It's the Final Countdown

Tonight is my first New Year's Eve in New York. My first without my family, my first alone. It's funny how being an adult never turns out how you think it will. Tonight certainly isn't how I always pictured NYE in NYC. I always figured I'd be out at a bar or at least a friend's apartment, not home in a new empty one alone.

I have work in the morning and no plans for tonight, which means I'll probably sleep through the countdown for the first time since I was little. I'll probably miss a call from my friend Michael at 11:56 asking me how long to next year, to which I would normally respond 3 1/2 minutes.

I didn't know it would be this apartment, but I've been decorating it in my head for years. Someday hopefully it will be the duplex I've always imagined, but for now I'm happy in this six story prewar building. I don't have so much as a chair to sit on, a pot to heat soup in, but the heat is on and I have more keys than I know what to do with. And thanks to my new iPhone, I have a connection to the outside world even though I haven't set up Internet here yet.

The year draws to a close - one in which I lived in five different places in five different zip codes in two different states, in which I graduated college, traveled to Europe, got a new job, survived a hurricane, signed a lease, made friends, misses friends, left home, came home, made mistakes, made myself proud, and always, every day, learned something and loved something.

People always get sentimental at this time of year and see the start of a new calendar as a chance to start over and suddenly be something else. But just the way I feel the same on my birthday as I do the day before it, I know I'll wake up tomorrow feeling the way I do today. I survived Y2K, I survived judgement day, I survived the apocalypse, and tomorrows have to remember to date things with a new year, but that's all that will be different.

Moving is a new start. A new job is a new start. Weird things make me feel like a real person in the real world, like having enough money to splurge on two-ply toilet paper, or being able to buy a friend a drink, or spending a night going ice skating because I have time for that now. I never expected those things. And that's life.

And, as always, Harry Potter forever. All was well.

First Night!

I'm in the apartment! Well, I'm sleeping on the floor, but I'm here! Until the last minute it looked like I'd have to wait until Saturday, so I bought nothing for living in an unfurnished apartment, but I'm here now. With work in the AM, so goodnight for now, from my new iPhone, Hedwig.

Rock You Like A Hurricane

Oh hi!


I don't know why that picture is so big.

Last we met, I was just telling you I was still alive after the hurricane. The hurricane was nothing to me, what followed in the next six weeks was the whirlwind of my life and why I've been so absent on the blog front. Let's see how succinctly I can do this.

October 29: Hurricane. MTA shut down.
October 30: MTA still shut down.
October 31: Halloween? Busses running, tried to take the bus to work, ended up walking because NYC cannot function without the subway. Worked all day. Took a cab home.

Began working 24/7 at Harry Potter, since Fuerza Bruta (at 15th street) didn't have power. As a result of working 24/7 at Harry Potter, I became the inventory/product manager. Welcome to a full time job.

So picture November: 40+ hours a week at Harry Potter, 10+ hours a week at Fuerza Bruta, 15+ hours a week stage managing a show at NYU, church (Sunday school) on Sundays, and stage combat (assisting with unarmed and learning broadsword) on Thursdays.

Still I will say this, now that it is mid-December and the show I stage managed is over and as of today stage combat is finished for the semester: real life still isn't as taxing as theatre school was.

Life is awesome. I have jobs I (mostly) love, the show went really well, the cast gave me roses. I passed my skills proficiency test in broadsword so that I'm certified in three weapons making me an actor-combatant. I going on dates! Now that less than 100% of my friends are theatre people, I'm meeting non-gay men, it's crazy. I went ice skating yesterday. :) And the biggest best news of all: ANNA AND I GOT AN APARTMENT! AND IT'S SO PRETTY, LOOK!

Exposed brick, pretty kitchen, an ELEVATOR!

Guys, Harry Potter paradise is about to be a reality. Get ready.

Tuesday I go to Florida, for a vacation, where I won't have to do homework, like a real vacation! I get to see my parents and my brother and my grandma and be in the sun and warm weather. Yay! And then I'll be in NYC for NYE for the first time ever, and sometime between Christmas and New Years, I'll move into the beautiful apartment!

I'm so happy. :) Hope you all have a lovely holiday season.

