Long time no talk

Hello Reader,

I'm sorry; it's been a while and I have been neglectful. Too busy with the minutiae of a life that still feels in transit - somewhere between DC, Cambodia, Menlo Park and Brooklyn - and soon to relocate again, to somewhere not very far, but with more square footage. I have been taciturn (discreet? can I claim discretion on a personal blog?) also because I've been censoring the stream from brain to page - which means what I most want to discuss must be unsaid, along with anything and everything else. Ruminations on my last few (ish) relationships are absent, along with the almost absurdly typical New York City adjustment debauchery phase I am apparently experiencing. And you have no idea the things I want to tell you, so you and I can commiserate and cocelebrate all these "lessons" and jesuschristhowdidthathappen moments that have impressed and appalled Small Town Me. My college roommate, dearest Lauren B, would not be surprised that I still brush my teeth and hang up my clothes when I get home at 3 or 4, even if the rest of the evening's decisions were less responsible or otherwise insane. I didn't know there was a Small Town Me. The Big City will learn you but quick.

What I am getting at is here I am at this point of inflection, and a lot of what I expected to define my life and livelihood is still undetermined - is this relatively stable? In some ways I am in extended adolescence, a kind of retrograde where I am hanging out with 24 year olds and semi-unemployed and testing my limits, changing my hairstyles. I can still smell the fumes of the high I rode last Fall, when I was convinced I had discovered the secret recipe for my own happiness and I was unshakable and brilliant. It's there, if less exhilarating. But I will allow a little bit of emo now and again. I return to this question of character and identifying qualities - whatever immutable things you can know about a person, or yourself. What would I never do? What do I know you will always do? These thoughts can trend melancholic and are overwhelmingly self-absorbed, but I think I have them in check. I think so until I have told the nth person about the shady colleague or thoughtless friend who behaved "out of character," and I see I am still thinking about it.

But there is the fun stuff, too, I swear! I am chatty with a tattooed waitress because I am a regular at her restaurant! I can do roll ups in pilates now! I went to England, and I went to Miami, and I met the world's hipsteriest, swarthiest, hottest Chilean blogger! I regularly attend literary panels and cultural events! I impress people at karaoke! I put together hip and interesting outfits on an almost daily basis and I can do complex word problems in under two minutes. I can read html and Spanish. I feel so much love.

We're famous, Ma!

The NYTimes sees transparently into my soul in its Real Estate section article on Greenpoint. Link to slideshow here. The shots of Lomzynianka restaurant, the G train exit and Matchless are each located "around" various corners of my home location. The "Matchless... attracts newcomers to the area" line is especially cruel.

Note the omnipresence of both tattooed youth and the robustly Polish, which contributes to my growing urge to ink myself, or purchase red, white and bird gear to fit in.

I'm struggling with the parallelism and subject-verb agreements in these sentences. GMAT, you and I have a long way to go.

The G train - take it to not go to Manhattan or most of the rest of Brooklyn, love it for the Al Harrington shoe ad:

Blaudungs, blaudungs

The household is coming apart in August, which makes me feel like this:

Can't blame a kid for wanting to live in Manhattan and the renter's market should mean Molly and I find a much nicer two-bedroom (maybe in Ft Greene!) without having to pay more. But I'll miss Xinxin. And it's his birthday today.  

UPDATE: Don't worry, they caught the guy

I ran into some cops at a bodega on Manhattan Ave last night who confirmed that the perpetrator of the failed carjacking/smashing of church/hit and run was caught. When I related this story to the boys downstairs their principle concern was that I had initiated contact with police officers. I'm comfortable with public servants in uniform, OK?

Screech bang squeal

This just happened in front of my house:

Guy leaves his keys in his car while he visits the pharmacy on our corner. Other guy sees opportunity, steals car, screeches away the length of 6 parked cars, sideswipes the next one and crashes into the front of the church two doors down from my own. Carjacker flees scene on foot while car owner chases after, screaming "STOP! STOP!"

That was dramatic. Despite my really wanting them to be so, none of the firefighters were actually hot.

Our place is the third floor of the gray building, church is on the other side of the wacky pinkish fake stone building.

Sad:

"Is capitalism evil?" she wondered, in a room full of emerging market entrepreneurs

Awesome site discovered today: Strange Maps.

Especially this one: The Palestine Archipelago.

For a while there my life was all Palestine all the time. Combine that with extended exposure to liberal arts doctoral students (read: Marxists), and I'm experiencing a Spring Awakening. Might even rouse some rabble.

Sorry, Caroline, more gossip soon!

It's called exploitation of others and it's why I'm here

2:21 PM
me: ha
it is so rainy
it is def weather to be in bed for
Xin: yes
snuggling with a novel
and a dog
and tea
2:21 PM
me: oh god that sounds wonderful
Xin: we should a dog
that will obey us
me: we should Be a dog? is that what you mean?
Xin: yes
me: cause i like where you are going with that
we should be one dog
together
One Dog
Xin: yeah, good idea
2:22 PM
me: i need to blog this
Xin: do it now

Better versions, just to prove I was there

Wide shot of Inaugural crowd:

De la de la de la! (Soul):


The Obamas are hot.

Obama's brain is hot.

Elvis takes the stage at the Creative Coalition (this is right around the time I looked up ticket prices on the iPhone and realized we had walked into a $10,000/ticket event).

So we had to hit the red (but it was blue) carpet on the way out:

Show not tell

Oy. I've gotten bad at this. There are lots of great stories, including the one where I was within sniper range of the Presidential Caddy, and the time I was urged to sneak off to a bedroom in the British (Deputy) Ambassador's residence (but of course didn't, which is why I'm mentioning it on the blog), but I've run out of steam to transcribe them.

Here are some illustrative inaugural weekend shots instead.

From the Lincoln Memorial Concert:


Crowds upon crowds a the Inauguration ceremony:


It wasn't until hours later that I got a glimpse of Michelle's dress on TV, and days later that the Facebook news feed alerted me to the fan-worthiness of Aretha's bespangled headpiece.

Security guard on stage at the MoveOn.org party:

Adrien Grenier brushed against me, and Josh Lucas and I had several moments of meaningful eye contact, but I did not see Kate Moss or Moby or Tim Robbins. Guess I was distracted by all the Hope Art.

I verbal vom on Connie Britton

Hi kids, remember my obsession with Friday Night Lights? Something magical happened in Washington, DC on Tuesday and no, I don't mean the coronation of hope. My posse crashed the Creative Coalition Gala around midnight, just in time to catch the end of Sting and Elvis Costello's set, followed by a tear-inducing rendition of "Amazing Grace," and then, this moment:

Oh. My. God. It's Connie Britton. And then, this:

CANIJUSTSAYTHATILOVEYOURWORKONFNL??

There were plenty of other recognizable faces there but only Tami herself made me lose my cool. Appreciation to the photographer for surreptitiously capturing my dork out.

First, a moment

The Inauguration stories are going to come in, but first, an image from the first (of maybe 2 or 3) want-to-cry moments. (I very obviously did not take this picture):

Thanks for speaking truth to power on Palestine, Bono.

I feel really uncomfortable thanking Bono, or anyone who insists on wearing pink shades at all times. But when he reminded the crowd at the Lincoln Memorial Sunday that freedom is not just an American dream, not just an Irish or European or African (or Israeli) dream, but (pause. pause) "and also a Palestinian dream," I and the small crowd of stateless Arabs I was with hollered. Woo.

You gotta give 'em hope

I'm not dead. I am coming back. Hello, 2009, etc.

Soon.