Run, Run, As Fast As You Can

Last week was my boss's birthday party. It was the same night as the Vassar Young Alum party in NYC (which I had already committed to go). I'm usually a little wary of hanging out with my bosses outside of work (especially since my bosses are so young) but he had graciously invited me to join and for the sake of cultivating a good working relationship with him, I agreed to go. I dressed nicely that day (my hair for once, cooperating in the heat) in a blue lace dress and dark cardigan - as the AP also came to the office to interview my friend and co-worker JS and he warned us beforehand that we might be in some of the b-roll shots. The usual fare of t-shirt and sandals would not fly. Not that I ever wear sandals, but that's mostly because I only own one pair and they're not that comfortable to go around in.
I was supposed to duck out of the office sometime around 6:15 and head up to Chelsea for the Vassar event then head back down to Flatbush Farm in Brooklyn at around 8:00 for my boss's thing. As it worked out, and as it usually works out, I ended up swamped with work and decided that I should just reverse it - go to my boss's thing first and then head up to Manhattan to attempt to look semi impressive around my college contemporaries. I figured it could provide a good exit strategy if I needed it. JS and I walked over to the party at around 7:00-ish as we had both been left to try to deal with our crazy workloads until late.
It wasn't a particularly memorable evening up until that point. The weather was ok, but not necessarily newsworthy. JS and I exchanged our usual grievances about work and life as we walked along the streets of Brooklyn. The humidity curled my hair a little more than I would have wanted it to.
The bar was nice - cozy and inviting with a bit of an old-school feel to it. It reminded me a little bit of The Beech Tree on Collegeview Ave in Poughkeepsie right across the street from the North Gate at Vassar. We went there a few times with J, who had cultivated a friendship with the barkeep, and it was always a good environment for a quiet drink or two. It was unfortunately also the site where my parents and my ex's parents went to have dinner together when they first met. I remember my ex being extremely uncomfortable that night.
I ordered a Brooklyn (bourbon, southern comfort, and bitters) to start it off. I was beginning to be in one of those moods when the intensely work-heavy week was starting to get to me and the prospect of facing what probably would be half of the hipster population in Williamsburg at the Vassar thing was troubling. Unfortunately the aptly-named Brooklyn cocktail wasn't as smooth as I would have liked it to be, which is why I downed it as fast as I could while I listened to some of my co-workers' stories. I followed the Brooklyn with a Pear Martini - an unusual choice as I usually can't really stomach most martinis (they're NOT WELL MADE okay?) but this one went down with unusual ease. JS left with one of our other co-workers at some point and I realized I was left with my boss and his friends from college.
It was also the point where I realized that heading up to Manhattan was just not happening.
Oh blerg.
I sat around there talking to people about who knows what for a while when I started feeling myself ease into that version of me that I kinda don't like. The version of me whose suaveness barely covers the thinly veiled arrogance that stems from my education as a liberal arts intellectual. Not that liberal arts intellectuals are douchebags or anything, but we can be. And that ugly side of me reared its ugly head out that night at the bar. When that happened, I decided it was time to leave.
I hobbled out of there in my high heels (which I have no recollection of switching into) and instantly called M in an effort to purge myself of my guilt about turning into intellectual douchebag E. She calmed me down somewhat. Enough to get on the subway and make it half a block from home.
It was then and there that the hole came back - the knawing, destructively empty black hole that exists somewhere in my upper digestive system. The same black hole that sent me to my knees when it was created - and sent me to my knees half a block away from my apartment alone in the streets of Brooklyn. I sat on a bench on the Prospect Park perimeter for half an hour as I teared up and did everything I could to not just sit there sobbing like a small child.

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Amsterdam on My Mind

So I have officially made it back to Amsterdam for an extended vacation period (19 days is not your standard vacation). Seeing as I arrived only about 36 hours ago, the plan is still to kind of get through my jet lag at the moment...to quiet my mind and think about life for a bit. I have plans to relax on the Museumplein grass for that on Monday or Tuesday. Maybe  I will just walk all the way up to the Dam and rediscover my old haunts along the way. Pick up a cup of coffee in Kaldi in Jordaan....For me, Amsterdam has always been about the simple things. About walking around and stumbling across these little wonderful treasures. About reminding myself that life is not complicated and is in no need for complications.
For now, that sounds quie perfect.

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Egg Scramble

So this morning I woke up in a pretty good mood so I made myself a pretty delicious bowl of scrambled eggs with vegetables and feta cheese with mediterranean herbs. I documented it with my new Canon t2i as an exercise in close-up and food photography. So here it is!

You will need:

1 tomato, diced.

1/6 of a Yellow onion, chopped.

1/4 of a green pepper, chopped.

1/3 of a box of mushrooms, cut into thick cubes.

a handful of baby spinach

about a tablespoon of crumbled feta with mediterranean herbs

Sautee the onions in olive oil. Add peppers. Sautee. Add mushrooms. Sautee. Add tomatoes. Sautee. Add spinach. Sautee. Take off from heat into bowl.

