tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-13997946291966618732024-02-07T10:14:56.016-08:00corrie wachobUnknownnoreply@blogger.comBlogger230125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-39283223233660600702015-02-05T07:23:00.003-08:002015-02-06T04:47:15.557-08:00sheep meets horsei've been struggling with my blog for a year or two now.<br />
<br />
at <a href="http://yallfest.org/" target="_blank">Ya'll Fest</a> 2014 one of the panel authors casually remarked that, "well, we all know blogging is over" and i nearly stood up and cheered.<br />
<br />
while i'm amazed at the fact that i used to blog three times a week(!), and i adore the people that read those posts, and i'm proud of the posts and grateful for the snapshot of my NYC life that they now weirdly, nostalgically, serve to provide, i also happen to be one of <i>those</i> people.<br />
<br />
one of those - no you can't have my phone number. why do i have to give my email to buy a sweater? i don't wanna create yet another account - privacy spooks.<br />
<br />
last week i paid a bill online, and i swear i heard angels sing. (except, excuse me, every time i put something in the mailbox i know i'm helping ensure a human a job for at least a little bit longer. also, stamps aren't hackable, the only personal information they share is contained inside the envelope they're affixed to, and, well, they're pretty.)<br />
<br />
so what to do you with privacy phobias (they're so bad, it kind of inspired my latest novel) when succeeding at your chosen profession requires you to not only embrace, but hog every single last ray of that social media limelight?<br />
<br />
like any mature adult you ignore the issue entirely, it weighs on your mind, and then your dad sends a friendly email that says, hey kiddo! where's the blog? and you figure it's time to address it.<br />
<br />
sorta.<br />
<br />
while i continue to ponder all these emotions (and wait to discuss them with my agent extraordinaire), i'll do this in the meantime: if you want to know what's going on in my life RIGHT NOW, you can always follow my Instagram @corriegram. and even though it's a lil creepy to know that you'll be looking - chill, Corrie, we're all friends here. or are we?? dun dun dun - there you'll find photos of the doggie i'm fostering:<br />
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h0xDbmqiHQ9qGjIRV-T439m_EWxj8I8XaXpkc9xCIDjQR_r_0X8IVOEDbQnvaUQ_GZvHALmEQO9yuw6AJhy89wc2pwTCn43xUCGp08UNg78mu-OMkwXTo87LWnWqB8p2PAqD3p1nV7g/s1600/IMG_1349.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5h0xDbmqiHQ9qGjIRV-T439m_EWxj8I8XaXpkc9xCIDjQR_r_0X8IVOEDbQnvaUQ_GZvHALmEQO9yuw6AJhy89wc2pwTCn43xUCGp08UNg78mu-OMkwXTo87LWnWqB8p2PAqD3p1nV7g/s1600/IMG_1349.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hi. i'm rosie.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
the food truck i'm starting:<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtcsv0pKxhfKWfctgRnRt84c0WQa_lBdHcoClmzb9nlB-2M_Mx4IelriA1piQ-BjhMCBLt-G2LiSDyR1IEuuKBamJdh0S0sdi5N_L9TBchYmXSfxHgodhgzr7yhhkn9XKW2JQuI24qIig/s1600/chirashi.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjtcsv0pKxhfKWfctgRnRt84c0WQa_lBdHcoClmzb9nlB-2M_Mx4IelriA1piQ-BjhMCBLt-G2LiSDyR1IEuuKBamJdh0S0sdi5N_L9TBchYmXSfxHgodhgzr7yhhkn9XKW2JQuI24qIig/s1600/chirashi.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">it's chirashi betch!</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
and the mind-blowingly gorgeous new city that i'm living in:<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMu8wXdG6HLk7EeYVuMjDrbCr4wktnAUOrHHzqUHFegV5NxN1m95BWkOXX1gBYwk8KbyuLyprLMzEOPSWV2tNxRndT8qSHnmNIfFFiTK6WcQeFK8LclfLWvuj-HM9R4wt-AESojV9WOis/s1600/IMG_1302.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMu8wXdG6HLk7EeYVuMjDrbCr4wktnAUOrHHzqUHFegV5NxN1m95BWkOXX1gBYwk8KbyuLyprLMzEOPSWV2tNxRndT8qSHnmNIfFFiTK6WcQeFK8LclfLWvuj-HM9R4wt-AESojV9WOis/s1600/IMG_1302.JPG" height="184" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">what, you say? there are fishing boats, palms trees <br />
AND a pelican in this picture? but it's all too tiny to see?</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDB6RPhyphenhyphenRc2SurwS-ab3Mty71Gt8Wzc6xp6C7DFv_bSEIPW2WVsVoCYTN2iWv9t_T60kWkTUSihdJjBD5tKACX51ok0MiZdFLvQpJa2Al56NqbwCAwlMbUliIhkrmwky5IspY5ygB-Lo/s1600/IMG_1004.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiQDB6RPhyphenhyphenRc2SurwS-ab3Mty71Gt8Wzc6xp6C7DFv_bSEIPW2WVsVoCYTN2iWv9t_T60kWkTUSihdJjBD5tKACX51ok0MiZdFLvQpJa2Al56NqbwCAwlMbUliIhkrmwky5IspY5ygB-Lo/s1600/IMG_1004.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">so you'll add this picture, too, <br />
because it's just obviously pretty? okay, fine.</td></tr>
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<br />
<br />
even if i'm still a Brooklyn girl at heart:<br />
<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4II7vo2fMmpRSd9iz6USh1d9_e2vr23KxS8NshDX3btyEV2EPSFeAa8zDp4ykGZxixVWXLMj7yU5Hba_GZAycg4Kl_ND8mMH9VWTV1cTxWHg0H-V_dZUJMPrSvgWoh-g5QznvaAuMo0/s1600/IMG_1076.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhK4II7vo2fMmpRSd9iz6USh1d9_e2vr23KxS8NshDX3btyEV2EPSFeAa8zDp4ykGZxixVWXLMj7yU5Hba_GZAycg4Kl_ND8mMH9VWTV1cTxWHg0H-V_dZUJMPrSvgWoh-g5QznvaAuMo0/s1600/IMG_1076.jpg" height="320" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">don't you mean beast at heart?</td></tr>
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<br />
i'm also going to two-for this post and attach the draft of a blog i wrote but never published almost a year ago.<br />
<br />
(wait. we just read this post and now you're going to make us read another post? yup.)<br />
<br />
as Chinese New Year approaches - what up, Year of the Sheep - i thought it might be nice to look back to when i was excited about it just turning Year of the Horse. i never published the post because i didn't want to share so much, but now reading that post a year later? i feel almost sheepish about it.<br />
<br />
and that, young'ins, is how you work in a lil Chinese New Year pun. <br />
<br />
and without further ado...<br />
<br />
<span style="color: red;">Year of the Horse</span><br />
<br />
March 13, 2014<br />
<br />
so a funny thing is happening to me and i'm not sure how to deal with it. i hate to even mention it because i'm not sure if i'm allowed to admit it. but my life right now...?<br />
<br />
is excellent.<br />
<br />
nonono, please don't stop reading. this won't be an annoying post. i've had lunches with <i>that </i>friend who can only gush about how GREAT she is. i know nobody likes her. so let me just quickly say, i'm in a little bit of shock because for the first time in my adult life, things are really good.<br />
<br />
not that they've ever been bad. even during the 'eh' parts i've tried to keep perspective on how lucky i am. i am blessed. i have the best family and friends. (i know everyone says that, but mine are). and nobody who lands themselves in a restaurant job that they like can complain too much. i mean, while i've been wrangling a professional writing career into shape i was allowed to go to a place that in exchange for running my tail feathers off fed me dinner, gave me booze, more nicknames than i care to admit, and a collection of rabble rousing friends i adore. so yeah, fine arts majors. have no fear. restaurants are a great place to work while you get everything else sorted out. no, seriously. i highly recommend it.<br />
<br />
but all that being said, for the last few years there have been lonely parts, and reaaally frustrating parts, and lots of defeats, and a to my core certainty that i would never accomplish what i wanted to professionally, and oh yeah, also? an additional certainty that i would never truly fall in love.<br />
<br />
and then? i made changes. i moved on from a job that had become mind numbing. i moved on from a relationship that had become mind-searing. and most recently, i moved on from a professional relationship that had been wonderful but unfruitful.<br />
<br />
suffice it to say, all these changes helped. and though i won't harp on all the excellence that has ensued, i do think it needs to be said that struggles get rewarded. great love <i>can</i> be found. and out of the muck sometimes a path emerges that perhaps, maybe, fingers all crossed, leads to exactly where you'd like to be professionally.<br />
<br />
so hey! you there. that's right, you! don't be so worried. just a little over a year ago, my life looked completely un-excellent. now another new year is approaching. and who knows. this could be your excellent year, too.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-4909126196899923792014-09-26T09:04:00.001-07:002014-09-26T09:08:06.259-07:00i just gotta crow aka how Ellen Goodlett shall now conquer the worldsomething incredible happened this week. Ms. Ellen Goodlett GOT A PUBLISHING DEAL!<br />
<br />
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of all the arts, there's nothing i'd rather be than a fiction writer (fine. i'd happily be a pop star if you asked) but of all the arts, none are harder to get recognized in than fiction writing. i'm not saying famous, or even well paid, but simply acknowledged.<br />
<br />
an actor might not hit it big, but there's always local theatre as an outlet. worse comes to worse, musicians can busk on the street for exposure. a struggling fine artist can land a group show (or coffee house) that will hang their work. but a writer?<br />
<br />
you spend years on a manuscript, have a handful of people read it mostly for the purpose of criticizing it, and then if you're lucky enough to have an agent, you will get told by publishers who you're guessing didn't read past chapter 2, that they simply didn't love it enough. afterwards, your highly revised, barely read creation will simply become another file on your computer and you will begin the entire process again from scratch.<br />
<br />
(yes, yes, self-publishing. but what fun are over-arching points if they're not dramatic?)<br />
<br />
the idea of actually, for reals getting published? for those who have been rejected once or a thousand times, getting a book picked up is akin to landing yourself on Jimmy Fallon once it happens. there's a slim chance it could be possible, but the likelihood.... (do you see me planting the seed already? Jimmy and I are gonna have a blast playing situational facial gestures together.)<br />
<br />
as Ellen famously tells it, she and i met, where else, but over the buffet table at a writers conference. looking back, it was one of the top five best things that happened to me while i was living in NYC. we've been blogging, drinking, cavorting, giggling, snacking, write-in-ing, sending each other manuscripts, query letters, please read this now i have to submit it tomorrow, i need a pep talk emails, ever since.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkXrJVV7H0kabn2s-GDOXUA8zaA-ay-EvCjxf4sCBX5wO-MskCeYDJWa054Bmb39pJtLsKjggRQlb3kn-NtphLA1JCtOCsYZbtsWu68IkkDp61b16x221Vsh8PR2WVCDj91gfqXImWldQ/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgkXrJVV7H0kabn2s-GDOXUA8zaA-ay-EvCjxf4sCBX5wO-MskCeYDJWa054Bmb39pJtLsKjggRQlb3kn-NtphLA1JCtOCsYZbtsWu68IkkDp61b16x221Vsh8PR2WVCDj91gfqXImWldQ/s1600/photo.JPG" height="240" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">ain't no party, like a BEA party.</td></tr>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">my mom once said that every time i'd talk about Ellen i referred to her as my <i>writer </i>friend, Ellen. </span></div>
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;"><i>you know, </i>Mama said. <i>Ellen's also just your friend, Corrie. </i></span></div>
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but the designation was meant as a badge of honor. because, though i know this will change with time, Ellen is my <i>only </i>writer friend. why would i need more? she is the first to invite me to events, the first to sign me up for secret Facebook writer groups, the first to agree that we should avoid ghastly writerly networking by hiding in empty back rooms with drinks. the first to arrive at my going away party and the last to leave. (seriously girl, that stuff means a lot. and gawd am i getting nostalgic).<br />
<br />
Ellen Goodlett is a fantastic friend and an insanely talented writer, so it is not only long overdue, but with awed excitement, pride, and spine-tingles, that i give you: Ellen's Publishers Marketplace announcement....<br />
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<tr valign="top"><td class="v11u" style="font-family: Verdana, Geneva, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 0.9em; line-height: 17.1360015869141px;">Ellen Goodlett's THE QUIET ONES, in which Hawaiian gods guide a narcoleptic teenager as she solves the mystery of her ex-girlfriend's murder - but their help only reinforces that she can't trust anything she knows, including her own innocence, to <a class="dealmaker" href="http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/dealmakers/detail.cgi?id=20674" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #6666cc; outline: none; text-decoration: none;">Jordan Hamessley</a> at <a class="dealmaker" href="http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/dealmakers/detail.cgi?id=6971" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #6666cc; outline: none; text-decoration: none;">Egmont</a>, for publication in Fall 2016, by<a class="dealmaker" href="http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/dealmakers/detail.cgi?id=29661" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #6666cc; outline: none; text-decoration: none;">Bridget Smith</a> at <a class="dealmaker" href="http://www.publishersmarketplace.com/dealmakers/detail.cgi?id=3238" style="background-attachment: initial; background-clip: initial; background-image: none; background-origin: initial; background-position: initial; background-repeat: initial; background-size: initial; border-bottom-style: dotted; border-bottom-width: 1px; color: #6666cc; outline: none; text-decoration: none;">Dunham Literary</a> (NA).<br />
<br />
<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">so three cheers!! my very excellent friend DID IT! </span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">and now let's all watch as she conquers the world.</span><br />
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<span style="color: black; font-family: 'Times New Roman'; font-size: small; line-height: normal;">[to read about the inspiring process of getting The Quiet Ones published, <a href="http://ellengoodlett.com/blog/?p=905" target="_blank">visit Ellen here!</a>]</span></td></tr>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-37641830325019258602014-06-30T10:32:00.001-07:002014-07-05T10:15:04.147-07:00mission statementyesterday i wrote a few pages of an entirely new novel.<br />
<br />
it felt <i>great.</i><br />
<br />
although everything i write is as different as pie is from cake (both are delicious, btw) along the way i've made similar choices with each work. here are some of the things i remind myself of when i write.<br />
<b><br /></b>
<b>reminder #1</b> my female main characters will be adept at using their limbs. they won't be adorably clumsy and trip at inopportune times or collide with large non-moving objects. they have eyes, after all. that being said, they will know that their foots do not belong in their mouths. the teens i know are witty as hell. i'll write for them.<br />
<br />
<b>remind #2 </b>i will not villify my popular characters. as adults we strive to be happy, successful, and socially well-liked. most everyone i know is even ambitious and half-way intelligent (if my friends were all the way intelligent, none of us would be in the creative arts. woot!). i don't know why characters with similar traits get such a bad rap in YA. at the end of the day, even the popular kids are just doing the best that they can.<br />
<br />
<b>reminder #3</b> i will write boy main characters. i will write girl main characters. sometimes the twain shall have chemistry. most likely they'll make out. but never will i write a novel that solely focuses on the girl mc trying to win the boy mc. i've spent enough of my life obsessing about boys. i want to read and write about more exciting stories.<br />
<br />
<b>reminder #4 </b>i am a white female. i was born this way. my non-white friends tease me about it all the time. (i can't help it if i like vanilla milkshakes.) and yet, my life is not comprised solely of white females. therefore i will continue to write books that reflect my world. <br />
<br />
