Holiday Recap

What I've been doing since and for Christmas:

-making pasta with Don (I got him a hand-cranked pasta maker; see below)
-playing Donkey Kong (an "us" gift)
-thinking about what to do with the epic picture Emily and Megan made for me
-not stressing out about a single thing
-looking forward to the trio of New York Philharmonic concerts to which Don got me tickets
-clocking in some precious Don hours

As an experienced New Yorker (read: overly stressed, frequently annoyed, and consistently fatigued), Don always has some good advice for me, which I usually don't take, and usually to my chagrin. This time, though, I think I've made a small step in time management by heeding his words. My previous time management strategy was virtually nonexistent; I didn't so much manage time as I crammed it, or let it slip past me without notice. Don gently reminded me that this week could possibly be the last week that we will be able to spend so much time together, mostly due to his lack of dogs (they're on "vacation") and my relaxed schedule (I'm starting at OUP next week, and school two weeks later!). Hence, a wonderful week of sloth, pasta, video games, and snow.

Success of Sorts

Living in the city is discouraging. Switching from waitress to fromagere has been a nice change -- my mood has drastically improved -- but I still can't help wondering if this is the best I can do, or will do. Not that anyone needs a job to be "successful," I suppose, but for me and my interest in the field of writing and editing, I'd like to have some type of guidance so I can figure out what I like and don't like. And I certainly don't like going on fruitless job interviews.

But who cares? I've finally made a step in the right direction, after more than six months of sucking up and resume tweaking and bleary-eyed Craiglist searches -- something finally paid off, which is a good feeling (it makes the world feel just). So get this: I met a woman at Artisanal over the summer -- I was waiting on her, and I noticed her credit card said she worked at Oxford University Press, which is right around the corner from the restaurant. I told her I thought that was so cool, do they have any job openings?, etc. -- she e-mailed me back a few weeks later, and we've been keeping in relative touch ever since. Two weeks ago, she invited me for a job interview in the ESL department, for a position called Freelance Media Production Assistant... not my field of choice, but certainly a good way to get my foot in the door. And in the door I am firmly wedged, since I got the job !

I'll probably start after the New Year -- it's only a part-time job, two days a week, but I'll be going into their (beautiful) office for those days. I've always been mildly repulsed by offices and midtown attitudes, but if I had to work anywhere, it would certainly be at the Manhattan office of Oxford University Press -- the interior is classy and quiet, there are books everywhere, the dress is casual, and everyone who enters the building looks like they have an interesting story (that last bit could just be my excitement taking hold). I'm not sure how I'm going to work this all out with the cheese counter, but I don't care -- this takes precedence no matter what.

FURTHERMORE, I scored an interview with Kaplan to be a part-time private tutor for kids K-8 (none of that standardized testing bullshit, thank you), which I have this Friday. I'm also working on getting an interview at the Long Island University Writing Center, which normally hires English MA students and takes off about $1,000 from tuition for the semester (which, for a one-class person like me, is a third of my payment).

And, finally, I've tinkered with my new Linux machine enough to get it working properly. Disabling modules, editing scripts, running commands, reading bizarre code nonsense... I've never worked this closely with a computer before, nor have I cared to. There's something about this operating system that motivates me. Welcome to the Ubuntu community!

So things are finally falling into place, I think. It's about time, too: I've just passed the six month mark -- I've noticed that I work on three-month cycles, at least in the non-university world. C'est-a-dire, every three months something snaps, or sinks into place, and helps me figure out what I've just done and where I'm headed -- which in itself is sort of hilarious, since, in other words, every three months I think I've "got it," and then three months later I discover I absolutely don't. I suppose it's my psyche's way of taking two steps forward and one step back... it keeps me motivated enough to keep trying, but prevents me from leaping too far into the abyss of adventurousness. Does anyone else's brain have a child safety mechanism?

Guess who's using Linux??

Fromage

Things have been rough lately, though nothing more complex than overworkage. I've been slaving away about 50 hours per week for the last three weeks, all in an attempt to free myself from the bonds of serving tables: I am now the proud slinger of cheese, seller of curds: a cheesemonger. I still work at the same restaurant, though there is something magically calming about tending cheese that waiting tables just couldn't deliver. Sure, I make less money, but a financial sacrifice for psychic sanctity is a good exchange to me. I'll just have to cut back on a few things (e.g., Park Avenue Odwalla juice, $3 organic avocados, bottles of port, etc.).

In the meantime, I've accomplished and discovered a few minor things. I explored the Queens Museum of Art, which is essentially a World's Fair museum; registered for class at Long Island University (starting in January!); and bought a couch at Ikea, which is too big for the room and makes my apartment look like a post-modern scattering of silly furniture.

The famous "Panorama" at the Queens Museum: a to-scale model of New York City, all five boroughs; one inch = 100 feet. Fascinating.

 

 My "new" place of employment.