Add a litte more olive oil on the pan. Crack two eggs. Let them cook until the whites begin to crisp on the outside. Scramble. Add vegetables. Scramble some more. Add feta. Cook until feta begins to melt. Remove from pan. Eat!

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A Truly Fantastic Saturday Afternoon

So a few weeks ago, NW from Wei Ningqi Does China invited me to eat at this amazing restaurant in Flushing, Queens called Fu Run, but I was unable to make it due to a last minute conflict. But NW reported back that the restaurant was amazing, and the lamb was incredible so I rounded up my friend JS and he rounded up his friend from Serious Eats and we all trekked up to Flushing yesterday afternoon for some authentic Chinese food. 

Our first stop was this little wonton place next to Fu Run. JS and Max both split an order of pork wontons and decided they were okay but not nothing too special. We then ducked into Fu Run and ordered Eggplant in Garlic Sauce, Muslim Lamb Ribs, and Tiger Vegetables.  The Muslim Lamb Ribs were nothing short of spectacular. I'm very particular about lamb since I don't eat it that often and when I do, I insist that it be tender. The meat on these just came right off the bone. It was juicy, and tender, and had a little crunch with the roasted fennel on top. The Eggplant in Garlic Sauce was unfortunately sub-par. The eggplants were too bitter and too young and cut too thick. Good eggplant in garlic sauce is a staple in any authentic good Chinese restaurant, so it was kind of sad to see that this one didn't really make the cut in my book. The best eggplant in garlic sauce I've had outside of China is still at Mágico Oriental (the original location) in Quito - the one you order off the Chinese Menu and not their normal Spanish one. That one was fantastic - with each slice of eggplant cut to the perfect thickness and grilled to perfection. It wasn't dripping in oil, but was still plenty flavorful with the fish sauce and garlic sauce. Fu Run missing the mark on that dish was a little disconcerting regarding what other dishes might be like. But that particular concern set aside, those lamb ribs are worth the 1.25 hour subway ride up there alone.

Muslim Lamb Ribs

After finishing off the lamb ribs and a good amount of tea, we walked down a few blocks, and through a wig shop to Fang Gourmet Tea (135-25 Roosevelt Avenue), a little hidden treasure, for a tea sampling. This was admittedly one of my favorite parts of the day. For $3 a person, we sat and drank some really fantastic Alishan Oolong (picked out by JS whose knowledge of tea is amazingly impressive) while Therese (one of the teamasters at Fang Gourmet) and JS discussed the many varieties of tea found in Taiwan and China with Max and I occasionally piping in (Max to comment on something related to food, and I contributing with some bits and pieces of knowledge I picked up while traveling through mainland China including the two pounds of green Laoshan tea my host family sent me back home with). I learned a lot about tea just by listening to Therese and JS's discussions. One of the most interesting things I discovered is how truly intricate and complex the process of making tea really is and how every factor - from the kind of fertilizer, to the way the leaves are picked, to when they are picked, to whether it is roasted or not, to what climate and altitude it is grown at, to what pot is used to infuse it, to what kind of water is boiled to make it - affects the way a tea can taste at any given time. The way Therese and JS talked about tea reminded me very much of how many people approach the art of enology. As an amateur enologist myself, many of the terminology discussed by Therese and JS was uncannily familiar to me and I found it really really interesting that it could be applied to tea as well. The experience at Fang yesterday gave me a little more of an interesting perspective about how to approach drinking tea - how to pay more attention to the depths of the flavors in each cup and each infusion and how to recognize the aromas in each variety.  Yesterday's Alishan Ju Shang tea was described as a buttery aroma, almost like a flaky pastry. While I certainly agreed that it had that buttery, flaky smell, it reminded me of something very specific that I couldn't remember at the moment. What that reminded me of exactly came to me this morning as I sautéed spinach for an egg scramble. The tea smelled like good, freshly made Spanakopita. The buttery flakiness is the first thing that hits you but it is followed by a very earthy, leafy, slightly bitter smell that is very spinach-like. It seems odd to think about drinking a tea that smells like Spanakopita, but I assure you it was really very nice. It was very smooth and the bitterness level was not that high (although it did fluctuate slightly with every infusion), which was lovely. However, while I enjoy a good Green Tea or Oolong, at the end of the day  I'm always partial to a good Pu'er. I find pu'er's smooth but deep earthiness really calming. Also, that Alishan tea left me feeling REALLY wired. 

So after an hour and a half of drinking tea with Therese at Fang tea, we left and ventured down to a food court named Savoy Fusion (4201 Main Street) for more eating. There, we bought an assortment of different morsels from different stalls and tried them all. My favorites were the Salt and Pepper Chicken from the Taiwanese food stall and the Lamb Dumplings stall. My least favorite was the tripe dish.

Salt and Pepper Chicken

Xiao Long Bao (Soupy Dumplings)

Filled with pork so I couldn't eat them, and reported to be too salty and not soupy enough by both Max and JS. They also mentioned the wrapper was too thick. They were so beautifully wrapped though and I couldn't resist taking a few pictures!