<b>reminder #5</b> i just read/heard/Facebooked article linked/who the hell knows where i get my news from, that in the movie <i>Frozen</i>, Disney expected the younger sister, Anna, to be the popular sister. she's the goofy sister. the one with multiple love interests. the sister that is constantly tripping and putting her foot in her mouth i.e. the adorable, likeable, relatable sister. thus Disney made double the number of Anna toys.<br />
<br />
they've been sold out of Elsa toys ever since.<br />
or maybe it's Halloween costumes, but you see where i'm headed with this.<br />
<br />
Elsa is the strong sister, a leader with much on her mind. her disposition is chilly and, fine, she's the sister that also happens to shoot winter out of her palms. but my point is, in my wildest dreams i never cast myself as "cute." (tho it's the real life descriptor i most often get labeled with.) in my wildest dreams i am f*cking fierce. a ninja who battles zombies. i will write fierce characters. and i will (try to) do so unapologetically.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
<b>reminder #6 </b>i LOVE to write. and <i>that's </i>why i do it, no?<br />
<br />
that's all. just needed to see these reminders in print. if you need to see your reminders of who and what you write about and why, i'd love to read them. my crit-buddy <a href="http://ellengoodlett.com/blog/?p=851" target="_blank">ellen goodlett</a> has already thrown hers into the ring and even added a little of this action #missionstatement so we can follow along.<br />
<br />
cheers!Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-63607696943273635582014-05-28T08:07:00.001-07:002014-05-28T08:23:00.552-07:00re-writing evilmy sister and i have begun watching True Blood. you know, the over-the-top corny, exuberantly bloody, laughably unnecessary bare-boobied HBO show.<br />
<br />
in the last episode sis and i watched, the main vampire-loving female character, Sookie, was being held captive in a church basement with a man who turned out to be a vampire traitor. a bad guy heavy arrived and beat up the traitor, then turned on Sookie when she tried to stop him.<br />
<br />
as Sookie gets choked by a man (again), i grit my teeth and wait for the show to get on with it. all the characters get busted up, so you can't expect the women not to take some knocks as well. i like True Blood because usually the women are pretty bad-ass. but then the attacker pushes Sookie down and starts undoing his belt.<br />
<br />
and i can't help thinking f*ck this sh*t.<br />
<br />
i won't be able to properly describe the feeling i get watching this so-frequently-seen-it's-almost-cliche belt unbuckling scene. unease, distaste, frustration, anger, you name it. i exchange a frown with my sis.<br />
<br />
this is rape for the pure effect of being salacious. it is meant to heighten suspense and provide a one minute cheap thrill. it's meant to make Sookie's (male) rescuer appear that much more heroic when he arrives to save the day. and i guarantee, for fifty percent of the watching audience, it causes the same awful visceral reaction that i so poorly described above.<br />
<br />
what does True Blood's almost rape scene matter when any night of the week the plot of some police procedural will center on a woman being viciously raped and murdered? how can a six season show about vampires and sex not have any rape in it? it's practically expected.<br />
<br />
but WHY?<br />
<br />
maybe, instead, we need better writers. i understand nothing makes your character more detestable than making him a rapist, but then try harder. you are writing fiction - rather ridiculous fiction - and in fiction you have a thousand possibilities before you. yes, i could stop watching these shows. OR you, oh screen writers who will never read this blog, could be more creative and make me hate your bad guy for any other number of reasons. i mean, the choking was plenty good enough. please stop writing these not instrumental to the plot, cowering women, belt unbuckling scenes.<br />
<br />
seriously, please stop.<br />
<br />
it doesn't make for good television. it is not enjoyable to watch, even in that knuckles-to-mouth suspense sense. all it does is make me click off my Roku.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-26841161849482480102014-05-20T09:16:00.004-07:002014-05-20T09:43:38.318-07:00and...go!<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
another case of over-zealous, library requesting strikes again. plus, i still have the only halfway finished Free Food for Millionaires on my e-reader (which i'm loving). </div>
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oh happiness. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTkv0NtQYga3m1LkOy7ClmH-d_u9hjDKa3XhxcNKJ_pYS1YsqBppdQJ4gZj8kK1jy9ujkSSrtVwNtv5vqdAFXiTQk_BCsyfFbaDz4toCGqlEmbzBqKPY1vOA4isMzP64rG7_4uCYu8Xic/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjTkv0NtQYga3m1LkOy7ClmH-d_u9hjDKa3XhxcNKJ_pYS1YsqBppdQJ4gZj8kK1jy9ujkSSrtVwNtv5vqdAFXiTQk_BCsyfFbaDz4toCGqlEmbzBqKPY1vOA4isMzP64rG7_4uCYu8Xic/s1600/photo.JPG" height="320" width="240" /></a></div>
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ps are you reading anything good right now? always looking for recommendations.</div>
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Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-74363569374969300512014-05-12T19:59:00.002-07:002014-05-12T19:59:33.156-07:00audio wrongAHHHH!!<br />
<br />
that's the sound of me having another round of revisions under my belt. and also, hehehe, because whenever i finish a revision it makes me giggle.<br />
<br />
so as i'm relishing in temporary doneness - yup, just revised a novel, don't care about sentence structure or proper word usage right now - i thought i'd share something awesome with you.<br />
<br />
i stumbled upon it after a day of twelve hour edits, following a similar week. it was the point where you can't understand how anyone thought this manuscript was good to begin with, and if you read the same sentences again, you will cry harder ('cause dontcha know you're already crying.)<br />
<br />
so seeing as i was having such a hard time reading my work, but still wanting to work, i pasted a chapter into GoogleTranslate and then i clicked play on the English side. just like that, it was like my book had been published as an audio book AND in Spanish translation.<br />
<br />
not only did it make me laugh and feel unaccountably accomplished, but it sounded good. i mean, no, it sounded awful. excuse me Google lady, i believe you're putting the wrong em-PHASIS on the wrong SYllaBLE. also, commas are there for, a reason. use, them and stop, inserting, your own.<br />
<br />
still, those nuances i'd been sweating so heavily on the page, all mushed together and spoken by a computer? they got along just fine.<br />
<br />
i can't recommend this experience highly enough. so go ahead. tonight sell your audio and foreign rights. then take a deep breath and relax. it's all going to be okay, Corrie.<br />
<br />
i mean, everyone.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-24122712559909095282014-04-22T16:27:00.002-07:002014-04-22T16:38:47.461-07:00blog amnesiaokay. so i have a little problem and i'm just going to come right out with it.<br />
<br />
i've one hundred percent forgotten how to blog.<br />
<br />
i think i'm still adept at stringing sentences together. gawd. let's hope so - revisions, revisions, revisions - but when it comes to entering words on this little white, blank blogger screen?<br />
<br />
i've got nada.<br />
<br />
i truly can't believe i used to do this regularly three times a week. it's like looking at a younger self who used to pull all nighters. except all nighters i can still do. (or like, 4 a.m.-ers with three hours of sleep-ers. that counts, oui?)<br />
<br />
the first novel i ever wrote was about a girl suffering from insomnia and i haven't had a good nights sleep ever since. the novel i'm currently working on is about, very generally speaking, over-sharing. sure enough, now when i click on Facebook, i feel like i've undergone social media aversion therapy. every media forum makes me a little bit want to gag.<br />
<br />
so be warned, at least for the time being, unless it's the manuscript i'm bending into shape, i can't stand the sight of words on screen. and not only this one. all screens. i had to send a few texts last tonight and the i-don't-wanna lifting of my phone felt so cumbersome, you'd think it was the dining room table i needed to send a message on. responding to and reading emails feels like benching my entire apartment.<br />
<br />
and then i read <a href="http://www.as-king.info/2014/04/ive-neglected-you.html" target="_blank">A.S. King's latest blog post</a>. it goes like this: "<span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">I am in the revision cave. </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, Tahoma, Helvetica, FreeSans, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px;">I'm not coming out to blog unless something is on fire."</span><br />
<br />
so that's what it is! i'm in the revisions cave. specifically, the nuanced part where i need to sprinkle in sentences here and there that make you, oh my reader, connect more deeply with my characters. no pressure. and who knows, maybe i've also written myself into a fear and dislike of social media, but we'll deal with that when i exit the cave. 'cause i do believe good things are brewing, and knock on wood - the dining room table perhaps, so long as i have it hoisted - soon enough i'll be re-engaging in all this online sharing like never before.<br />
<br />
in the meantime, until i have some exciting misadventures to share and/or until i remember how to write about them, a word from <a href="http://ellengoodlett.com/blog/?p=734" target="_blank">Ellen Goodlett, a friend who hasn't forgotten how to blog</a>. and you can always follow me on Instagram: @corriegram. because as luck would have it, i haven't forgotten how to shoot terrible photos.<br />
<br />
like this one:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoIV9nw_VAcbZ0UGB8obQF1kUav9laMFH7274ksGoZy26jE14bZ5geR5GpiCfZe7_P6hnblm-aYUOJAB772LLNxCo6rRD7CdEj3UWBqddLdW9yE9WElGrG3x-gPOxbHIak_N_Gpwm8_lY/s1600/photo1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoIV9nw_VAcbZ0UGB8obQF1kUav9laMFH7274ksGoZy26jE14bZ5geR5GpiCfZe7_P6hnblm-aYUOJAB772LLNxCo6rRD7CdEj3UWBqddLdW9yE9WElGrG3x-gPOxbHIak_N_Gpwm8_lY/s1600/photo1.jpg" height="320" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-66651755498893145552014-02-12T14:44:00.001-08:002014-02-12T14:44:42.551-08:00the games we playrecently, i was stuck in two tediously boring situations. we've all had these. mine, specifically, were two hours in the middle seat of a hot, crowded car, with a dog on my lap, standing still in tunnel traffic... with a ten year old. the second, was the (un)pleasure of exhibiting magnificent jewels at Sothebys as slush poured from the sky i.e. standing behind a counter for eight hours doing absolutely nothing.<br />
<br />
well, almost nothing. in both situations i could have been productive and in Situation A: napped, and Situation B: flushed out ideas for my new novel. instead, i came up with a wide array of ridiculous games to play with my fellow stuck/bored cohorts.<br />
<br />
seeing as the whole east coast is about to be dumped on, i thought now might be the time to share the Top 5 Fun Fun Corrie-Made-Up Games. they work in cars, bars (especially in bars), super market lines, and anywhere that you can't bear to be for one more second, yet probably have upwards of thousands more seconds remaining.<br />
<br />
let me know how they go. if you have Fun Fun Made-Up Games you like to play, my comments are all ears.<br />
<br />
ew. but not in a gross way. idk, that just sounded gross to me.<br />
<br />
anyhoo...<br />
<br />
<b>Game 1. Scenario Face Gestures</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
you can stop reading right here.<br />
<br />
Scenario Face Gestures is my new obsession. the best no-props-necessary game of all time. i've been forcing it on everyone since its inception. with few exceptions - pfft to Ry at my boo's restaurant - it gets huge laughs. "Surprised, but not in a good way. Go!" "Guy walks on the subway and starts his 'Ladies and Gentleman' pitch. Go!" "The couple at the next table at dinner are fighting and the woman just made reference to weiner size. Go!"<br />
<br />
seriously. please try this with your loved ones or friends a.s.a.p. it does not disappoint. and it will easily make thirty minutes go buy on a slushy Sothebys afternoon.<br />
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<b>Game 2. Three Clue I'm Thinking of Something</b><br />
<br />
i've never had patience for 20 questions. Three Clue I'm Thinking of Something cuts right to the chase.<br />
<br />
<i>i'm thinking of a man.</i><br />
<i>is it my dad?</i><br />
<i>no. he's tall.</i><br />
<i>is it my brother?</i><br />
<i>no. he has a beard.</i><br />
<i>is it abraham lincoln. </i><br />
<i>dingdingding.</i><br />
<br />
there. done. next round.<br />
<br />
it's the perfect game for our lack of attention span culture. it's even better if you keep score. and Three Clue I'm Thinking of Something is best when there's a dog in the car. what better way to make someone mis-guess their first clue, than by starting with fluffiness?<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>i'm thinking of something fluffy.</i><br />
<i>is it Maple?</i><br />
<i>bzzzz. no.</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
next round.<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>i'm thinking of something fluffy.</i><br />
<i>...(pause) is it Maple?</i><br />
<i>bzzz. no. </i><br />
<i>(sigh of frustration. laughter on my side.)</i><br />
<br />
Three Clue I'm Thinking of Something is not as riotously fun as Scenario Face Gestures, but mindless enough and interesting enough to get you fifty feet further in traffic.<br />
<br />
for the record, i do not have a pic of Maple, but i do have a pic of my friend Kev's new puppy, Chevy. and it deserves being shared with the world.<br />
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you're welcome.<br />
<br />
<b>Game 3. Family Feud</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
fine this one's an app. but it's free and awesome and i highly suggest you download it. it made the prospect of three more hours at Sothebys bearable knowing we'd play our last Family Feud game in the second hour. (the free version limits how many games you can play per day).<br />
<br />
tho be warned. survey sez for What's in your Picnic Basket? totally whack. <br />
<br />
<b>Game 4. Animal Lookalikes</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
this works best if you're in a semi-crowded work environment, class, or at a big family party. a place where you know the people at least a little, so when you hit on a perfect match, it's pretty hysterical. we could play right now.<br />
<br />
rules: choose a random animal.<br />
<br />
say, sloth.<br />
<br />
now, find the person in the room who looks most like that animal. you have to come to agreement with your fellow players, so let me know what you think.<br />
<br />
my beau and i didn't have much luck with this when we went out the other night. maybe it's because there simply weren't any "deer," "bears," or "foxes" at the bar we were at. but i know this game can be killer.<br />
<br />
<b>Game 5. The Five Minute Quiet Game</b><br />
<b><br /></b>
because after all the other ones, Shhhh is the best intro to a game you'll ever hear.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-71308897809241878442014-01-27T11:48:00.001-08:002014-01-27T11:54:29.159-08:00with a few minutes a dayso the other afternoon my boo and i were lazing around when we began watching videos of people "Shuffling."<br />
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<br />
watching quickly turned to doing.<br />
<br />
now, know me, know i am a dance fiend. so dancing (TERRIBLY) around our apartment was right up my alley. in one how-to video the person leading it said he'd learned to Shuffle in about a month. not with massive practice sessions, but with a few minutes here and there throughout the day. and boyfriend was <i>good. </i><br />
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progression of thoughts annnnnd.... <br />
<br />
what if you learned something new every month?<br />
<br />
nothing huge. but say, a slight of hand trick or learning how to make mean bitters or just reading everything you could on a person or time period? in August for research, i read three biographies on the Kennedys. (i highly recommend The Kennedy Women). recently, whilst watching The Butler it felt great to adjust my smart-pants glasses and say, "Oh yes. John did have debilitating back problems." <br />
<br />
will any of these newly learned skills aid you as you go about your way in the world? probably not. will they help you give back to the world? almost definitely not.<br />