Routine

I've slowed the whirlwind of my touristic activities to an andante, I guess. The end of October marked a return of American habits for me -- Halloween (I was Peter Pan!), a social life, great autumn weather (missed out on that one up in the mountains last year; l'automne in Gerardmer consisted of one day of golden leaves and immediately gave way to freezing rain). I've officially defected from my penguin-vested servantry at Artisanal, and will be soon working behind the cheese counter -- making considerably less money, and achieving substantial psychic relaxation. I like changing my lifestyle with the seasons.

Here are a few pictures that are long overdue. From the Cloisters:

...from my and Don's beer-brewing venture, which has so far turned out fantastically well:

 

...and Halloween:

I also recently had my first concert with NYRO, which was loud and well-attended and exciting. The Church of St. Mary the Virgin (Episcopal, not Catholic -- and silly me thought only the latter used censers) has echoey acoustics (no bueno for timpani) but the space is impressive and playing in there, I feel like a lowly Baroque-era musician performing for the High Priest, which is kind of neat. [Aside from the type of paper and ink it's now printed on, there's little about most classical music that's changed since it's original composition. As in, it's pretty darn easy to imagine what it would've been like playing a piece for the first time of all time. The one thing I really wonder about is the sound -- w/r/t (new abbreviation from David Foster Wallace: "with respect to") real gut strings, differently constructed instruments, different interpretation of dynamic, etc.] I may be sitting in the back of the section, but I really, really love playing in an orchestra again.

In other news: I had another piece published by Assembly Journal, this time on the pricing of digital books versus that of printed books: The Price of Paper. I like writing and researching, but for some reason I'm not feeling particularly inspired by print culture. Everything print-related these days seems like it has to pit itself against digital culture, using keywords like "tactile" and "experience" and "authentic." I'm sort of sick of the little war these two cultures are waging against each other. Maybe I can write about that.

Brooklyn Museum: Fred Tomaselli

For a museum with such a majestic exterior, the Brooklyn Museum was disappointing. The first floor was poorly designed and windowless; the entire fourth floor was closed off; the collections (African, Korean, European paintings) were meagre. What the museum did well were small, specific collections: the "Mummy Room" was striking (examples: a mummified baby crocodile; original pages and translations from The Book of the Dead); the contemporary American furniture and art section was attractively designed, with brightly painted walls; the Iranian and Islamic art section is apparently one of the most comprehensive of its type in the country. I would have enjoyed a New York- or Brooklyn-specific art section, like the Greater New York exhibit at MoMA's P.S. 1. I seemed to have proved correct, yesterday, the claim that the Brooklyn Museum is only worth the trip if there's a good exhibit, which there was: Fred Tomaselli.

Some artist-related keywords: California desert, birds, plants, deep red, big art, enamel, 3D, "op-art," pills, constellations, collage.

What Tomaselli does (mainly) is use pills, pieces of plants, dead bugs, etc., to make patterns and images on massive pieces of wood. He paints, too, and makes complicated collages from magazine images. Then he covers the entire piece with a thick layer of enamel, which he lets dry then paints a second, corresponding layer. The result is often something close to an optical illusion, with massive, expansive designs that, unlike messy Impressionist art (Impressionism is for blurry-eyed middle-aged suburban moms!), you can enjoy Tomaselli's paintings from both up close and far away. Looking in detail, you can see exactly what type of pills make up the pattern (he often uses Tums); being far away is also necessary for taking in the entirety of the painting and receiving the aesthetically psychedelic effects. Probably the most visually stunning art collection I have ever seen.

The Printed Note

Did I mention my internship at Assembly Journal? My official title is "contributing editor" (sweet!), and besides writing articles and editing others, I'd probably be sorting through manuscripts, researching literary events in the area, et cetera. My first article was put up on the site today! Hooray!

Fort Tryon Park & The Cloisters

I continue to discover, amid the industrial rubble and smog and flashing lights of the city, nature. Fort Tryon Park, located on the upper upper west side (near Inwood, where I got lost last time), is a hilly, rough-hewn gentle giant of a park. Though not nearly the size of Central Park, Fort Tryon makes up for its lacking area through density, stacking meandering paths atop one another as the glacial cliffs of the Hudson River's edge climb ever higher; the panoramic views of New Jersey and the Bronx are, well, panoramic. But it is quite amazing to be atop not a building, but a piece of nature and to have a view like that, as I am most of the time smothered in the underground warren of midtown.

