In the Shadows of the New Mexican Sun

There's something strangely alluring about New Mexico. My memories tend to romanticize its dusty landscapes but the fact of the matter is, there's an otherworldly and cinematic quality about them as if you find yourself walking into an old western film or exploring some desert planet in a galaxy far far away. I am fortunate to have family in this frontier state, so when a round trip ticket from NYC to Albuquerque became available for $218 (including taxes), I jumped on it. I knew that come June 1st I'd be freshly unemployed and ready to kill some time until I landed a new job (or flew to Orlando for a family vacation nine days later) so I packed my bags and resolved to take some much needed rest and relaxation out west.
While not exactly New York City, Albuquerque is far from the crime-ridden, downtrodden city depicted in BREAKING BAD - a series which despite its not-so-flattering portrayal of life in the small southwestern metropolis, has been warmly embraced by its lively inhabitants. It's expansive and spacious - or at least seams so to my Brooklynized brain that has been trained to think that a 10 x 11 room is large - and a little hidden gem ripe with cinematic potential. "We're the home to the largest soundstages in North America. Not many people know about that" says Ann from the Albuquerque film office as she walks me into the biggest soundstage I've ever seen. My mind makes a note to shoot a film in Albuquerque at least once - and to find a way to use that soundstage because it's pretty awesome. On our way out, Ann stops by and says hello to everyone at the studio office and the small crew shooting outside. I notice that despite the usual air of production stress hung over the outdoor crew, they are surprisingly pleasant and accommodating and just generally a little more relaxed.
What is this place?
My uncle and aunt take me to a burger joint for dinner and they run into some friends. After making some small talk with them I realized that they are the parents of the husband of one of the founders of the cupcake business that used to work on the same floor next to the tea company I worked for up until June. The cupcake baker was always very nice and would on occasion leave out some baked goods for the floor - a gesture which was much appreciated by everyone trapped in that optimistically-called office building. It was a weird little coincidence that reminded me of how small the world really is and at the same time how long distances can be. If you're wondering, the burger I scarfed down afterwards was a classic New Mexico Green Chile burger that I sincerely recommend if you make it down there.
The rest of my days were interspersed with walks into Old Town to buy handmade rock candy, visits to Santa Fe to take in the beautifully organic and distinctive architecture of the bourgeoning city, and long-deserved afternoon naps on my uncle's porch chair. A much-deserved quiet vacation after a tumultuous year and before a life-changing summer.

downtown Santa Fe

cathedral in downtown Santa Fe

Santa Fe architecture

downtown Santa Fe

downtown Santa Fe

Santa Fe architecture

Santa Fe architecture

Old Town Albuquerque

Cathedral at Old Town Albuquerque

Basket shop in Old Town Albuquerque

canon in Old Town Albuquerque

 houses in Santa Fe

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New Look. New vibe.

It was about time the blog got a bit of a facelift! My life is going through a major overhaul so I thought I'd update the blog design too now that I'll be back to being more disciplined about writing because I am once again, embarking on a great adventure. Updates on my latest travels to New Mexico and Florida coming soon...and expect some semi-nervous posts about the craziness that is uprooting myself from my beloved Brooklyn to move across the country to Los Angeles. Things are happening soon so stay tuned!

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My Endless Numbered New York Days

I am on my last day of my job at a small Brooklyn-based tea company and that's brought about a lot of existential philosophizing about what's next but also a lot of stress because I don't think that it has sunk in to a lot of my co-workers that I'm actually leaving and they won't be able to do last minute requests for Ad designs. But the existential philosophizing has me lost deep in my mind. That and some of the signs the universe is giving me have me questioning - Am I done with the New York thing? My father - naturally - says that I am. That I did it: moved to New York City, lived here, struggled here, thrived here, and experienced here but that much like many experiences in life, it is time to move on to the next one. When he first said that to me around February when I was up in arms about some of the company's policies and was ready to throw in the towel and walk out the door, I thought he was being the overbearing, concerned parent that just wanted his daughter to just give up on this crazy New York idea and come home. And while I'm still not certain Ecuador is the next stop on my life path, I think that my time here in New York is coming to a close.
Don't get me wrong. I love New York. I love New York in the way most New Yorkers love it. There's something about this city and its craziness and its idiosyncrasies and its culture that slowly but surely seeps into your bones and grabs hold. The love/hate relationship with the subway (and Times Square or anywhere particularly touristy for that matter). The random scouring of Craig's List and local real estate listings for apartments to rent - not because you might not be happy with your apartment, but you always got to stay on your toes because living in New York is like playing one giant game of musical chairs. Except that instead of chairs, they're apartments. And if you're not quick on your feet, you'll end up renting a room in what the real estate broker swears is East Williamsburg, but is really deep Bushwick or East New York because you're a newbie and didn't know that East Williamsburg is not a real thing. It's the gossipy chattering with the foodies about things like cronuts and beef tongue pastrami sandwiches chased down with craft beer. It's adventuring deep into Queens or Brooklyn in a quasi-religious quest to track down the best damned taco in the city that is sold from a dubious hole-in-the-wall only the initiated know about. It's about the thin layer of grit that slowly settles onto your skin and never lets go. It's the badge of honor that lets the world know - once upon a time I lived in New York City and experienced the wonderfully chaotic but strangely beautiful world that is the big apple.
Last night I made the decision to leave it all behind come early August. It's time to pack up my bags again and wander around the world. Because the is so much world to wander through and only one life to do it. But despite everything, New York will always feel like my home base, my crazy, gritty, beautiful base.

