NYE + good riddance

Spent another New Year's Eve atop Steve's apartment building on 54th Street! Ridiculous to be so high above so many frozen, silly people. Apparently the New Year's Eve "screen" starts counting down from 50 instead of 10... meh.

I am very glad 2012 is over. The calendar year means less to me than the change of seasons, but I am forcing myself to accept something symbolic about the start of a new year, just to be hopeful.

2012 was probably the most difficult year of my little life -- at least, post-Yosemite (June-December). I spent all my savings, started hating a job I once loved, stressed myself out to the point of mania, had some typical and deeply disturbing quarter-life crisis realizations (e.g., I've wasted my life developing skills I don't want, I've alienated everyone I love, I need to live in the mountains, etc.), saw the death of my hedgehog, stopped sleeping. I have also spent all of my vacation days until April 1st, so a mental health day or two is out.

I tried to do some reparations over the holidays, for which I had minimal time off. I've found that sleeping more resolves about 75% of the problems, but is only possible when, in the zero-sum game of life, I sacrifice other time-consuming tasks like cleaning, playing my violin, and hanging out with Don. I'm currently revising how I approach these three things.

On the bright side, I did pretty well in my Syntax I class

and learned some unwelcome but necessary lessons about working, the office, and "best practices." I would say I'm a wiser and better-equipped human being -- which I suppose is the most anyone can say after each successive year of life -- but am still pretty bitter about it. I feel delicate and bruised, as if personal growth battered my insides.

The Pale King

There was a great article in the New Yorker this week about Michael Jackson. It made me sad. Just look at this guy!

Buckyball

The Madison Square Park Conservancy has rotating exhibits throughout the year -- usually very large, illuminated ones. I walked by the below exhibit last night and there was a DJ playing ambient techno and zero-gravity recliners surrounding the glowing "Buckyball." I stopped and watched and listened and fell into artist Leo Villareal's aesthetic trap: to find order from chaos. The ball is lit by randomly programmed LED lights, but from the way they change color and move from panel to panel it appears as if there is some pattern. 

As the Conservancy's blurb puts it: "BUCKYBALL will trigger neurological processes within the brain, calling on our natural impulse to identify patterns and gather meaning from our external environment."

Just for a minute -- makes you really wonder about the chaos of the city -- especially with Mr. Empire State Building glaring down at the park. How much of our urban experiences are truly chaotic, made coherent only by our subjective interpretation? How much of what I do every day actually makes sense? (On some days it feels like very little, which is what working in an office will do to you.)

This is a dangerous exhibit. If more people took a look at this during their lunch break, they might quit their jobs!

Stickyrice

Shiny silver fairy floss light shades project batik snowflake patterns on the ceiling. Striking pink lotus float in clean calm ponds. Austere, confident bronze figures both recline and stand to attention.

"Good evening and welcome to Wild Lotus."

Plants and Animals

Here are some things in my house.

Watts. He was only here for the weekend.

The Wizard. She thought the tree was filled with mice (no joke).

Chayote vine. I meant to eat it... then it sprouted.

French lavender. It's almost three years old!

Mouse. The only one alive...

Grocery store vine.

Clementines and eggshells in the Christmas tree.

Crossroads

I can't stop listening to this.

"Little Patch of Heaven"

The perfect singing aside, there is something totally entertaining about watching four middle-aged, paunchy guys have such a great time.

And this:

"Lucky Old Sun"