In the center of Fort Tryon Park is The Cloisters, a museum founded by Theodore Roosevelt in 1938. The exterior is striking; it was designed to resemble a Gothic monstery, sort of -- there are architectural elements from the Romanesque (1000s AD) to Gothic (1200s, ish) to Medieval (1400s). It is essentially a venue in which to provide a "real" artistic and historic experience, meaning that the artwork and artifacts are displayed in settings that most closely resemble their original. At first I was disappointed, having learned that The Cloisters were not, in fact, actual cloisters. Yet, after visiting a few rooms, the experience became remarkably logical. I felt like I was playing a game I didn't know I could play -- wandering from the "early Gothic" hall (made to replicate the 1200s) to the "Unicorn Tapestries" hall (1500s) made me suddenly pay attention to the artistic and architectural differences between the two periods, which I already, subconsciously, knew. The early Gothic art was tortured, all stone and pointy arches, simplistic stained glass, Jesus everywhere. The Unicorn Tapestries (which are famous, apparently) were set in a warmer room, with a large hearth, thick rugs on the floor, wooden chairs, fanciful flowers woven into the massive, nonreligious-themed tapestries.

The "cloister" areas, which were designed to replicate the monastic gardens, were beautiful. One garden was strictly culinary and medicinal, growing plants that Medieval monks would have grown in their time: horsetail, feverfew, quince, stinging nettle, chives. Another contained plants that were native -- both in the wild and grown at home -- to Europe during the Middle Ages; another contained only wildflowers. (Pictures soon to come!)

An added bonus to visiting The Cloisters was a free ticket to the Met (the two museums are related). I rushed down to Central Park, but only managed to get in about 20 minutes of visiting time, which was unpleasant and rushed and I should've just gone home. I missed the "Big Bambu" exhibit I had wanted to see, and was subjected to an annoying "street performance" while I unlocked my bike from outside the front of the museum. Oh well.

The trip totaled a little over 25 miles, which puts me in good shape for the Tour de Bronx this month! Wahoo!

Parks & Recreation

Thank goodness for subsidized everything! Unlike most active New Yorkers, who prefer to pay an obscene $160 per month for a New York Sports Club membership, I've paid $75 for an entire year -- for a membership at the city's Parks & Recreation centers, which are located in all five boroughs. Many of the centers are designed for city students, and so are made up of nothing more than a gym and a ping pong room. A few of them are outfitted as "normal" gyms, complete with weight rooms, tracks, indoor pools, and cardio machines. The best ones even hold yoga and fitness classes (for free! the quality, however, I cannot yet vouch for). The only thing lacking from the centers are racquetball courts which, I now know, seem to be available only to wealthy, white men and their sons, at ludicrous $20 per hour rates and with membership-only exclusive privileges, yada yada yada. Oh well.

Today's public project was swimming, at the Chelsea Recreation Center. The pool was surprisingly clean, and the lanes were even divided into slow, medium, and fast (to help sort the old Chinese ladies from the fit foreigners, apparently). Experiencing an American indoor pool was surprisingly refreshing, as I had gotten accustomed to the chaotic free-for-all at my local Vosgien pool (i.e., no lanes, no division of ability, a generally communist sense of space). I did a decent number of laps, held my own in the fast lane, and bussed my way across town with a quiet sense of community pride. I'm starting to feel like I live here.

Secret Agenda

I'm trying to demystify New York, mostly for my own sake. I'm taking down the big city barriers of commuters and crazies and tall buildings and numbers and replacing them with the most mundane activities I can think of, to my delight. I want the most dynamic part of my urban experience to be me, exploring the surrounding environment with the same open, squirrely eyes that I once explored the wooded trails of the Vosges. The manner in which I go about my journey never changes; it's what I find that might be different.

Brooklyn Flea/Home Brew

Hipsterism has, among other things, given rise to a surprisingly (and ironically) capitalistic level of competition within its trendy community of arts and artistic product -- which I think is great! It has given rise to handmade goods (like t-shirts from Species By The Thousands) and artisanal cooking (like pastries from Whimsy & Spice); increased awareness and appreciation of obscure objects and art; and opened up the passageways for creativity in all directions. (Of course, hipsterism has also given rise to fake, plastic-rimmed glasses, girls dressing like grandpas, and an absurd too-cool-for-school attitude, which I don't care for.)

So when it comes to uber-trendy things like the Brooklyn Flea, I don't care who's hosting it, who's attending, or where it is, as long as I can find something awesome. (Sounds like perv's outlook on house parties.) I went last Saturday morning with Nicole and Chris, and was stunned by the variety of products on sale, both edible and non. Among my purchases were a bag of beer and salted caramel candies from Liddabit Sweets, spicy pickle relish from McClure's, a sturdy basket/shopping bag from some crotchety old vendor, and a mimosa pudica plant (which is not doing too well...).

But the true highlight: a homebrewing kit from Brooklyn Brew Shop. For $40, they include everything you need to brew your own beer, including all of the grains, yeast, and hops; rubbing tubing; a glass gallon container; and a Pyrex thermometer. $40 for knowledge! Its a pretty great deal, since I am now set for all future brewing endeavors. I bought a kit to make one gallon of "Rye P.A.," a basic India Pale Ale that uses both rye and a little honey to enhance the flavor. The site sells a couple dozen more flavors, like Blackberry Red Ale, Pumpkin Dubbel, and Chocolate Maple Porter. (The secret to flavored beers: all you do is add what you want to the grain mash, i.e., just throw a couple pieces of fresh apple and a cinnamon stick into the mix.)

