photos: cat

My little boy, who is the cutest child with four legs in the universe:

We've both been keeping busy with preparing for my Big Move this weekend. Well, Big Move #1 ... #2 is to follow in 6 weeks. My cat will have to be shipped off to my mom and dad's house for the next month and a half, but hopefully he will cope with a new environment and the 2 rather bitchy resident felines there.

Keep your fingers crossed I have a good move!

first love

Two young lovers sitting on the train, holding hands with legs intertwined. Talking, laughing, looking each other meaningfully in the eyes. Holding a conversation that is completely self contained; no one else exists in the entire world except for them.

She laughs and he smiles in return. He talks and she listens with interest. She tells him he is "weird" and giggles, and he nods in agreement. He bobs his head and silently thinks 'yes, honey, you are so right. I'm weird, but so in love with you'. Weird love.

I watch them with envy. I try not to stare but I can't help it. The boy and girl are only kids, perhaps 16 or 17 years of age. They kiss and kiss and stroke hands and rub their heads together. First loves. In love.

She gets off the train before him, and as she leaves, she says over and over again: "I love you." And he says "I love you" with special emphasis. They kiss and kiss and rub heads and she gets off the train, looking back towards him as she walks down the platform.

I want to shake them, tell them that this will never last. I want to say that reality will set in. I want to explain to the boy and girl that they will go on to college, a place where they will break each other's hearts and become inconsolable with the misery of it all. They will become weak and frail of heart until they start the journey all over again with a new partner, a new someone special, a new person to fill the void. I want to tell them all these things, give them my words and wisdom. Words and wisdom they would never listen to, shouldn't listen to, could never listen to.

First love doesn't last. This is what I want to tell them. First love never lasts.

But isn't it nice to believe otherwise?

easter peep show (not what you think!)

In light of the holiday, the Washington Post has published the finalists and winner of the second annual Peeps Diorama Contest. All of the 37 "best creations" can be found at this link.

Some of my favorites included 'Nightmare in Pink' (picture 3), a send up of Maurice Sendak, 'Thrilla in Manila' (picture 5), which riffs on the popular youtube footage of the prisoners dancing to Michael Jackson in Manila, 'Peeplona: The Running of the Peeps' (forgot to get the picture number on that one), 'Peeps Atop A Sky Scraper' (picture 12), which recreates the famous 1932 photograph of construction workers eating lunch high above the ground, and 'Peepadeus' (picture 23), which is an homage to the wonderful film Amadeus.

Also expect to see references to the fallen Senator Craig, Amy Winehouse and Hugh Hefner.

Hilarious stuff, and very fitting for the holiday!

Again the link is HERE.

brooklyn's own

My last post was depressing, so here's something a little more cheerful.

If you're into handmade items for sale, check out the Brooklyn based www.etsy.com. All sorts of fun things are for sale there, from felt pincushions to jewelry made from recycled materials.

Etsy.com also offers lessons in arts and crafts in Brooklyn and has live video streaming so people who don't live in New York's best borough (sorry, Manhattan!) have a chance to get in on the know-how too.

Also, for anyone who will be in Manhattan before March 30: Don't forget the Macy's Flower Show that's going on at the flagship store right now. It's free and there's even complimentary guided tours. What's not to love?

the bird on the train

Anyone who reads this blog on a regular basis knows that I truly love being on the subway. There is just something soothing about it for me, even during the packed rush hours and drunken late night rides. I like the way the train bumps and lurches under my seat and the soggy, damp smell of the underground. Sick as it sounds, even the occasional whiff of urine in a dark tunnel makes me feel a little more alive. I genuinely enjoy hearing the different personalities of the train conductors as they speak over that horrible intercom of theirs. Most of all, I love people watching on the train. It's a fact that the most amazing array of characters you will ever meet in your life will be found on any given train at any given time in New York City.

Sometimes, though, riding the subway is an experience that is not nice. There are moments when a trip on the train becomes frustrating or annoying. During rare episodes, it can even be a little frightening.

And then, on rare days, it is simply sad.

About a week ago, right at the brink of rush hour, I stepped on to an uptown bound F train. The car wasn't full yet, but there weren't that many seats available. I took one next to the least mangy looking female possible, and pulled out a book from my satchel, settling in for a thirty minute ride. I was barely a sentence into my paragraph when, out of nowhere --

chirp chirp chirp chirp
chirp!
chirp chirp chirp chirp
chirp!

A bird, frantically singing, her voice filling up the subway car. I looked around, confused. It didn't sound like a pigeon, which was the only kind of bird I ever saw underground. I noticed that a few other people were looking around as well, completely baffled.

A few moments of silence, and then again ....

those insistent chirps.

What the heck ...?

Every minute or so, like clockwork, the bird would begin singing. Sometimes it gave a half hearted peep, but most of the time it was full on cries. Loud cries. I won't say birdsong, because what bird in her right mind would be singing while captive inside of a subway?

My fellow passangers were craning their necks, looking around for the mysterious invisible bird. We were all hearing it, but none of us were seeing it. Perhaps it was a video game, or someone's (really annoying) cell phone ring. But it sounded so ... real.

Carefully I began inspecting every single person within chriping distance of me. An old white man was sitting next to me, newspaper clutched in hand, his eyes glaring about looking for the talkative creature that was disrupting his read. He obviously wasn't the bird carrier. Two Hispanic women were chatting in Spanish across from me, holding only small purses and a grocery bag. Not them, either. The couple making out by the door? No. The lady and the baby in her stroller? Nope.

One by one I narrowed down the culprits, finally settling on a seedy looking man with greasy hair and a black backpack. He held it on his lap, ignoring the bird cries coming from inside. He was the bird smuggler, no doubt. He had that dirty, grungy look that suited someone who would bring birds on the train.