<br />
but by the end of the year will you be twelve times awesomer? well, you're pretty awesome already, but yes! why not?<br />
<br />
we all have ten to fifteen minutes in our day to practice something. even if it's while waiting for the train or for the coffee to brew or as the shower heats up. <br />
<br />
will i lose steam on this in three months time. probably. but by then, i'll know how to Shuffle (February). how to shake cocktails with two hands along with other mean bartender tricks (March). and i'll have written two effective business plans (April). and in a years time, as i'm also hopefully able to comprehend a little Mandarin (overall 2014 goal), i might also be decent in my DanceHall class or have watched all the films by Hayao Miyazaki or perfected my pickling recipe. <br />
<br />
i'm just saying...it could be fun. and in the meantime, you'll have moments where you find yourself giggling with your partner as you do in-sync, Jumpstyle dance routines.<br />
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<br />
so what do you say? anyone else feel like February Shuffling? Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-78324297911968250412014-01-14T17:53:00.001-08:002014-03-12T13:27:47.376-07:00ten things to do when you finish writing a manuscript<span style="color: magenta;">1.</span> CHEER and SMILE.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">2.</span> SLEEP LATE. for one day. (okay. maybe two.)<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">3.</span> SEND MANUSCRIPT TO A SMALL BAND OF CRITIQUE-RS.<br />
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<span style="color: magenta;">4.</span> WAIT TO HEAR BACK.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> 4a.</span> as you're waiting to hear back CLICK ON EVERY SINGLE NPR LINK IN YOUR FACEBOOK FEED<b> </b>and become more worldly by, say, learning how to beat box. go ahead, try not to walk around your house saying 'bouncing cats.'<br />
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<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> 4.a.1.</span> then LEARN HOW TO BE MORE EFFICIENT<br />
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word of caution, do not try this is your narrow hallway. you will accidentally hit your head against the wall. also four times out of four your chin will get stuck on the shirt, making this not at all as easy as it looks. <br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;"> 4.a.2. </span>then HOW TO BE EVEN MORE EFFICIENT<b> </b>by not only taking off your shirts faster, but folding them quicker as well. (do we ill-use that many hours of time in the whole shirt part of our day that someone needed to ill-use further hours fine tuning those processes?)<br />
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<span style="color: magenta;">4. b .</span> READ A BOOK.<b> </b>or in my case, seven.<br />
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i can never tell if it's karmic kindness or a big fat raspberry from the universe when all the library books i've been waiting months to receive arrive ALL AT THE SAME TIME, but well. here you are Corrie. i'm mean, what the problem? you've got three weeks before they're due. <br />
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<span style="color: magenta;">5.</span> CROSS YOUR FINGERS<b> </b>that your critique-rs like your manuscript because you really think you have something this time. again. no seriously.<br />
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<span style="color: magenta;">5. a. </span>CHECK YOUR EMAIL EVERY FIVE SECONDS. they might have read it already. it's possible. (no it isn't). <br />
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<span style="color: magenta;">6.</span> BLOG<b> </b>because it's been a while. tah-dah!<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">7.</span> KEEP WORKING ON ANOTHER PROJECT<b> </b>just in case #5 doesn't go so well. <br />
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<span style="color: magenta;">8.</span> SHAKE IT.<br />
<br />
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<span style="color: magenta;"> 8. a. </span>LOTS<br />
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(and wish for the thousandth time wish you could be the dancing girl in a Latin music video)<br />
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<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">9.</span> <a href="http://www.awesomeinventions.com/" target="_blank">BROWSE COOL WEBSITES</a> and wonder why you didn't discover them before the holidays because then everyone on your list could have owned this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbIr08En67A1ThtZgMRYhok_D_Wc2IGBbtKVcvvxJCgFDLB-9UEAwLudGiJfK6jmJaYwQEug1G89BmAz4diIO44IVlcd24AbJ6aPQeTpcdOeUH6nwEaGKDk7bJB4p-ceWspUYbd5pgY8/s1600/tiki-tissue-box.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMbIr08En67A1ThtZgMRYhok_D_Wc2IGBbtKVcvvxJCgFDLB-9UEAwLudGiJfK6jmJaYwQEug1G89BmAz4diIO44IVlcd24AbJ6aPQeTpcdOeUH6nwEaGKDk7bJB4p-ceWspUYbd5pgY8/s1600/tiki-tissue-box.jpg" /></a></div>
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or this...<br />
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or most useful...<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYh4XpXVkrhIHcFz6uvN1ASb3uqF7zjN7baStK_w3FpwxrlkqX816Ce6Zsp4mGUmkFN3a9ObDa4cUhb1vIqo-UZ_tvsJEM4NVaWnhAeruBCx1ctMrgLLWy9W2H_zGh7R4MyWoGsKJj0E/s1600/astronaut-bedding.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqYh4XpXVkrhIHcFz6uvN1ASb3uqF7zjN7baStK_w3FpwxrlkqX816Ce6Zsp4mGUmkFN3a9ObDa4cUhb1vIqo-UZ_tvsJEM4NVaWnhAeruBCx1ctMrgLLWy9W2H_zGh7R4MyWoGsKJj0E/s1600/astronaut-bedding.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<span style="color: magenta;">10. </span>TAKE A DEEP BREATH and repeat step number 1. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-54248243374335889512013-12-23T12:37:00.000-08:002013-12-23T12:37:59.910-08:00happiness with a side of wings<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
it's useless. there will be no work done today.<br />
<br />
gimme a productive two to three weeks and i should have another manuscript finished. woot! yet every time i look at the Word doc, the thoughts in my brain go like this... hmm, i should swap that paragraph for this one and... blargh!! what's on Instagram?! is it time for lunch?! who's outside? is that FedEx truck for me? i'll text my mom. i'll text my sister. i'll text my friend. maybe i'll bake a cake. is it time to stop the ruse and lose the entire rest of my day to watching Parks&Rec, no? ahhh it's almost Christmas! <br />
i've begun this blog ten different times<i> </i>trying to land on the theme...<br />
<br />
<i>so i've run into a funny blogger conundrum. what do you blog about when you're happy? </i><br />
<br />
<i>so i dyed my hair yellow. no that's right, not blonde, yellow. </i><br />
<br />
<i>so, remember how i moved?</i> <br />
<br />
so what normal adult starts all her sentences with so anyway?<br />
<br />
what do you think, ODB mural? this calls for a photo blog, no? <br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
ODB mural says hells yes! <br />
<br />
so Bed Stuy. i moved here. <br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
do i understand why the Christmas lights over the streets say Welcome to Bed Stuy Bid? no, i do not. what is a Bid? a new word for neighborhood? block? does it mean actual bid and is simply missing a comma, like, <i>Welcome to Bed Stuy, bid. It's all for sale! </i>or is it simply not so sly marketing by the Business Improvement District peoples? <br />
<br />
uh, yeah. that's the one.<br />
<br />
but oh Bed Stuy I love you. truly. <br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
i love your giant murals and bodega Ben &
Jerry's that only costs $4.50 and not $5 to $7 like in park slope. i
love hearing Muslim prayers through my open windows. i love that most of the Chinese food places aren't
on seamless and don't deliver (okay, i hate that). but i do love that
ALL
of the Chinese food places serve fried chicken. so that alongside my
takeout dumplings there now will permanently be fried wings and french
fries. that's
right. ranch dressing is on the table during Chinese takeout dinner hour.<br />
<br />
do i love the ten pounds i will gain living here? no!<br />
<br />
will that stop me from feasting? also most likely no because most of all, other than all of the sunlight streaming in through my windows (who knew sunlight does (greatly) improve one's mood) i love the realization that i've lived my whole life and never eaten Trinidadian food. an error i shall now correct at least once a week.<br />
<br />
this is a Double.<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFVs5XzVynZo-doxOINgh9iXtqGTdN5e8xEBth8gjNzu1yw550i_wXSLIAiR8gHy5zIqwRtF-OjwaFuYRtNtEtHI_QzcWCNaUjtZzXWkF3uR20E1DcyEXBx_8iOmbwndj1-ljnHWD5eE/s1600/bedstuymural2.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiNFVs5XzVynZo-doxOINgh9iXtqGTdN5e8xEBth8gjNzu1yw550i_wXSLIAiR8gHy5zIqwRtF-OjwaFuYRtNtEtHI_QzcWCNaUjtZzXWkF3uR20E1DcyEXBx_8iOmbwndj1-ljnHWD5eE/s320/bedstuymural2.JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">err yeah, this picture does and does not do it justice.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
definition: a "Double" is made from some kind of fried Indian-esque bread with some kind of chickpea filling. (fine. it's made with Bara filled with Chana. anyone can Wiki, but what fun is that?)<br />
<br />
<br />
the most recent one I had (above) was smothered in a sweet and hot HOT hot hot sauce that nearly melted my face off. yet i could not stop eating it.<br />
<br />
Doubles cost $1.50 a piece. they will hold you over for a solid eight hours.<br />
<br />
now, meet a Fry Bake.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuxvm_p6AtNXRudcGSsqEO5rHAStoIcnwfxSpdmLMLeC0c6I4dWL6NBSgPP8FKfQUrBmF2GprjDJTOQNtfAlRIJx17Tf0M2XToiyWMWNzX1yE01BHB75oqaE_ZBt6-imd3tipGO5vVNPM/s1600/saltbake.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjuxvm_p6AtNXRudcGSsqEO5rHAStoIcnwfxSpdmLMLeC0c6I4dWL6NBSgPP8FKfQUrBmF2GprjDJTOQNtfAlRIJx17Tf0M2XToiyWMWNzX1yE01BHB75oqaE_ZBt6-imd3tipGO5vVNPM/s320/saltbake.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
Definition: a Fry Bake is made of doughy fried bread that's filled with some kind of fish or other filling. i've had it with cabbage, mayo, and salt cod that kind of makes it taste like a Mickey D's fish filet. this one had tiny specks of habanero in it. so it only gave one the subtle sweats. <i>huh. is this spicy? why are my eyebrows sweating? </i>all for only $3.<br />
<br />
and you know what else, i love about Bed Stuy?<br />
<br />
Christmas!<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_PfKJ5YuS-SlkDLpLYXBPWlniB44_MSX5qdCho9UMANvNHdrayoNqmZGaBL2OPMQ2bP_XEhCKtNp-262hfse7OcE-cIldVZo_gG7rbFauEgaSHq3ZOlEriE0o35_X-6p5j0HFR-WfJw/s1600/photo%25284%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiS_PfKJ5YuS-SlkDLpLYXBPWlniB44_MSX5qdCho9UMANvNHdrayoNqmZGaBL2OPMQ2bP_XEhCKtNp-262hfse7OcE-cIldVZo_gG7rbFauEgaSHq3ZOlEriE0o35_X-6p5j0HFR-WfJw/s320/photo%25284%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">my new favorite ornament. it's a horse!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
maybe it's just the fact of my boo (yes, that's it) but for the first time in ever Christmas is fun! yes, as a non-religious person, i still don't see the point of it. but i'll admit, when you have lots of good gift ideas, and apparently this year even when you don't, it's awesome buying presents for people. is that the whole point of this secular version of Christmas? a month spent plotting how to best shower love and thoughtfulness on your favorite people? if so, i get it now. and even more than that, i'm okay with it. no. i'm great with it.<br />
<br />
[and to all the people who spend part of their holidays volunteering and showering thoughtfulness on others less fortunate than themselves, thank you. and apologies for being self-absorbed this year, and most other years, too.] <br />
<br />
so Happy
New Year! i hope 2014 brings us all so much happiness that we
haven't a single worthwhile thing to blog about. and for those that it applies to, Merry Christmas! go forth and shower your loved ones with gifts they might have to return because the sizing is all wrong. <br />
<br />
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<br />
or better yet, just shower them with love. nobody gets offended when you return love.<br />
<br />
and that being said, to all, i Bed Stuy Bid you, good night.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-28451642411908918322013-12-10T21:29:00.003-08:002013-12-10T21:34:57.706-08:00sold! on magnificent jewelstrivia time.<br />
<br />
if a diamond is the hardest gem, and an emerald is the softest, what's the difference between a sapphire and a ruby? (other than color you jokesters).<br />
<br />
answer: it's a trick question. there isn't any difference! <br />
<br />
how do i know this? because today an old man wouldn't stop repeating this story to me and my co-workers. more helpful answer? these past four days, i worked at a major NYC auction house's Magnificent Jewels Auction.<br />
<br />
i shall now share that experience with you. <b> </b><br />
<br />
<b>Day 1. </b><br />
<br />
the morning pep speech from security goes like this: all the security personal here is either a retired or acting NYPD police officer. so you're in good hands. however, God forbid anything should happen, do what "they" say and give "them" (these quotes are "mine") whatever they want because our goal is to get them out of the building as quickly as possible. <br />
<br />
it's then i realize i am surrounded by hundreds of millions of dollars worth of jewels. i secretly hope i see at least one uzi during my four day shift. or better yet someone repelling from a helicopter with an uzi.<br />
<br />
instead, the first potential bidder is a father who brings his two little girls, heads straight for the diamond cases and has his little ragamuffins try on the likes of this: <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs2uEcLBYozaD0Ek6ZuMKJoI7dzKJ1bNGdcHOMkHjoFAodBgNKl_kJOXrWIK25qHuq36b2REsvQmz6OHAoJxfSZ5SSJUDSdZqMOta3eGuBYN-lMKOgdIe-KLZ_VZrsx4-Q3sQ7VieStDo/s1600/diamond+necklace.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgs2uEcLBYozaD0Ek6ZuMKJoI7dzKJ1bNGdcHOMkHjoFAodBgNKl_kJOXrWIK25qHuq36b2REsvQmz6OHAoJxfSZ5SSJUDSdZqMOta3eGuBYN-lMKOgdIe-KLZ_VZrsx4-Q3sQ7VieStDo/s1600/diamond+necklace.png" /></a></div>
<br />
correct. that is a $120,000 diamond necklace. the daughters couldn't be more than five and seven. i don't have any diamond necklaces in the cases i'm working behind therefore i do not need to clasp them around the children's tiny necks. i am grateful for this small karmic kindness. <br />
<br />
one of the jewelry runners (aka a person who collects particular pieces from all the cases in the showroom and takes them into a back room so a buyer can view them in private) when seeing me behind the counter huffs loudly, "great. a new person." and then rolls her eyes and tsks impatiently when i have trouble unlocking the case.<br />
<br />
i worry she is going to be my nemesis. i worry she will make the next four days suck. i seriously worry that i have a bum key.<br />
<br />
by later that afternoon, she's schemed to get jewelry before her colleagues who have waited longer for it whilst wearing a wicked grin. she's flirted unabashedly with ALL the men whilst being an utter koochy to all the women. and she's been pretty nice to me, because contrary to first appearances, i <i>can</i> turn a key in a lock. i realize this teeny senior firecracker reminds me of Dr. Evil and is awesome.<br />
<br />
during the slower moments, my co-worker and i plot how best to (theoretically) rob the exhibition. we decide that all we need is an inside person at the catalogue printers. a floppy hat. and a halfway decent gem forger. simple, no? on Day 4, i realize we can also make a copy of the case's key when we go to the bathroom because apparently we aren't required to surrender our keys and announce to security: Going to the ladies room! every time we go to the ladies room.<br />
<br />
ahem.<br />
<br />
nearing the end of the day, in reference to a piece that's quoted at $8,000 a man says to me, <i>why that's dirt cheap. can you believe how cheap that is? </i>i try not to calculate how long i could write on 8K without having to get a crappy day job.<br />
<br />
(eight months).<br />
<br />
<u>Day 1 Jewel of Interest:</u><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
yes, Amethyst, you are my birthstone. i'm sorry nobody tried you on all day. perhaps you're gauche. on