The process took about five hours, and made a huge mess. It involved two steel stockpots, a strainer, and several hours of Super Mario Brothers Galaxy 2. Don and I finished the process two nights ago at 3:30am, and the beer is now secreted away, fermenting in my closet. (Pictures for later.)

A gallon of beer only makes about five bottles, but perfecting this process on a small scale might lead to unforeseen advancements!

Bronx Botanical Garden

Wednesday is free day in the Bronx -- I'd recommend hitting up both the Bronx Zoo and the Botanical Garden if you want to make the most of your day. The Zoo I've done multiple times (and could probably do lots more times, too), but the Garden I've never seen. A few snapshots from my tranquil afternoon:

the conservatory (which was closed)

f

from the Rose Garden, which was fully in bloom

the entrance to the Children's Adventure Garden

To my mild surprise, the Botanical Garden was not as carefully manicured as I had expected. The Rose Garden, greenhouses, and Edible Garden were, naturally, quite well taken care of, though the majority of the park was simply wild, native forest. The Bronx Botanical Garden contains the largest swath of the original forest that once covered all of Manhattan, a historical piece of nature that the workers there try hard to preserve. They routinely remove all invasive and exotic species (of plants) from the acres of forest that make up the Garden, and replace them with native species, as if continually retouching an old masterpiece. There are miles of trails in the forest, too; I came across about half a dozen runners while I was there.

The Garden also features a marsh area; a Magnolia Orchard; an upcoming Azaela Garden; a Children's Adventure Garden; and a swanky cafe. The fact that the place was empty made the experience much better for me; I was left alone with my thoughts, the plants, and the Bronx River (the only fresh water river in New York City!).

The tranquillity, however, came only after an hour and a half of public transportation, in full all-of-the-Bronx-high-schools-just-got-out mode. I took the M60 from Astoria Boulevard to 125th Street, then got on the 4 train to nearly the end of the line. I then took the B32 (or something) to the gates of the Garden. A transportation success! It really does take time to master this system.

Work...

So I applied to be a freelance translator for Applied Language, an online translating and editing company. We shall see!

NYRO

Although my attempts to replicate the activities of my college days haven't been exactly successful, they've been rewarding in a different way -- namely, because I have to work my ass for every damn thing these days, instead of trotting over to the UD recreation center with my racquet in hand. Yoga is back in my life, thanks to Yoga Agora, a great little studio that gives 85-minute long power vinyasa sessions for only $5. Racquet sports and horses are sadly out of the picture but, after a long hiatus, the violin is back! Practicing solo only motivates me so far... and not far. I had my first rehearsal with the New York Repertory Orchestra last week at their beautiful venue in Times Square, and felt the pulse of musical life juice its way back through my veins. It felt like the missing piece in my life, actually; I'm really looking forward to this week's practice.

Saint Mary the Virgin Church (can you believe this is hidden in a city block near Times Square??)

We're playing some obscure and complicated pieces: Carl Nielsen's Symphony No. 4, "The Inextinguishables"; Albert Roussel's "Concerto for Small Orchestra"; and Astor Piazzolla's "Four Seasons," and Argentinian take on Vivaldi's piece of the same name. Check out this insane recording of Piazzolla's "Summer" movement:

Besides being able to share in my sense of personal fulfillment and happiness, the best part (for you) about me joining this orchestra is that the concerts are FREE! My first one is on Saturday, October 23rd, at 8pm, at the above church. Come czech it out!

U.S. Open

Having obtained tickets from a well-connected dentist (Don's mom), Don and I thus spent our Labor Day evening at Arthur Ashe Stadium, in Flushing, Queens. Unbeknownst to us, we were carrying some heavy-hitting tickets; we both flushed with pleasure when, upon arrival, we were permitted to fly past the long peasant line and breeze through the side V.I.P. gate. We drank ourselves silly at the "Restaurant Club" bar (not free drinks, unfortunately), and eventually staggered to our "box" seats, which, though they weren't in a proper private box, were still roomy and away from the aforementioned peasants above us. We saw two quarterfinals matches: a women's match (Petkovic vs. Zvonareva), and a men's (Federer vs. Melzer). Federer oozed arrogance and ease just walking around the court, like a racquet-brandishing George Clooney. Don got a free U.S. Open 2010 holographic cup with his beer, and we left the stadium just before midnight.

our view from the Loge Box

hehe

Petkovic vs. Zvonareva

Federer killin' it

 

Electric Zoo

A quick description: New York's second annual electro-techno festival, held on Randall's Island over Labor Day weekend, fully sold out (25,000 people each day!). Headliners: The Chemical Brothers, Bassnectar, Moby, Fedde Le Grande, Armin Van Buuren. 11am to 11pm. Pure bliss.

