At this moment

"There is a moment, a simple moment, before history gets recorded... before it goes in the books, before it appears as a question on a game show, or on a midterm exam.
A moment right before the headline is written. There is a moment when history lives in the present. When we can watch it unfold in real time, right before our eyes, and we can all assume our place in it. Some people live for history. We live for the moment just before."
-CNN News Anchor, on 11.04.08

What an inspiring and truly blessed time to be alive and part of this world.

Maturity

I had a long, comfy conversation the other night with my former boss and current friend... talking, as we usually do, about boys. In it he made a comment that I haven't been able to stop thinking about since.

He said that the way he defines maturity is that an immature person genuinely thinks that inaction means you haven't had to make a decision, whereas a mature person can recognize that by not making a choice, you are making a choice. In other words, that you are defining your own life every second you live... that every moment, every thing you do or do not do, say or do not say, you're making the decisions which shape your life, and you are responsible for them. Someone who has not reached that maturity truly believes that by sitting very still and not doing anything, things will stand still until they figure it out.

Of course... he was talking about silly boys, which I totally agree with, but I ended up feeling really convicted actually, and I haven't really been able to stop thinking about how that plays out in my own life. I feel like there are so many parts of my life that seem so overwhelming or uncontrollable that the easiest solution I can think of is to just not do anything at all. It's pretty childish, and always tends to lead to a bigger mess to clean up in the end anyway. In fact, it's kind of pathetic. But I still do it. I wish I knew how to change it.

...Just some things I'm thinking about.

My last day.

I read a log of blogs. One of them is by a food blogger who calls himself the Amateur Gourmet. It was one of the first blogs I had ever read. (this is going somewhere, I promise.)

See... a little while he wrote a post in which he answered the question "if you had one last day to be in New York before you were banished forever and could never return, what would you do?"

Well, I've been thinking about that question ever since, and this is my answer, dear hypothetically-question-asking-public.

I've thought long and hard about who would be with me during this day, but as much as I love so many peoples' company, I think I would have to spend it alone. New York is the city where I learned to be alone. This is where I met myself, where I discovered how to find silence in a lot of noise, and how to enjoy my own company. Really at the core of it, this has been my own journey and if I had to say goodbye, I would need to do it alone.


I would get up early. Really early. My apartment faces east, and my bedroom window has a panoramic view of Brooklyn, so I get woken up to the most fantastic Brooklyn sunrises. There is just nothing like it. So on my last day, I would be up with the sun and say goodbye to my beloved neighborhood in the best way possible... with lots of coffee. I've been thinking about it for the last few minutes, and I just can't pick which of my coffeeshops I would have my last cup in, so this is what I would do. First, since this is around 6 am, I would start at my bagel place, which, and I just don't care what anyone else has to say about this, has the BEST bagels in New York. Yes, I know this is the eternal argument, but since this is my blog, I have the final say. And get an everything bagel with plain cream cheese, for purity's sake. But no coffee. Because their coffee is weak.

And then I would solve my coffee dilemma by getting an espresso at Choice;


...then a cappuccino at Smooch, and then a Chai for the walk at Tillie's.
Since this is a Saturday, I would walk through my farmer's market:

on my way to the waterfront, and then I would wave goodbye to Brooklyn as I walked over the bridge. It seems sad to not spend more time in Brooklyn, but in my humble opinion it's at its' best in the morning, and my New York experience began in Manhattan as everyone's does, and it should really end there. So I would walk the bridge. Which, by the way, is one of the best ways to spend any old day. At this point, it's 7 or so am.

Since I've got some time and this is my goodbye tour I would walk up from there, through China town (stopping at for some street-side dumplings along the way... yes, I know it's still early. I still would.) I'd have a quick cup of tea at Pearl River, then past SoHo, up through the village, to Union Square. I would spend a lovely hour browsing at the Strand, and pick up some books to remind me of my city. Since by now it's 11 am or so, it's time for more coffee. And conveniently, my favorite coffeeshop in Manhattan is just off of Union Square. Oh my.

And now it's lunch time. Now... I've gone back and forth on what to do for lunch. To solve this dilemma, I am going to assume that for this, my very last day in New York ever, my stomach simply has no limits. Just go with it.

