HO, HO, HO And All That Jazz

A self-proclaimed city of excess, New York is certainly not falling short in the excessive-Holiday-decorations department. I arrived at work this morning to a normal seventy-something-story office building... same brown marble lobby, same indoor/outdoor carpeting, same greasy gold elevators with floor buttons that don't light when you push them...nothing out of the ordinary. However, upon heading out for the evening, I was startled to stumble upon a veritable winter wonderland of decorations. In the lobby, there were two Christmas trees on either side of the reception desk, a story high each, and a wreath that was probably the size of a station wagon. There were lights and garland everywhere.

At first, once the shock had passed, it seemed a little heart warming. I thought that maybe our building people realize that since we spend more time at work than we do at home, at least our work space should abound with Holiday spirit. But as I made my way to the train station, passing literally dozens of other office buildings, similarly drenched with Christmas paraphernalia, I kind of began to resent the decorating madness.

Follow the logic here if you can.
(I have to admit that I'm going a little off my chickens lately, given the recent work-weeks of 12hour days piled atop the usual stresses of the Holiday season.)

Well first of all... I don't want my office to resemble my home. True that I sometimes spend in excess of 55hours a week there, but that doesn't lend itself to warm, homey feelings. In fact-- quite the opposite is true. I wish they would quit acting like they know me at the security desk (because they do) and that the night maid would quit asking me if I cut my hair (because she sees me enough to notice). I would like it, if instead of making that place look any more comfortable and familiar, they would line it with signs that say, "Please leave. We know you must have a life outside of this awful building." But I guess the truth is that I don't. And those people who put up that tree know it.

It's also just another reminder that New York is capable of absolutely anything. It's strange to me that it took my roommates and I three hours to assemble a six foot artificial Christmas tree with three strands of lights and a pre-made garland, and in ONE DAY the city of New York has managed to fit every office building in midtown with at least two 40foot Christmas trees and in some cases, a fake North Pole scene to boot. If you ever want to feel your inferiority with any real power-- move to New York.

But I suppose we're supposed to be used to it. This is the city that displays a Holiday Laser light show on the ceiling of Grand Central Station during rush hour on a Wednesday just for the hell of it. Turns out the dazzle and lights here aren't only on broadway. They come all the way to the lobby of your office too.

Love and Marriage

It's always strange when two completely opposite things happen to you in the same day. Birth and death, for example, would be the most extreme of the extremes...but there lie between those milestones a million degrees of opposite occurrences which still, when aligned, can baffle the mind.

Case in point:

I walked into a girlfriend's office today-- let's call her W. I plopped down in a chair across from her desk hoping for a short interlude from work for discussing how much weight we gained this weekend and how miserable it is to be back. Instead, upon my arrival, she burst into tears and said that she and her boyfriend-- we'll call him B-- have finally broken up forever and she is devastated. Although my cynical mind never saw real potential for them long term, I couldn't help but feel a little shocked. After all, her five year plan had them married with two kids in Private school on Long Island and a membership to the local Country Club. This seemed counter-intuitive.

"What happened?" I asked, dumbly. I always ask dumb questions to people in relationships, and it's for no other reason than that I truly don't understand how it all works. I want so desperately to get it...

Anyway, W looked at me sadly and said, "We will just never work. And we both finally admitted it." Of course I was baffled by this response, and inside I was yelling, "Why? What do you mean?! Explain this to me!" But instead, I just nodded knowingly and let her vent. Tears were streaming down her face, and I was really starting to feel a pang of sadness for her, when suddenly and out of nowhere she says the following: (And pardon the Sex and the City-ness of what's coming, but I'm quoting directly from the source...)

"I can't believe he wasn't it. I'm TWENTY-NINE years old. I'm tired of this. And I'm terrified that I'm not going to find him. Where is he?? If B wasn't it, then WHERE IS HE?" I blinked, wondering how to console her. Not easy for a person who in the first place doesn't believe "he's" out there at all. Then she dropped the bomb.

"I just can't be one of those women. One of those awful, single, New York women who only care about their careers and their great apartments. I can't be one of those awful, career-driven city women."