Last year was Electric Zoo's first, though with DJs like David Guetta and Markus Schulz it still drew an impressive crowd. This year, the guidos, ravers, and hippies came out in full hedonistic force, enveloping the festival in a seamless blanket of human. By the end of the night, the grounds were literally covered with bodies and neon lights -- pacifier-sucking girls laying atop one another in piles, breakdancers, hula hoopers, shirtless dudes sprawled out on blankets. I've never felt less like an individual, in a good way.

In addition to mindlessly enjoying the mainstream, headlining bands (Dirty South was outstanding), I discovered a couple truly excellent DJs whose trip-hoppy, dubstep styles I enjoy: Pretty Lights, whose entire discography is available for free download online; and Flying Lotus, who helped mix Radiohead's In Rainbows album. Check 'em out!

Pardon the blurriness of the below pictures; I think you get the point.
 

Gareth Emery (he sucked)

waiting for Dirty South to take the stage

Flying Lotus

The Chemical Brothers

To Inwood and Beyond, or Lost! in Harlem

A simple idea gone quickly awry, stereotypically: a small white girl with no food, water, map, or Spanish capabilities, lost in upper Manhattan. Who knew there were woods up there?

I rode my bike up the Hudson River Greenway yesterday afternoon; I wanted to see how far it went. I went as far north as Inwood, the narrow northern tip of Manhattan, just above where the George Washington Bridge connects New Jersey and New York. I wanted to ride down the Harlem River (assuming there was a path; there wasn't), cutting a diagonal across the city to 125th Street, where I could jump on the Triboro Bridge and make it easily back to Queens.

Hot, concrete neighborhoods eventually gave way to some kind of forest, what I later learned is called Highbridge Park. I carried my bike under bridges, up numerous flights of stairs, in and around woodsy trails; I rode over gravel and dusty, grassy paths. I asked for directions from people who either didn't know or couldn't speak English. I eventually re-emerged into the city at 190th Street, and thanked the Dutch for building this city on a grid. (To give you an idea of how far north this is, Central Park ends at 110th Street.)

So my plan failed, but I did get to see a lot of Manhattan that I've never even tried to explore before. Beautiful, wooded parks are juxtaposed with wide, gray boulevards; music is constantly playing (depending on what neighborhood it is, it's either merengue or Rihanna); merchants line the streets, fruits and t-shirts and radios spilling out onto the sidewalks. Riding past these places at such a high speed was like reading a quick summary of each neighborhood -- I got the smells, sights, and sounds for a couple minutes, and then moved onto the next.

Highbridge Park
 

Space Odyssey: The Meatpacking District

I feel so far removed from the world of the wealthy elite that glancing into the red, pulsing depths of a nightclub is about as strange as peering down the endless corridors of the New York subway system. Dramatic lighting and gleaming chrome, paired with broken teeth cobblestones and aged wood, makes the Meatpacking District a foreign and attractive place -- a beautiful person dressed in homespun fabrics and shabby clogs (and a wallet packed with benjamins).

I don't go out here much, other than to play around in the High Line Park. The drinks are expensive, and I always somehow end up feeling like a little kid sitting at the grown-ups' table, surrounded by good-looking people who stink of casual money. Oh well!, I thought last night, and brought Kiersten down to Gansevoort for a drunkenly good time.

We started at Pastis, a French bistro with predictably high prices and strong cocktails. The waiter looked like a pathetic James Dean. We moved on to the Brass Monkey, where I gave up on cocktails and just drank a cup of Jim Beam. If it were not pouring rain, we would have probably also gone to the Standard Biergarten, which looked grubby and fun.

The Meatpacking District was apparently quite a dangerous area back in the day, home to AIDS-bearing transsexual prostitutes and Mafia-run nightclubs. The area was "cleansed" by the gradual opening of trendy boutiques and bistros, to the dismay of some nostalgic New Yorkers (do you see a pattern here?). The Meatpacking District now tends to appeal to the "bridge and tunnel" crowd, a.k.a. the Unmentionables from New Jersey, a change that has only added to frustration for the needle-brandishing, corrupt Italian locals.

Williamsburg

I've been spending short chunks of time in and out of Williamsburg, Brooklyn, lately -- just short enough to keep me from both going broke and becoming a beehive-haired, plaid-sporting hipster. The 'Burg has been rejuvenated from a disgusting industrial park on the East River to an ultra-cool mega-village that likes to be reminded that it has its roots in a disgusting industrial park. After some time of kids pouring their parents' money into these renovated warehouses, Williamsburg became the throbbing nucleus of all things cool, absurd, ironic, self-aware, ironically self-aware, etc. Unfortunately for its thrift store-hound inhabitants, the competition for coolness has made Williamsburg bars, restaurants, and public events actually quite good.

