Missed. Outings.
Bah.
S'ok. We should all stop shopping anyway. And I really don't need anything. My room is clean (cue chorus of angels singing), and I got lots o stuff.
Though thrift stores do excite me on many levels. I just need the proper partner in crime. Is it you?
Worked my first shift at the coop today. Pretty funny stuff. Made some new friends...Morgan the precocious six-year-old was my favorite. Of course, ran into 3 people I knew including one acquaintance who was working the same shift and happens to live a few blocks from me. And drove his car. So I did get to grocery shop without breaking my back on my bike on the way home. Saaaaaaweet.
NYC, the biggest small town you'll every live in.
Next stop, the Rubin Museum on Sunday. I think. Cross those fingers, cyberfolk.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Friday, January 22, 2010
Next Outing: Tuesday 26th
Consignment shopping. Mama needs a new pair of shoes. Well, not really. But I could use a new coat, maybe. Location: Park Slope early afternoon, Williamsburg late afternoon, and possibly Manhattan in the evening? Suggestions? Favorite spots? Let me know!
Monday, January 18, 2010
Birthdays
"All labor that uplifts humanity has dignity and importance and should be undertaken with painstaking excellence." -MLK Jr.
Anything worth anything has gotta hurt a little bit. Friday night, I went to a really great class where we did a bunch of hip-openers. If you've not had the experience of this, it sounds so cheesy and new age-y, but well, you store a lot o' junk up in there. And I decided that I may have been feeling a little too sensitive for the outside world. So I graciously refused the gentleman callers and delighted in the thought of eating a special birthday brownie (my sisters started the tradition of bringing them up for me last year), cleaning my room and maybe watching a movie. As soon as I was feeling...relaxed, my dear sweet landlady went into labor.
It was a planned home birth. But not a planned coincidence of me being high as a kite and someone BIRTHING A CHILD in my bathtub. It was pretty hilarious timing. And I may have had a slightly religious experience. I like to think hilarity and religious experiences are pretty inseparable. Like you and your best friend from high school.
Having just been to yoga, I was actually a second away from taking a shower when the excited papa-to-be ran down the stairs and started to run the bath. So I went downstairs to use the 1st floor shower. And there it was. Shampoo. Not strange content for a shower, I realize. But strange considering it was that brand.
Dana told me to get this shampoo (she, being a curly headed deva herself, knew I'd always coveted her position as such). I could not remember what she'd said. All this time. And here. Nearly 4 years later. Warp years. Slow years. Year years. Here she was. I saw her lips saying Devacurl. Heard her voice. Saw her nod her head authoritatively.
If you're new to my life or blog. This was my sister from another mother. My childhood playmate, my closest friend in high school. And the greatest loss of my life. Her sudden death in a car accident in 2006 was a reckoning with something greater than myself because I'd spent a lot of unplanned time with her during the last month of her life. Just by chance. One month in KY between LA and NYC.
I feel so small sometimes. But probably smaller since then. I picture splitting a log, a big lumberjack God with a beard and a red and black flannel shirt, suspenders and a huge sharp ax. A friend and I once chatted about how strange it is that humans haven't just evolved to truly accept death. The one thing we will all have to experience, and it's still so...laborious.
I guess it was just a lot. Being high and having this reminder while a new life is coming into the world 15 feet above my very DevaCurl-soaked scalp. But a lot in a really beautiful, alive way. M'lady was in labor through the night and ended up going to the hospital the next day to give birth to a beautiful baby boy (the grandmother told me the beautiful part...due to bias, I will have to confirm this with a series of rocks, tickles and cuddles of my own when they bring him home).
It was intense. The loud, pained, deeply personal moans and groans of labor made a fitting soundtrack to my dramatic religious experience* and stoned inner monologue steadily repeating a Gone with the Wind quote too inappropriate for an MLK Day post.
