You know, I'm not too in the know about everything that is happening in our nation these days. It's a sorry admission, to be sure. I just tend to use my internet time reading articles that don't make me upset or freak me out. I'm the kind of gal who gets overwhelmed all to o easily, which then tends to lead to a pressing urge to curl in to a ball atop the nearest cushy surface and go to sleep. So I read personal blogs, and fun info-tainmenty sort of sites. But I thought just now, hey, I'm from Detroit, I need to know what's going on there even if I am hundred of miles away.
Earlier today I skimmed the op-ed that Mitt Romney wrote the encouraged Washington to let Detroit go broke. That idea alone sort of bristled my fur and gave me a very 'don't you talk about my city that way' feeling. Which led to me not really reading the piece entirely, and mostly keeping the phrase "shut up, Romney, you're a jerk" in the front of my mind while his words just passed in front of my eyes. Again, not very responsible of me. But this instinctual hometown pride just doesn't leave room for me to be unbiased.
So I was just reading another article from the NY times, and this quote jumped out at me: "But with the House set to adjourn at the end of Thursday, the automakers were left with only the dimmest of hopes that Congress would provide any assistance this year."
Maybe it's the fact that I haven't slept yet tonight and have not really gotten more than two or three hours of sleep a night this week. My emotions may be a bit overactive at this point. But that quote (and the rest of the article) hit me like knee to the gut. I don't particularly understand how the auto industry got to this point - but I'm sure that Big 3 executives aren't blameless. Regardless, I am scared for what will happen. And that fear is even harder to deal with because I don't even understand where it is coming from. I'm worried for the people in my home state and my relatives who work in the auto industry in a way that I didn't know I was capable of. It's that instinctual fear that you feel when something dear to you, something that is a large part of who you are, is under attack and you are powerless to change the course of events.
Detroit is in the news, and none of it is good. And it feels like I'm watching my mom get clotheslined or something. Overwhelming, indeed.
Did I mention I'm flying to New York in, oh, three hours? I slept last night for probably 4 hours, took an hour nap this afternoon, and now I'm basically running on adrenaline. I have some last minute packing to do, a shower to take, and some sad goodbyes to say. Then it's travelling all day and arriving at my new home looking like a pale-faced zombie and probably feeling as pleasant as one.
Long, long day ahead. Maybe my cab driver from LaGuardia to the Upper East Side will be Ben Bailey of Cash Cab, and I will answer all the questions correctly (naturally) and my money anxieties will be quelled for a couple of weeks.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
Monday, November 17, 2008
The Meeting
So, I'm hopping on another plane and flying to another coast again. Thursday morning. As in a couple days ago. I'm going to New York - a quick decision that I made on this past Thursday. Greener pastures and such. I bought the plane ticket before I had time to second guess myself. It's happening without nearly as much ceremony or crazy anxiety as my move to Portland, which is a good thing. My nerves would not be able to stand up to that whole experience of panicking and crying and freaking out again.
NEW YORK CITY! I am excited beyond words. I can't wait to meet Ryan Adams and sweep him off his feet.
It is 10:50 pm as I write this, and I'm sitting in my basement room nursing a burly hangover. Hungover?! at 11:00 pm?! Yes, indeed. Last night The Native of the New Dawn came through Portland on their tour. After watching them play their brief set (they're supporting the band Fishbone) we headed to a bar to have a going away get together in honor of my impending deaparture. Eventually Tom (drummer of the natives, old friend, and generally the rowdiest man alive) met up with us. We got kicked out of the bar, and while everyone else drove home in a car, Tom and I picked up an 18 pack of PBR and biked home. Biking and carrying an 18 pack are mututally exclusive - meaning that they are two things that cannot occur at the same time and have no common outcomes. The chain fell off my bike and I couldn't get it back on, so we had to walk our bikes. And I got us a teensy bit lost, which is unbelievable now that I'm looking back on it, because we were so close to home.
Once Tom and I finally made it back home, everyone had gone to bed. The Natives pulled up in their van, all of them already asleep save for the driver. Vince (MC of the Natives, new friend, and general sage-like guy) sat on my porch with Tom and I for a bit, whereupon Tom passed out. I fetched a red sharpie, and giggled while Vince drew on all of Tom's exposed skin. Creepiest place to draw on someone while they sleep: their eyelids.