Today I was joined by a few friends at the East River Park for the final installment of the Jelly Pool Parties, free concerts held on a riverside stage, usually featuring semi-well known indie artists like !!!, Cut Copy, and Deerhoof. Today's concert -- in the pouring rain! -- was Chromeo, a pop electronica duo (I suppose that's what I would label them) from Montreal that uses cool props like the Talk Box and dancing, slender women. Unlike the malady-stricken audience present at the Real Estate concert last week, the crowd at the Chromeo concert was alive and well, soaking wet, dancing like they should've been. I approved.

Lit Life

I'm trying to get a grip on the words and letters of my new urban life. Seeing as I'm starting graduate school in the spring, I figured I should educate myself as much as possible on the literary front, beginning with a failed attempt to read War and Peace and an empty relationship with the New York Public Library (I have yet to avail myself of its revered tomes). I have, however, been keeping up with my and Don's New York Times subscription.

(Note: does anyone else think the magazine is losing it's spark? The writing doesn't seem as good these days...)

I also have a New Yorker subscription, whose short stories and masterfully-crafted articles keep my literary side pretty much satiated. Its recent running feature, "20 Under 40," is a set of 20 short stories -- one or two per issue -- that have all been written by authors under 40. (An entertaining and respectable effort to keep young peeps involved -- kind of like P.S. 1's Young Architects Program).

I also went to the Strand the other day, the famous "home of 18 miles of books" -- meaning, it's a crazy mess that hides its good deals in the basement. I bought Infinite Jest, by David Foster Wallace. Let's see if I get to it.

P.S. 1

Long Island City, Queens -- the MoMA sister museum. Housed in an old public elementary school, P.S. 1 has the strange, reminiscient feel of a locker room -- and simultaneously blows this notion apart with ultra-modern art exhibitions. I've only visited half the museum (LIC residents get in for free, so I'm in no hurry), but went instead for the Warm Up, an outdoor dance party held in the entrance area of the museum from 2 - 9pm on Saturdays. Guest DJs this summer included ?uestlove, Animal Collective, Ratatat, and James Murphy & Pat Mahoney (DFA Records); still to come are Big Freedia (nutso tranny rapper from New Orleans), Holy Ghost!, and DJ Medhi. (Unfortunately, these last two artists will be playing on the day of ELECTRIC ZOO, so I will obviously not be there [yahoo!]. DJ Mehdi was actually at the Zoo last year; funny that a music festival should have to compete with a museum.)

The most recent outdoor exhibit is called "Pole Dancing," an interactive (as always) techno-game that allows you to shake these poles and somehow involve your iPhone so that different poles make different musics. Kind of neat; I don't have an iPhone. A little less exclusive, however, is the outdoor bar and grill located in the bizarre, warren-like sand pit (you've gotta go to check out the layout for yourself; that simile doesn't explain well). Beer and hotdogs are prohibited inside the museum, obviously, but there's nothing preventing you from having a cold one outside on the dreamscape patio, electric beats afloat.

Parx

Two of my favorite parks in Manhattan.

Hudson River Park: perfect for biking (a north-south expressway for two-wheelers, essentially), watching fireworks (July 4th!), reading, waiting, and attending free concerts, which I did on Thursday. Deerhunter and Real Estate were playing out on Pier 54, two bands whose innocuous and mind-numbing music can be found on my iPod's "Background Music" playlist. I left the concert early, escaping the hordes of bobbing hipsters yet sadly leaving behind the Van Leeuwen ice cream truck that was stationed there. At the very least, the $4 candied ginger ice cream was amazing.

H

High Line Park: where Don took me when we were first dating to prove to me he was cool. Built on top of an old elevated train line running through the Meatpacking District in Manhattan (the REAL midnight meat train, apparently), the park is overgrown with a pleasing mixture of native plants (read: weeds) and strategically-placed trees that will eventually provide shade and more structure to the park. Highlights include a futuristic bandshell, old railroad remnants (the metal rails and the wooden ties are incorporated seamlessly into the garden's design), and a constant fresh breeze. I can't wait until they finish the section called "the Chelsea Thicket"; sounds like a prime doobie-smoking spot to meeeeeeee.

Neighborhood #2: Beer Garden

Every bar with a patio claims to have a beer garden. But this one -- the 100 year-old Czech Bohemian Beer Hall in Astoria -- is no exaggeration. Serving mostly imported European beers and potent liquors (including the recently banned Czech absinthe...), the place is about as legitimately foreign as the rest of the neighborhood (read: very) and makes drinking outdoors seem like the only proper path to inebriation (as it should be). Nothing more complicated than trees, gravel, and picnic tables adorn the fortress-like space (its perimeter is made up of thick stone walls), and the only thing you can do to get yourself kicked out is to lie unconscious on a table (thank Don for that one). It goes without saying that this is one of my favorite places in Astoria.

Harlem River Rave

This one happened awhile back. Myself, Don, and two of his friends went uptown to an ad-hoc, outdoor "rave," where local (I guess) DJs were spinning on sawhorse tables, glowsticks and mysterious chemicals aplenty, breakdance circles and little personal light shows happening here and there. The police drove by and saw that no one was causing harm, so they let it be. Aaah. I took these pictures.