We also had some very good Cumin Lamb Pancake and Oil pancake which were more on the snacky side than really constituting any real meal. After hiding out at Savoy Fusion waiting for the rain to clear, we ventured back onto Main street to end our long day of eating our way through Flushing with some truly spectacular Egg Custard Pies and Iced Watermelon drink (incredibly refreshing in yesterday's muggy and humid hot weather). Unfortunately, much to my chagrin, I neglected to take note of the name of the bakery. I only know that it is right next to one of the Main Street subway stops and across from a ridiculously huge billboard advertising the need for American products to export to China). 

So with our stomachs full, and a promise to never eat every again (ha!) we boarded the 7 back to Court Square and then transferred to the G with JS as Max headed into Manhattan for an ice-cream tasting party.  Full of good food and an a slowly growing need for a nap, JS and I wondered how Max was going to fit ice cream into his system. JS hopped off the G at Williamsburg and I hung out on the G another thirty minutes all the way back to my apartment near prospect park. I caught the sunset over the statue of liberty as the G barreled over the Gowanus in between the Carroll street and 7th Ave stations (both Smith-9th and 4th Ave - 9th are above ground) which is one of my favorite sights in the city. I feel very lucky that I often catch it on my evening commute home, but yesterday's sunset was especially beautiful with the clouds gently breaking up after the afternoon storm scattering the sunset sunlight into rays ranging from deep cyans to flamingo pinks to deep oranges. The picture below hardly catches its breathtaking complexity, but an iphone 4 camera has its limits unfortunately.

The evening had its perfect ending when I caught Star Wars Episode V: The Empire Strikes Back on cable and sat around the couch repeating the lines with the characters as I watched it with a couple of Blue Moons. Here are some pictures of one of my favorite scenes in film history. Honestly, it still gets me every time. Darth Vader is Luke's father? WHAT?!?!? NOOOOOOOO!!!!!! Seriously brilliant.

Also:

Leia: I love you.

Han: I know.

* Vader freezes Han in carbonite*

Absolute cinematic gold. 

Vader: Luke, join me and we will rule the galaxy as father and son!

Vader: Search your feelings Luke, you know it to be true.

Categories:

New Camera

So I just invested in a Canon T2i with a bunch of cool accessories. The camera came in yesterday and I just got the bundle of filters and macro lenses. Here are the pics I took with them:

Polarizing  filter:

UV filter

Macro lens

Wide-angle

sans filters

I love my new investment!

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It is easier to hate a memory

It is easier to hate a memory than to hate you.
It is easier to think that you don't haunt me, but you do.
It is easier to think that you didn't exist, but you did.
It is easier to pretend that I don't miss you, but I do.
I will always wonder how the story ends.

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Winning the Lottery

I was just re-reading the post I wrote about Hangzhou a year ago and found I had written this:
"Next time I will come back to Hangzhou, and go to the edge of the desert to see Dunhuang and geek out at the collection of Buddhist caves there (and ride out to the Gobi in a camel), and go to see the Xinjiang Autonomous region in Urumqi, and the grasslands of Inner Mongolia, the panda bears in Chengdu, a re-visit to beautiful Qingdao, the Shaolin temple near Luoyang (which, much to my chagrin, I realized was really close much too late), and the gardens in Suzhou. I also need to go to Tokyo and Kyoto and to see Mount Fuji in Japan. I need to see Seoul, South Korea, and Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia. I need to ride the transsiberian from Beijing to Saint Petersburg."


When I read those words, the itch that has been bothering me for days - no, weeks - took form. I've been solidly settled in Brooklyn for six (almost seven) months now and have not really made a significant journey since I got here. I find that extraordinarily bizarre as I am in constant movement, constant change. I hate being stuck to a place for so long, and am finding hard to fight the urge to travel. Call me a location commitmentphobe. Or nomad. I get stressed and twitchy and annoyed.
But there is so much out there to see and experience that not seeing and experiencing it seems like a bit of a waste. In a way, there is nothing really stopping me from booking a flight to Ulaanbaatar or Tokyo to Saint Petersburg when my next paycheck comes in. I could do it. Of course, that would mean not paying rent or something. And probably getting fired. Perhaps my priorities have shifted.
My mom makes me buy a lottery ticket whenever the jackpot gets high. Although we haven't won, I often find myself thinking about what I would do if we did.
Here's what I would do:
(1) Pay off my student loans,
(2) Finance my short film,
(3) Book a ticket to Ulaanbataar/Tokyo/Saint Petersburg and spend some time traveling the world.
(4) Buy one of the brownstones over on Prospect Park West.

Pretty straightforward.
Honestly, the one that excites me the most is number three. I love to travel. I love airplanes and airports (yes, I grumble about airports a lot, but there's something to them...they're quite magical, interesting, unique spaces). I love getting lost in cities. And taking the wrong train. And finding a beautiful place that I would not find anywhere else. I love discovering new flavors, new textures. I love meeting new people.
Today, when I dropped my brother off at the Grand Central Terminal Airport shuttle, I wanted to jump into the van with him, get to LGA and buy a ticket to some random place I haven't been to before and just go. I wanted to be impulsive.
Admittedly, my tiredness won over (I was too sleepy to be impulsive at 7 am). But I miss that feeling of being in transit, of being excited about a new place, and sad about leaving the old one.
Don't get me wrong. I love Brooklyn. I love my life in NYC.
But perhaps, I am beginning to think that there is still too much world out there to see.