the positive side, you're such a steal. four pieces for 25K to 35K? oops. did that add insult to injury. i hate when i go and offend semi-precious stones like that. <br />
<br />
<b>Day 2.</b><br />
<br />
having sliced off a wedge of my thumb making fancy cocktails the night before (see, Baby, this is why dull knives are good) i shamefully wear a brown generic band-aid to work.<br />
<br />
this ickiness is immediately overshadowed when a new girl (<i>a new person, tsk</i>) right off the bat drops a Faberge locket crafted for Tsarevich Alexei Nikolaevich onto the floor. the late 1800's locket is purported to have a lock of the little Czar's hair inside, meaning if you buy it you own a Czar's DNA. i wince with horror and thinly veiled disdain when i witness this careless newbie mistake.<br />
<br />
ten minutes later i reach into a case for a pair of earrings and feel something brush my legs. <i>please tell me that elaborate necklace on the wobbly stand didn't just plummet to the floor.</i><br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
it did.<br />
<br />
later, this also pops out of my hand:<br />
<br />
<br />
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<br />
<br />
yes, you're correct. it <i>is</i> a cigarette case from the 1920's made from a single hollowed out piece of Lapis Lazuli valued at 7K to 9K. take heart, when it falls on the ground, it sounds exactly like a standard diamond encrusted Lapis Lazuli cigarette case does whilst bouncing on carpet.<br />
<br />
an hour or so later, i'm lightly delighted when one of the specialists drops a giant emerald earring onto the display case. still later, another attendant nearly sends a ruby thingamabob skittering across the showroom floor - though her heroic dive prevents this.<br />
<br />
Jewel Lesson Learned: don't be judgy. no matter your role, you too might one day drop a holy-shite that's expensive please don't break or crack or chip piece of jewelry.<br />
<br />
and no, i'm not going to even try and properly grammatize that last sentence so it's more readable.<br />
<br />
<span style="color: cyan;"><span style="color: black;"><u>Day 2 Jewel of Interest: </u></span></span><br />
<br />
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<br />
while the diamond is overheard to be "merely whatever," this nearly 5 carat ruby is apparently incomparable. one buyer talks about how it'll probably go for $200,000 ... per carat. i decide to take a picture with it before the end of the show:<br />
<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6pR_FBE37wJawqaVHMD-qGEF-VnKmaD-N0vgK0NwChUuLBa04Vqr_VclydEgKkRBLUE6KFcG3KMjVhEAiIk1aj3fP642IDeqzqaSa42kcW0qG3q58jdvNcXmKVzqw2cBRbz0hcYQPLk/s1600/IMG_20131210_093533.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhZ6pR_FBE37wJawqaVHMD-qGEF-VnKmaD-N0vgK0NwChUuLBa04Vqr_VclydEgKkRBLUE6KFcG3KMjVhEAiIk1aj3fP642IDeqzqaSa42kcW0qG3q58jdvNcXmKVzqw2cBRbz0hcYQPLk/s320/IMG_20131210_093533.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
i further decide it either requires special talent to take a pic this terrible or an especially terrible phone. or maybe it's simply impossible to focus on the ruby when it's bedazzling an aged witch's hand. <br />
<br />
i further further decide never to photograph my hands again. or wear them out in public.<br />
<br />
<b>Day 3. </b><br />
<br />
i start wishing i knew there was such a title as Jewelry Specialist when I was a kid. the Specialists have the coolest job ever. granted, it seems like they're on call 24/7 and have to dine with their clients all the time, but they're all down to earth, they know their sh*t about gems, they dress to kill, and none of them look shiny or blotchy in the room's overhead lighting like i do. avoiding mirrors, i eavesdrop on the Specialists whenever possible.<br />
<br />
did you know, it only takes about 6 months to get your gemologist certificate? <br />
<br />
i mean, i do like to eat out. especially if it's free. hmmm. <br />
<br />
later in the day, i am pulled by security and asked to stand watch in the back room as a board member sits with his wife as she tries on a pair of diamond earrings.<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUczZcwQnShZO9W12cD1CqAlgY0A7BJY32uzbdHXxbHpUxsOvCm5iANKVKrFN9VsiYXAzu8InyWkucW3_OhLec-e8JSNELyjwKk6RXFLl_FozY3JlAMOHDQZv0SdohOdkXET0JvtrsT5A/s1600/diamond+earrings.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUczZcwQnShZO9W12cD1CqAlgY0A7BJY32uzbdHXxbHpUxsOvCm5iANKVKrFN9VsiYXAzu8InyWkucW3_OhLec-e8JSNELyjwKk6RXFLl_FozY3JlAMOHDQZv0SdohOdkXET0JvtrsT5A/s1600/diamond+earrings.png" /></a></div>
<span id="goog_1753176290"></span><span id="goog_1753176291"></span><br />
husband, wife, and Corrie all conclude that the earrings look stunning. but the wife is worried that she shouldn't get them because SHE ALREADY HAS ONES THAT ARE TOO SIMILAR. granted, they do mention selling a few of their other pieces in order to purchase these. but when was the last time you didn't purchase something for $20,000+ because you already a $20,000+ item that would make it redundant?<br />
<br />
to be fair, this is the most common reason i hear for a piece not being up to snuff. <br />
<br />
on another note, whilst i am keylessly on bathroom break ('cause it's not Day 4 yet), i discover a disconcerting, how the hell did i miss it, chin hair. i frantically try to pluck it, but my fingers and prayers fail me. veiny hands, chin hair, vindictive glee when i see priceless jewelry dropped. i might as well join the coven now. <br />
<br />
i'm pretty sure Specialists don't have these problems. <br />
<br />
<u>Day 3 Jewel of Interest:</u><br />
<br />
this gem is called Alexandrite: <br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsbMXoP4NHOGssdy2x38iXtNdgiCHZETDDzWXbXzLlTqbF3QeXPHvUbY_yE8x7OhhqzSQb5pqpMrFSCYpaKGf9U97fYxEH5EKIOyzqPjJl7wxyi6Y_sOa5v4xIrr41Gf6Qr8XMkknR9A/s1600/alexandrite.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiUsbMXoP4NHOGssdy2x38iXtNdgiCHZETDDzWXbXzLlTqbF3QeXPHvUbY_yE8x7OhhqzSQb5pqpMrFSCYpaKGf9U97fYxEH5EKIOyzqPjJl7wxyi6Y_sOa5v4xIrr41Gf6Qr8XMkknR9A/s1600/alexandrite.png" /></a></div>
<br />
it changes color depending what light it's in. cool!<br />
<br />
<br />
<b>Day 4.</b><br />
<br />
after two days in a row in the same section, i now consider myself a Specialist of cases 15, 16, and 17 and Towers 16 and 17.<br />
<br />
just don't ask me anything.<br />
<br />
throughout the day, i meet nice people. a woman from Connecticut and i have lots of fun when she let's me show her a bunch of earrings i think are cool and she gamely tries them on. she's stunned by the magnificent Van Cleefs that everyone is stunned by (see, told you, Specialist yo') but she says:<br />
<br />
"i'm just some Connecticut housewife. i mean, i've got some money to spend, but don't you think some, like, Indian princess is going to win these earrings? it won't be someone like me"<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnvYqdkKbkg2RheJnsRDMoGHAu_ib1Qs-JXfgPtBeMfYqDQ80dMpl1SEZT4H3QO6H0ZwgSxedYiu75qzveVaP1ow7qt42EmdE2qT5MB0UrZ8Pat2chRqOG2ysUSvCljrtBx0zVrenmrew/s1600/pendants.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnvYqdkKbkg2RheJnsRDMoGHAu_ib1Qs-JXfgPtBeMfYqDQ80dMpl1SEZT4H3QO6H0ZwgSxedYiu75qzveVaP1ow7qt42EmdE2qT5MB0UrZ8Pat2chRqOG2ysUSvCljrtBx0zVrenmrew/s1600/pendants.png" /></a></div>
<br />
i tell her, your $60,000 is just as good as any princesses $60,000.<br />
<br />
no. i don't tell her that. but i do think that lovely is lovely. <br />
<br />
outside of protocol, i watch a gentleman be seated at his own table in the showroom and then watch as the highest member of the auction staff and a specialist both slightly frantically bring him all of the most expensive jewels. they even turn off the overhead music to let him concentrate. i imagine this is one of the richest men i will ever see. it's kind of awesome. <br />
<br />
nearing the end of the day, thanks to the scoop neckline on my (clothing swapped, woot!) dress i'm asked to model this:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGCOpy9ldtTI2mXF5ibwzjTVuX_ran7nwvrWvBPkO-omU5CDAx5EmHGr0ibt8v2vp85x9fkd810dl_gkc5WPIZVSVfoeMtvNU38_YUYQX1rDnpNioCv2LPkOE-o5WqoA1Arvjk3Y86Q4/s1600/gold+necklace.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhlGCOpy9ldtTI2mXF5ibwzjTVuX_ran7nwvrWvBPkO-omU5CDAx5EmHGr0ibt8v2vp85x9fkd810dl_gkc5WPIZVSVfoeMtvNU38_YUYQX1rDnpNioCv2LPkOE-o5WqoA1Arvjk3Y86Q4/s1600/gold+necklace.png" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
and even better, this:<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi76hdLknQ0aO85LVCwrJfTiRAtUicqQ9KEWztLrs_12-y_GS8e0pFtZvGgw7LEC6lAUaRuj2mpI45SQ6rxs08fZYRGVuwQ3L9g2xr9s5BgldbKbl6CkvaEUzKq97-T6_Fj7tpxtHvqyZA/s1600/rubynecklace.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi76hdLknQ0aO85LVCwrJfTiRAtUicqQ9KEWztLrs_12-y_GS8e0pFtZvGgw7LEC6lAUaRuj2mpI45SQ6rxs08fZYRGVuwQ3L9g2xr9s5BgldbKbl6CkvaEUzKq97-T6_Fj7tpxtHvqyZA/s200/rubynecklace.png" width="200" /></a></div>
<br />
i gotta admit, it feels ... well, weird because everyone is looking at me. <br />
<br />
<u>Day 4 Jewel of Interest: </u><br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpVcJc3AVSYuXKbJPHv0-hhi8CS8CwD-4m9r8ip33whNkPvmJvzMi0xFGc_EMY6Xp_i4ZNBnrScsrrzuRNpkqpNLib1dhUbjDB7awf1eNzRlHTKF7P4q2swPSlUCyaasel5MMtWZ79WQ/s1600/saphirre+ring.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjgpVcJc3AVSYuXKbJPHv0-hhi8CS8CwD-4m9r8ip33whNkPvmJvzMi0xFGc_EMY6Xp_i4ZNBnrScsrrzuRNpkqpNLib1dhUbjDB7awf1eNzRlHTKF7P4q2swPSlUCyaasel5MMtWZ79WQ/s1600/saphirre+ring.png" /></a></div>
<br />
this 12 carat unfired, Burmese sapphire ring is requested by A TON of dealers. apparently it's $150,000 to $200,000 pricetag is very low. one dealer tells me it will likely go for ten times this amount. later in the day, i watch a man fall in love with it.<br />
<br />
"it's manly," he says, "no?"<br />
<br />
"uh yes," i reply. "that is a very, uh, manly cut."<br />
<br />
i wonder if he'll spend a million dollars to buy it. <br />
<br />
by the end of Day 4, i am incredibly grateful and in love with this amazing experience. i decide not to begrudge the collectors, bazillionaires, and housewives their jewels. happiness is happiness and love is love and it's a pleasure to see people's faces light up when they try on a piece that is clearly meant for them. ten times out of ten, their look of joy far outshines the glitter of the jewels.<br />
<br />
i simply wish life experiences like these were for everyone, not only a very lucky few.<br />
<br />
consolation thought? a lot of beautiful sights in life are absolutely free.<br />
<br />
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also, the exhibition is open to the public and everyone is allowed to try on whatever they want. also, everyone in the Jewels department is really nice. also, also, and also there's another show in February. </div>
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why not swing by?</div>
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i mean, the coffee and view alone are priceless.</div>
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(if you're curious. <a href="http://www.sothebys.com/en/auctions/2013/magnificent-jewels-n09054.html#&i=0" target="_blank">you may bid or follow along with the auction</a> on 12/11/13 starting at 10 a.m.) </div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-4224335318190834742013-11-11T21:40:00.002-08:002013-11-11T21:40:29.375-08:00literally onward and upwardin t-minus four days i will live in an entirely new part of Brooklyn. woot!<br />
<br />
thus my current status is: moving.<br />
<br />
aside from feeling sentimental about leaving my adorable apartment and my heart of gold landlord who took such good care of me all these years, the actual process of moving is rather awesome. life looks so totally different when you are neither here nor there.<br />
<br />
this past week, i've done so many things i'd never normally do. <br />
<br />
did you know that when you're moving you can walk
around your house with your (grubby NYC) shoes on? also, you don't have to make your bed
and you can leave candles burning for days on end because, damn it,
you're not packing a quarter to the bottom candle. and who knew dollar
store votives lasted so frickin' long?!<br />
<br />
funny how sometimes it takes moving to make you appreciate where you've been. on all my neighborhood walks this past week, i thought, <i>Gee, it sure is nice living here. </i>it's so convenient. and pretty. and safe. huh.<br />
<br />
this weekend, my boo and i hit up all our favorite neighborhood eateries one last time. which yes, means the deli-counter Mexican place on 21st that's open 24 hours and makes the BEST chilaquiles ever. primarily, it means we hit up the Chinese place on 9th Street. we've ordered take-out from there three times over the last forty-eight hours. we're maybe a little addicted to the shrimp toast. it's seriously injected with crack. in fact, thinking how i'm not going to be eating it tonight for the fourth night running, i'm getting
twitchy. it could be that my body's blood to salt ratios are realigning or that there isn't anything not addictive about perfectly crispy fried white bread filled with yummy shrimp bits.<br />
<br />
oooo gawd....<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDGyPe9FFnYOKlwjPMOO4aX2ghDAdq8abZ78ziEKkPndBGQMFfjsA-s5N7vyMvRwQdKUQDmaVJC3n6gglurKlOxqXhYISCy6EcKFMHLWTr_8JpAIyVQ6rGXr3TM8iwRSvYBgZGtd5Z-8/s1600/IMG_20131109_231202.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEglDGyPe9FFnYOKlwjPMOO4aX2ghDAdq8abZ78ziEKkPndBGQMFfjsA-s5N7vyMvRwQdKUQDmaVJC3n6gglurKlOxqXhYISCy6EcKFMHLWTr_8JpAIyVQ6rGXr3TM8iwRSvYBgZGtd5Z-8/s320/IMG_20131109_231202.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">if only i could travel back in time.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg8izGmM0QcOO4izOWbXFQzqdriudZ-3zNo7NbFXxKzVC_eOzn1LE-C_6APAhCE1nOvhcAPErqlr3f-yOcXw5CimJordItYRYbJIeSfO92i975kpzKJkM8OawoJY73oeSOoS5gz7MRdcHU/s1600/IMG_20131109_231202.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"></a><br />
aside from shrimp toast and The Office marathon on Netflix and chilling at home with my beau whilst we did sexy things like sort through our dishware, the other great thing about moving is...wait. i can't keep it up any longer. i gotta be real. moving su-uuuuuucks.<br />
<br />
this is what my home looked like at 10 p.m. last night:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhX-ixlWhTan5q3_QuR9SImDCvnEcN5I3VAMMCFAHpPlHcaQ4lHjkfU5xwbrmy21fktGkrldml0BGGLbMfhEt_8RHHmFjDCV3S3Rm7fLkQUsCXs6dhRFcjgMMPoUPooEeGa2D4H5xNGmM/s1600/IMG_20131109_192650.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjhX-ixlWhTan5q3_QuR9SImDCvnEcN5I3VAMMCFAHpPlHcaQ4lHjkfU5xwbrmy21fktGkrldml0BGGLbMfhEt_8RHHmFjDCV3S3Rm7fLkQUsCXs6dhRFcjgMMPoUPooEeGa2D4H5xNGmM/s320/IMG_20131109_192650.jpg" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">even i don't know what this is a photo of...</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
it looked like this despite two days of doing nothing but packing. despite my entry way being filled floor to ceiling with boxes and my little front room, too. despite there being so many black plastic bags in my apartment if you squint your eyes just right it looks like an oil spill (which in a way, it is), DESPITE all this, everywhere i look there's more to do.<br />
<br />
and it's the no fun jobs like: clean out refrigerator. <br />
<br />
granted, it is nice sorting through old crap i haven't looked at in five years and minimizing ten boxes down into nine. i mean, who doesn't love coming across stacks of old photographs from ten years ago and be reminding how attractive they weren't. <br />
<br />
tossed.<br />
<br />
who doesn't love discovering the same years amount of old bank statements and credit card bills? the fact that i currently don't have a kitchen table (but do have one on order. woot!) means i most surely don't have a paper shredder. so who doesn't love shredding <i>by hand </i>ten years of no longer important documentation that has your account number on every single page? let's just hope
that whole "people steal your identity by digging through your paper recycling" isn't a real issue.<br />
<br />
where did all this stuff come from?<br />
<br />
apologies in advance, but chances are if you gave me something for Christmas in the last decade, i no longer own it. ha ha! and though that's not something you admit on your blog and i've had too much caffeine, please don't be mad, i ditched lots of things i would rather have kept, like these babies:<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtd3iJ8kv-Jl7ddjmJGIGOy16Ujf22fhcskbQm5AW0_PP5st9YY5Pimeqhd06ybLkne7T8SghhKPiUvwP_SLbbmO8ZsbC8XC8IXXN11UIJiENgawBB85Kzqghyh5yjoJQrAgcDe11aiA/s1600/IMG_20131110_193920.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEtd3iJ8kv-Jl7ddjmJGIGOy16Ujf22fhcskbQm5AW0_PP5st9YY5Pimeqhd06ybLkne7T8SghhKPiUvwP_SLbbmO8ZsbC8XC8IXXN11UIJiENgawBB85Kzqghyh5yjoJQrAgcDe11aiA/s320/IMG_20131110_193920.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