Post-Sandy Update

So a full "Adventures with Sandy" post will be coming in the near future, but for now:

I am grateful for:
The A train
Dunkin Donuts
My HPTE boss Michael
My three most competent co-workers, Matt, Alberto, and Jennifer
The deli that makes amazing salads on 43rd & 9th
My boss instructing me to take a cab home and paying for it
Zappos
My former professor, Bob, who has no power at his apartment but still feels really bad that I haven't been able to get my clothes that have been stored there
Employment
Too much employment
My roommates
Not needing a car
Running water
Electricity
Harry Potter
JK Rowling

Perhaps Hallows is the Theme of this Post

There is no theme to this post. A few random thoughts before bed:

My roommates are watching some Justin Bieber documentary type thing, which made me realize another thing I like about 80s rock concerts: I am the closest thing there is to a screaming 13-year-old girl. Thank God.

Tonight is Halloween in New York City. So was last night, and so will be tomorrow. Monday and Tuesday might be sort of calm, and then it will actually, according to the calendar, be Halloween on Wednesday. NYC will always start celebrating Halloween on Friday, even if it's in the middle of the week. Nay, especially if it's in the middle of the week.

And as it gets closer and closer to the 31st, it gets harder and harder to tell who is or is not in costume.

And I'm working pretty much all day, all six of those days. Maybe if it's allowed at Fuerza, I'll bring back my Ziggy Stardust facepaint from two years ago for the show.

Whenever someone holds the exit gate open for me at a subway station, or allows me to pass in front of them to exit a train or my building, it is always a surprise to me. But I like that, because then I don't take it for granted.

I now work in Times Square in addition to changing trains there on my way to or from Fuerza, so I spend a lot of time in the Times Square subway station. Tonight there was a full band of five or six people performing "Twist and Shout" with a crowd of about 50 people watching them, and there was so much joy in the subway station. It was awesome.

Today I got to spend an hour or two organizing wands at the Harry Potter exhibition. There were three display cases and about ten different wands, and I got to decide which ones went where, making both aesthetic (based on box color) and dramaturgical (based on Hogwarts house or series importance) choices about placement. I hope I can show you pictures at some point, because it was way too much fun setting up the store today.

One of my fellow ushers told me tonight about a place in Chinatown where she got a massage today. $30/45 minutes, $40/1 hour. I think both in celebration of and because of this new job, I might try to go tomorrow in between rehearsal and Fuerza before my lower back craps out completely at 22.

Speaking Of...

In conjunction with last night's post, these are my activities for the day:

1. Watch last night's Daily Show and Colbert Report while drinking coffee. (unrelated)
2. Read about the new Rolling Stones single being released tomorrow.
3. Read a list of the Top 10 KISS songs of the 1970s (slow news day, apparently).
4. Discover there was a movie made in 1999 called Detroit Rock City about a KISS cover band: find movie online, prepare to watch said movie.
5. But first, apply to work at Harry Potter: the Exhibition when it returns to NYC November 1st. I may never have been so qualified for a job in my life. And by that I mean I hope my Harry Potter knowledge and enthusiasm makes up for my severe lack of retail experience.
6. Watch Detroit Rock City.
7. Read The Casual Vacancy by JK Rowling, because I'm way behind since I won't take it out of the house. I don't want anything to happen to it.
8. Go to work at Fuerza.
9. Buy groceries at Trader Joe's
10. Come home, read some more, go to bed.

AWESOME DAY. This is what my days should always be like.

Nostalgia?

This post probably isn't going where you think it's going.

I was chatting with a friend of mine today and he called the rock shows that I go to "nostalgia concerts." (It should be mentioned he was born in 1976.) So I thought about that label, because clearly for me, going to an 80s rock concert is not motivated by nostalgia, since I was never alive in the 80s, unless you're using the conservative definition of "life." Which I'm not. But I get the idea that for people who are somewhere between 15 and 25 years older than me, that may be exactly what such an event is. There are definitely guys in their late 30s, early 40s (or older) at these shows who want to relive their teens and 20s, and they bring their kids who are now like eight or twelve, and the whole family paints their faces with KISS make-up. Or they bring their girlfriends and get really drunk but pay very little attention to the music, and occasionally stare at me, because my presence is inexplicable to them. This is understandable since the demographic at these shows is usually 35-50 (and 5-12), and also heavily male-leaning, but there was a guy a row in front of me in Hartford who turned around every half hour or so not in a lecherous way, but with a look of confusion and/or amusement on his face. Out of the tens of thousands of people at the concert, I saw less than a dozen who were within ten years of my age by the look of it.

So maybe for those people it is about wanting to relive "the good old days" (although I've heard they weren't so good). But for me, this is about going to hear the music I like and see the bands I like now. I'm trying to think of bands/artists formed in the last 10-15 years I'd pay money to see live (which is a much more specific thing than "contemporary artists I vaguely like).