She may as well have stabbed me just to watch me bleed. I felt a chill run up my back. All I've ever wanted was to be one of those women. And she hated them. She was afraid of them. And I suddenly felt very lonely. Was this how people were going to some day perceive me? As a pathetic, frightening figure...chained to her desk and drinking espresso for breakfast and martinis for dinner? Why would someone like W, who is smart, and successful and young and ambitious want to settle down just for the sake of settling down? To what end are we looking for Mr. Right? To quit our jobs and become Desperate Housewives??? Pun intended. Our hero's aren't Lois Lane- they're living on Wysteria Lane- and we're rushing our youths in order to join them. I accepted the fact, then, that I'm proud that my career is important to me. And that distancing as it may be, still, the one I felt sad for was W. She was discarding the elements of herself for which she has truly earned bragging rights, (great job, great city, financial independence, etc) for the false sense of comfort awarded to people in relationships. She planned to marry B. And the tears she was crying on her desk today, were probably more for the loss of that wedding and that cute little "Mrs." prefix on her name, and less for the loss of the man who admittedly, was the completely wrong fit.

On my way home, I was tossing around a million thoughts when my phone rang. It was one of my best friends in the world. A new mommy, and the source of total amazement to me in the way of strength and perseverence. If anyone should disbelieve the supposed frills of the domesticated life-- it's Stephanie. She's seen some of the worst stuff, and still manages every day to be an incredible friend, daughter, mother and girlfriend. Again- constantly amazed. Well anyway, I was thinking a lot when I answered the phone, that my philosophy of forced solitude might after all be the wrong idea. If everyone-- even the successful, ambitious and beautiful among us-- wind up miserable and lonely without a husband...then perhaps I've got my disillusionments about marriage all wrong. Steph sounded excited, so I curbed my thinking for a moment.

"I have news!" She squeaked into my ear. I knew before she said it. She was getting married.

Turns out I was right. Shane proposed at the Aerosmith concert on Saturday, and of course...she said of course. That's the seventh of my close friends/acquaintances who will be engaged or married within a one year period of time. It's a frightening trend for the single among us --the diehard single especially-- who love our careers and have been looking not for husbands, but for those better apartments. As I hung up with her tonight though, one last thing that W said lingered from our conversation. "The job is great," she said. "And I love my apartment. But come on... what good is any of it without someone to share it with you?"

I'm not so sure I know.

The Bird Flu

Alas, we all survived Thanksgiving dinner without coming down with a nasty case of the bird flu.

I have to say, I'm relieved.

No one else seemed particularly worried about contracting the deadly Avian influenza via their turkey dinners...and I can't for the life of me figure out why. Did you know that the WHO (World Health Organization) has asked for $31million to prepare for the possible pandemic this threatens to become? More than 300 Chinese are dead. This is something that concerns me. I wasn't really paying attention initially...until a coworker mentioned one day that he's obsessed with it. He hung up a NYT cartoon, displaying a crazed chicken strapped with eggs (bombs for poultry) and a sign that indicated he was spreading the bird flu in a gesture of holy war. I looked at him funny-- but I've been nervous ever since.

On that note, I have to point out that my coworkers are all a little strange. It concerns me because we spend an awful lot of time together, and I fear their neurosis are rubbing off on me. During that series of shark attacks in the late spring, my friend Valerie became so engrossed with the story, that she set her computer's wallpaper to an article photo of a beach where people were pointing and yelling in the direction of a small fin a hundred yards out. She began telling everyone that her mosquito bites were actually from sharks. Of course she was kidding....

Well anyway, no Avian influenza yet. And I have to say the turkey was pretty tasty. Even better was the nap that followed. Happy Turkey Day all-- now it's time to gear up for round two.

On to Christmikuh!!!

Once Upon a Time in Review

Well hello there--

The first big question on the mind of the blogger seems always to be this:

"shall I censor myself for these people?"

My sense is that, no... you are here because you want to hear what I'm thinking. And besides, censorship is bullshit. Now onto my blog!