I

It was Chris' birthday.

Light show.

DJ.

I'd like to go to more of these. Don's friend Mike is on a couple of listserves and forums that alert people when a spontaneous rave is about to happen, whether it's in a legitimate club or a sketchy abandoned warehouse in Queens. I like the vibes -- people are there just to dance, and are usually dressed in nothing more formal than sneakers and shorts; there is no pretension. It keeps the hipsters out, who are too cool to dance (but not for drugs). I'm guessing they're like lemmings; one day, the onslaught will be over, the hipsters will self-destruct and dancing will be cool again.

..................

In more recent news, Emily and Megan came to visit:

Red Hook

Something to keep in mind: riding 10 miles through a city is not the same as riding 10 miles in the country. Constantly alert, avoiding car doors, weaving taxis, traffic lights, Hasidic Jews (a dangerous distraction), bad drivers and bad bikers. What saved me was the Amsterdam-style bike lane -- a full lane, two-way, separated from the traffic by a row of parked cars -- than ran from the Pulaski Bridge to Downtown Brooklyn. I made it, finally, to IKEA -- my absurd destination for that day -- located in Red Hook, Brooklyn, an inconsistently quaint neighborhood that, despite its lack of subway access, maintains its respectable reputation due to the sick view:

Weird that there are parts of the city where cars are more popular than public transit.

Trusty bike, trusty bike.

Roosevelt Island

A little sliver of an island, a splinter between Queens and Manhattan. Home to a strange abandoned hospital, a functional hospital, and lots of people in wheelchairs. There are no traffic lights, nor properly paved roads; they're all somewhat uneven red brick, like the walkways at Disney World. I rode my bike over the little red bridge (not the big one in the above picture) a few weeks ago to check it out, with neutral results. It's a strange collection of housing projects that feel more like they belong in Philly than New York; I'm not sure why. The bike paths are okay, but not long enough; the circumference of the island is probably only about a mile. There is a nice little park at the northern tip with a small lighthouse and a view.

Uninspiring island trips elicit uninspired language. Whatever. There are plenty of other islands around New York that I'm planning to explore: Governor's Island, located south of Manhattan and popular music venue (lots of free summer concerts!); Randall's Island/Ward's Island, which I have visited, last year, for the awesome Electric Zoo festival; Riker's Island, a water-bound prison where I intend on paying Weezy a visit; Staten Island, which is huge and much farther away than everyone thinks; Coney Island, not an island anymore, still worth a trip.

Hebdomadaire Work Commute

I do this commute about once a week, sometimes not even that much, sometimes twice -- whenever I have a shift that will allow me to bike both to and from Manhattan in daylight. It takes about as long as the subway (half hour, more or less) and leaves me twice as sweaty. Oh well.

Neighborhood #1: Da Pool

No relation to The Arcade Fire... this is the first of perhaps many entries on my little home, Astoria, Queens. I moved in about two months ago (with Don, my boyfriend) and our apartment is a chaotic nest of curios, Mediterranean-inspired foods, and dust. But it's coming along; I actually kind of love it.

But onto the pool -- I discovered Astoria Park's public pool as I was checking out the park itself, a green slice of scraggly grass sandwiched between the Triborough and Hellgate Bridges, hugging the East River with a slimy yet somehow endearing "coastline." The pool is the largest in all five boroughs, and was built during the 1930s as part of the Works Progress Administration by our own dear Robert Moses. The place has a massive, classical feel about it; it reminds me of F. Scott Fitzgerald, synchronized swimming, and white people. Think about some of the bath houses at Jones Beach and you'll know what I mean.

Now, the place is a haven for Astoria's ethnically diverse population (most diverse in the country!) and is, of course, free. Discovering this pool started things off on a good note.

Oh, fine.

I try only to have a blog when I'm on some kind of special adventure. Great things happen when you're overseas, things that deserve talking about and sharing, like watching drag races in Australia or rock climbing in France. At home, though -- eh. I don't consider posting about my sweet new haircut or, omg, those AWESOME cupcakes at Magnolia blog-worthy material. Next thing you know I'll be tweeting quotes from bums on the subway and there goes any respect for bloggish integrity, out the fenster.

But in keeping with the spirit of what I not-so-whimsically call my "New York adventure," I thought I'd revive the old public journal and start recording my experiences here. I've been up to some pretty neat shit lately, lots of it on my bike, most of it by accident, some it with other people. I work more or less 40 hours a week at the restaurant, and the rest of my time I spend exploring.

I'm keeping the thing in French, though; at least some remnant of my former life as a little Vosgien denizen will remain, if not the title -- "my daily, everyday life" just sounds a lot cooler in French. 

And then we were four.

School is over and I don't know what to think anymore!

Glow Time

Already?

.....................