I've been thinking for a couple minutes now and the only thing that came to mind was maybe Maroon 5, maybe, and I guess technically I did sort of see them live at Ravinia last summer, but we couldn't actually see them. And that was before "Moves Like Jagger" came out, so really it doesn't count.

Maybe Pink, since she's still around, I imagine it'd be interesting, although I don't really know her music anymore.

Anyway you get where I'm going with this. I'd rather see Elton John, Led Zeppelin (please get back together (they won't)), Bruce Springsteen (I know, I know, I missed it), the Rolling Stones (God I hope they do that show they have rumored to be planning in Brooklyn), et cetera.

The point, really, I think, is that I don't believe the bands are doing this out of nostalgia for earlier decades. I can't imagine Mötley wants to go back to the 80's. They probably couldn't survive them a second time. This is still about making new music. KISS's new album, Monster, came out last week. While the review I read said the songs probably won't make it past the tour supporting the album, I think the single is as good as any of their stuff from the 70s, and they've got to keep making new music.

I keep thinking about what it must be like to still be constantly performing songs written thirty or more years ago. In some interview I read, Nikki Sixx mentioned that when they brought Vince Neil in to sing for the first time, he sang "Live Wire," and they knew that he was it. And he said they've played that song at every single gig ever since. That's 31 years of playing that song (give or take some years in the 90s when they were all fighting or in rehab). I've tried really hard, but it's rather difficult at age 22 to imagine what it's like to keep performing something for a longer time than I've been alive. But maybe I've in some ways talked myself out of my own point because they're playing those songs from thirty years ago because that's what the fans want to hear. KISS was extremely prolific for a decade so their catalogue is extensive and I don't know it as well, but I know Mötley has nine studio albums, and I know they only play material at their shows off of the (five) releases from the 80s and their most recent album from 2008. There are three albums (1994's Mötley Crüe, 1997's Generation Swine, and 2000's New Tattoo) that are completely ignored. Their eponymous album was never that popular because it's the one that doesn't feature Vince Neil on vocals, and Generation Swine is just not very good, but the only explanation for New Tattoo being overlooked is that it lands in the middle ground between the classics and their newest material. I think Saints of Los Angeles (2008) is as good as 1989's Dr. Feelgood, but it will be interesting to see when their new album comes out in 2013 if they will continue to tour with material from Saints.

This analysis is a much longer breakdown of a pretty brief topic of conversation, but that evolved into a discussion of Harry Potter and the generational need for something that teaches us that it won't be easy but if we fight for what we believe in, things will be okay. For my friend, as representative of gen X, that was Star Wars. Clearly for 90s babies (I abhor the label "millennials") it was Harry Potter. And now I wonder if I will be the equivalent of those middle-aged guys at Crüe concerts, reliving my childhood at conventions or comic con (I probably won't go to comic con). And I wonder if there will be those two or three random kids who are 20 years younger than me, and if I'll be totally baffled by their presence.

As I've said before (though maybe not on this blog), Harry Potter will never be for another generation what it was for mine, because they won't have to wait. I was ten when Goblet of Fire came out, but thirteen by the time Order of the Phoenix was released (since JK Rowling went off and got married and had a baby, like that was more important, in those three years). Yeah try telling a ten-year-old now that they have to wait three years to read the next book in a series. No way. Not now that it exists. There will be no waiting, no speculation, no midnight release parties, no early-days-of-the-internet community bonding. The anticipation, the theorizing, the community built up around those things, cannot be recreated, and that makes me feel awfully lucky to have been a part of it. There's a really wonderful book called Harry, A History I read a few summers ago that catalogues this experience and I guess for kids to read that will kind of be what they get to understand, the way I read band autobiographies to vicariously live through the pages into the 80s.

I can watch youtube videos of concerts, and read books by Nikki Sixx and Gene Simmons and get some idea of the 80s, but I can't live it. So it's not nostalgia. Audiences now aren't like they were in the 80s, tickets are expensive and the people with the most money (or the fanciest friends!) sit in the front instead of the people who care the most fighting to the front like in the days of general admission. (At the Rock and Roll hall of fame I saw a ticket for a KISS show in 1975 that cost $6 for general admission at the door.) So what this "scene" was in the 80s and was for that audience in the 80s isn't what it is for me in the 21st century. Just like Harry Potter won't be for kids now (because it's been fifteen years almost already) what it was for me in 1998. But that doesn't mean that either thing is any less amazing, or won't continue to serve a purpose.