"All progress is precarious, and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem." -guess who
I like this quote of his a lot because it encompasses the beauty of the complexity of this unbelievable human being. My yoga instructor spoke of him tonight, saying it might be the most important national holidays we celebrate, but that we shouldn't look up to him. I was resistant to this idea at first. But now I'm beginning to see what he meant. This beauty of complexity is inherent in us all. Nobody thinks they can make a difference, but what if everybody lived as though they could? (On that note, if you haven't yet, there are tons of options on how, but I encourage you to give: http://www.clintonfoundation.org/haitiearthquake/)
Sometimes it's really hard to keep your eyes straight ahead. And much harder than trying not to look up, is looking down.
Parts of the south still celebrate the confederate war general, Robert E. Lee. They decided to pick his birthday to do it. It just so happens to sometimes fall on MLK day. Poor taste, maybe? We've come such a long way. Can't be held back and hung up by the pinheads delighting in ignorance and hatred. And yet, it makes me happy this was said: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-PEaWUduCM.
The diversity of NYC is what will hold me here longer than anything. My bike ride was a little smaller-scale than I'd planned. Just around Prospect Park with my favorite Danish roommate (the Greenways will be better spring/summer events anyway). We stopped at the lake and had a fitting diversity celebration bird show. Seagulls, mallard ducks, swans and geese all gathered at the shore where people steadily tossed them little treats of bread and popcorn. The world was brown and gold and smelled like some change's a-coming. But like the man said, progress is precarious, and I predict a long winter yet before the change of seasons in my fellow man.
"Almost always, the creative dedicated minority has made the world better." -da man
This is where I veer off the narrative and start with interrogatives. Are you an artist? Do you like festivals? Do you want to go to Kentucky? Do you want to contribute? Perform? Give me ideas? Let's get together for the 2nd annual Motherlodge festival! See inside for details.
*said religious experience, alas, prevented me from cleaning the still dreadfully messy room this blog has since prevented the cleaning of ce soir. Keep your judgments to a minimum, please.
Anything worth anything has gotta hurt a little bit. Friday night, I went to a really great class where we did a bunch of hip-openers. If you've not had the experience of this, it sounds so cheesy and new age-y, but well, you store a lot o' junk up in there. And I decided that I may have been feeling a little too sensitive for the outside world. So I graciously refused the gentleman callers and delighted in the thought of eating a special birthday brownie (my sisters started the tradition of bringing them up for me last year), cleaning my room and maybe watching a movie. As soon as I was feeling...relaxed, my dear sweet landlady went into labor.
It was a planned home birth. But not a planned coincidence of me being high as a kite and someone BIRTHING A CHILD in my bathtub. It was pretty hilarious timing. And I may have had a slightly religious experience. I like to think hilarity and religious experiences are pretty inseparable. Like you and your best friend from high school.
Having just been to yoga, I was actually a second away from taking a shower when the excited papa-to-be ran down the stairs and started to run the bath. So I went downstairs to use the 1st floor shower. And there it was. Shampoo. Not strange content for a shower, I realize. But strange considering it was that brand.
Dana told me to get this shampoo (she, being a curly headed deva herself, knew I'd always coveted her position as such). I could not remember what she'd said. All this time. And here. Nearly 4 years later. Warp years. Slow years. Year years. Here she was. I saw her lips saying Devacurl. Heard her voice. Saw her nod her head authoritatively.
If you're new to my life or blog. This was my sister from another mother. My childhood playmate, my closest friend in high school. And the greatest loss of my life. Her sudden death in a car accident in 2006 was a reckoning with something greater than myself because I'd spent a lot of unplanned time with her during the last month of her life. Just by chance. One month in KY between LA and NYC.
I feel so small sometimes. But probably smaller since then. I picture splitting a log, a big lumberjack God with a beard and a red and black flannel shirt, suspenders and a huge sharp ax. A friend and I once chatted about how strange it is that humans haven't just evolved to truly accept death. The one thing we will all have to experience, and it's still so...laborious.