yes, they are yoga pants/sweatpants that i've owned for i dunno, eight years. yes, they became nine feet long when the elastic waist band wore out in year five and dragged behind me when i walked like Dopey's sleeves. yes, they were covered in holes and cinched at my waist with a hair rubber band and had a bleach spot hand print on the butt, but i loved these suckers... actually i have to stop writing about them right now or i'm going to...excuse me...*roots around in trash*<br />
<br />
ahhh...where was i?<br />
<br />
the other fun thing about moving is that so few useful things are available in your house for the last remaining week. pans, for instance, with which you're supposed to heat up the left over Chinese food you're supposed to be subsisting on because heck no you're not buying groceries.<br />
<br />
when i wrote to my guy and asked if i could use his hot pot to reheat my dinner. (no, not <a href="http://www.amazon.com/Rival-4071-WN-32-Ounce-Express-White/dp/B00006IUXU" target="_blank">this hot pot</a>, <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hot_pot" target="_blank">this hot pot</a>.) he wrote back: "use the flat thing" by which he meant the one cooking implement we hadn't boxed up:<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZDTSMuiHtmcUkjeveirDYsTQ9AeQAsSDwRloGHhQEKm31l2VNQIKGVf_gDYsnaLuZQLbrzO1CSXdAPJH0_BEEi3mhlyMX7VxgZvCHUy4CDfchjKOb6ARXUh6eu1cQqQDEJ2fGZdk3Dg/s1600/IMG_20131110_193822.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiqZDTSMuiHtmcUkjeveirDYsTQ9AeQAsSDwRloGHhQEKm31l2VNQIKGVf_gDYsnaLuZQLbrzO1CSXdAPJH0_BEEi3mhlyMX7VxgZvCHUy4CDfchjKOb6ARXUh6eu1cQqQDEJ2fGZdk3Dg/s320/IMG_20131110_193822.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">chow mei fun pancakes, anyone?</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
but since he didn't respond immediately and i'd started using the hot pot anyway and nobody knows how to reheat Chinese food on a griddle (ha ha! hiii baby!) i realized i was missing an even more basic utensil to eat my food with, that being, a utensil to eat my food with. ha... huh?<br />
<br />
after three days, i got so sick of consolidating and moving crap from bags and boxes into different bags and boxes, and shredding, and donating, and selling (or rather not selling) things on craigslist, and responsibly disposing of all my plastic, paper, and home goods, that i did a truly terrible thing.<br />
<br />
now, i say truly terrible in all seriousness. i don't even want to post the picture lest i lose your respect, but well, i just ate week old pumpkin bread slathered in peanut butter because the only utensil in my house is a knife and i was hungry. so when i saw my old cell phones in a drawer, i knew i could bring them to the new apartment and wait until an electronics recycling day cropped up 30 miles from my 'hood or i could do this:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0TxiRWpPqXdci87GOkczRyjMpK9G4IYXFTfdz3B0X9HzqvRnSMitcJSFT4xWJayiC0u5lLadTWLQmhUJ61HWlbVYLI-vIiaIl2Cr0A9cf91yAfFbF_xouOf6exonkRRHQUEvm7Vw7Nk/s1600/IMG_20131110_185328.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjM0TxiRWpPqXdci87GOkczRyjMpK9G4IYXFTfdz3B0X9HzqvRnSMitcJSFT4xWJayiC0u5lLadTWLQmhUJ61HWlbVYLI-vIiaIl2Cr0A9cf91yAfFbF_xouOf6exonkRRHQUEvm7Vw7Nk/s320/IMG_20131110_185328.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
so i did that.<br />
<br />
i know! i'm sorry. please don't scold/hate/disown me.<br />
<br />
if it makes any of us feel any better, it was a terrible experience. see that little blue phone? it was my first cellphone ever and it did not enjoy getting environmentally-irresponsibly drowned. it protested the entire time. first it showed me my contacts. then it simply wasn't having it and indicated it was powering down. then it changed its mind and whirled to life again and showed me the photos i had tried to see only a few minutes before but didn't because i couldn't remember how to turn the damn thing on. and then it buzzed, angrily, underwater, for ten minutes straight.<br />
<br />
i felt like i was in Toy Story and i was drowning Woody. <br />
<br />
but before you stop reading my blog forever because i just added to the massive mountain of tech garbage that's piling up off our eastern seaboard, please know i salvaged things, too.<br />
<br />
since i bought Gorilla Glue for my Thorrie costume, i could now finally re-attached my little elephant keychain's body to it's head. i also had two, count them, <i>two</i>, ceramic birds that needed their tail's reattached: <br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeiNHd4TEB5pLo0aPUMmRXsMzzGvNMOI7N38bB1cJTRWThld10nfBK59l_GXZ_UEKw6xTS-TDhf7oBnbkgRCdW9FFp3qBtIAcDo6w5OGaY8gCxur74BRPBN484sZb7A4vp9wotKElBRZ8/s1600/IMG_20131110_163715.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjeiNHd4TEB5pLo0aPUMmRXsMzzGvNMOI7N38bB1cJTRWThld10nfBK59l_GXZ_UEKw6xTS-TDhf7oBnbkgRCdW9FFp3qBtIAcDo6w5OGaY8gCxur74BRPBN484sZb7A4vp9wotKElBRZ8/s320/IMG_20131110_163715.jpg" width="297" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">better than white goo coming <i>out </i>your butt. soo uncalled for.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
errr, yeah. you can thank me later.<br />
<br />
but if moving is crummy (and it wasn't <i>that </i>bad, except for the whole packing part) what is the other option? not move and eat the same shrimp toast and chilaquiles for five more years? <i>wait. damn. make a bad 'what if', Corrie.</i><br />
<br />
but no. it's not that there's anything wrong with where i'm at now. it's simply time to have new adventures.<br />
<br />
so the movers are coming at 10 a.m. on Friday to load up our junk and essentially steer our lives down a different path. so goodbye my sweet little apartment. thank you for sheltering me these last five years. thank you for the memories and the toasty heat and the quick to heat up shower and the no roaches and the utter lack of creepy-ghosty feelings that some apartments have. and thank you, Marie, my dear friend and my amazing landlord, for having me. i will cherish my memories and truly, very much, miss you.<br />
<br />
but now it's time to move to the second floor.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-22694543451897007632013-11-06T21:20:00.000-08:002013-11-06T21:20:19.688-08:00days of goodness* WARNING * what follows is a non-linear post about today being a good day <br />
<br />
so i'm moving.<br />
<br />
after years of complaining about my teeny tiny wonderful little hobbit hole apartment, i'm moving to a second floor! windows, sunlight, view of the garden (not the wall surrounding it) will in a little over a week all be mine (ours).<br />
<br />
it's a big step. one that came about rather quickly (one of my bff's is renting the space and lives right below) and immediately met with a wall of: what did we do?! not to get too into the specifics of my insane, anxiety driven thought process, but we're basically trading one up-and-coming neighborhood for another and paying more to do so. <br />
<br />
to get more excited, other than snapping juvenile photos of the place i might soon be ordering Chinese from (or rather, where i won't be ordering Chinese from):<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-KBvqliggkMhO9xvSZ1-eNp1J75t8ihBMIqpLxHH3phr2rfA0t0mUn7q_5ZzMCSbt04ZW1flzYe3mCfqVcpVJX8kZUvMepiRPGqTz6fdspZdcU7rbc4sZkaPcsn5AHnxJ2Gs3bMCGjQo/s1600/1829.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg-KBvqliggkMhO9xvSZ1-eNp1J75t8ihBMIqpLxHH3phr2rfA0t0mUn7q_5ZzMCSbt04ZW1flzYe3mCfqVcpVJX8kZUvMepiRPGqTz6fdspZdcU7rbc4sZkaPcsn5AHnxJ2Gs3bMCGjQo/s1600/1829.jpg" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">huh. huh. you said kowk.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
i've begun following the neighborhood blogs in my new 'hood.<br />
<br />
sample from my current neighborhood's blog: Olivier Bistro is a Date Night Gem. <br />
<br />
sample from my new neighborhood's blog: A Suspect Being Chased by Police Was Shot Saturday <br />
<br />
woot! but already the change is doing me wonders. today after some productive writing, i spent time talking to my boo's colleague about a business idea between the three of us that is specifically driven by the move. then my new landlord (ie best girl's hubby) called me about upgrading our new apartments fridge. then i received an awesomely thoughtful email directing me to a terrific YA reading in the city held here:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsk5SH-YJYoaTn1n7VT6IkQoznMALwTli0r3KMLPHEE2SMilyoqb9Ax7cwhSeg-i1weFL8izxOMPYLJd4PeZN84_dvlH2fv3qePJMXHwvS_PoT6pgmli4DAqT_7q8dYBv-igeYMHmsvnY/s1600/library.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhsk5SH-YJYoaTn1n7VT6IkQoznMALwTli0r3KMLPHEE2SMilyoqb9Ax7cwhSeg-i1weFL8izxOMPYLJd4PeZN84_dvlH2fv3qePJMXHwvS_PoT6pgmli4DAqT_7q8dYBv-igeYMHmsvnY/s1600/library.jpg" /></a></div>
<br />
THEN for the first time at this reading, i didn't see all the ways my work didn't belong alongside the other authors, but how it did. it felt a little like i might be up there soon, too. <br />
<br />
and then i came home and ate too much pasta and was displeased with my food belly and possibly dyed my hair bright red. (it's still wet, so we'll see what we get. it's supposed to be blonde.) but i digress. <br />
<br />
i simply wanted to say that today was a good day. the last few have all been, actually.<br />
<br />
on Thursday, for the first time in my life i created a halloween costume that didn't suck. and then i worked up the nerve to actually wear it out of the house even though it involved a cape and a cardboard chest plate covered in bottle caps. three different groups of people asked to take their picture with me.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd8kjBBh8-yRBKMo9m4LD_pb7mlAMEK34Wi9PCBukAlzL5PKsxmUsVvFypfWFrL3upPjdHgZVW29AhV_GoKE0j4U4nrVoXtabuSHsrqnRgdVd8cb9-9yfodvdVEUkU_k0foNJWsPgy1HQ/s1600/thorrie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhd8kjBBh8-yRBKMo9m4LD_pb7mlAMEK34Wi9PCBukAlzL5PKsxmUsVvFypfWFrL3upPjdHgZVW29AhV_GoKE0j4U4nrVoXtabuSHsrqnRgdVd8cb9-9yfodvdVEUkU_k0foNJWsPgy1HQ/s320/thorrie.jpg" width="239" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">i was Thor-rie, get it? Thorrie.<br />'cause we have the same hair.<br />
</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
and then a few days later it was my favorite day in NYC. Marathon Sunday. i've caught it every year as it runs right along the bottom of my (soon to be former) street. people ring cow bells and everyone is clapping and the runners are exhausted/exulted and you can't help cry a little witnessing it. i'm a terrible photographer, but there's a florescent green sign hanging across the road that says SMILE. how could you not? the marathon is everything that's great about humanity.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi419yzPRUH2medo8XPd_jnE-iks_bBc5xdqNnPHCT95wKoA-zFxG6L4oZG1BGjmbGHCb-M2tbfcTYTBVLPoErF6XA4_GD3KLceE-8wv0QnjuaO2k2ZOBVVk0hcBs7lyhDFZtP6xBqTCk/s1600/marathon.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgi419yzPRUH2medo8XPd_jnE-iks_bBc5xdqNnPHCT95wKoA-zFxG6L4oZG1BGjmbGHCb-M2tbfcTYTBVLPoErF6XA4_GD3KLceE-8wv0QnjuaO2k2ZOBVVk0hcBs7lyhDFZtP6xBqTCk/s320/marathon.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">see the guy in red with his arms raised? THAT's the marathon</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
and then i voted and although, sorry Corrie, they will build lots of Vegas style casinos in NY state, I got a sticker for my efforts anyway and despite it being attached to the sleeve of my coat last night i somehow woke with it stuck to my bare arm this morning. <br />
<br />
and did i mention i'm working on two, count them two! writing projects that i'm a little in love with and someone really cool is reading my work and.... well that's all i've got right now.<br />
<br />
but i had to say thank you and also woohoo because good days should be celebrated, damnit, whenever you're lucky enough to stumble on one. even if they make for non-linear, oouu look at me style blog posts. and i can't help thinking, regardless of the fact that Police Are Looking for Community Help in Locating the Suspects in Neighborhood Burglaries, that maybe with this leap of faith, neighborhood ,and rent that will to take place in a week when two punk rockers carry out all our furniture, good days are the reward of change.<br />
or maybe they're like watching the NYC marathon in person. they're a reward of life.<br />
<br />
either way, thank you thank you.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-23212801300250385762013-10-28T09:28:00.001-07:002013-10-28T09:28:50.221-07:00above and beyondon many many <i>many </i>occasions whilst living in new york, i've thought thank goodness for my friends. (and my family, too, but this one is specifically a friend post).<br />
<br />
my friends are one of my favorite parts of my life. maybe it's egoistic to say, but i feel i'm especially adept at making excellent friends. i might not be successful (yet, ha!), or musically oriented, or i dunno, super decisive about... anything, but i can make a great friend.<br />
<br />
eclectic across the spectrum, what my friends have in common is they're generous, sweet, interesting, funny, caring, and capable of making it all better on the particularly grey days. but this is the very definition of friendship, no? so, in general, a hearty three cheers! and yes! to great friends. which brings me around to one person in particular.<br />
<br />
about a month ago, i wrote to my oldest friend from college, <a href="http://franconeridesign.com/" target="_blank">Rich Franconeri</a>.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><img height="131" id="irc_mi" src="http://cdn.rubensteintech.com/images/content/6/1/v4/618.jpg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; margin-top: 71px;" width="400" /></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">this guy</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
Rich was the production director on our student newspaper. therefore, my boss. he was the owner of the best advice i've ever received and still try to follow: "keep it simple, Corrie. keep it simple." (Rich has that sensei way of repeating his wise sentences thus making them seem wiser). i accompanied him to his sisters wedding and can still remember his laughter when i goofed up during one of dj mc'd line dances, so that i was facing backwards when everyone else was facing forward. somewhere in my files, i have the Christmas cards he created for all of his former design jobs. <br />
<br />
nowadays, we get together one or two times a year for general catch-up-ing and beer drinking. he designed the websites for two literary agencies i'd been connected to. so i felt perfectly comfortable emailing him when i finally decided to woman up and get a proper website of my own. <br />
<br />
<i>let's talk, </i>he replied.<br />
<br />
to which i replied, <i>like on the phone?</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
we chatted. he told me my job was to write a strong bio and figure out who i wanted to appeal to. cool. great. no problem.<br />
<br />
i immediately got cold, disgruntled feet. what was the point? the whole thing would need to be changed when i was published. and who was really looking up corrie wachob in the meantime anyway? not to mention, bio writing? hardest thing ever.<br />
<br />
i didn't write Rich back. i was perfectly fine letting the project stall. then a few weeks later something wonderful happened. <i>where'd that website enthusiasm go? </i>Rich Facebook messaged me. i explained about the cold, annoying feet, and lack of ideas, and how it had been a crappy writing week<i> </i>and this was his response:<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>it's a good thing you have a creative friend. </i><br />
<br />
and maybe this sounds silly, because the man was building me a website, not, like, giving me a kidney, but i was blown away.<br />
<br />
it's so easy to get wrapped around yourself here that it's shocking when someone does something selfless. this might seem silly to people that don't live in NYC - where i imagine people frequently go out of their way for other human beings when there's nothing in it for them, and for the record, people do that here too, but this was <i>hours </i>of extra work. and it wasn't me nagging him. he was nagging me. plain and simple, it was a friend using his talents (pro-bono) to help another friend succeeded.<br />
<br />