Maybe this is a weird parallel to draw. It's probably one no one else would put together, but it makes perfect sense to me. Cultural phenomenons evolve. Their place in society changes. And that's kind of weird, and realizing I'm getting to the point where things that are quintessential to my childhood are becoming something people would call "nostalgic" is kind of freaky, but it's okay. I said my childhood ended when the last movie came out ("It all ends 7.15.11") and I was only sort of but not really joking. So I guess now I like Harry Potter as an adult?

We end with Harry Potter, so maybe this did go where you were thinking. Whatever I'm gonna live with Anna and if we get an apartment like the ones I've been looking at it will have a fireplace that probably doesn't work that we will turn into a Harry Potter puppet castle. And I will play the metal version of the theme song all the time. So, just, you know, know what to expect when you come over.

Hartford, Rock City (Again, I Know)

I have to talk about glam rock again. Because I saw Mötley Crüe. Again.

Most of you probably know - or maybe you don't, it was very last minute - that I went to see the final stop of THE TOUR in Hartford last Sunday (the 23rd, not the 30th). I didn't talk about it a ton because I wasn't sure I was going until I bought my bus tickets at 9:30 that morning.

Here's what happened, and I promise this is all leading somewhere philosophical, not just to another concert play-by-play, although there will be some of that, too. This one was special. Anyway. I don't think I ever mentioned this on the blog in the context of the last Crüe show I was at, but this guy, Tom Zutaut, went to my high school. Yes, my little high school back in Park Forest, some 35 or so years before I did. I discovered this while reading Mötley's 2001 autobiography The Dirt in the summer of 2011 because Tom Zutaut was the A&R (I have never known what that means) man for Elektra records in the 80s and signed the band to their first record deal in 1982 when he was about my age. Being the thorough fan that I am, I looked him up, found him on facebook, and just asked if he really indeed went to my high school. (He hadn't said the name, just the town and state, but there's only ever been one high school in my town.) He responded, friend requested me, and we got to chatting over the next several months.

Fast forward to this summer. I intended to see The Tour while I was home, on September 7th. However tickets were crazy expensive (just a lawn seat - meaning a space on the grass - cost about $45). I just couldn't afford it. My plan was to win tickets. I entered every contest. I analyzed the tweets and habits of Tommy Lee, the drummer, because he was hiding tickets in every city they stopped in, which usually included VIP passes meaning a trip backstage to meet the band. I didn't win any contests, so on September 7th, my mom and I went on a stakeout of the venue, waiting for Tommy Lee to tweet his first "Crüe Clüe" to find the passes. But none came, nor was there an explanation of why he suddenly didn't hide them (although I later deduced it was because of the weather, which was his excuse at a later stop on the tour).

So no tickets for me, no Crüe/KISS extravaganza. I was more than a little disappointed, although kudos to my mom for sticking out for hours with me to help me try to go to the show. I figured I could always try again at one of the later stops in the NYC area - they weren't playing in the city at all but had shows near Newark, on Long Island, and in Hartford, Connecticut. You see where this is going. Or do you?

Re-enter Tom Zutaut. I texted him as we were driving away from the venue, saying how disappointed I was about not going to the show. He said he could call and get me tickets, my mom could come too if she wanted. I said thanks, but we were almost home, and the show had already started, so it felt too late. Then he mentioned he would probably be at the shows in Boston and Hartford and I could go to one of those if I wanted, since I had said I'd be back in New York soon.

I said I could get to Hartford (2 1/2 hours by bus). He said he'd get back to me after he'd made his travel plans. Two weeks went by. He ended up being stuck in Kansas City for work. But he said he'd call in a ticket for me if I was going to go. I got very skeptical (I always had been a little bit; I've still never actually met this guy), having that feeling that I think every girl my age in my generation has, being wary of nice men we meet on the internet. But something told me to say yes. So I did. That was Saturday night.

Sunday morning, I bought the bus tickets. I went to church, taught Sunday school, met up with a friend who printed the bus tickets at NYU for me, and then went to Port Authority to head to Hartford. I got there, made my way to the theatre, and went to will call. My ticket wasn't at a regular window. I was redirected to the VIP Guest Services Guest List window. I had a free ticket and a wristband for a photo with KISS. My roundtrip bus cost me the price of a lawn seat, and now I was in row N of the lower pavilion with a ticket to meet KISS and, soon, an all access backstage pass that is now my prized possession. (This is all also thanks to Doc McGhee, the former manager of Mötley, Tom's friend, and now manager for KISS. Imagine that guy's life. And he also went to high school near me.)