I guess it was just a lot. Being high and having this reminder while a new life is coming into the world 15 feet above my very DevaCurl-soaked scalp. But a lot in a really beautiful, alive way. M'lady was in labor through the night and ended up going to the hospital the next day to give birth to a beautiful baby boy (the grandmother told me the beautiful part...due to bias, I will have to confirm this with a series of rocks, tickles and cuddles of my own when they bring him home).
It was intense. The loud, pained, deeply personal moans and groans of labor made a fitting soundtrack to my dramatic religious experience* and stoned inner monologue steadily repeating a Gone with the Wind quote too inappropriate for an MLK Day post.
"All progress is precarious, and the solution of one problem brings us face to face with another problem." -guess who
I like this quote of his a lot because it encompasses the beauty of the complexity of this unbelievable human being. My yoga instructor spoke of him tonight, saying it might be the most important national holidays we celebrate, but that we shouldn't look up to him. I was resistant to this idea at first. But now I'm beginning to see what he meant. This beauty of complexity is inherent in us all. Nobody thinks they can make a difference, but what if everybody lived as though they could? (On that note, if you haven't yet, there are tons of options on how, but I encourage you to give: http://www.clintonfoundation.org/haitiearthquake/)
Sometimes it's really hard to keep your eyes straight ahead. And much harder than trying not to look up, is looking down.
Parts of the south still celebrate the confederate war general, Robert E. Lee. They decided to pick his birthday to do it. It just so happens to sometimes fall on MLK day. Poor taste, maybe? We've come such a long way. Can't be held back and hung up by the pinheads delighting in ignorance and hatred. And yet, it makes me happy this was said: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=X-PEaWUduCM.
The diversity of NYC is what will hold me here longer than anything. My bike ride was a little smaller-scale than I'd planned. Just around Prospect Park with my favorite Danish roommate (the Greenways will be better spring/summer events anyway). We stopped at the lake and had a fitting diversity celebration bird show. Seagulls, mallard ducks, swans and geese all gathered at the shore where people steadily tossed them little treats of bread and popcorn. The world was brown and gold and smelled like some change's a-coming. But like the man said, progress is precarious, and I predict a long winter yet before the change of seasons in my fellow man.
"Almost always, the creative dedicated minority has made the world better." -da man
This is where I veer off the narrative and start with interrogatives. Are you an artist? Do you like festivals? Do you want to go to Kentucky? Do you want to contribute? Perform? Give me ideas? Let's get together for the 2nd annual Motherlodge festival! See inside for details.
*said religious experience, alas, prevented me from cleaning the still dreadfully messy room this blog has since prevented the cleaning of ce soir. Keep your judgments to a minimum, please.
Friday, January 15, 2010
Next Outing: Monday 01/18/10
Today was beautiful! Cleaned up the chicken coop and went to the coop. And I just realized those were homographs. I'm sometimes slow.
Anyway, Monday's supposed to be similarly loverly. Got a bike? Wanna ride with me? Exact route as yet to be determined...likely one of the Greenways (up the East of Manhattan, or to Coney Island). Take off's around noon-ish. DO IT!!
Anyway, Monday's supposed to be similarly loverly. Got a bike? Wanna ride with me? Exact route as yet to be determined...likely one of the Greenways (up the East of Manhattan, or to Coney Island). Take off's around noon-ish. DO IT!!
Monday, January 11, 2010
Exhibition A
After a long weekend of celebration and a long day of stimulation, it's taking every ounce of energy I can muster to keep up the documentation of my uniquely New York outing. That's a lot of tions. And it's only week 2. The mere fact that I'm now re-thinking this task/resolution because of laziness is what I'd like to call exhibit A. I'm reminded of something my baby sister said to me this weekend, "I just feel like I suck at life." (She does not, however, suck at anything, and I was quick to reassure her of this.) And of a song lyric my other sister wrote, "My dad is afraid because I never finish anything..."
My siblings and I can be a bit lazy together it's true. I like to think that we enjoy each others company so much there's no great impetus for good planning. This coupled with the fact that we all seem to share the same vices, made the Target free Friday at MOMA a no go. Sadly. I was the bum who slept really late, and we had a show to catch and we thought we'd go out for dinner. Time management is just not a skill we...inherited. We do like to have fun, though. And we happen to be quite good at it.