you expect this of your parents and you know your friends love you, but usually it's expressed in them grabbing a drink with you on short notice. this was special.<br />
<br />
a week later, Rich and i met in his financial district offices. <i>i threw it together quickly. just to give you an idea of what we can do. </i>then he pulled up a slightly bluer version of this onscreen:<br />
<br />
<br />
<a href="https://docs.google.com/viewer?attid=0.0&pid=gmail&thid=14176a338557f339&url=https%3A%2F%2Fmail.google.com%2Fmail%2Fu%2F0%2F%3Fui%3D2%26ik%3D5bf7c8c546%26view%3Datt%26th%3D14176a338557f339%26attid%3D0.0%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&docid=35f0d243e71da559c20a6cc446f5676b%7Cf91c31385398d4e119bff15388fa23b6&a=bi&pagenumber=1&w=800" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" class="page-image" height="400" src="https://docs.google.com/viewer?attid=0.0&pid=gmail&thid=14176a338557f339&url=https%3A%2F%2Fmail.google.com%2Fmail%2Fu%2F0%2F%3Fui%3D2%26ik%3D5bf7c8c546%26view%3Datt%26th%3D14176a338557f339%26attid%3D0.0%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&docid=35f0d243e71da559c20a6cc446f5676b%7Cf91c31385398d4e119bff15388fa23b6&a=bi&pagenumber=1&w=800" width="230" /> </a><br />
<br />
i'm not sure, but i might have squealed. <br />
<br />
what followed was a reminder that all art forms and creative processes look essentially the same. be it music, painting, writing. you work through drafts, you tweek, you discuss the merits of a particular photograph to death, you edit edit edit, and then you progress.<br />
<br />
a few days later, i received an email entitled: <i>second pass</i><br />
<br />
<img class="page-image" height="400" src="https://docs.google.com/viewer?attid=0.1.1&pid=gmail&thid=1418fe4721dc86b5&url=https%3A%2F%2Fmail.google.com%2Fmail%2Fu%2F0%2F%3Fui%3D2%26ik%3D5bf7c8c546%26view%3Datt%26th%3D1418fe4721dc86b5%26attid%3D0.1.1%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&docid=7dc3ded295df7fa0f8357070519328cb%7Cb511cfe542b496938a89867ecd133a9c&a=bi&pagenumber=1&w=800" width="215" /><br />
<br />
<br />
we tinkered with the wording in the small colored boxes. i disliked the bio pic. i really disliked the bio. we emailed back and forth. a few days came:<i> one step closer!! </i>and it was time to share it with friends and family.<i> </i><br />
<br />
<img class="page-image" height="400" src="https://docs.google.com/viewer?attid=0.1&pid=gmail&thid=141a230901bf5347&url=https%3A%2F%2Fmail.google.com%2Fmail%2Fu%2F0%2F%3Fui%3D2%26ik%3D5bf7c8c546%26view%3Datt%26th%3D141a230901bf5347%26attid%3D0.1%26disp%3Dsafe%26zw&docid=7516ce06caf80498947540ccedbfbb79%7Ce7ce1153ab99e455c075eb6d8344fd3d&a=bi&pagenumber=1&w=800" width="235" /><br />
<br />
and then, last week, i saw this subject line in my inbox: <i>final?</i><br />
<br />
i'm excited about my website, because it's a gorgeous representation of myself on the web, better than i'd ever envisioned.<br />
<br />
but i'm over the moon psyched because it's a beautiful representation of Rich's talent and patience - <i>what about the picture of me driving? i swear that's the last change.</i> <i>but also, maybe the line in the top blue box should read </i>Corrie Wachob writes "because it goes well with coffee." <i>i dunno, what do you think?</i><br />
<br />
every time i click on my website (i won't lie about every ten minutes) i'm reminded of what an amazing friend Rich is. i'm reminded of sitting on rooftops with my bestie <a href="http://www.cyrphotographic.com/" target="_blank">Cyr</a> who always took me under her wing, dropped everything to have a coffee, and took the beautiful Instagram pics featured at the top and center. it's my sis proving me wrong that i <i>could </i>take a decent author photo (it helps if it's blurry) during our chill, boozy i-phone photo shoot on her old balcony. it's the full page uber-helpful analysis from <a href="http://www.ellengoodlett.com/" target="_blank">Ellen</a> on the second draft of the website that read as if she was critiquing my writing. it's an adamant, visceral opinion about the words in the skinny blue box at the top from my little sis that made the whole page stronger.<br />
<br />
my website is like my life. it's a collection of amazing people. it's happy memories. it's examples of friends looking out for friends and as my last email from Rich said in the subject line: <br />
<br />
<a href="http://www.corriewachob.com/" target="_blank">it's Alive!!! and ready for viewing.</a><br />
<br />
three cheers for friends!<br />
<br />
and especially three cheers for Rich! thank you for the prodding. thank you for the creativity and the late and early morning emails. thank you for live chatting with my domain name provider.<br />
<br />
mainly, thank you for being such an awesome friend. <br />
<br />
and also for not charging me. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-69318200997412776892013-10-23T21:23:00.003-07:002013-10-23T21:23:41.349-07:00a fan-tastic overlap<br />
<div style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;">
<img height="320" src="http://rainbowrowell.com/blog/wp-content/uploads/2011/08/FANGIRL_CoverDec2012-300x444.jpg" title="Fangirl Book Cover" width="216" /> </div>
<br />
do you have something you like to do? something that you would go so far as to call yourself an authority on?<br />
<br />
i ask, because i had an interesting collision in my life this week of real life and fiction. it began when i started reading a terrific novel. can you guess what it is?<br />
<br />
sorry. i couldn't help myself.<br />
<br />
<i>Fangirl</i> is smart, sweet, funny, and it's one of those novels that never fails to floor me because tho i can't stop turning the enormously engrossing pages it isn't really about anything.<br />
<br />
my beau has a theory about restaurants, if you pick one thing and make it exceptionally well - be it tacos, chopped meat on rice, or Cronuts - people will flock to you. <i>Fangirl </i>is like that. it's about people who do people things and have people days and it's written so re-donkulously well that it results in the best read ever.<br />
<br />
books like <i>Fangirl </i>make me wonder if i truly needed the sub sub murder mystery plot in my novel. <br />
(the answer is yes, because murder mysteries are awesome. and there is plenty of room for all kinds of books on the shelves, corrie dear). <br />
<br />
anyhoo, back to Cronuts.<br />
<br />
i mean <i>Fangirl. </i><br />
<br />
the plot is straightforward. Cather is a college freshman who writes fan fiction, has issues with boys, and experiences family drama in her first year away at college. the novel is interspersed with sections of her fan fic that's based on Harry Potter type characters that she's been obsessed with for years. and now...jump to <i>my </i>real life. <br />
<br />
the setting was straightforward. my friend was invited by her friend to an employee and client art show at a large publishing house on Lexington Avenue. i was invited to tag along and i was psyched. not for the art, which involved Legos, but because walking through the lobby, i couldn't help fantasizing about the day that i'd enter a fancy publishing building just like that one to have an actual meeting with an actual editor who had actually bought the rights to my novel.<br />
<br />
the whole night was great. it was great seeing the editor's cubicles. great raiding their room of free books. great eating three plates of strawberry-rhubarby cookies while drinking wine.<br />
<br />
but especially great, as i mingled with the mix of editors and lawyers i found myself talking to, was realizing that i had landed smack dab in the middle of a group of Cather's. i had entered a world of Fangirls.<br />
<br />
these were the best women ever. interesting, intelligent and witty, sure, but, stand aside when it came to Star Trek, Manga, Starwars, Doctor Who and all things Neil Gaiman. no seriously, stand aside. you might be floored by the gusts of their adoring verbal gales. yes, i was a little (come on, corrie. manga?), okay <i>a lot</i>, on the outside of the conversations. but i <i>loved </i>listening. it was the equivalent of watching a cat luxuriating in its sunny patch on the floor. these girls reveled in their geekery. (let's call a spade a spade). and i couldn't help wondering as i went back for another plate of cookies, what, if anything i was a fangirl of. <br />
<br />
food?<br />
<br />
i like to eat. a lot. more than doing the "think about what i'm eating next whilst partaking in the present meal" i actually partake in the next meal while i'm still partaking in the first one. * see afternoon of bagel eating overlapping grilled cheese sandwich eating overlapping huarache eating.... and i could happily talk to you for hours about what <i>you </i>ate for dinner.<br />
<br />
in fact, what did you have for dinner? <br />
<br />
but that's more gluttony than fandom. and lots of people act like that here. it's new york. seeing as i don't follow food blogs (mainly out of jealousy. i'll never eat the food pictured and what's fun about that?) and my cooking involves two steps: <br />
<br />
Step 1. boiling pasta<br />
Step 2. sauteing on-hand veggies<br />
<br />
then combining the products of Step 1 and 2 and dumping parmesan cheese over the whole concoction, i don't believe i'll be winning any food fandom awards anytime soon.<br />
<br />
maybe i'm a fangirl of reading?<br />
<br />
i love to read. love it more than any other visual or auditory form of entertainment. for the past few months, i've read three to four books a week. and i order three times that many from the library so that i'm in a constant euphoric state of wicked witch of the west "how will i ever get to it all, i'm melting amongst all my books ahhhh what a wonderfully cruel world."<br />
<br />
sorry. what's that? what book did i just finish? oh it was this terrific book called... uh... gimme a minute.<br />
<br />
nope. lost it.<br />
<br />
does it count as fandom when you can't remember what you're consuming? i attended a reading in a bookstore tonight and i saw a book on the shelf and my first thought was, i have that on request from the library! before i remembered that the book came in three weeks ago, and i'd already read it <i>and had liked it. </i><br />
<br />
i've always admired the home cooks, beer makers, mechanics et al. those people who spend their free hours locked away, tinkering, simmering, creating. i'm usually too impatient, cheap, or easily distracted.<br />
<br />
i'd begun to worry that i'm not interesting enough to be a fangirl of anything (which might still be the case, actually) when i figured it out. i know this will sound really cheesy, but it's the honest answer that i came up with. what am i a true fangirl of?<br />
<br />
hiphop dancing. no. yes. but no...<br />
<br />
writing!<br />
<br />
i write all the time. i think about writing when i'm not. i could talk about the process of writing for hours. i read about writing whenever i get the chance. i can't stay away from writing for more than a few days at a time. and i don't see myself stopping, ever. <br />
<br />
okay. so big yay. i'm a fangirl of my chosen profession (yes, i'm calling it my profession even though i've yet to make a regular nickle off it.). and although i'm not sure this actually even counts, i'm taking it. what i'm also taking away from my fiction and real life fangirl overlap, is the realization that bringing geek levels of enthusiasm to life rewards you with geek sized enjoyment of life. <br />
<br />
and of that, i'm a fan.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-71824263552906764762013-10-14T19:51:00.000-07:002013-10-14T19:51:32.078-07:00prime prima joyokay ready?<br />
<br />
it's time for everyone to have a good day.<br />
<br />
just. click. play.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
my beau came home late last night (as his job warrants he does) and while we were catching up on each other's days, he put on a little Louis Prima. now it had been a good day to begin with, but next thing i knew, at 2:30 a.m., we're both laughing and shaking our tail feathers.<br />
<br />
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<br />
joy. some days, it feels so hard to come by. and then a song plays or someone smiles or you get a great idea, and you have to wonder why because, clearly, it's been there the whole time.<br />
<br />
so go ahead. get those pointer fingers up in the air. jab them up and down. now wiggle your tush.<br />
<br />
smiling yet?<br />
<br />
yup.<br />
<br />
you're welcome.<br />
<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-82034866080760951912013-09-05T21:35:00.000-07:002013-09-06T09:06:56.328-07:00spicy mayo, scr*w senor green, and other thoughts on life and writing<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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</xml><![endif]-->somebody in my house turned the entire (half jar) of mayo in our fridge into an entire (half jar) of spicy mayo. since there are only two people in my
house - and i am one of them - pinpointing the culprit was no hard task. and tho i’m curious to know what the
circumstances were for the abundance of mayo and why he didn’t just make a small bowl of
spicy mayo to suit his spicy mayo needs at that time, mostly i was grateful for the backup jar of BOGO mayo we had because i'm not at all having a two cheers for shocking discovery of bright orange mayo when you're expecting regular mayo kind of day. and yes, that is how i chose to word that sentence.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
suffice to say, i might be having a fairly hormonal week. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
two weeks ago, i returned from
my heavenly-productive writing retreat to my must-have-descended-from-heaven
beau (who makes brazenly inappropriate amounts of altered condiments) to my teeny
apartment and, here's the kicker, to my Regular. Old. Life. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
don’t get me wrong. i love my regular old life because it’s
not regular and i’m not old and my life on so many days feels blessed and just…luckily good.
except lately i wish i woke up one score and five years ago and said, man, i want
to be an electrical engineer when i grow up. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
see, i’m starting a new novel. and while it was going brilliantly
in the high desert region of Colorado, you know, here: </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWqVpDgGuDTvwDUh6enSpMEm2dWrFfMYYo4x4IaB7zMii3bZJ8qSZ3QdLoFdWsbH7UTLVJLcA-wMLq-xrnNzC5XfHeHt-LQ6dwkrSHKbpXNOea9mmv-EEmxdRy6I5Xc_PorFaFyelPi0/s1600/photo.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhqWqVpDgGuDTvwDUh6enSpMEm2dWrFfMYYo4x4IaB7zMii3bZJ8qSZ3QdLoFdWsbH7UTLVJLcA-wMLq-xrnNzC5XfHeHt-LQ6dwkrSHKbpXNOea9mmv-EEmxdRy6I5Xc_PorFaFyelPi0/s320/photo.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
in Brooklyn it feels stifled and boring because it isn’t being written
how it should be, which is frustrating when you consider i’m the one who’s writing
it. now all told, i’ve been focused on this novel for about two months, so i will
work out the glitches over the course of the next year at which time i’m sure
an editor, or twenty, will take another year to say they’re not sure about the
authenticity of the voice and no one’s buying odd murder mysteries that are
set in the 1940’s anyways. at which time i will begin another novel and… scream, perhaps.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
but i digress, and while i digress further, allow me to say
that when you’re having a hormonal week that leads you to write catty and
pessimistic sentences like the ones above (one editor did say that she would
just die if she didn’t acquire my novel, but then her editorial board said, eh,
we doubt it.) you should definitely not start thinking thoughts like “it’s as
if I’ve worked the same job for fifteen years without a single promotion.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and when your hormonal week gets to that level you should
definitely <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">definitely</i> not check in on
more successful authors. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
especially not more <a href="https://subbable.com/crashcourse" target="_blank">successful authors who have created online, free content educational material using a grant they received from Googletwo years ago</a>. and even though you admire him and think he’s a bit of a prophet,
you also can’t help thinking, oh scr*w you, John Green. you know what i was doing two years ago? complaining about my
too small apartment. you know what my biggest accomplishment in the last two years was? the fact that my
website name no longer has blogspot in it (i know, awesome, right? thanks Rich! weeee!).