I glared at him, as if to try and ask him what he was doing with that poor bird. I was upset by how he was treating the animal. He hadn't even opened his backpack up enough for the creature to get some air. The animal rights activist sleeping dormant inside of me began to rear her head and roar. (Internally, at least.) I was working up the courage to ask what he was doing with that bird when, at that very stop, he got off the train, backpack in tow.

The bird stopped chirping as soon as he got out of the train, so it was obviously the man.

I felt like a failure for not getting the courage to stand up for the rights of that little bird.

I have no idea what he was doing with the creature, but I can only hope it was a pet he was taking to the vet. However, I doubt it and the whole incident made me very sad. If it was a pet, wouldn't you have a cage for it? I had a bad feeling about the whole thing.

A bird in a backpack? Criminal.

I hope someone stows that man away in a giant bag sometime, just so he can see what it feels like.

oh, just a bunch of nothing.

When does it get better? When do I stop feeling like a massive cosmic joke? I consider myself a very spiritual person, but right now I'm starting to become very annoyed with the powers that be. I feel like I've been abandoned or let down somehow. If this is all part of some master plan, it's a very stupid one as far as I'm concerned. I know I don't have the hindsight (yet) to say it, but still ... that's how it feels right now. And anyway, look at Job from the Bible ... his suffering was pretty much pointless, too. I'm not comparing my situation with that of a Biblical character, but I'm just making a point that not all suffering serves a purpose. Oprah and Dr. Phil would like you to think otherwise, but I never trust anyone who makes over one million a year anyway.There's something generally not-to-be-trusted about folks who pull in boatloads of money every year.

I attended a lecture by a Rabbi several years ago on Kaballah. It was an interesting discussion, and he made a point that always stuck with me, or rather, at least it did until now. The Rabbi said that mortals could not possibly understand how God works, and that in everything -- in every single thing imaginable -- there is always some good that will come from it. This fact may be hard to believe during a tragedy, but something positive will blossom from the ashes of despair.

I held on to this belief with a firm grip for many years. However, this once tight hold has turned into a sweaty and loose grasp that is quickly losing the ability to hang on. It scares me that my commitment to personal growth and spirituality is currently being compromised by a series of bad events in my own life. I feel selfish for thinking like this, but I can't help it. I'm disputing with a Rabbi and hundreds of years of wisdom here, but it's difficult to think otherwise! I'm tired of being tired! I'm sick of being sick inside! Where is the good from all of this? What point is being proved, what lesson learned? That people are bad and will hurt you? That you can never know any one, not even your best friends?

Fundamentally, I am a very positive person. I don't think I'm going to get stuck on some kind of negative autopilot. However, enough is enough and I am ready for something good to happen in my life. Damn it, I deserve it, even if just a little bit!

I'm not going to post it right now, but I have a story to share that kind of captures how I feel about life in general right now. It's a true one, and it took place (where else?) on the subway a few days back. I'll leave you with this image: a man, with a trapped bird inside his backpack, chirping furiously as it rides down the F line ...

homeless

I just need a home.

Honestly, that's all I need. A place to live. Someplace to drop my books, kick up my feet and watch some late night television. A quiet, safe space that I can call my own for a few months and feel comfortable in.

Is that too much to ask?

the nypd's flying fleet comes to say hello

The past few days I've had the pleasure of waking up to bird songs. It seems there are hundreds of birds roosting (I almost typed roasting) around my apartment, all eager to share the trials and tribulations of the long winter with one another. It's a nice sound, and one that makes me feel like I'm not in the middle of an urban wasteland. Refreshing.

However, today I woke up to an all together different kind of noise. Instead of a bugle call or a robin's call, I woke up to ... two NYPD helicopters hovering over my house. I think a third one might have been flying around too. The helicopters were almost directly above my room (I'm on the top floor), and since I had my window open from the previous night, my blissful sleep got interrupted by the very loud thunder of the NYPD's flying fleet.

I have no idea who they were after -- fugitive from the law? murderer? car jacker? -- but the NYPD certainly took their sweet time and stayed above my apartment for a solid 30 minutes or so.

I kept waiting for the 'copters to leave, but they weren't budging. I didn't want to shut my window either, because it's warm out today and my landlord hasn't turned the heat off yet, so that my radiator is slowly but surely toasting me to death. So I had to cope with the noise, the vague worry of some criminal trying to break into my apartment in a mad attempt to escape the helicopters, and the faint paranoia of 'oh my, are the popos after ME?' (I always think I'm in trouble, even when I've done nothing wrong.)

Eventually the helicopters flew off. I don't think they caught whoever they were looking for, but I haven't heard the NYPD come back, so they must have flown off to greener pastures.

At any rate, all of this was a nice distraction from stressing over finding a place to live for 6 weeks, being mad at the majority of people I know in the world, and realizing I still have a bunch of papers/books to read for class next week. I totally just exaggerated about being mad at the majority of people I know, but since the people I'm angry with have major significance in my life, it feels like I'm mad at more people than just them ... if that makes any sense.

Oh! and I met a paramedic last night and spoke with him briefly about a neighborhood I was potentially looking to move in to -- one that is notorious for being a straight up ghetto. (I mean, let's not mince words here people ... it has the top crime rate in NYC except for the South Bronx.) It's cheap and has an apartment that is month-to-month, which is why I'm considering it. The paramedic I spoke with happened to work in the particular neighborhood I'm interested in, and told me "Just stay away from _____ Avenue, all the stabbings and murders I take care of happen there."

However, he did add that none of them were random. I think he was implying all the murders were drug dealers and the like getting their due, but I wasn't sure. Still, kind of scary!