But I think this might be important. Not the blog, but the conscious effort to take advantage of things. The experience of actively trying to grab life by the horns (or some other equally cheesy metaphor), and documenting it in some fashion. Even if the fashion is very humbling and makes me feel a little excited and a little lame at the same time. Humbling because it annoys me in the same way being an actress or some modern art annoys me. Exhibitionism.
To celebrate my life yesterday, I accepted a proposed birthday brunch date to Egg in Williamsburg with a new friend. Highly recommend this place, Brooklynites. Very sustainably minded and socially conscious...plus the food was fantastic. Best cheese grits I've had this side of the Mississippi. Not recommended: breakfast first dates. Well, at least not for me. Not exactly a morning person, and after the weekend I had, I felt a little like...well, like I suck at life. Ha!
The Bauhaus exhibition at MOMA was a highlight. As was the company of an old friend with whom I can't help but have fun. I'd heard or read about the Bauhaus movement while in Paris (art history was part of my curriculum), and then again in Berlin (I believe as part of the free walking tour I got to take), and have since been intrigued by the paradoxical idea of modernism. That's one of the big reasons MOMA was one of my first choices. Modernism makes things accessible. Individualizes things. It includes you. Takes the power away from the dictators and encourages original thought and forward thinking. No wonder Hitler wasn't a fan. The Nazis were such dicks.
Anyway, I was moved by the words scattered about in Scala's Der Traum (dream, yearning, birth, dying...pretty much covers it all, eh?), and taken with the immensity and sweet cotton-candy-dream color palette of this work. I also really liked the Grotesk sculpture meant to incite laughter and repulsion (who doesn't like that combination).
I can't say I completely understand modern art, and some of it certainly annoys me. The shoe box and yogurt lids of Orozco, for example, just seem like a waste of space. The Tim Burton exhibit was cool. I got to thinking about how prolific some can be in this life, and started to get the birthday blues. I think that's a totally valid emotion to have about this dwindling of time we all are forced to recognize as we age.
Overall, the trip was very needed. I do feel inspired. I wrote some about the acceptance of other people's work as part of my own...a weird concept that I feel might be vital to happiness. Sometimes it's just too overwhelming to think of how little I've been able to contribute or accomplish. Envy and depression may be the last traits you'd want in a yoga instructor. Miró and Rothko both had works that were very reminiscent of the great Dalí which caught our attention, and Gabel and I talked a little about imitation and originality and art and the ego. Was Dalí miserable? I have to wonder. On some level. And I don't mean to deny his genius, but did it make his life less joyous that he couldn't include himself in the whole?
I've found some very self-sabotaging behavior rearing up as of late, and I can't help but think it's probably a little bit of nerves concerning this new journey and career change. Self-loathing being so acceptable among artists, I've certainly learned to live with my demons. They love my disastrous room...it's comforting for them when I forget what day it is, or show up an hour late for shifts at the studio. Or lose brand new x-mas gifts. Or set bad examples for my younger sisters. We've been together so long, I can't really imagine my life without them. And not necessarily in a bad way. Like Tim Burton's illustrations and characters they're loony-dark. Cartoonishly scary. Not right, but oh-so-lovable
I chatted with my close friend from KY on Skype, and then proceeded to get a little down again. We live in totally different worlds with crazy opposite responsibilities. And I must say, I get jealous sometimes of her adorable 3 year-old, loving husband, and big pregnant belly (or built in tray, as she likes to call it). Though never am I jealous of the 5 dogs she's chosen to house and rescue...she's a bit of a nut.
After a little web surfing and comparing and despairing, I can't help but wonder, "What the hell am I doing?" The one saving grace is my sister had a friend from KY come up with them for the weekend. A young, beautiful wiseforheryearsbutgreenasthehills singer-songwriter who I may have had a little crush on. She's far more stylish and talented than I was at 20, but it was also nice to see myself through fresh eyes of someone from a similar background who was coming to the city for the first time.