Categories:

They are the Grey-Azure of the Sky on the First Rays of Dawn

I sit here in the gloom of my room at 11:43 pm on Tuesday May 8th and my fingers itch to write something meaningful, but nothing comes. Instead, I listen to "Somebody That You Used To Know" for the umpteenth time today. Certain phrases in that song swirl throughout my head.
Is that what it feels like? What I did months back?
I actually identify much more with Kimbra's part: "Now and then I think about all the times that you screwed me over. But had me believing  it was always something that I'd done. I don't wanna live that way. Reading into every word you say".
Still feels cold though.
Outside, the rain rushes down the drainpipe into the building's central courtyard. A rainy spring night in Brooklyn. The humidity has been clinging to the air since this morning. I should have taken an umbrella to work, but I figured it would be okay. It was. The walk from the office to the Fulton station on the G is relatively short. Sometimes too short.
The minutes tick away. Perhaps I am looking at another night of insomnia. The kind that tricks me into believing that I'm tired and then has me counting the humidity bubbles on my ceiling for hours. The kind that doesn't let me actually be productive when I climb down from my loft bed to try to tire my mind. Instead of say, letting me log footage or write business plans, it eggs me on to watch another episode of Sherlock. Because Sherlock is always a better choice than logging.
The question lingers: Am I happy?
Well, I'm not sad.
That's for sure.
I am ... restless. A taxing restlessness that comes from my impatience. From the frustration of knowing what I want and being too ridiculously scared to actually go out and do something about it. My shrink tells me that I over think things. She is, naturally, correct. I tend to forget that life is not a story with an arc, with rhyme and reason. That it is not necessarily logical. Or if it is, some of the logic behind emotions is far too complex to understand. Too complex, and unnecessary to understand. It is better to just let them run through you, to live them. But if you do that, you end up like me. Writing on my blog at midnight about everything and nothing in particular.
Crushes are such strange things. The feelings, the emotions, feel almost alien. A forgotten feeling that I last felt six years ago. The smile that won't leave my lips. The gaze I can't truly meet. The small whiffs of a sweet earthy but clean musk that drives me insane with desire. The feeling that every phrase I utter is the stupidest thing I've ever said in my life, even though they are perfectly natural and normal things to say. The itching to do something brash, and dramatic and at the same time, hoping that it will go unnoticed as long as possible. The way it takes a single word - "Hello!" - to take me from cool and zen to smiley idiot. The way I feel 13 when I'm actually 23.
What does one do with all this? Certainly not what I did in High School (that always ended so badly - I would not like a repeat of that). As an adult, what does one do with a crush?
 Not sleep apparently.
And write a blog post about it.
Both less than stellar ideas.
Why does it have to fuck with your brain?
Those eyes haunt my daydreams.

Categories:

Matzo Ball Soup

I made it! I've been telling people about making it for a few weeks now, but I finally got around to doing it. Mostly because I found Matzo at $0.99 per box at the supermarket (where I originally went to get a soda and some butter). I made them with chicken stock. The only problem is, I made enough of them to feed a small army, so if anyone has a hankering for Matzo Ball Soup, I'd be happy to send some your way (provided, of course, it does not entail shipping it...I have enough headaches with shipping liquids at work).

So here are the crushed up the matzos. I usually just stick the pieces into the food processor. Easier and faster:

And here is the first test ball, boiled on clear water:

Here is the soup cooking away!

And the soup in a bowl all ready to eat!

Categories: Brooklyn, foodie, matzo balls soup

Love Will Tear Us Apart

When Routine Bites Hard,

And ambitions are low.

And resentment rides high,

But emotions won't grow.

And we're changing our ways,

taking different roads.

Love, love will tear us apart again.

Love, love will tear us apart again.

Why is the bedroom so cold?

Turned away on your side.

Is my timing that flawed?

Our respect run so dry?

Yet there's still this appeal,

that we've kept through our lives.

Love, love will tear us apart again.

Love, love will tear us apart again.

Do you cry out in your sleep?

All my failings exposed...

Gets a taste in my mouth

As desperation takes hold.

Why is it something so good

Just can't function no more?

Love, love will tear us apart again.

- Joy Division

Categories: love, music

Mad Rush

My fingers stroked the keys of the Steinway in the Villard Room with the same ease and familiarity they always had - as if they had been practicing on it every day. Philip Glass's Mad Rush echoed throughout the College Center, bringing back old memories long forgotten - the taste of sweet potato fries at the retreat, snowy days in the warmth of the music practice rooms, late nights at the Vogelstein editing rooms - the endless battle against our heavy eyelids, the smell of maple syrup boiling in our stove, perfectly cooked fried eggs on an english muffin with a steaming hot mug of tea on a crisp fall afternoon with the wind blowing through the leaves in the woods, grass with last night's raindrops still clinging to the soft blades under my fingers, the fireworks reflected on Sunset Lake. I can still smell that comforting smell of fresh laundry and old books, still hear the gut wrenching pain of every chord emanating from the strings in my cello that last concert, still taste the explosion of ecuadorian mango in a spoonful of Haagen-Dazs Sorbet in a hot late August afternoon.