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
and then we take deep breaths. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
beyond wishing for a writing guardian angel or mentor or an
editor or otherwise decent connection to take an interest in me, i know what i have to do.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
first, i have to stop being such a crybaby. i did get that
SCBWI grant so it’s not like there haven’t been any promotions. also, i have to
put my head down and work. i have to reach out to and check out more successful
authors because it’s inspiring and more than that, writing doesn’t have to be a
lonely vacuum. tho most times it is and since i didn't want to be an electrical engineer, since <i>i chose </i>to write novels, i need to go back and read the first sentence of this paragraph a few more times.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
maybe some people are meant to do multitudes of really
intelligent good for the earth and minds of youth things – thank you John Green (and apologies about that scr*w you bit early. i know you’re a real person
who's worked hard to get where you're at and i'm sure you have your own hormonal weeks. though probably less of them because you’re a
man.) and some people are meant to do
mini-multitudes in different fields like farm-to-table restaurant-ing. (tho have
I mentioned that my website name no longer has blogspot in it?) and it’s all
okay, so long as everyone’s enjoying themselves. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
maybe it’s all about timing anyway. so in the meantime, i should get my head out
of my ass, figure out how to write my damn book, make it great and take
long walks and do something useful, like start volunteering again.<br />
<br />
because maybe instead of prematurely opening a fresh jar of fresh mayo,
we should embrace the creepy orange-colored, sriracha mayo that life throws our way even though it looks toxic. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU0PEfVEC1PHFwzVUj_Qnilx35UHTs7x7vqPOpm8KHhx5sYVA7K7nkVixarJ7WN-0r-1fM2c0kvzP0VF_lkZPS02hYtpEl1Rk__8rMx9gMbctKhAPNMUEuyT1lY7IiBj6mIdV7fv_LNOA/s1600/spicymayo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="255" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgU0PEfVEC1PHFwzVUj_Qnilx35UHTs7x7vqPOpm8KHhx5sYVA7K7nkVixarJ7WN-0r-1fM2c0kvzP0VF_lkZPS02hYtpEl1Rk__8rMx9gMbctKhAPNMUEuyT1lY7IiBj6mIdV7fv_LNOA/s320/spicymayo.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and yes, this was my dinner. it's sauteed corn and tomatoes.<br />
clearly, hormonal week does not creative dinners make.</td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"></td><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<br />
embrace it because the spicy mayo weeks force you to look at more writers websites in one hour than you have in
the whole previous month(s). they force you to finally get the damn
'blogspot' out of your website name. embrace them, because even as you do, you will remember that all weeks aren’t hormonal. that good writing
weeks are ahead along with the high that will come when you nail that elusive creepy 1940's voice you're going for.<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
just take my advice. don’t <i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">over</i> embrace the spicy mayo of life (see above photo). it will give you a terrible stomachache which won’t be corrected by eating a whole row of Double Stuf'd Oreos.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
also? if anyone has any guardian angel writing connections that might help, i'm seriously all ears. <br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-12300032806293926312013-08-08T09:39:00.001-07:002013-08-08T09:39:11.232-07:00escape from new york<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
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the biggest complaint of the artist? dun dun dun... </div>
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<br /></div>
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the Day Job. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
now i'm not talking Job. lots of people have Job and are very happy with it. i'm talking the Job you're forced to work, because you can't yet survive on your art aka Day Job. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
it is a well know fact that Day Job has little to do with your true artistic passion and is notorious for stealing your creative hours and energy, if not your soul. (oh i'm so sorry the champagne is not chilled to your liking let me correct that, douche.) worst of all, slogging through Day Job is <i>the</i> biggest drag on your conviction that you can pursue/thrive at/survive on the artistic pursuit that try hard as you might you can't get out of your system, whether you can make money at it or not, have no choice in the matter, are actually <i>meant</i> to do.</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
but there is one great thing about Day Job. (okay, in all actuality there are tons of great things about Day Job. think of the different, interesting, fun jobs/people/skills you can learn and have the freedom to choose between when you're relieved of having a career in the field considering some day soon you will sell the next great american young adult novel. ahem. but i parenthetically digress and for purposes of this blog post...) there is one great thing about Day Job. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
they're easy to quit.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
(okay, okay, or to be perfectly honest, in my case, they're still extremely difficult, weeks if not months never mind <i>years</i> of indecision, frickin' super hard to quit. after all, a girl's gotta get by and if it's not managing this nightclub with it's aggressive personalities and horrible hours, won't it just be something else?) </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
but once you get the hang of it, shedding one Day Job for another is a little like being in school, except this time you get paid to learn and study what interests you and "classes" end in everyone going out for drinks and snacks and, this time, you're flattered when they card you. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
so maybe, no, i can't yet support myself on writing. but i <i>can</i> unstuck myself whenever i like from the daily grind. and the best thing about being an artist - other than the high you get from producing your craft - is that when you opt for change and shed a Day Job to learn/improve/<i>try </i>in another field, a perfect little window of freedom opens up for you to see the world, take a break and, shockingly, focus entirely on what you really love to do. (i realize in other areas of the world, this concept is referred to as <i>vacation</i>).</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
so hello from the magical mountains of Colorado where i am on sabbatical from Day Jobs, holed up on my best friend's family's hippy commune being who and what i am at heart and will be regardless of the oddly, awesome Day Jobs i've been drawn to/forced to work. today and for the next few weeks my only job - day and night - is to be a writer. </div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
stay tuned. the next great american young adult novel to follow. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Hungqtd6IQG501RG6m6Tjv34-dQrdIUjuxwQ_Mrbf4QLzcZWLwFRQG4hJHPPpjdOAiKjb8G_6tSAb6lf0_0ddc-En5RXRaMwVTzaMvOKLUx6YuEawkB0b2opsTOUB14XhDzWhWv2nLY/s1600/photo+(11).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi8Hungqtd6IQG501RG6m6Tjv34-dQrdIUjuxwQ_Mrbf4QLzcZWLwFRQG4hJHPPpjdOAiKjb8G_6tSAb6lf0_0ddc-En5RXRaMwVTzaMvOKLUx6YuEawkB0b2opsTOUB14XhDzWhWv2nLY/s320/photo+(11).JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmKBko7dJzMsKUusog2erTAnbxowac3RQP1w-FTQVBB4xOYL7eC4QH_pZ5N-Fbx0irS44S_Lnz1KqraGXPMA9_Bw4NiZy2bYvKqzySipVI9FZyGPiTJ_gW-yl-gNHwH1koIkOsqYq7Mc/s1600/photo+(14).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjLmKBko7dJzMsKUusog2erTAnbxowac3RQP1w-FTQVBB4xOYL7eC4QH_pZ5N-Fbx0irS44S_Lnz1KqraGXPMA9_Bw4NiZy2bYvKqzySipVI9FZyGPiTJ_gW-yl-gNHwH1koIkOsqYq7Mc/s320/photo+(14).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">these are my same mountains, <br />just a few hours after the first picture was taken.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2DgLWlKyWju0QRpMfXmMEQBrMu59pF_QtbGpwuwoQeol_u-FIhjIn2xvZVqEs5UKI-YdKDJYOeiYiAQPFZUivcGM8SWHgYPn3U03jul69pjY579ob4r9A47mcu1I62tSGVtiNnj9xjU/s1600/photo+(15).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEip2DgLWlKyWju0QRpMfXmMEQBrMu59pF_QtbGpwuwoQeol_u-FIhjIn2xvZVqEs5UKI-YdKDJYOeiYiAQPFZUivcGM8SWHgYPn3U03jul69pjY579ob4r9A47mcu1I62tSGVtiNnj9xjU/s320/photo+(15).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and a few hours later.<br /><br /></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMxTZwQliHUtUaTxoyEj4bsKb_gSTUv9uvWhrgCKzGdvS-aIJgw2iQChek0MZAzbUCjyoFIGLxYEa8LKiaAlfXlG21idd5V_2iJtT0R32rbZh0XWwvw3QhY2EWb0Slfk04FSBuOBYgSno/s1600/photo+(28).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMxTZwQliHUtUaTxoyEj4bsKb_gSTUv9uvWhrgCKzGdvS-aIJgw2iQChek0MZAzbUCjyoFIGLxYEa8LKiaAlfXlG21idd5V_2iJtT0R32rbZh0XWwvw3QhY2EWb0Slfk04FSBuOBYgSno/s320/photo+(28).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">and again.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-85417624595536634932013-07-12T18:56:00.000-07:002013-07-12T18:56:09.366-07:00full to burstingi am in burstingly good spirits.<br />
<br />
today is simply one of those terrific days. i had a wonderful lunch with a dear friend. little sister is coming to stay with me tomorrow, which means four days of<i> reunited and it feels so good</i> three sister fun. i am head spinning-ly en amor. and i have those nice tingly feelings that maybe good things are on the horizon. today, life feels happily full.<br />
<br />
(sheesh. quick. someone knock on wood.)<br />
<br />
fittingly, as i cleaned last night in prep for little sis and bro-in-law's arrival, i noticed that my tiny apartment is similarly bursting. as i made my way through my three teensy rooms, i couldn't help notice that every single piece of furniture had at least one drawer that refused to close because there was too much stuff inside/behind it.<br />
<br />
the phenomena begins the moment you walk in my front door.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg51QzTG0mKi9JwYlDY55S4uOLc9_sZDOYpuv3YWZoC9XCOKpvR9KKoSBAsEzkCCYKdE1MQnfDOwuIL6K09EhzrrQ73EJzuzR2spcLvErNFh1S1EhjgT25RPEgTa8DlA2WVQSJyUIlCDwI/s1600/photo+(3).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg51QzTG0mKi9JwYlDY55S4uOLc9_sZDOYpuv3YWZoC9XCOKpvR9KKoSBAsEzkCCYKdE1MQnfDOwuIL6K09EhzrrQ73EJzuzR2spcLvErNFh1S1EhjgT25RPEgTa8DlA2WVQSJyUIlCDwI/s320/photo+(3).JPG" width="240" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">yes, the creepiest, ugliest hallway feeds into my apt. <br />
it gets better once you're inside.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
the first thing you see in my apartment is a little, island-thingy that is always popping open due to some bag of chippies or cooking spices.<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovxYj8r8IE11qC_i5JIkzhewqI-2qutWHuhPUqqbE4F0XXP4O8fFTGUnt7Ewiu6B-XhzyZGdxy_TBWpAsrxw7H5slnwXH2IjuCSdZBPyvZJt5LCNjS9ly4j2eVIs9JeCgfDet6IxK9z8/s1600/photo+(5).JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjovxYj8r8IE11qC_i5JIkzhewqI-2qutWHuhPUqqbE4F0XXP4O8fFTGUnt7Ewiu6B-XhzyZGdxy_TBWpAsrxw7H5slnwXH2IjuCSdZBPyvZJt5LCNjS9ly4j2eVIs9JeCgfDet6IxK9z8/s320/photo+(5).JPG" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">it's like that old margarine commercial. parkay. butter.<br />
you know....this one:<br />
<a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACFO_jtzbfg">http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACFO_jtzbfg</a><br />
and yes, this commercial is much older than me. um. i hope.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
which leads to the kitchen where usually both cabinets are popped open, but making a liar out of me, today only one was....<br />
<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWS_EBA1pxXqslm7rHQ_uzRiEYdU3fcVSR8EmVy-5ixQ1DxUFW32TAYMKAPjVn_OmyCe84j47dTVb4dMseH4tv_IGoeTz3Ao4PZ31ubj1XNAgd3eyNZj2tLQULFWH0UQ8gDlN4CTL3LYs/s1600/photo+%25286%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjWS_EBA1pxXqslm7rHQ_uzRiEYdU3fcVSR8EmVy-5ixQ1DxUFW32TAYMKAPjVn_OmyCe84j47dTVb4dMseH4tv_IGoeTz3Ao4PZ31ubj1XNAgd3eyNZj2tLQULFWH0UQ8gDlN4CTL3LYs/s320/photo+%25286%2529.JPG" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
the bathroom's the worst....<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyWjalNW2B2RxOqCHbUDqpyXyXxvFwXBY17VXMFIh6mcLsZON1qX5M1D13irybthUbLm1PipK4PRqdQs-2x3IYIC1UcMG52SMfGBErQo6otnoS3Os_mgtBbti8PTUtOpzN0h6Pu8BziQ/s1600/photo+%25284%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiiyWjalNW2B2RxOqCHbUDqpyXyXxvFwXBY17VXMFIh6mcLsZON1qX5M1D13irybthUbLm1PipK4PRqdQs-2x3IYIC1UcMG52SMfGBErQo6otnoS3Os_mgtBbti8PTUtOpzN0h6Pu8BziQ/s320/photo+%25284%2529.JPG" width="240" /></a></div>
<br />
our bedroom = so much stuff packed into such a small place that things peep out everywhere (note in the background of this pic, the tub under the bed. that's only one of them). fittingly, my beau's dresser drawer broke recently, because it was too packed with t-shirts. which means a. maybe someone has a t-shirt acquisition problem. ahem. but also b. another open drawer....<br />
<br />
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and bedside dresser is always ready to spring open.<br />
<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">hi bluie!</td></tr>
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why am i sharing this? could it be the three cups of coffee i had at lunch? no! it's that the bursting feeling <i>needs</i> to be shared. whether it's in your life or apartment. we always share the "life feels bleh" emotions with one another. <i>the jobs wearing you down. day to day seems the same. life passes too fast. </i>when the opposite is true, when life is bursting, you, I, best shout it out.<br />
<br />
TODAY WAS A GREAT DAY! ALSO PROBABLY IT'S TIME FOR A BIGGER APARTMENT OR A GARAGE SALE!<br />
<br />
there. whew. did it.<br />
<br />
now it's your turn.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-10746111447341866252013-07-07T12:22:00.000-07:002013-07-07T12:22:18.512-07:00revisiting generalizations<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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<br />
<br />
so remember how thanks to the club <a href="http://www.corriewachob.blogspot.com/2013/06/chanelling-my-inner-holly.html" target="_blank">I attended the world's most horrifyingly, inappropriately sexualized and puke-y prom</a>? well, turns out, good things came out of it.<br />
<br />
namely Holly.<br />
<br />
a few weeks ago, Holly - who organized the gross, eyeball searing, post prom party - and whose ease and happy personality during the affair inspired me to blog about it - this same Holly became my intern.<br />
<br />
even with the last post, i tried not to bemoan the youth of today. in general, i don't like generalizations. generally speaking, generalizations are the cause of racism, sexism, bigotry, and premature notions about what kind of writing you do if you write YA novels. <i>no, my novels are not about vampires</i>. seriously people, get past that.<br />
<br />
ahem.<br />
<br />
so even as i wrote a blog post about wtF! is up with the youth of today, i knew that one horrible post-prom party did not an entire representation of teens everywhere make. (<i>please </i>let that be true and, yes, i chose to word that last sentence thus-ly).<br />
<br />
sure enough, a week after Holly's party, we hosted another prom at the club. and it was a <i>prom</i>. girls in gowns. kids holding hands. kids bopping to the music in the hallways. kids taking pictures. and dancing of the kind that isn't forcibly trying to meld pelvis to butt. and okay, maybe there was a tiny bit of puking, but nothing on the level of the first party. and although the whole experience was uber-boring compared to what Holly brought us - <i>oh yawn look, kids acting like kids</i> - it was also soul soothing.<br />
<br />
being a YA writer, i couldn't help watching the kids at the grody post prom and think, NO WAY are these kids going to read me. as previously mentioned, my characters barely swear - though sez my agent that's so my novels are lower YA aged appropriate as well - let alone make strippers look tame.<br />
<br />
and then Holly came on board at the club and i'm quite happy making this generalization - our youth of today is frickin' impressive. bright, motivated, fun, optimistic. just as we've always been and, aberrations in sexual advancement aside, just as we'll always be.*<br />
<br />
* i'm discluding from this statement the bored girl at prom party #2 who said: "this must be even worse for you, serving all these rich white kids. but look around, the kids in this room will be ruling the world one day... or at least New York City."<br />
<br />
you chicky? you i'm not a huge fan of. <br />
<br />
for everyone else i'm sending out some e-high fives. i know this is not news to anyone who works, lives, plays around, owns or belongs to a teen, but you guys are doing great. keep up the good work. and parents check your kid's wallet for fake id's because if Holly is any indication.... i'm just saying.<br />
<br />
when I told Holly what I did outside of my day(night) job, she gasped and said, I'm a YA! and then we talked books, and how much we both loved <i>Fault in Our Stars</i>. and Holly said what every YA author dreams of hearing and a line I wish I could record and send to publishers:<br />
<br />
"I'd buy every book you ever wrote."<br />
<br />
so to turn it back to a how-everything-in-the-world-relates-to-Corrie conclusion - hey it's my blog -<br />
<br />
please may i be published soon?<br />
<br />
'cause these kids are growing up fast. and if Holly is any indication, what i'm spinning for them is still totally relevant. Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-31622887069418912792013-06-22T13:09:00.002-07:002013-06-22T13:09:49.922-07:00synced inyou'd have to be a robot, not to sing or dance a little while working at a nightclub. i mean, the whole purpose of my work environment is to get people moving. so yes, i'm monitoring the bartender's pours, convincing customers their drink is not too weak, so therefore, no, i will not add a free shot to it, and sniffing down the trail of that funky smelling smoke, all while shaking it.<br />