What I originally wanted to talk about though was glam rock itself. The music, the stage show, the aesthetic, the attitude. KISS was a pioneer in their form. No one has done quite what they've done, become a franchise and a brand the way they have. Gene Simmons I believe is a businessman before he is a musician or an artist. He might even say that himself. I read his autobiography (also written in 2001), Kiss and Make-Up this summer while I was home, and he's certainly proud of his head for business and refers to KISS as a business. He wants to be rich, he wants to be successful, he wants KISS to be influential not just in a musical sense but in a cultural sense. And as early as the mid- to late-seventies KISS was creating stage shows like no one had ever seen before. The pyro, Gene's fire breathing during "Firehouse," Paul Stanley flying out over the audience, raising platforms, pyrotechnics, moving lights, moving trusses full of lights, projections, etc. That technology has continued to develop into the current century - next year will be KISS' 40th anniversary as a band, if you ignore the fact that two of the original members, though still alive, were kicked out of the band long ago. (You'd never know it though if you didn't do your research; Eric Singer and Tommy Thayer adopted the make-up and personas of Peter Criss and Ace Frehley respectively.)

Similarly, hugely influenced by KISS themselves, Mötley Crüe has pushed the boundaries of the live rock show in artistic ways. (That was the most academic sounding transition sentence I have written in a long time. Wow.) I still think, having now seen The New York Dolls, Poison, Steel Panther, Def Leppard, and KISS, that Mötley puts on the best live show out there. This time things were a little different from the last two times I saw them (the second being kind of a European leg of the summer tour, I think, at least concept-wise). The stage show was new, the set list was a bit different. There was a countdown clock projected on the screen, with a deafening ticking noise that built palpable anticipation (all the more impressive when you then saw how unenthusiastic so much of the crowd was). They opened with a huge processional of hooded figures that came through the audience with banners. The show itself had tons of pyro, fire, power washers spraying the audience with water, Nikki Sixx's guitar shooting fire, Tommy Lee's 360 drum coaster of course, lasers (which were, admittedly, kinda lame), and constant, relentless, media, which, though perhaps the newest technology in many ways, is kind of the least interesting part of their design.

My point (and I do have one) is this. Nothing gets my heart pounding, gives me a rush, gets me so fully involved and passionate about what is happening on stage as these rock concerts. And yes, I like the music, and yes I've read all their books and know weird things about them I have no reason to know, and I follow these people on twitter even though I still think twitter is stupid and I only got an account in the first place because Nikki Sixx tweeted during their show when I first saw them in St. Louis in June of 2011. But the shows, the full-on design of these theatrical events, of the lighting and the costumes and the sets to combine with the music, is unlike anything I've seen anywhere. I get a little bit of that feeling from American Idiot on Broadway. But that was a rock musical and the lights were designed by Kevin Adams who does a lot of rock musicals and lights them like mini-rock shows.

There is this feeling when all the senses line up as part of the same experience. It's loud, and bright, and hot, and fast (is tempo a feeling? I think so...), and gritty, and powerful. I think I have said before that I love glam rock for being 100% what it is. For not apologizing for the make-up, the big hair even now, the sexuality, the desire for more than the mundane. And in so many ways this is all over-analyzing, because as many of the artists of the 80s will say outright, glam rock wasn't about some deeper message, or the expression of rage or oppression. It was in a sense a rebellion to be sure, but mostly it was just a bunch of guys singing about what they liked - sex, drugs, and rock 'n' roll.

I just wonder why more theatre - or really any theatre - doesn't give me that same feeling. Is there more of a narrative and therefore more of an emotional journey in a play or a musical? Arguably, yes, of course. That's theoretically the point. And sure, I go see plays and have a lot of feelings, and sometimes they're very good, and provoke a lot of thoughts, too. But I just... I just want that rock show feeling more. It's never mattered to me that a domestic beer costs $11 at a concert, because I don't need it. I go to these shows by myself and have more fun than practically anywhere or anytime else, even when I'm with people.