And then the piece ended and I found myself sitting under the dying Magnolia tree near swift hall - alone. I screamed at the pine trees in Sunset Lake, begging, and pleading them to return what they had taken and now refused to return. I tried to coax the piano into play those notes again with the same warmth, the same passion, the same happiness.

But it was all gone. The Magnolias were not the same Magnolias. The Pine Trees had aged. The piano had seen more masterful musicians.

Vassar - my Vassar - is gone. And returning was like walking through a strange memory. Like meeting a doppleganger, some strange wonderland seen through the other side of a looking-glass.

And I saw my own reflection in the water. Older. More defined features. Eyes that had seen too much. A soul that had been torn apart and was beginning to be pieced back together. I saw someone that was someone else - a doppleganger of myself. And I realized that I do not know who I am any more than I did then.

On the train back to New York, I felt like myself again - something I haven't felt for a while. I felt a release. Or the beginning of one. Perhaps now I can really move forward.

Categories: Hudson Valley, Poughkeepsie, travel, Vassar

Vertical Ascent

Filmmaking often feels like climbing up a mountain. It often feels like trying to scale a huge cliff on that mountain with few footholds. Sometimes you slip and dangle above the precipice, hanging on to dear life from the pick that is firmly wedged into the side. When then happens, you breathe in and out. You sweat cold. And for a moment just think to yourself "I'm done with this shit

", but never actually let go.

Being reminded that you're doing alright. That you're actually impressive. That you actually might make it by just the sheer will you have to make it, makes you feel good about life. It makes you get your feet back up against the wall and try to keep on climbing.

Categories: film

To Korea and back again in under 3 hours

I order thai food on Monday night after having a particularly stressful allergic reaction towards the end of the day. Well, it wasn't so much the reaction itself as much as the fact that I had to chow down some Benadryl on an empty stomach, which is always so much fun.

By the time I got home, I was dizzy and tired and had a massive headache. It was cold outside, and the wind made me wish that I had thought of wearing my winter coat that day like Accuweather.com told me to.

So I ordered Thai off of a place nearby through seamless.com. I got crab rangoon (which were delicious because, come on, they're crab rangoons! But otherwise passable in terms of rangoon quality itself) and chicken pad thai (which was also slightly disappointing). About five minutes after I order Thai food, I realized what I really wanted was Korean food. This reminded me that M and I have been planning to go eat at Korea Town in Manhattan since we discovered M lives really close to Korea Town, but hadn't actually done it yet. This led to M and I making plans to go out to Korea Town on Tuesday for Bibimbap.

So we did.

Stepping into Korea Town is a weird experience. It is like turning a corner and finding yourself on a street that definitely belongs in Seoul and not downtown Manhattan. Even the Citibank on that block is marked in Korean characters. Neon is everywhere. There are some traditional Chinese characters advertising Chinese food being served alongside traditional Korean dishes. M and I stick out like a sore thumb amongst the small throngs of Koreans that mill about the street speaking in fast Korean. Some give us a few quizzical glances. We clearly are outsiders.

We cruised around Korea Town for a bit, looking for a good place. We joked about doing post-dinner karaoke but wisely decided against it. We avoided the seedy restaurants in second floors of buildings and decided on one named "Miss Korea BBQ". It has a nice modern design but still evokes a bit of that Asian quality. It looked clean. And the prices seemed reasonable. We duck in and order Bibimbap. M orders some wine which she doesn't like. We eat our fill of food served in a stone pot (I scrape away at the bottom of the pot to catch the pieces of rice that have stuck there and formed bizarrely crispy delicious little rice bits) and try a little of every appetizer put in front of us (I nearly choked on a spicy pickle). It was nice.

I mean, there's no bibimbap like the ones I ate regularly in Qingdao, or like the one I had in Nanguoluxiang in Beijing, but the one in Korea Town will do just fine.

Afterwards, we duck into a Korean cafe, order two Honeydew Melon Bubble Teas and walk over to Herald Square and sit in the cold sipping our neon-green drinks and desperately checking the score on the Rangers-Penguins game on M's phone. The Rangers won so M was happy. And I was too, if only because I'm a Rangers fan by association. I think M and S might disown me if I supported any other hockey team. I find myself wishing it were world cup season so that I could go nuts for the soccer teams. Last World Cup I was a passionate supporter of The Netherlands, because, c'mon, it's the Dutch. They're badass by definition. And they should have won. Whimpy Spaniards....they'd throw themselves on the ground whenever a Dutchman would come less than 5 ft close to them. I mean, they're a good team. But the Dutch are better.

And totally should have won.

THEY SHOULD HAVE WON, OKAY?

Next World Cup, I hope I'll be able to root for Ecuador again. But that's assuming the national soccer team gets its act together and plays strong through the prelims. But that's another year away still I think. So I'm just going to be happy being a Rangers fan by association. For now.