"How do you know everyone?" she says. And I had to laugh at her tiny scope. We, of course, ran around the city in circles of people that I know and have come to love...went to restaurants and bars where everybody knew our names (cue Cheers song). I was also 20 when I came to NYC for the first time. And didn't know a soul. And had never heard of Bauhaus. And understood modern art far less than I do now. And had no idea my demons were even separate from me. Looking at this young girl was like looking at an old photograph of myself. Sepia-toned. But like Mac-book style. Because it's not really that old. It's just made to seem that old. Because eight years, after all, is just a drop in the bucket.
And I think about how my friend from home has this beautiful life, but it's truly not something I envy. Not to say my choice to be alone and experience these different things is any better...but I just can't think of it as worse. No matter how lonely it can seem.
Discoveries of the day: I have a totally cliché love for all things Klimt. And I'm really intrigued by the Soleri-designed town of Acrosanti in Arizona. (Probably has something to do with the great book I'm reading, Loving Frank, as he was a student of Mr. Wright's.) New and high up on my places to go. Feeling a little better now (it's officially not my birthday anymore as I finish writing this...and probably won't post until tomorrow after I've had some sleep and can properly edit), and can't help but think of all the exciting possibilities that each day (birth or not) brings. As the blurb next to Rothko's Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea says of his early view of art, "an adventure into an unknown world."
My siblings and I can be a bit lazy together it's true. I like to think that we enjoy each others company so much there's no great impetus for good planning. This coupled with the fact that we all seem to share the same vices, made the Target free Friday at MOMA a no go. Sadly. I was the bum who slept really late, and we had a show to catch and we thought we'd go out for dinner. Time management is just not a skill we...inherited. We do like to have fun, though. And we happen to be quite good at it.
But I think this might be important. Not the blog, but the conscious effort to take advantage of things. The experience of actively trying to grab life by the horns (or some other equally cheesy metaphor), and documenting it in some fashion. Even if the fashion is very humbling and makes me feel a little excited and a little lame at the same time. Humbling because it annoys me in the same way being an actress or some modern art annoys me. Exhibitionism.
To celebrate my life yesterday, I accepted a proposed birthday brunch date to Egg in Williamsburg with a new friend. Highly recommend this place, Brooklynites. Very sustainably minded and socially conscious...plus the food was fantastic. Best cheese grits I've had this side of the Mississippi. Not recommended: breakfast first dates. Well, at least not for me. Not exactly a morning person, and after the weekend I had, I felt a little like...well, like I suck at life. Ha!
The Bauhaus exhibition at MOMA was a highlight. As was the company of an old friend with whom I can't help but have fun. I'd heard or read about the Bauhaus movement while in Paris (art history was part of my curriculum), and then again in Berlin (I believe as part of the free walking tour I got to take), and have since been intrigued by the paradoxical idea of modernism. That's one of the big reasons MOMA was one of my first choices. Modernism makes things accessible. Individualizes things. It includes you. Takes the power away from the dictators and encourages original thought and forward thinking. No wonder Hitler wasn't a fan. The Nazis were such dicks.
Anyway, I was moved by the words scattered about in Scala's Der Traum (dream, yearning, birth, dying...pretty much covers it all, eh?), and taken with the immensity and sweet cotton-candy-dream color palette of this work. I also really liked the Grotesk sculpture meant to incite laughter and repulsion (who doesn't like that combination).
I can't say I completely understand modern art, and some of it certainly annoys me. The shoe box and yogurt lids of Orozco, for example, just seem like a waste of space. The Tim Burton exhibit was cool. I got to thinking about how prolific some can be in this life, and started to get the birthday blues. I think that's a totally valid emotion to have about this dwindling of time we all are forced to recognize as we age.