I went for a drive through Alsace yesterday with Danny, another American assistant, and Marion, our French, car-owning friend. A bit of history: though parts of Alsace are also situated in the Vosges, the villages and countryside are drastically different from those on the Lorraine side of the mountains. During World War II, the Germans completely razed many Lorraine-Vosgien towns (Gerardmer was 85% destroyed, for example), so they almost completely lack the medieval churches and cutesy cobblestone streets of most villages in Alsace. Also, the closer you get to Germany, the lower the Vosges become, so the countryside in Alsace is already greener, warmer, flatter, and hence better-suited to wine production than the Lorraine Vosges. Gerardmer wasn't made into a ski station for nothing; it's one of the coldest, snowiest places in the Vosges, aside from the cretes (the rocky high points that are usually accessed by independent mountaineers or skiiers).

So, voila, my trip through sunny Alsace:

Traveling through the Valley of Munster

 Kaysersberg

Looking towards Germany from the top of a chateau in Kaysersberg

Riquewihr, one of the most well-preserved medieval villages in Alsace, a.k.a., the Bruges of Alsace

L

Les fameux Marion and Danny

Well, a little bit of my life. I like this blog because it takes my mind off of myself, ironically -- I've been spending the last week internally freaking out about leaving (my last day of class tomorrow! yikes!), and it's soothing to create something that is purely for others. An experience doesn't quite feel genuine to me if it's not shared; meaning, I can run and hike and explore the world as much as I like, but it all almost seems lost if I don't somehow give a part of my new self away eventually. I recently read a short story, "Monsieur Ibrahim et les fleurs du Coran" (Eric-Emmanuel Schmitt) with a nice little quote: "Ce que tu donnes, Momo, c'est pour toi toujours; ce que tu gardes, c'est perdu a jamais!" Or something like that, meaning: "that which you give is yours always; that which you keep to yourself is lost forever." It was a cute story, you should read it; I think it was made into a movie.

I hope this blog has been informative at the very least.

High Times in the Low Countries

"If you want to travel fast, go alone. If you want to travel far, go together."

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BELGIUM: I swore to Bill that I would end my days in Belgium, living alone in a cabin next to a monastery and drinking Trappist beers until I could barely walk. Let's ignore the current governmental debacle and imagine that all will be well enough for me to realize this dream someday.

Atop a Flemish castle [Ghent]

 In the stable/torture chamber [Ghent]

Joyriding on our rented bikes [Brussels]

Basilica [Brussels]

The kitschy unreality that is [Bruges]

They really are better in Belgium [Bruges]

Design Museum [Ghent]

YES!

I would also like to give Bill an Honorable Mention for his travel skills. Our combined frugality and "appreciation" for the arts kept us in step with one another the entire time; I couldn't have asked for a better voyageur. I'm declaring this a tradition.

THE NETHERLANDS: It was nice to leave behind the francophones for once -- welcome, techno music, tall people, and stroopwafels! I stayed for a week in Amsterdam with my friend, Nicolette, whom I met two years ago in Australia. Besides being a good sport and going to all the city's major museums with me (Rijksmuseum, Van Gogh Museum, Anne Frank House, Heineken Brewery, city Archives/Photo Exposition), Nicolette proved to be an excellent tour guide and host. There is nothing like tourism under the wing of a friend.

 Houseboat [Amsterdam]

 Nachtspelen ! [Amsterdam]

 Nicolette and Brenda, another Dutch friend from Australia, at Nachtspelen [Amsterdam]

 The Heineken Brewery

 Escher Museum [The Hague]

 A traditional herring and onion sandwich [The Hague]

LUXEMBOURG: My final stop. I spent the weekend Couchsurfing with Mareike, a German student in Luxembourg who loves the European Union. Her knowledge of Luxembourg was impressive, the highlights of which I will share here: the name Luxembourg comes from an old Latin word, Lucilinburhuc; the original fortress, on which the city iteself is built, was constructed in the 10th century; the city was invaded, in turn, by the French, the Austrians, the Prussians, and the Spanish; Luxembourg has the highest GDP in the world; the inhabitants speak Luxembourgish, a German dialect that is rarely written and wasn't declared as an official language (after French and German) until 1975. Cool! 

 The city is divided into la ville haute and la ville basse, separated by the ancient fortress wall

A residence in center city

Crypt #1

Crypt #2

At the event Design City, an urban outdoor design expo that welcomed breakdancers

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Maybe I'll elaborate a little more later. I'm still in the process of reflecting and sifting through my experiences, a process that surprisingly didn't happen during my countless hours on the train. I may not get around to it fully, actually -- I'm getting my other two wisdom teeth out tomorrow, and I suspect that this time around, I won't be recovering so quickly. 

But still, I'm proud for two reasons: another two-week trip in Europe for little more than 600 euro, and I've finally seen all the major parliamentary cities in Europe (Strasbourg, Brussels, The Hague, Luxembourg). Yes!