Categories: hockey, Korean Hot Pot, NYC, rangers

Experiments in Writing Techniques

So it is 6:26 am on a Sunday and I'm unfortunately wide awake and have been for about an hour and a half. Something is clearly wrong with me.

That something is called drinking a whole bottle of Riesling last night and expecting to sleep until midday today.

Of course, what actually happened is I woke up at 4:30 am with really bad cramps and a seemingly unquenchable thirst for delicious cold water. I was still feeling a little drunk then, which made the climb down from my loft bed an unpleasant experience of pain and dizziness. After stumbling through my apartment in the dark hitting every corner of every piece of furniture and trying very hard not to curse so that the neighbors won't come up and bitch me out for walking around too loudly again, drinking three tumblers full of water, and chasing back two tablets of ibuprofen with a fourth tumbler, I feel remarkably better although unfortunately wide awake.

Of course, the obvious question to ask is, what in God's name possessed you to drink a whole bottle of Riesling, E? And why are you not swearing off any alcohol from here on forth?

The answer to that is: I intended to ease up my mind to get my creative juices flowing since I've felt a little blocked as of late. I thought I could apply J's Essay Writing Theory (drink wine while you write, let it flow out, go to sleep, edit in the morning. Best of both worlds - the fluidity of words, but constrained and contained by the sanity of the following day's reason) to writing screenplays. Turns out it works. It also turns out that it ceases to work after the third glass. You just sit and stare at the screen and get distracted by the very disturbing video of Of Montreal's "Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Things". This is followed by a viewing of "Electric Car" by They Might Be Giants, missing your housemates like crazy because they should be here in your same drunken stupor egging you on to write more or at the very least laughing at you for freaking out at "Wraith Pinned to the Mist and Other Things" for the umpteenth time. It all eventually ends with an angry note to your ex that is mostly the F word followed by random verbs and nouns. This letter gets cathartically smashed up and unceremonially thrown in the trash can. You then consider sending the guy you're currently crushing on some stupid text message, but luckily, M's ever-wise voice pops into your head and tells you (rightfully) that you're being an idiot and that this stupid idea has come from the bottle of Riesling you have just consumed. This is when you realize that you've only written 6 scenes out of a whole screenplay you meant to write tonight, and that you almost drunk texted someone, which is always a stupid idea.

You realize that the best thing right now is to drink some water, watch some Friends re-runs and then ascend to your loft bed at 11:20 pm where you immediately fall into a lovely deep sleep.

So, in a way, my writing experiment failed. My productivity crashed dramatically after 16 scenes. On the other hand, those 16 scenes are damned well written.

This poses a problem. I don't want to have to be drunk to write well because (a) poor liver, (b) poor liver, (c) I know I've written well without the aid of riesling before, and (d) that's such a cliche. I know most of my artist friends do their best work in altered states - anything ranging from simple delirious sleeplessness to serious drug abuse - but that just seems like a quick way to die an artistic death. I plan to die like Akira Kurosawa - at age 90 on a film set - thank you very much. So I guess there aren't a lot of Riesling-induced writing sessions in the near or even far future. Which is a good thing. I think.

I am planning another writing session for tonight (after some serious editing, logging, and some Zumba) and I hope that I can get through more than 16 scenes. That 11th draft won't write itself and there are important deadlines coming up.

But maybe I'll start my day with some pancakes.

And another tumbler of water.

Now if only my housemates were around to make me some eggs....goddamnit guys, y'all need to get your butts to Brooklyn like now.

edit: actually did go back to sleep at 7:30 am after writing this post and then, as predicted, woke up again at midday, made pancakes, and watched Lara Croft: Tomb Raider.

Categories: Brooklyn, film, love, Script, wine, writing

Eschatological Dreams

Last night my eyes flew open at 4:30 am after a surprisingly vivid nightmare. The last time this happened, the nightmare was beautifully terrifying enough to be turned into a screenplay. As in the moment I woke up, I understood it to be a dream, and I understood its potential in my story catalogue.

This time it was different. As I lay there for a few moments, I looked at my window suspiciously trying to make out if the eschatological event I had just dreamt about had come to pass or not. Eschatology, for those who don't know, is described by the Oxford English Dictionary as ""The department of theological science concerned with ‘the four last things: death, judgement, heaven, and hell’." In other words, an eschatological event is an apocalyptic event. I just prefer the term eschatological since apocalyptic usually brings to mind images from Armageddon (the movie about the meteorite/comet/whatever it was hurling towards Earth that is stopped by a rag-tag group of oil miners led by Bruce Willis....as much as I like Bruce Willis and Ben Affleck, if you're going to watch a movie about a meteor hurling towards Earth, I would suggest the much better directed and crafted and more scientifically accurate Deep Impact. It also happens to be the only major disaster blockbuster film directed by a woman. Ever.). The thing about Eschatology though, is that it doesn't always revolve around a massive worldwide apocalypse. It can be about your own death. Although last night's dream fits more into the first category than the second.