How do you make that happen for theatre? It's a communal experience. But so is a rock concert, actually. In Hartford I was in this section with a bunch of other people who had KISS VIP wristbands and during Mötley's set they were all just standing around. I am obviously a bigger fan of the Crüe than KISS, so I was having a great time, baffling all the middle-aged men around me, who never understand what a 20something girl is doing at an 80s rock concert, especially, I think, without a middle-aged man as my escort. Anyway there were these two other women, probably in their late thirties, a couple rows in front of me, who were the only other people in the vicinity who also seemed to actually be having a good time during the set. They caught my eye occasionally when turning to the side or something and we would acknowledge each other, part of an unspoken clan, the Crüe crew, the people who were actually engaging with the monstrous stage action while everyone else stood around and drank. There was also the community walking to the theatre, as people who had parked far away walked too, and various people complimented each other on their band t-shirts, cars blasted KISS out their windows, it was very communal. Kind of a massive tailgating parade, as it were, on the way to the arena. So the communal aspect isn't it.

Is it subtlety? Maybe it's subtlety. There is absolutely nothing subtle about a rock show. Both bands played their one new single from their upcoming albums on this tour along with the classics from decades ago - KISS' is entitled "Hell or Halleluja," Mötley's, simply, "Sex." Like I said. Not subtle. The chorus includes the line "It's all about the sex," which was the not-really-unspoken moral of most of their other songs, but now they've really literally just said it.

I don't know. It's something I seriously think about a lot. It matters to me, that feeling, rock music, theatre, how to blend them when I don't actually know a damn thing about writing music or music theory. But figuring it out is becoming my conscious self-education now that I'm out of school.

I still think I was born 25 years too late.

BEST. THING. EVER.

Mötley has my artistic heart.

There's me, and there's everybody else.

Thank you for this, KISS.

Gypsyhood

Here's the facts. Since I moved into my first dorm on Third Avenue in late August of 2008, I've moved a total of twelve times. Twelve times in four years. Five of those times were in the last year, thanks to that time when I moved to Spain for a bit.

Post-grad as I've mentioned, I've become a bit of - okay quite - a gypsy. I haven't lived in the same place for more than four months since late mid-2011. After four months in Madrid, I was home for a month, then in an NYU dorm for four months, then in Europe for two weeks, then in New Jersey for a week, then in a sublet on Roosevelt Island for six weeks, then home for six weeks, then couch surfing in Brooklyn for two weeks, and now I'm living in Harlem for three months.

WHY?

It's a valid question. I've had older friends tell me that everyone goes through a kind of gypsy period after graduation. I responded to one friend, yeah but I'm doing it more than everybody else. But I tend to think I do most things I do with a more-ness compared to most people. In any case, the people I know that have moved frequently after graduation still aren't moving this often. Theirs is more a case of, "Brooklyn is too far, I want to move back to Manhattan," or "Manhattan is too expensive, screw this I'm moving to Brooklyn." My year of living out of suitcases has not been that. Actually I've found it kind of interesting to live in different parts of the city, particularly Roosevelt Island since I know a total of three people who've lived there (and I've now lived with two of them).

I didn't lease an apartment after graduation because in February of this year I went to visit my cosmic twin (really, we're the same person) in Philadelphia where he now lives with his boyfriend. I found out while I was there that they were planning to move to NYC and was offered the other bedroom in this hypothetical apartment. I'd always hoped my friend would move back to the city and we'd live together, so I was thrilled. As the spring wore on, the hypothetical moving date kept floating further away. So over the summer, I subletted and then spent some time at home, hoping the boys would figure things out. In the meantime I ended up subletting this place in Harlem where I am now. I just didn't want to buy furniture and sign a lease just to have to ultimately move that furniture and either find a subletter myself of have to wait to move into the apartment with my friends.

So I took on a gypsy life, drifting from neighborhood to neighborhood, sublet to sublet, suitcases in hand on trains and busses all over the city. As I well-documented, I spent my time at home ruthlessly getting rid of anything I could to make ultimately hauling my possessions across country easier. I don't know what size my future apartment will be, but my stuff ought to fit. I believe it would fit into this bedroom I'm in now, and it's not that big.

All this is to say I had an impromptu lunch with my friend today who happened to be in the city for an audition, and he told me he's going to be performing a cruise for essentially the next year. What that means for me, as I was already coming to discern, is that I'm not going to be living with him anytime in the near future. The new roommate search is on.