So Tom snored, and Vince and I talked. We smoked cigarettes, we drank some beers, and we just talked. And it was amazing to have that experience, to sit with a stranger on wide porch and have a real conversation. And you can have conversations in those late hours that you can't have at any other time during the day. Because the world is asleep, there are no potential interruptions... it's this totally focused situation and all that matters in those moments is listening and speaking and learning about this other person. He had so much to say and he's lived so much life. And everything he said entwined in ths ribbon of serious heart and warmth, because he's a poet, he translates thoughts and feelings into beautiful rhymes and verses. He kept my feet warm and he really listened to what I had to say. And then the sun was rising, my housemates all woke up to start their days, and the loveliness of that one-on-one experience sort of evaporated in the sunlight and the company of 6 other people. And there I was, drunk at 9:00 in the morning. I went to sleep around 11:00, right around the same time that the Natives rolled on to Seattle.
It's rare to connect with somebody like that. To just take a night and spend it with a new person and know that for a few hours you opened up and were entirely yourself, unabashedly. Or maybe it's not rare. But it's rare for me. So it was a good night. A great night.
I'm left with a few parting questions, to be broadcast out in to the universe:
1. If I got so lost in the streets of Portland last night in a neighborhood that I'm actually pretty familiar with, how am I going to make my way in NYC?
2. How am I going to make my way in NYC at all?
3. Where, oh where will I find the energy to pack all of my belongings up?
4. Why do I find myself needing to finish watching "Undiscovered" online when itis one of the worst movies I have ever seen? Am I really that hard up for means of procrastination?
5. Would it be cruel of me to adopt a tiny dog in NYC and then keep it in my apartment while I'm at work all day? I think that it probably would be, but is it possible that my enormous love for it would make up for that cruelty?
That is all.
NEW YORK CITY! I am excited beyond words. I can't wait to meet Ryan Adams and sweep him off his feet.
It is 10:50 pm as I write this, and I'm sitting in my basement room nursing a burly hangover. Hungover?! at 11:00 pm?! Yes, indeed. Last night The Native of the New Dawn came through Portland on their tour. After watching them play their brief set (they're supporting the band Fishbone) we headed to a bar to have a going away get together in honor of my impending deaparture. Eventually Tom (drummer of the natives, old friend, and generally the rowdiest man alive) met up with us. We got kicked out of the bar, and while everyone else drove home in a car, Tom and I picked up an 18 pack of PBR and biked home. Biking and carrying an 18 pack are mututally exclusive - meaning that they are two things that cannot occur at the same time and have no common outcomes. The chain fell off my bike and I couldn't get it back on, so we had to walk our bikes. And I got us a teensy bit lost, which is unbelievable now that I'm looking back on it, because we were so close to home.
Once Tom and I finally made it back home, everyone had gone to bed. The Natives pulled up in their van, all of them already asleep save for the driver. Vince (MC of the Natives, new friend, and general sage-like guy) sat on my porch with Tom and I for a bit, whereupon Tom passed out. I fetched a red sharpie, and giggled while Vince drew on all of Tom's exposed skin. Creepiest place to draw on someone while they sleep: their eyelids.
So Tom snored, and Vince and I talked. We smoked cigarettes, we drank some beers, and we just talked. And it was amazing to have that experience, to sit with a stranger on wide porch and have a real conversation. And you can have conversations in those late hours that you can't have at any other time during the day. Because the world is asleep, there are no potential interruptions... it's this totally focused situation and all that matters in those moments is listening and speaking and learning about this other person. He had so much to say and he's lived so much life. And everything he said entwined in ths ribbon of serious heart and warmth, because he's a poet, he translates thoughts and feelings into beautiful rhymes and verses. He kept my feet warm and he really listened to what I had to say. And then the sun was rising, my housemates all woke up to start their days, and the loveliness of that one-on-one experience sort of evaporated in the sunlight and the company of 6 other people. And there I was, drunk at 9:00 in the morning. I went to sleep around 11:00, right around the same time that the Natives rolled on to Seattle.
It's rare to connect with somebody like that. To just take a night and spend it with a new person and know that for a few hours you opened up and were entirely yourself, unabashedly. Or maybe it's not rare. But it's rare for me. So it was a good night. A great night.
I'm left with a few parting questions, to be broadcast out in to the universe:
1. If I got so lost in the streets of Portland last night in a neighborhood that I'm actually pretty familiar with, how am I going to make my way in NYC?
2. How am I going to make my way in NYC at all?
3. Where, oh where will I find the energy to pack all of my belongings up?
4. Why do I find myself needing to finish watching "Undiscovered" online when itis one of the worst movies I have ever seen? Am I really that hard up for means of procrastination?
5. Would it be cruel of me to adopt a tiny dog in NYC and then keep it in my apartment while I'm at work all day? I think that it probably would be, but is it possible that my enormous love for it would make up for that cruelty?
That is all.