I think that this particular eschatological dream can be attributed to a number of factors: (1) Eschatology has been on my brain lately, (2) I was highly stressed out last night and was therefore bound to have a stressful dream, and (3) I think I am getting sick with the same awful thing my roommate has and my body is fighting very very hard not to get sick (been chewing em vitamin c tablets like candy....not really of course, but I have remembered to take them regularly which is an achievement for me).

So now for explanations on those factors:

(1) Eschatology on the brain: It is 2012. Period. I have a bizarre interest in (and as a result a vast vault of useless knowledge) about paranormal and unexplained phenomena. I'm Scully and Mulder rolled into one (you can definitely tell I've been watching WAY too many episodes of the X-files) - I have Mulder's willingness to believe, but Scully's unwavering scientific skepticism. I've done my homework on the 2012 Mayan issue, and unlike many other of the phenomena I've investigated, I've firmly decided with those that think that those who buy into the whole "the Mayans predicted the apocalypse" theory are kind of ignorant dumbasses for a lack for a better word. Mostly because looking at the end of the Mayan calendar and arriving at the conclusion that because the cycle ends, the world would end is like if some alien identity found one of our own paper calendars and decided that the world would end on December 31st (or January 31st of the following year) because that's where that particular calendar ended. Great job guys. You found the end of a calendar. Woopdeedoo. Indeed the 13th B'ak'tun does end this year on December 21st, but that only means that we'll be starting the 14th B'ak'tun on the 22nd. Admittedly, we are entering a new era. And there might be some spiritual changes or whatnot, but Mayan records never reference any sort of eschatological event happening on that date. In fact, the Mayan's perspective on time is cyclical rather than linear (like us) so it marks a beginning just as much as it marks an end. However, while I do believe the whole Mayan Apocalypse theory is a bunch of nonsensical crap, my mind cannot help but going into the what if questioning of things. This happened to me back in 1999 when everyone was making a fuzz about the Millennium and all the eschatological events that were supposed to happen then. I was pretty sure they wouldn't happen, but what if they did? It doesn't help either that I watched part of

"Doomsday Preppers" on The History Channel the other day and thought to myself that while most of these people are kind of nuts, having a Bug-Out-Bag or an INCH (I'm Never Coming Home) bag is a good idea no matter if I'm expecting the apocalypse or just an earthquake. I realized it might be a good idea to know how to navigate myself out of Brooklyn in the case of an emergency. I found myself wishing I had paid more attention to S and J when they explained knots to me (although I'm sure that if I asked, they'd be more than happy to oblige in a knot-teaching session, right?). I also realized that my survival skills in general are close to terrible (I can successfully survive in a mountain, oddly enough - I guess wilderness camp as a child was a good idea?) and it might be a good idea to correct that. All in all, my conclusion was that in terms of physicality, I might not be in the best shape to survive Armageddon, or even an emergency. I mean, I don't even own a first aid kit, which I know is really really bad. And that's just been swimming around my mind of something to do.

(2) Me being highly stressed. I gotta admit that sadly, stress is my natural state of mind. And yes, I haven't been exercising regularly and maybe this dream is a sign that I should...and that I should probably keep a careful eye on my eating habits since the stress has been messing up my stomach pH.

(3) Getting sick: It' a sign that spring is around the corner when the dust starts bothering me again. Combine that with a very very sick roommate, asthma, and a messed-up stomach, and it makes for an unpleasant cocktail right there.

As for the eschatological dream itself, it is looking more and more ridiculous as the hours go by. And by ridiculous I mean it belongs as a scene in the film "The Day After Tomorrow" (one of my guilty pleasures) since it involved NYC being buried under a sudden violent blizzard of snow. I think it really just is an indication that I should just go for a jog much more often than I currently do. Goddamed stress.

Categories: eschatology, NYC, sick, stress

Some Fresh Country Air

Last night I came home after taking a small, but much necessary and well-deserved two-day break from the city. I really love NYC but it is always important to go out and get some fresh country air once in a while. If only to remind yourself that there are places in this world where people live in spaces bigger than a matchbox.

The last two days were spent in beautiful Norwalk, CT with a Canon T1i camera in hand filming interviews and being around cats and dogs all day. I got to pet many many cats which made me very very happy. It also made me want to adopt one, but sadly my roommate is allergic (or as she puts it, they make her sneezy) to them so a kitty is out of the question for the moment. I guess that was the hard part. Mostly because there was a cat that was such an adorable purr box whose owner had passed away. We got along just fine. We were a match made in heaven - a girl whose cat had died, and a cat whose owner had died. Also, little Gretchen (the cat's name) was a black tux cat which is one of my favorite kinds. Ah well...as I was reminded by the person I was helping out with the video, whenever I do decide I can get a cat, there will be plenty of them in need of a loving home.

But besides me petting cats and going around Stamford with a camera in hand, being out of the big city was nicely refreshing. I got two full nights' sleep on a very comfortable bed and was greeted by the first signs of countryside spring. The light is beginning to change a little. I was able to survive without my light winter coat for a few hours outside. I did not want to stay in bed for the rest of eternity. It was still a little too chilly to go out and run outside, but it is getting there.

I ate at a pretty fantastic diner and a pretty fantastic mexican restaurant.