Overall, the trip was very needed. I do feel inspired. I wrote some about the acceptance of other people's work as part of my own...a weird concept that I feel might be vital to happiness. Sometimes it's just too overwhelming to think of how little I've been able to contribute or accomplish. Envy and depression may be the last traits you'd want in a yoga instructor. Miró and Rothko both had works that were very reminiscent of the great Dalí which caught our attention, and Gabel and I talked a little about imitation and originality and art and the ego. Was Dalí miserable? I have to wonder. On some level. And I don't mean to deny his genius, but did it make his life less joyous that he couldn't include himself in the whole?
I've found some very self-sabotaging behavior rearing up as of late, and I can't help but think it's probably a little bit of nerves concerning this new journey and career change. Self-loathing being so acceptable among artists, I've certainly learned to live with my demons. They love my disastrous room...it's comforting for them when I forget what day it is, or show up an hour late for shifts at the studio. Or lose brand new x-mas gifts. Or set bad examples for my younger sisters. We've been together so long, I can't really imagine my life without them. And not necessarily in a bad way. Like Tim Burton's illustrations and characters they're loony-dark. Cartoonishly scary. Not right, but oh-so-lovable
I chatted with my close friend from KY on Skype, and then proceeded to get a little down again. We live in totally different worlds with crazy opposite responsibilities. And I must say, I get jealous sometimes of her adorable 3 year-old, loving husband, and big pregnant belly (or built in tray, as she likes to call it). Though never am I jealous of the 5 dogs she's chosen to house and rescue...she's a bit of a nut.
After a little web surfing and comparing and despairing, I can't help but wonder, "What the hell am I doing?" The one saving grace is my sister had a friend from KY come up with them for the weekend. A young, beautiful wiseforheryearsbutgreenasthehills singer-songwriter who I may have had a little crush on. She's far more stylish and talented than I was at 20, but it was also nice to see myself through fresh eyes of someone from a similar background who was coming to the city for the first time.
"How do you know everyone?" she says. And I had to laugh at her tiny scope. We, of course, ran around the city in circles of people that I know and have come to love...went to restaurants and bars where everybody knew our names (cue Cheers song). I was also 20 when I came to NYC for the first time. And didn't know a soul. And had never heard of Bauhaus. And understood modern art far less than I do now. And had no idea my demons were even separate from me. Looking at this young girl was like looking at an old photograph of myself. Sepia-toned. But like Mac-book style. Because it's not really that old. It's just made to seem that old. Because eight years, after all, is just a drop in the bucket.
And I think about how my friend from home has this beautiful life, but it's truly not something I envy. Not to say my choice to be alone and experience these different things is any better...but I just can't think of it as worse. No matter how lonely it can seem.
Discoveries of the day: I have a totally cliché love for all things Klimt. And I'm really intrigued by the Soleri-designed town of Acrosanti in Arizona. (Probably has something to do with the great book I'm reading, Loving Frank, as he was a student of Mr. Wright's.) New and high up on my places to go. Feeling a little better now (it's officially not my birthday anymore as I finish writing this...and probably won't post until tomorrow after I've had some sleep and can properly edit), and can't help but think of all the exciting possibilities that each day (birth or not) brings. As the blurb next to Rothko's Slow Swirl at the Edge of the Sea says of his early view of art, "an adventure into an unknown world."
Tuesday, January 5, 2010
You say you wanna resolution...
I no longer smoke cigarettes. I recycle, go to yoga often, eat decently, and haven’t bit my nails since high school.
You may well know in ‘08, I spent a semester studying in Paris (see below), and of course, it did that whole proverbial “change my life” number on me. For one thing I went from virtually no loan-debt to (how do you say) BEAUCOUP de loan-debt. This was the cause of much stress in 2009. I spent the last accidental weekend in France in the countryside with an amazing friend who I happen to admire as a talented entrepreneur and motivational speaker.
“What ees eet you want een life? What makes you appy?” he asked. (Raised bi-lingual, this kid has no discernable accent in real life, but for story-telling, French lovers always have zee accent.) I stared. And stuttered. I had no idea. (You! I wanted to scream.)