Because not all those who wander are lost.

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Ikea Hacking - A Way to get your Creative Juices Flowing

My room in my otherwise quite large Brooklyn with a view of Prospect Park is very small. When I first moved in a year and a half ago, I had to come up with creative solutions to make the best use of the space so I bought a loft bed from Ikea. It was the Stora loft bed (view it here: http://www.ikea.com/us/en/catalog/products/80160867/) which looked pretty rad at the Ikea display floor with a neat brightly colored sofa under it and stuff. It even looked cozy. When I built it, it was a lot more wobbly than I wanted it to be, but otherwise fine. I made a weird arrangement to put my desk under it and thus made my room look a lot bigger (or well, for a lack of a better word, roomier) than it had any right to look. Unfortunately ever since December I've been feeling that the loft bed, although a great space saver and a great way to pretend to be 10 and playing fort, was actually quite juvenile. Its wobbliness started to worry me too. Not because it bothered me per say - I was used to it, but because if there were to be another person up there with me (as unlikely as that is considering my dating life has been eh....limited? My dating life is a completely other mess to talk about another time...*sigh* Is it too much to ask to find a nice, bearded, driven but mellow, hipster but not hipster in Brooklyn? Okay shutting up now) my computer underneath the loft bed would most likely become an Apple pancake if you catch my dift. Then there was also the recently warming weather and the return of the humid New York days when all you want to do is hug your AC unit and never let go. Those days are particularly terrible when one tries to sleep on a loft bed on the 4th floor of a Brooklyn Pre-War building. So. Freaking. Terrible.
So about a week ago I just had it with the bed. It needed to go. I put it up on Craig's List and someone came by to haul it out yesterday. I took the money from the sale and went to Ikea where still weary of the fact that I couldn't just really buy an actual bed because of storage complications, I devised an Ikea Hack using some research I had been doing to make use of some of the 2x2 Expedits I had floating around my room. I bought an additional 4x2 Expedit and a 2x1 Expedit and some basic Sultan Lade Slats (in Full/Double). Total tally: $130 (which is what I sold the loft bed for). Well okay. It was a little more. I paid for Home Delivery because hell if I was hauling up flat-packed Ikea furniture up 4 flights of stairs in 80 degree weather with 90% humidity. I'm not crazy. I also got a couple of extra Drona boxes to stuff into the Expedit cubby holes and a couple of bars of Ikea chocolate. And a pack of scented tea candles for my little Rotera lamp. Don't judge me. It's Ikea. I'm lucky I didn't walk out with the whole store. And the candles smell like MANGO. MY ROOM NOW SMELLS OF MANGO. Yum. Now I want a Mango.
Anyhoo, I got everything delivered today and set about creating a platform bed with 2 2x2 Expedits, 1 4x2 Expedit, 1 2x1 Expedit, and a set of Sultan Lade slats. And duct tape. Lots of duct tape. I'm really happy with the results actually. The bed is really sturdy and provides an excellent storage solution since it has all those cubbys underneath and the hole in the middle of the expedit shelves where I stuffed my cello flightcase. To make it easier to access the stuff underneath, I made sure the slats could be rolled back easily and the expedit and the end of the bed isn't attached to anything to I can just remove it and take stuff out. My room still looks roomy and actually a lot cozier now that I can add some artwork to the walls. Thoughts?

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The Book

On my shelf there is a book I never open because carefully nestled on page 29 is a poem that reminds me that long ago there was only love.

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The Challenges Ahead

2012 was one sucktastic year. Mostly because I spent a good chunk of it laying foundations for stuff that will happen in 2013 and laying foundations is never fun. It's necessary but long and painful. With my 24th birthday already passed, I have started to think about what I want to accomplish while in my mid-twenties and the list is short, but attaining the goals in that short list requires a lot of stamina and patience. I do think though, that I've started off with a good day. I filmed a teaser for my short film last night, and quite frankly, it gave me a lot of confidence in my filmmaking abilities because here's a little secret I haven't shared with anyone - directing a big project sort of terrified me. So much stuff depending on my vision of a story is really stressful. Especially when your last fiction movie was called "Sisyphean" and although it was meant to be a drama, ended up a slightly ridiculous comedy. Well, there's also the fact that this isn't the minor leagues anymore. I'm walking on professional territory. My films will no longer be the subject to critique by a class of my peers who each have their own amateur idea of filmmaking. Instead, they will be subjected to critique by actual film critics who theoretically know their shit. Production is expected to be at a certain level, and vision is supposed to be groundbreaking in some way. Because, really, how will you make your mark otherwise?
It's scary. Scary in the way free-falling down an abyss Gandalf-style is scary for anyone but Gandalf. But then again, there is a certain thrill that comes with that fear and also hope that you remember to pull your parachute in time before you become a pancake on the side of the Balrog's home (which is entirely possible).
Yesterday I not only felt like a filmmaker again, but a director in my own right. I felt right at home and right in my element. I knew what I was doing, what I wanted, and how I wanted it. And I got it. It's refreshing to feel that wave of certainty amidst the chaos - both that which is generated by the filmmaking process and by trying to navigate life in my mid-twenties.
2013 definitely promises to be a better year. I hope it is for y'all too.

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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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