With that in mind, I would have two lunches... both of which are, to me, my perfect New York lunch. First I would stop at Maddison Square Park to the Shake Shack for what I can now confidently say is the BEST BURGER in the city. I know. Big words. But after relentless taste-testing, I know I speak the truth. I mean, just look at this... I rest my case. In order to get my meal, I would explain nicely to all of the hungry burger-lovers standing in the usually 2-hour-long wait that it's my very last day in the city and I'm on a tight schedule, and since New Yorkers are really are very kind people when it comes down to it and absolute saps for cheesy stories involving their city, they would step aside very sweetly and allow me to keep moving.

From there, (and remember, I'm magically hungry again) I would take the 6 uptown, and head to the MoMa. Now... I know most people don't think of food when they think of the MoMa, but the MoMa is my very own happy place in the city... the place I turn to whenever I need to clear my head and breathe again, and I do it in a very specific order. First I get lunch at the level 2 cafe and I eat at the bar, which has a lovely panoramic view of the street and is ideal for people-watching. In case you were wondering, this would be my meal:


That is to say, an arugula salad with duck prosciutto, pear, goat cheese, and candied pecans, a creamed cremini mushroom soup with roasted garlic bruschetta, a cherry cloufuti, and a glass of champagne. This is the combination I get every time I go... and if the rest of the world understood how lovely it is, I wouldn't ever be able to get a table, so I don't plan on telling them.

Now that my belly is full (again) I would do what I always do when alone in the MoMa. I would go straight to the 5th floor, turn left, left again, and find myself in front of Jackson Pollack's One.
This is my favorite painting. This is my favorite place in New York. And sitting on the bench in front of this painting just thinking and sketching and journaling have been some of the most lovely, soul-filling moments of my life. So on my last day, I would spend an hour here, in front of my painting.

It is now 3 pm. Which just so happens to be the time for Saturday Matinees. And since I couldn't leave NY without seeing one more show, to Broadway I would go. Now... I've been thinking long and hard about what I would see, and as agonizing as this is, I've come to a decision. Since this is my perfect world, Les Miserables would be revived for a special, one day engagement, and I would happen to have a ticket. Now... it's got to be said that it isn't actually my favorite show. However, I chose Les Mis for two reasons. One is because it was the first show I ever saw on Broadway, and something about ending that way just seems right, and the other is because when it comes down to it, as much as I love small little character driven shows with all my heart, I would need to go out with a bang. And so I would.

Now, when the show got out it would be just around 6, and so I would walk up one of the avenues, to Central Park. I would spend an hour saying goodbye to park as the sun was setting. I'd walk by Strawberry Fields, and sit for awhile with Eleanor Roosevelt...

because, as someone told me recently, "she's always there waiting for you", and I'd like to say hello for a bit on my last day. And while I was uptown, I would stop in for a Grey's Papaya hotdog. Because well, I would just need to.

And then suddenly, I would be ravishingly hungry again. And just as suddenly, my family would be there with me. I love lunches alone, but dinners alone suck. Especially when the food is amazing. And really, I can't think of anyone I would rather spend my last dinner with than them... and so the four of us would head to Craft. or Daniel. Or Jean-Georges. Or Le Bernardin. Or, well... I'm not sure I can choose. But one of them. And it would be lovely. With fantastic food, lots of wine, and lots of laughing. I can't think of a better meal.

And then we would all go to Times Square, where we would go to our favorite bar way above the mess, and have a drink and watch the lights. And I would take a deep breath, and then I would leave.


And that, for those of you hearty souls able to make it through all of that, is how I would say goodbye.


As an addendum... I realize that pizza was not a part of this post. I recognize that this is sort of blasphemous... but well, to get truly fantastic pizza I would need to go to Brooklyn, wait an hour in line, and spend just as long eating a whole pie... and as lovely as that is, it's really a whole evening in itself. And also, to be completely honest, as much as I love a good slice... pizza is just not as dear to me, and therefor as much a part of my New York as it is to some other people. I'm sad to admit it, but there it is. And this is, after all, my day.

Right This Second #1

Right This Second, I am...