“Uh, yoga?” After 4 months away from the studio where I practiced regularly in Brooklyn, I felt a big gaping hole in my life. A hole that wouldn’t fill up no matter how much wine and cheese and delicious bread and coffee and tobacco (all obvious French substitutes for yoga) I consumed and inhaled.
This answer was kind of a shock to me. I’d spent my whole life with one goal. Since I was nine, I’ve wanted to be an actress. I’d gone to Paris to study film and French to become a more versatile actress.
The truth is long before I even left for Paris, I’d felt more than a little discouraged by the business side of the whole acting shtick. I was in a well-respected company, had an agent and good reviews, was called back for plays at Manhattan Theatre Club and making that regular trek to Chelsea Piers for those ridiculous Law and Order auditions. Climbing that ladder. Joining the unions was just one little job away. Paying gigs that didn’t hurt my soul were just around the corner. But then…nothing.
I came back to NYC with the intention of picking up where I left off. I had a few auditions lined up, and was ready to jump back in after my hiatus. But with noticeably less enthusiasm. After swift yet painful rejections, I noticed my desire to get back on that horse was dwindling. And I noticed actors (God bless the whole lot of them) were starting to annoy the shit out of me.
While in Paris, I had discovered a blog written by a woman who was living a slow life in rural France; the posts became regular inspiring lessons in sustainability. While in Paris, I lived next to a park. While in Paris, I noticed incredible differences everywhere…most notably in the way people conserved energy and how they viewed art. And don’t even get me started on the produce in the supermarket. And I noticed how I behaved quite differently when I knew my time there was limited.
I barely even scraped the surface, but thanks to the guidance of my teachers, I was spending every week taking advantage of my surroundings. I went to museums and parks, walked along the Seine and toured Montmartre. I swore that I would do the same when I got back to NYC. It took an entire year to make it happen, but my 2010 resolution is to do just that.
I accomplished very little of this in 2009. All the debt and rejection and failed love affairs got the best of me. Don’t get me wrong, I had some good times. Got to see New Orleans, Maine and San Fran. Saw great music. Was pulled back to acting in the most beautiful way (working with awesome people on collaborative new work in my old home town), and realized that no matter if I’m pursuing paying gigs or not, I will always be an actress (which is probably why I annoy the shit out of myself so often).
One great thing that I’ll be forever grateful for is finding my new place. Living in a house with artists and writers and carpenters where we share chores like gardening and caring for our chickens has done wonders for my psyche. My ’09 resolutions of becoming an opportunistic omnivore (a.k.a. near vegetarian or freegan) and buying everything possible used or 2nd hand were successful, and I plan to keep those up for life.
But I digress.
2010 is the year of NYC, baby. I’m starting yoga teacher training in March, and with such a portable new career option, I don’t know how much longer I’ll call the Big Apple my home. Probably years yet, before I give up on this beautiful town…but for posterity and in honor of my impermanence in this city (and I guess in this life), I will be doing something “uniquely New York,” and documenting it here on this old blog-site. I hope to do it weekly. But this, like most resolutions, is subject to time constraints and plain laziness. The web address is still very fitting since a lot of my outings will have to be free; they’ll likely be the ol’ stroll and gander routine (comme les flaneurs d’artistes impressionnistes). Open for comments and suggestions, and company!
Tonight I had a very fitting first outing at the orientation for new members of the Park Slope Food Coop. Established in 1973, it is our nation’s oldest food coop that is run by more than 17,000 members. The idea is simple: “good food at low prices for working members through cooperation.” I’ll be working form 1pm-3:45pm every 4th Tuesday in exchange for really cheap food and grocery items.
Although this idea is not uniquely New York (many food coops operate throughout the country), the community I’m joining is. I’m giddy thinking of all the good food and saved money. And even more excited for the learning experience this will undoubtedly turn out to be. The wheels are already turning…I predict a future initiating a similar institution in my hometown.
Now if only I could clean my damn room.
Next outing: Target Free Friday @ Moma with my beautiful sisters (coming up for my b-day) and whomever would like to join us. This week 01/08/10, 3pm.
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