Sunday, November 9, 2008
Goodbye To All That
Nary a day goes by that I don't find myself consumed by wondering where I will be after Christmas. I need to make a decision soon. Well, the decision will be made for me, essentially, if I don't have a job by the time I fly back to Michigan for the holidays on December 21st. I will need to have decided by the beginning of December, so that my housemates can find someone else to rent this basement room in my stead. So, it's either (miraculously) get a job here in Portland and stay, or go home and figure out the next step from there.
New York City is an option. I have two very close friends who are really pushing for me to live with them in their apartment. I think that I could really get in to the idea of living in NYC. As I have been considering it more seriously lately, I decided to find the text of Goodbye To All That by Joan Didion, which is probably one of the best descriptions of what it's like to be young and not quite comfortable in your new adult skin. And, of course, it made me want to pack my bags immediately and settle in to a meager existence on the east coast.
When I was younger I always imagined myself living in New York as a young adult. Of course, in those adolescent daydreams I was always the girlfriend of a grungy rockstar, so my vision may have to be slightly adjusted.
And just when I start to think that Portland isn't right for me and that I'm crazy to be out here when I could be living a life that is not much unlike the life I had back in college, I have a great night with a couple of my housemates and I feel like I'm right where I should be. I went to a neighborhood bar last night with Tony and Zack, two of the guys I live with. We drank some beers, played some pool, smoked some cigarettes (yuck, I know) and they ended up giving themselves haircuts. An image: drunk guy bending over, swaying from the many Pabsts just consumed, grabbing a fistful of his own hair and cutting it off with a pair of dull scissors.
I could be happy anywhere. Which closes no doors and does nothing to narrow down my decision. I know it's a bit silly to base major life decisions on something as subjective as "a sign." But signs are pretty much all that I've got going for me at this point. If I get a good job here in the next couple of weeks, I will take it as a sign that I should stay in Portland and see this through. If I get any response from jobs in New York that I have applied/will apply for, then that will be a sign of different portent.
And if I don't hear anything from any employer, then I will take it as a sign that I am forever doomed to live with my mom and talk to her dogs all day, every day.
Sometimes I think about "The Glass Menagerie" by Tenessee Williams, and the character of Laura. I think that's her name. She's the sister of the main character/narrator, and she is the terribly tragic girl who lives at home and feels too shy or scared to continue her classes at the secretary school, so she just walks around all day. She collects beautiful, fragile little glass animals and shuts herself off from the world completely. I know that my fate couldn't really be shared with a character like that, but sometimes it feels like it could.
As long as I refrain from collecting anything or signing up for secretary classes I'm in the clear, right?
New York City is an option. I have two very close friends who are really pushing for me to live with them in their apartment. I think that I could really get in to the idea of living in NYC. As I have been considering it more seriously lately, I decided to find the text of Goodbye To All That by Joan Didion, which is probably one of the best descriptions of what it's like to be young and not quite comfortable in your new adult skin. And, of course, it made me want to pack my bags immediately and settle in to a meager existence on the east coast.
When I was younger I always imagined myself living in New York as a young adult. Of course, in those adolescent daydreams I was always the girlfriend of a grungy rockstar, so my vision may have to be slightly adjusted.
And just when I start to think that Portland isn't right for me and that I'm crazy to be out here when I could be living a life that is not much unlike the life I had back in college, I have a great night with a couple of my housemates and I feel like I'm right where I should be. I went to a neighborhood bar last night with Tony and Zack, two of the guys I live with. We drank some beers, played some pool, smoked some cigarettes (yuck, I know) and they ended up giving themselves haircuts. An image: drunk guy bending over, swaying from the many Pabsts just consumed, grabbing a fistful of his own hair and cutting it off with a pair of dull scissors.
I could be happy anywhere. Which closes no doors and does nothing to narrow down my decision. I know it's a bit silly to base major life decisions on something as subjective as "a sign." But signs are pretty much all that I've got going for me at this point. If I get a good job here in the next couple of weeks, I will take it as a sign that I should stay in Portland and see this through. If I get any response from jobs in New York that I have applied/will apply for, then that will be a sign of different portent.
And if I don't hear anything from any employer, then I will take it as a sign that I am forever doomed to live with my mom and talk to her dogs all day, every day.
Sometimes I think about "The Glass Menagerie" by Tenessee Williams, and the character of Laura. I think that's her name. She's the sister of the main character/narrator, and she is the terribly tragic girl who lives at home and feels too shy or scared to continue her classes at the secretary school, so she just walks around all day. She collects beautiful, fragile little glass animals and shuts herself off from the world completely. I know that my fate couldn't really be shared with a character like that, but sometimes it feels like it could.
As long as I refrain from collecting anything or signing up for secretary classes I'm in the clear, right?
Monday, November 3, 2008
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