- Addicted to two things:

The Dan in Real Life Soundtrack, which is essentially the one-man project of Sondre Lerche... one of those artists who makes you wonder how you could have gone about your life blindly before you had heard his voice.

And the most brilliant thing I've seen on Broadway since I don't even know when, [title of show]. If only it were not closing this weekend (just typing that hurt me a little inside) I would promise to take each of you in turn the next time you come to visit New York. *cough* It is refreshing and genuine and painfully funny and sincere and fantastically relevant. And those darn songs will never leave your head. Even if you never are blessed enough to see this show, everyone in the world, or at least in my life, should listen to the song Die, Vampires, Die. Yes... that's the name of the song. It's not actually about Vampires.

- Currently procrastinating on work for a class that I have in three and a half hours. This makes me a lazy slacker, with no work ethic. Just for the record.

- more than a little freaked out after just leaving my very last meeting with my academic adviser in my life. As I was sitting there I had a flash back to four years ago almost to the day, when I left his office to go cry in the bathroom, I was so terrified of the man. One of my plans for my Goodbye Tour is going to be to pay a visit to every public bathroom on campus I've ever cried in.

- loving all of the politically inspired (read: Obama-fan-mania) design that has been popping onto all of my blog feeds lately. I think that this election is bringing out the best in the design community.

- Slightly concerned about my staff meeting tonight. I have to host for the first time, and it will be both the first time they have all been in my apartment (and will see my incredibly illegal couch) and also the fist time I have had to cook for them. Not that I don't love cooking, but I get nervous when I know people are picky and there are going to be time constraints. I'm thinking about something nice and simple, like this. Everyone likes Carbonara, right? I mean, who can argue with eggs, cheese, and bacon? No one I'm willing to call a friend, that's who.

And there you have it. My current state of being.

October revisited.

Do you ever hold grudges against inanimate objects, and events? You know... things that can't fight back?

The number eight, all work by Mark Rothko, popsicles, cowboy boots, anything with a Vera Bradley label, and Thursday. Not the band, the day of the week.

These are all things that I hate... and completely irrationally. I've had somewhat scarring or otherwise unpleasant experiences with all of them at some point maybe 10 or so years ago, and from that point on, for no particularly good reason, I begrudge them all till the end of time.

On the very top of this list is October. Yes, the calender month. I realize it might sound a little bizarre to say that you are feuding with a month of the year, especially because you have to live through it whether you're chummy or not, but there it is. October and I have been at odds for as long as I can remember. It's illogical even for me because everything about this time of year holds the things I love. Both September and November and I are buddies. I adore everything about fall in general. The impressions leaves make on the sidewalk when they fall while it's raining... the cracking sounds that come from a slightly damp fire... bouquets of newly sharpened pencils.

...But then there's that blemish, October, right in the middle. It's a problem.

I'm not even sure how it happened. I think it might have had something to do with the fact that October is the busiest month at the inn, so all growing up I dreaded it coming... it promised generally crabby guests and a lot of weddings.

At any rate, I've decided to offer the olive branch to October, and end my feud. Really, it's a lovely month, and I think I'm the one who's been missing out in this exchange and not the other way around.

So yesterday I spent the day dedicated to enjoying October. (I also neglected to photo -document, so all photos used to demonstrate will be stolen. You've been warned.)

I started off at the farmer's market down my street.


After all, there's no better way to reconcile than with food, I thought. So I bought lovely loaves of artisan bread, and tangy sheeps cheeses, beautiful acorn and butternut squash, little yellow fingerling potatoes, the very last of the lovely heirloom tomatoes, spicy Italian hand-rolled sausages, and a gallon of fresh apple cider. Oh my. I get happy just typing out such a haul.

And then came a long afternoon walk through Brooklyn sipping a chai from Tillies, my favorite coffeeshop.


And then I ended the day in the best way humanly possible. I cooked. I cooked lovely, fallish things, and I brought lovely friends over to enjoy them with me. Kat (my roomie) and I hosted two of our girlfriends for a celebration of fall. Our kitchen was full of caramelizing onions and roasting squash while we danced around to oldies and sipped cider.