It's been nearly a year for me in Manhattan. I can hardly believe it--while @ the same time it seems to have flown right by. I once had a media communications professor who claimed repeatedly that the secret to understanding life, is that some days-- the bear gets you. The way I figure it, while living in New York City, your chances of being had by the bear on any given day are about 50/50. Today for example, was highly productive and quite economical. I was able to drink endless cups of coffee over a surprisingly affordable brunch (brunch to New Yorkers is like church to mid-Westerners) while doing two loads of laundry, followed by a $2 trip to the bodega for some essentials and a long walk in the park over a large afternoon coffee and a cigarette: all for under $20. Fantastic! It was one of those days-- and I'm as shocked as you are-- that I didn't hate Harlem. True, that tomorrow I will be sexually harassed on my way to the filthy subway and miserable and exhausted and hating my commute home after work, but for now it has a certain glow of economical, ethnic and low-key appeal.

I'm noticing, come to think of it, that the Subway has almost everything to do with how you fare on any given day in this city. Your morning commute can make or break an entire 24hours. ESPECIALLY, and I can't even highlight all of the reasons why, during rush hour. Such is the reason that I leave my apartment @ 545am each and every day. In Charlotte, Pittsburgh, Erie, Philadelphia...I never would have dreamt of waking up more than three hours before I'm expected at the office. But here? It's a preemptive strike on my day, which has turned out to be one of the best maneuvers I've ever concocted. Here's why:

First of all, no one likes going to the gym. If you say you do, you're lying. I don't mind being AT the gym, and I love how I feel when I'm leaving. But dragging my ass there, no matter what time of day, is one of the worst feelings in the world. It's a trip racked with laziness and guilt, not to mention a defeatist attitude so severe that it makes me want nothing more than to reroute myself to my bed for a nice long nap. Getting to the gym blows. So-- what better way to go than still asleep?! I sleep in my sports bra and sweatpants...by bag is packed and waiting by my bedroom door. The only energy required is literally rolling into my shoes (set up directly below where my feet are bound to land anyway) and stumbling to the bathroom. Brush teeth, out door. By the time I realize what's happening I'm halfway to the subway and I can get a cup of coffee immediately --which makes me happier than most things in this world.

Reason numero dos for waking up before dawn, is that once I've made it to the filthy subway platform, the trains are already running on the rush-hour schedule (a new one every five minutes or so) but it's technically two hours until rush hour actually begins. I get a seat and it's smoothe sailing for the next half hour. By the time I get to work, I'm wide awake, my workout has been defeated, and my evening is freed up should anything fabulous present itself. Me-1, New York-0. The only downfall: my co-workers hate me prior to 10am.

Sometimes, however, there are forces at work over which you simply have no control. Weather, for example, is something that I never took seriously until I lived in the city.

There are 8million people on this island on any given weekday. This makes for INCREDIBLY crowded sidewalks. And walking, if you haven't noticed, is much like driving. Slower traffic tends to (or should, except that people are mostly stupid and incapable of mastering simple maneuvering techniques) remain on the right-- while the brisk walkers, myself included, pass on the left. But when it's pouring, and everyone's enormous, black GOLF UMBRELLAS are jabbing, feet into the air at eye-level ready to strike you at any moment...needless to say the sidewalk becomes a more dangerous place. This is only one of many elements the weather can dish out to screw up our days...but my vote is that it's the funniest. The last rain storm we had didn't manage to appropriately announce itself and found millions of unprepared New Yorkers without umbrellas or other necessary rain-gear. I walked into work, my khaki's soaked to the knee and my hair plastered to my face, makeup long-gone...only to find the men in much more dire straights. The lucky ones weren't wearing linen, but regardless, found themselves bare-foot with pants completely soaked, shirts stuck to their bodies, silk ties ruined and looking quite uncomfortable. That day...the bear got us all.

Well regardless...my love affair with this city continues. I can only imagine what the coming years have in store for us. For now, at least, you can keep yourselves updated on the journey. Thanks for checkin in!

More later...