I didn't think about money. I didn't think about my apartment needing cleaning. I didn't think about navigating the subway. I didn't think about all my laundry sitting in my hamper.

I did think about the Hudson Valley and the cornfields in Iowa and how beautiful these places are in the spring. I did think about how relaxing Norwalk is in the summer. I decided that perhaps the summer would be a good time to take a trip out to the midwest and reconnect with my Kansas roots. Or it might just be a great opportunity to lounge about the Norwalk harbor.

Maybe I should just go up to Vermont and do that beer and cheese tour M and I consistently talk about.

I definitely have spring on my brain. But it is March after all and you can just feel it coming around the corner.

Of course, after we've put away our winter coats and are all happy about the prospect of frolicking around in the flower fields, we'll probably get that one last dump of snow in April. Because that's how bitchy New York State weather is.

Categories: Connecticut, film, Norwalk, NYC

Renovating One's Convictions

I was scolded by S about not posting for a long time earlier this weekend (sorry S!) when he was in the city with D visiting M and Me for the Coffee and Tea Festival. S is right of course, I should return to the habit of posting on here. If only for my own sanity.

But there are many habits I should start getting back into.

Like running.

I haven't really run with much regularity since I left Boston in early December which is of course a problematic situation. But I guess I should get on about what has happened since I felt Quito almost four months ago.

So first things first. The Oscars are over. As a dutiful filmmaker, and staunch Meryl Streep supporter (GO MERYL!), I watched them last night. The fact that Billy Crystal, who is always perfect, was hosting didn't hurt either. What a difference from last year! Sorry Anne and James, you're incredible actors, but you can't really outdo the master! This year I kept my 60% correct prediction streak and won myself a free dinner last night in the Oscar ballot against M and my roommate LY. Although to be fair, I did miss Best Picture (I did think The Descendants would get it on account of 'The Artist' being a good and solid, but in no way extraordinary film) but as the brilliant Meryl Streep (can you tell I'm a fan?) said, whatever.

So second things second. I guess you can say that my time in Brooklyn so far has been interesting. It's had its ups and downs. Brooklyn itself I love. There's something incredible about this borough that makes it so alive and vibrant. It makes me feel like I'm in the middle of things that are happening, without actually being in the middle of things that are happening. The heavy Manhattan traffic is absent and far away. Instead I open my window and hear birds chirping, the leaves (or right now the dry branches) of the trees in Prospect Park (right across the street) rustling, maybe the occasional piano emanating from my neighbor's apartment. I walk out and meet people who are actually friendly. I go to the YMCA down the street and chat with the old ladies that are more fit than I am about how the flowers are blooming, but the weather predicted for this weekend is unfortunately sure to kill the young blooms. How much of a shame that is because of this nutso warm winter we've had (warm being of course, relative). I will admit I even enjoy commiserating about the blasted G train and how damn slow it is (seriously, it left me waiting at Classon Ave for 45 minutes at 2:00 am two weekends ago!). I've been told that it is the mark that you are a true New Yorker if you're commiserating about some train or another. Or about the MTA in general even though, of course, you forget what it is like to ride to work on the Green Limousines (the buses) to work in Quito. During rush hour I've seen sardines packed into cans that seem more comfortable than those passengers...

On the flip side, I'm consistently approaching broke. This week I think I actually came to having $17 in my bank account. That's really sad. I mean, I've done a very good job of budgeting and stuff, but working a paid internship and a part time job and an unpaid internship wasn't really cutting it. I quit my paid internship for a variety of reasons. The primary being I got a gig directing a short institutional doc which will require the bulk of my time these coming weeks, and the secondary being - well, they're an incredibly cool company but it wasn't quite my thing. My job, on the other hand, I love. I work at a small fair-trade, organic, but hip tea company with a small team of young people. There's six of us and I think the oldest is 27 or 28. And we run a fast-growing small business, which I find absolutely incredible and empowering. I've been doing a lot of their graphic design and advertising, and just general administrative work. But I feel myself growing and learning in that environment, and most of all, I feel like part of a team, which is incredibly important to me. Lastly, my unpaid internship is pretty awesome too. I log footage for a freelance editor that works on animal welfare documentaries, which is always cool and fulfilling as well.

As for my personal life - well that's always hard to gauge. Admittedly, it feels nice to be able to call up friends and see if we can grab lunch, or a comedy show, or scout out a new bar in the neighborhood. We're all equally broke, and equally overworked, so there's no threat of going someplace we can't go to. Although we have been known to splurge for brunch on occasion. Brunch is a big thing here in NYC. I'm still not quite sure why, but it is a thing. If you live in NYC, you brunch on weekends. Even if you just brunch at home. I've found new friends including CC and W who were M's friends initially. I've made new friends of my own - like the jazz-playing Bartender I met at an event which I oddly I have friends in common with , and just been more adventurous in general. Which I like. I feel that at the core of my being, I am a bit of an adventurous person. Being here brings that out since there are so many great opportunities that come by, I just have a hard time finding a reason not to take them and try something new.

So, here's to a new stage in life, and to more regular updates. I promise S!

Categories: Brooklyn, NYC, update