I made this:
(Oh goodness yes, I did. And it looked --and tasted-- just that divine.) along with a crusty loaf of olive-dotted ciabatta and a lovely pecan pie brought by my guests. I honestly don't know if it is possible to eat any more fall-ish-ly.

All of that to say... I guess October and I can be friends afterall.

I'm leaving you with the song that has been filling every dusty corner of my soul lately.

Things I love #1

A few things I've been loving lately...

I am Janelle. I am six. I am a city child.

If you ever were to ask me who my fictional kindred spirits are, it's a pretty easy list. Anne Shirley, Kathleen Kelly, Valentine Wiggin, Amy March, Marianne Dashwood, Franny Glass, and Harold of purple crayon fame. But it has occurred to me recently that bits and scraps of me have been pure Eloise, all along.

I was the girl climbing trees in a bright pink tutu. I'll dance you a pirouette, and then trip over the rug. As my friend M says... I'm kind of a train wreck. And that's worked for me. I blow bubbles in chocolate milk. I will go out of my way to step on crunchy-looking leaves on the sidewalk.

But I've been thinking about it a lot lately, and I'm just not so sure that's going to work, anymore. A possible side effect of being spastic and dancy constantly is that it's really a very simple thing to just dance your way right out of anything unpleasant or mildly taxing or even vaguely strenuous. There is always gonna be an adventure to be had, always a story to get lost in, always something mysterious to day dream over. And a lot of things just get missed. Not big things... but the mundane things which build to define what life is on a daily basis. Really it's just pretty lazy. And I just don't know how much longer I can get away with it. I'm not sure I want to find out. And, with that said, I think it's time to at least attempt genuine overtures toward adulthood. I'm just not sure where to start.

Any ideas?

And it begins

I woke up this morning in a panic after a bizarre and longwinded dream/nightmare. About graduation. Can someone please explain to me why ANY part of my brain is already thinking about this?

Oh my.

My brain is a compost heap

From my paper journal:

Summer loving

I know I'm in the supreme minority here, but I've always liked summer least. Both spring and fall are absolutely glorious for the same reason... everything is about transition and change. Every flower, every leaf, every new thing grown or harvested is effortlessly hopeful, endlessly morphing, consistently effervescent. It's absolutely intoxicating. And winter, even with it's bad reputation, is subtle, romantic, restorative, soothing, mysterious. There's no knowing what is happening under the snow, only that something is happening. It's lovely.

But Summer is just there. It's sweaty, stifling, stagnant. It just sits on your skin. There is no mystery, no change, it is just there until it's not anymore.

But I will say, in all fairness, that Brooklyn is helping me change my mind.

Manefesto of a Once and Future Blogger

• I make no promises to be:
• profound
• spiritual
• coherent
  
• brief
• linear
• consistent

• I will make a distinction between open journal and depository for running thoughts, joys, obsessions, rants, and life glimpses. For me, the former displayed publicly is quicksand.

• I will not aspire to brevity.

• I will not be brilliant.

• I will write the kind of things I like to read. This means a mush-up jumble of observations about the art world, endless diving into bottomless New York, and miscilanious bits of reflection and rambling right along side the recipes I'm cooking, the projects I'm agonizing over, and chalk poems on the sidewalk. You have full permission to joyously dialog on what interests you and silently skip over what doesn't.

• I will not labor under the oppression of the eternal They.

• I will not write for the void. I will not write for anyone I know, much as I love them, and I will not write for anyone who has pleadingly asked me to write again, much as I'm grateful. I will write for an imaginary friend, with a face of my own making and a personality of my own choosing, who happens to love to read exactly what I love to write. I think I'll name her Cassandra.

• I will make no apologies.

• I will not edit, shape, prune, sensor, or apologize to any of the usual suspect faces who pop into my head every time I attempt to write something new.

• I will not shield myself.

• I will not simply create another tangible source of guilt.

• I will have fun.
  

Inappropriate descriptors:
Cute. Witty. Single-minded. Intelligent. Consistent. Deep. Authoritative. Impressive. Profound. Knowledgeable. Wise. Impartial.

Appropriate descriptors:
Sincere. Joyful. Sporadic. Genuine. Whimsical. Giddy. Revealing. Haphazard. Scattered. Honest. Unapologetic. Child-like. Fun.