<br />
go ahead, try and have a serious discussion with the diva who can't possibly buy her ric-dic priced bottle of liquor unless she's seated on the (closed) mezzanine level above everyone else, while Jay-Z is balling so hard in the background. try doing that without bouncing your shoulders.<br />
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<br />
i understand you're upset...<i>do doot do doot do doot do doot</i>..but this is the best table on this floor...<i>ball so hard....</i>and if the mezz does open you'll have the best table up there.... <i>do </i>doot<i> do </i>doot.....no, hookahs aren't included in that pricing....<i>ball so hard this sh*t crazy</i>....here have some velvet rope to section you off from everyone else.<br />
<br />
better? good.<br />
<br />
i work in a pretty pop oriented club. even on the reggae nights, we hear a lot of the same tunes. it goes without saying, some djs are better than others. you can tell the gifted ones when <i>all </i>the crowd is dancing, jumping, singing along, one song cutting to the next in quick ten second bursts. those are the special djs. and that energy can't help but infuse you.<br />
<br />
every night i got to bed with one song or another stuck in my head. it's there when i wake up, too. it's with me in the shower. on the subway. while i'm trying to write (but end up blogging about addictive songs instead). the brain crack of this week is Ke$ha's <i>Die Young</i>. go ahead, kiddies, have a listen. get a little. it's good for you.<br />
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suffice it to say, i've heard Juicy J's <i>Bandz a Make Her Dance</i> ALOT. it's not my favorite, but it's one of those songs that puts you in a trance like state. i have no idea what the lyrics are, but i'll void checks, call for drink specials, wipe up the bar all with a side to side jerking motion accompanying that beat. hello, i'm the dancing GM. it just can't be helped.<br />
<br />
so it was kind of perfect last night, when one of my bartenders showed me the below video. Stephanie Tanner, i get you. the moves are yours, but you can't help syncing them to that damn soundtrack.<br />
<br />
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<br />
<i>do doot. do doot. </i><br />
what? where was i?<br />
<i>do doot. do doot. </i><br />
<div>
oh right. trying to write a novel. </div>
<i>ball so hard.</i><br />
maybe just one more listen.Unknownnoreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-33523525372188160102013-06-20T19:45:00.002-07:002013-06-20T19:56:12.381-07:00cleaning it upi've written a few different intros to the following story. but the below incident doesn't truly relate to the second prom party the club hosted (more on that another time). or the fact that in my new daily life, i deal with a lot of messes. (literal. figurative. emotional. social. purposeful and not. take your pick. it comes from pretty much all sides.)<br />
<br />
it's just something i witnessed and it's stayed with me. so now i'm sharing it with you.<br />
<br />
the other day on the train, when the man sitting next to me got up his drink bottle leaked. or else he was so juiced that he sweated pink, because suddenly, pink liquid was pooled on the seat next to me where a second ago it wasn't.<br />
<br />
i hopped up and switched to the now full bench seat across from me. as the train pulled away from the station, the pink juice sped over my seat and down the rest of bench. we all watched it race towards a kid at the far end, who clearly refused to move. finally he had no choice but to scooch forward or get wet. at the next stop, he switched seats, too.<br />
<br />
during rush hour, you know something is wrong when an entire six-seater bench is empty. clearly there's poo, or it reeks from the last person, or there's unexplained goo. but this was later in the afternoon, empty seats were scattered about. so when a young girl, wearing light pastel jeans, got on at the next stop, she didn't question the long, glorious row of empty seats. happy with her seat finding good fortune, she wore a big smile as she began to plant her butt right on top of....<br />
<br />
me and everyone else on my bench gasped. I threw my hand out, in a silent, slow-mo "noooooo" gesture. another woman just stepping onto the train noticed, and shouted, "Miss! Watch out." hand to heart, the girl shot out of her crouching position. saved! just in the knick.<br />
<br />
"oh thank you so much," she gasped moving to another seat further away as everyone on my bench resumed staring at the pink.<br />
<br />
as we chugged towards my stop, i wondered how many people would have to stand for the rest of the day as a result of the spill? how many people would be washing pink stains out of their pants that night? at the next station would we warn someone else the same way? and how many stations would that do-gooding last for?<br />
<br />
but then the woman who saved the young girls' afternoon by shouting, "Miss!" pulled tissues out of her purse and (really very thoroughly) mopped up the entire mess. it took her a full minute. when she finished, she planted herself right in the middle of the bench with a big smile. <br />
<br />
i thought about her actions for the rest of the day. i wanted to thank her on so many levels. sometimes you have no choice but to all caps LOVE this city. love this life. daily, we step around, avoid, don't look at the messes others make. until unasked, unheralded, with a big smile, we decide to clean them up.<br />
<br />
lovely, no? that's all.<br />
<br />
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<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-72821082501430764942013-06-06T12:46:00.000-07:002013-06-06T13:25:57.289-07:00channelling my inner Hollyand now for a This American Life style disclaimer. the following blog acknowledges the existence of sex and the fact that those of us who are 18+ (and under apparently) engage in it.<br />
<br />
i write novels for teenagers. i do. and as that life decision goes for so many authors, i've had a day job the whole time. nowadays, my day job occurs uber-late at night between 8 p.m. and 6 a.m.<br />
<br />
<a href="http://corriewachob.blogspot.com/2013/01/new-year-jobs.html" target="_blank">see, i manage a nightclub</a>.<br />
<br />
as the club is a 21+ venue, i thought never the YA and day(night) job worlds would meet. and then this past week we rented out part of the club to a post prom party.<br />
<br />
three words: Scarred. For. Life.<br />
<br />
teens. lets have a word about teenagers, shall we? while i generally do not like them in loud, walking down the sidewalk groups (sorry guys. you're annoying. lets just admit it and move on.), teens are otherwise great. on any given day i'd rather converse with a teenager than an adult. what other age group can you have a serious conversation with on say literature or politics, and immediately after convince to partake in a dance routine?<br />
<br />
all that being said, i haven't partied with teens since i was one. and even then, i didn't party with teens. (who knew all those Straight Edge, straight A's would lead to running a nightclub? ahh corrie, if only you knew then, what you still are figuring out now... you still would have preferred reading and hardcore shows to boozing it up, but you would have wasted less time sweating over AP Calc.)<br />
<br />
so when i saw Post Prom Party on our calendar, i was excited. what was better for a YA writer than being around the very audience they were writing for? now i just wish i could bleach my memory. no adult should have to see such sights. oh the horrors.<br />
<br />
but before we get to that, let's have a word about party buses. is anything permissible so long as the word 'party' goes hand in hand? <i>no, no, it's fine. it was a </i>party<i> massacre. </i>or <i>the environmental effects aren't so bad it was a </i>party<i> nuclear explosion. </i>that must be it. otherwise, how are these businesses getting away with allowing teens to get smashed on their vehicles?<br />
<br />
five party buses pulled up outside the club and spat out 200 hiccuping, wobbly legged teens. amongst them breezed in one sober wisp of a girl. the girl who visited the club numerous times weeks before. who crunched numbers with us. who did what no other adult promoter has done - ponied up a deposit, on time. who organized the travelling of 200 souls from Long Island, post prom and texted en route bemoaning the traffic. a girl who immediately became my new hero.<br />
<br />
"Hiiii. I'm Holly." (btw, no she's not).<br />
<br />
since working at the club, a few inches of my polite, everyone must like me, un-assertiveness has definitely worn away. i have no problem telling Mister Freestyle Rapper that no he can not smoke the joint that's as big as my head in the club. but whilst i'm still figuring out a polite way to say, "i'm sorry Madame. you are drinking a $5 well vodka drink. if you think it's weak, buy another!" Holly was born issuing commands and she wasted no time on subtly or daintiness.<br />
<br />
"Listen up bitches. Stay on the buses."<br />
<br />
"Why, Holly?"<br />
<br />
"Because I said so. Everyone else, downstairs. Now!" whilst to me she sparkled, "We're just thrilled to be here. Thank you so much for having us."<br />
<br />
thrilled was one word for it. no sooner had the teens gone downstairs than 'thrilled' began spewing forth.<br />
<br />
thank you (again) party buses, puke immediately was everywhere. in the hallways. in garbage cans. near the toilets. on the toilets. in the toilets. the communal sink in the bathroom was a swamp of chunky, backed up vomit sewage the very thought of which still makes me cringe. but the puke wasn't the worst of it. the worst was that as soon as the vomiting was done (tho it wasn't ever really done), the girls on their wobbly heels, in their teeny tiny tiny dresses (what happened to the prom gowns, yo?) mounted their boyfriends and proceeded to exhibit moves that would make a stripper blush.<br />
<br />
Managing a Club, Etiquette Lesson One: if there are no parts out, it's consensual, the couple is sitting upright, and no sex is being had, you can't break up make out sessions. i mean, it's a club. you just need the dual ability of looking to make sure everything is okay while not looking because it's gross.<br />
<br />
Managing a Club, but being a YA Writer, Decent Human Being Etiquette Lesson One A: BUT THESE ARE TEENAGERS!<br />
<br />
so i shone my flashlight in the face of the first lap dance couple... to absolutely no effect. and then, inept flashlight in hand, it was like the scene from Alien with those creepy pods opening around me. every single kid in the place began acting like they were the leads in a way trashy music video. the benches filled with them. the dance floor hosted the standing up version.<br />
<br />
granted, as one attendee told me, i'm old. "you guys only do old people events here, right? like 21 and up?" but i wasn't some big prude in high school (yes i was). still this was the next level. and hello, i work Soca parties, my tolerance for raunchy behavior is pretty high. so not only was it weird, and icky in the way that makes you never want to have sex again, but i couldn't help wondering, prepare for my naivety, where the hell did these kids learn to do this (so well)? and if this is where they were at now, where was left for them to go? i think it's safe to say, bases have been blown out of the water. sex on a first day will one day be a given.<br />
<br />
and in between these depressing thoughts and the permanent frown i'd acquired over the course of 5 minutes, weaving through the crowd like she was the host of a tea party, not a zoo of teenage de-yuckery, was a bright ray of awesomeness: Holly.<br />
<br />
"Hiii, omg, we're terrible aren't we?" "Hiii, how are you doing? you holding up okay? i know. so gross!" "Hiiii i'm sorry, what a mess!" "Hiii! you guys are awesome!" "Hiiii, my phone has two seconds of battery life, but i'm around if you need me."<br />
<br />
at one point, i texted Holly to let her know that all the buses needed to be out front ten minutes before the club closed. i asked a colleague if he'd seen her. he shone a flashlight on a girl on the dance floor getting walloped, er, i mean danced on from behind. the only reason i knew it was Holly was that as her nicely coiffed hair came undone from the jostling of the fine young gentleman shimmying [no that's not what he was doing, but that's the wording i'm choosing for it] on her like his life depended on it, the girl scrolled through texts on her phone. a second later she was in front of me. "Hiii, buses ten minutes before close? no problem! HEY LISTEN UP EVERYBODY...."<br />
<br />
my favorite game at the club is playing "what have i learned."<br />
<br />
so what did i learned for our post prom event?<br />
<br />
1. these novels i'm writing for teens? the ones that my agent and i are so carefully editing the f word and murders out of? they're for 14 and 15-year-olds because the older kids are dealing with waaaayyy more than the f word. maybe we always were, i just needed a burn-my-eye-sockets reminder.<br />
<br />
2. i need to channel my inner Holly much more frequently. Holly asked me what my major was in college. what being a GM entailed. that she was thinking of going into event planning. Holly, a little advice. it doesn't matter wtf you major in, girl. just be you. more and more i realize not many people can truly get stuff done in this world. Holly you'll stand out and move forward no matter what your diploma says.<br />
<br />
so i'm saying it to you, too. we shy away from our inner Holly because we're afraid to hurt feelings or of repercussions that come from seeming too aggressive. meanwhile, when we speak our minds and give directions, mostly what other people see is someone in control. just make sure when you use your inner Holly, you don't refer to people as "bitches."<br />
<br />
3. when hosting a post prom event (we have two more slated) triple the number of garbage cans.<br />
<br />Unknownnoreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-1399794629196661873.post-65737304788193766522013-03-31T16:29:00.003-07:002013-03-31T16:29:47.359-07:00an inspired morningwith growing intensity, i've felt a little off. it's nothing serious. life is grand. it's just that i'm a writer and lately? i can't write.<br />
<br />
not to be overly dramatic * clears throat * but not being able to write feels about the same as being a fish stuck in a bowl with only a half inch of water in it.<br />
<br />
yesterday i had a discussion with a friend about inspiration. "when i can't write," he told me, "i think of Ed Sitting on My Shoulder."<br />
<i><br /></i>
<i>whoa, hold it right there.</i> i said. <i>who's Ed Sitting on Your Shoulder? </i><br />
<br />
instantly bashful, my friend he'd prefer to explain himself when we were both drinking, but that when he wrote, he knew Ed sat on his shoulder. turns out Ed (short for Editor), was only there to create havoc. Ed made him delete pages of good work. Ed was overly critical. Ed wouldn't let him try different ideas.<br />
<br />
i love hearing how other writers deal with the ups and downs of writing.<br />
<br />
especially since my own downswing has lasted for the past month (or three). i can blame it on work. in the club industry it would appear no one has a day off. ever. nor are there hours when it's inappropriate to get in touch with someone. <i>hello </i>11:30 pm Wednesday phone calls. <i>hello</i> late Sunday afternoon texts about gentleman's parties. (on a side thought... how come strippers are strippers, but their customers are "gentleman?" it seems to me if you're a gentleman, you don't pay a woman to grind on your lap...she does it for free. badumpbump.)<br />
<br />
ANYWAY the truth is, the no-writing problem isn't work. it's inspiration. or namely the fact that I have none. Ed has full on taken up residency on my writer's block. (yes. i went there.)<br />
<br />
i currently have three works-in-progress. they've all been on idle for awhile. sure, i work on them. a little here and there almost every day, but it's been feeling exactly like that. work.<br />
<br />
then this morning whilst putting on mascara, i thought: huh, it'd be interesting if... and boop!<br />
<br />
i gasped.<br />
<br />
i had it. no. it was better than that. i nailed it. inspiration not only struck (as it always always does, silly girl) it lightning bolted. in the next hour and a half i was more productive than i was in the last month and a half. i figured out the entire remaining plot of my favorite WIP. i don't know why it happened today. yes, i'd been devoting a little more time to simply thinking about my work, but why this morning did i have the watershed moment? why had Ed left?<br />
<br />
i'm not going to question it. instead, on this Easter Sunday, Agnostic that I am, i'm giving thanks.<br />
<br />
maybe my family is celebrating Easter a state's length away, but i'm giving thanks that they've been sending me pictures of eggs all day.<br />
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i'm giving thanks that my (for reals) gentleman might be working a double, but he promises chocolate treats later on. thanks that i got my favorite dryer at the busy laundromat that erroneously gives you 20 minutes for 35 cents instead of 8 (mwahahah). thanks that the only work related text i received today was from one of my fave employees wishing me a Happy Easter. (how freakin' cute is that?) and thanks that it smells like beautiful, rainy, fresh spring outside, i'm making fried rice for dinner and plan to eat a ton of it, that Game of Thrones Season 3 premiers tonight and most of all THANK YOU WHOMEVER WHATEVER YOU ARE BUT I'M STICKING WITH CALLING YOU INSPIRATION. my fishbowl fill-eth over. writing is <i>fun</i> again.<br />
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also, thanks to you for being you and for reading me. you are a good egg.</div>
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