad said to me last night. Everywhere I go all I hear is it's not the same city, either. But I'm not ready to give up on New York yet. It took me 23 years to get here. I'm not leaving that fast.

And so, I will continue to look for the beauty and simplicity of the little details in my New York life. And I will cherish my tiny freedoms.

The 9th st Corner of Chelsea Market

Transcendentalism and Grocery Shopping: An Exercise in Self-Discipline

Having returned to New York with barely enough money to pay my first month's rent and half of my bills, I realized today that for the first time in several years I am unemployed, broke, and hungry. Not since my sophomore year of college when I was an RA with free housing but no time to get a job have I had to live off tap water and peanut butter, washing my underwear in the bathtub with dishwashing soap.

Totally badass, right?

Okay, I'm pretty sure it won't come to that this time. I have an interview tomorrow for a job as a cocktail waitress and a stimulus check from the government coming this week. I know I'm going to be fine. Still, it's been a while since I had to live off $50 a week or less, and that makes me a little nervous.

My friend Sarah from The Irish... lent me a book about a month ago, a lovely Irish memoir called Borstal Boy by Brendan Behan. At 16, Behan was a badass little punk whose connection with the IRA in the 1930's landed him in an English prison for three years. I'm only about halfway through (don't judge - I'm a fast reader but I get easily distracted, especially in times of chaos) but what I'm digging most so far is Behan's youthful waivering between self-pity and noble defiance inspired by deep patriotism. He lives on bread and potatoes and grumbles from time to time, but ultimately he decides that his loyalty to Ireland is worth a few years in prison: it's a small price to pay for the love of one's country.

Balancing my meager budget today, Brendan Behan popped into my head. If he can live on bread and water and little else for three years, surely I can do the same for a few measly weeks! And isn't my plight also in pursuit of an ideal? I choose a sparse, unstable life in the name of the creative human spirit! For the freedom to follow my artistic impulses, always endeavoring to reach out to the humanity in all my fellow men! To live a full, feeling life, experiencing the full range of emotion and experience, not just the fat happiness of the wealthy and privileged!

Riding high on these delusions of grandeur, I began to create a budget. I figured I could afford to spend about $30 on groceries to get me through the week until I received my little bit of money. Then subsequently, I'd have enough to live on about $60 a week for two or three weeks while I'm unemployed (though hopefully I won't be unemployed for that long.) I rationalized that if I purchased 7 items at $4 per item, I'd ring in at $28...perfect!

But could I do it? Me, of the chronic indulgences of every little craving and impulse? Sometimes I spend $20 on stuff to make guacamole! Sometimes I spend $16 on fancy natural shampoo and conditioner...just because I FEEL like it!

Gathering my wits, and doing my best to embody the spirit of Brendan Behan, I hopped on the subway and went to the Whole Foods in Union Square.

The minute I walked through the doors, I fell head over heels in love.

First of all, I've long since learned that everything is bigger and better in New York than anywhere else in America. (I've only been here 8 months and already I'm an elitist asshole.) It stands to reason that the Whole Foods would follow suite...but wow. I was blown away.

Three stories. The produce is in the basement like some kind of organic wonderland. There are 10 different checkout lines which are color-coded and television screens dictating when it's your turn to proceed to which of the 30 different registers. The lines are out the door. And I was there at 9:00pm...apparently all cosmopolitan Manhattanites do their trendy grocery shopping after their post-office workout at the New York Sports Club down the street.

I had come prepared with a cute little list of the seven items I was going to purchase: apples, peanut butter, bread, oatmeal, carrots, hummus and cheese. I selected each item carefully, saving a few dollars here and there on items that were on sale, so I splurged and threw in a cucumber and some vanilla soymilk for good measure. And I did give into buying the fresh Irish Cheddar...as a tribute to Behan and my fake Irish heritage.

Standing in line, I felt fantastically self-empowered. I could do it! I could be a trendy New Yorker and still survive on merely a few dollars! Why didn't I realized this sooner? It's so much easier to go grocery shopping than I ever imagined! And I had exercised such fantastic will power, which I tell you, is definitely not my strong point.

The total at the checkout line? $19.75

I am amazing! I am a goddess of budgeting and nutrition! I won't starve! I can live for my art and squeak by at the same time! How did I ever let myself descend into such insipid materialism when I was living here before???

I'm the modern female equivalent of Henry David Thoreau! Whole Foods is my Walden!

I am a fool.

Tomorrow I will get a job.