My first thought was my friend Anna who is currently studying abroad in Madrid just as I did last year. Frequently when kids come back from abroad studies they move into apartments instead of back into NYU housing. (This is much cheaper for essentially anyone who isn't me, who had her housing paid for by a scholarship.) As it turns out, Anna is in the market for a roommate herself as her housing plans seem to have fallen through too, so it looks like I've already hopefully solved half the battle. Anna is quite possibly the only person I've ever met who I would dare to say is as big of a Harry Potter fan as I am. She's two years younger than me and a Playwrights student, and we started talking on facebook the summer before she came to NYU because we both had Potter pictures in honor of the coming film (Half-Blood Prince at the time). I remember in one of our first conversations we analysed the latest production stills that had just been released in the nerdiest possible detail. I know I have friends that would have done that with me when we were twelve, but I don't know about at age twenty.

This is far in the future, as we won't live together until January, and we just started talking about this within the last 24 hours, but I'm excited. It's going to be the best. Have no delusions about what you will walk into if you visit our apartment. Let me give you only this picture: In our "about me" sections on facebook (or "acerca de mí" because our facebooks are in Spanish), I have "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." Anna has "Nitwit. Blubber. Oddment. Tweak."

Friendships have been built on far less.

As Anna and I were talking, I said "I guess I've been a gypsy for no reason," but then amended it to add "Or at least not the reason I thought," which is really the truth. I can see now, on what is probably (hopefully?) the tail-end of my gypsydom (I'm not sure there's a noun for it) that even though I thought I was wandering New York for the sake of my friends, I have of course been wandering New York (and the world, really) for the sake of myself. This blog started because I went to Madrid, and I went to Madrid because I was determined to broaden my experience of the world and gain greater perspective about humanity. That happened. But it continued when I came back to New York and kept living out of suitcases for another year. As I've said before, I've learned a lot about who I am, what I need and don't need, what I value, what I can let go of, who cares about me, what matters. Who are you without all your stuff? You're still you. You really are. I really am.

So, you know, it seemed crazy, it still kind of seems crazy, that I've had no real permanent address for ages, that I've had to have mail sent to Illinois constantly even though I've spent cumulatively about a year there in the last three, but it's okay. I don't think I would trade it to have had an apartment back in May. Yes, I am absolutely excited to buy a bed and have a room I get to decorate myself (which will still include Harry Potter posters, of course) and having keys I get to keep and being able to give people an address that I'm going to still be at in more than three months time. One day, I will actually change my residency to New York, but apparently that will only be after I've already lived there for five years.

All I'm really saying is I still believe everything happens for a reason, even if it isn't always the reason we expect. That's life.

This Post Is Really About My Harry Potter Collection

So I'm home now, and I'm dutifully going through all the crap in my room to get rid of stuff per my earlier manifesto and my mother's requests. This post is sort of about cleaning/organizing, sort of about moving, sort of about living like a gypsy, sort of about priorities, and mostly about my absurd collection of Harry Potter knicknacks and utterly useless memerobilia. (I can't spell either of those words.)

The goal is to reduce my possessions to the amount of stuff that will fit in my future New York apartment. It's remarkable how much stuff I managed to cram into my desk and under my bed in high school. I don't think the Mary Poppins carpet bag was not such an imaginative thing anymore. My whole room is like that.

Essentially I'm doing half of the moving process right now. Getting rid of the stuff I don't want to haul across the country, that won't fit in my new place anyway. I started this blog post about six weeks ago and never really got back to it because I've been hard at work slimming down my life. I've found a lot of crazy things.

I donated five bags of clothes within three days of getting home. I've probably recycled my weight in paper. Every day I find at least one thing to throw in the donation bag. There's now an empty dresser in my room, space to hang things in my closet. Half of the space under my bed is empty, and the rest of it is pretty much filled with books that I cleared off of my bookshelves at my mom's request. I tossed out awards and made room on my shelves for pictures of people I care about and some art. But the big thing, as I said, is the Harry Potter stuff.

Harry Potter things I have that probably no one else has:

1. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets "art coloring book" completely uncolored.
2. Harry Potter "reaching for the golden snitch" computer accessory. It's a figuring of him that can sit on a computer monitor. I don't have a computer monitor. And this is pre-movies, so it doesn't even look like Daniel Radcliffe.
3. A Hermione Granger figurine sitting on top of a potions book that has a "secret pull-out drawer" to store all my secret treasures that fit in a 2x3 inch box.
4. Hallmark "keepsake ornament" - Hermione Granger's trunk, which inexplicably includes broomstick and cane charms to put inside in addition to a potions bottle, time turner, and book.
5. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone movie poster
6. Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban movie poster (with Good Charlotte on the back?)
7. Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone movie poster book
8. Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets movie poster book
9. A sign that I made on the computer that says "Welcome to the chamber of Emma the Harry Potter Queen, Enjoy your stay!" (I went by Emma in sixth grade, didn't you know?)
10. A whole bunch of individual pages pulled from a magazine with pictures of the Harry Potter characters on them
11. Harry Potter postcards, formerly collected into a book.
12. A laminated page from the Chicago Tribune Sunday, November 5, 2000 with a color ad for the Harry Potter windows at Marshall Field's.
13. 2 little containers that each have three "collector stones" which are just little one inch long colored bits of plastic.
14. A page torn out of an April, 2003 issue of People magazine, announcing the birth of JK Rowling's son, David Gordon (Rowling Murray), her first with Neil Murray, husband of one year, and the reason there was a three year gap between Goblet of Fire and Order of the Phoenix.
15. Giant Hogwarts poster.
16. Two (one laminated) Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows posters from Borders.
17. Harry Potter analog wall clock (pre-movies)
18. Two pencil cases that may not be from America. They seem to have German writing on them.
19. 2003 and 2004 desk calendars
20. Harry Potter "big sticker book" - two of them, bumper sticker size
21. Temporary tattoo kit with purple(?) ink. Two different sets.
22. Stickers with house flags, other random stickers
23. An unopened set of 8 Chamber of Secrets invitations. Definitely keeping those for my next birthday party.

I've had a lot of that stuff since the late 90s, before the movies came out. But what I've realized is two things. The longer you hang onto something, the more valuable it seems to become, even if you didn't really care about it in the first place. "I've had this since I was five years old!" Yes, but do you still need it, or does it just get put back in a corner of the closet each time you clean it out? That's why I tossed out so much stuff from high school and college when I got home - to get rid of it before it can become stuff I've had forever. "I've hung onto it this long, I should keep it!" Nope.

The other thing I've come to really believe, particularly through a year of living with maybe a quarter of my possessions is that so much of the "stuff" we have is just objects to affirm who we are. I have kept all this Harry Potter stuff all these years not because I actually use it, but because it's proof that I'm the huge Potter fan that I am. But I know (as does anyone who's spent more than five minutes with me) how important Potter is in my life, what a big fan I am. I don't need stuff to prove that. Just like I didn't need the stack of awards I've accumulated over my school career to prove I'm smart, so I threw most of them away.

Today, numbers 1, 5, 6, 7, 8, 10, 11, 15, half of 16, and 17 went out the door. They're going to the nine-year-old son of a former teacher of mine who saw my declaration on facebook that I didn't need this stuff anymore. For the first time in my life, I GOT RID OF HARRY POTTER MEMEROBILIA. Maybe I'm growing up, but the eight-year-old Harry Potter fan in me hasn't gone anywhere; she's just got a little more space under her bed.

Democalypse 2012

Was politics ever about proving oneself right rather than proving someone else wrong? I have to imagine it was... I don't want to vote for someone just because s/he proved the other guy is an idiot. But what has our political system become? A lot of very expensive mudslinging.

As a reluctant member of the "millennial" generation, I can't help but think about the fundamental flaws in our economy. Never mind the Depression-era unemployment rates, the housing market collapse (have you seen the documentary Inside Job? It's infuriating.), the skyrocketing costs of education. We've all talked these things to death. My NYU education cost approximately a quarter of a million dollars. I don't know how much more I can talk about it. So now, my friends and I all have these degrees that cost about as much as a presidential campaign, but are guaranteed jobs? No. The jobs we would normally get right out of school are taken by the laid-off, who have more experience than the recently-graduated. We're expected to take unpaid internships to gain real world chops before we can hope to get a decent job. But how does one take a full-time unpaid internship and still, you know, make money?

This article has been spreading across my facebook network like wildfire, the worries and desperations of the millennial generation that seems to be guaranteed nothing but hard work, and even the hard work is only if you can find it. The jobs aren't out there, and neither is the money.

Yet there's money coming from somewhere - what about the millions of dollars spent on political campaigns? Remember the 2008 election? Remember how the race to the White House started mid-2007 with about ten candidates on each side? Well nine of those on each side raised tons of money to run a race they wouldn't even finish, let alone win. This year, Rick Santorum (don't get me started) kept running looong after it was clear he would never get the Republican nomination. It seemed to be a matter of pride - sticking it out because he said he would, continuing to accept campaign donations and run pointless ads and pay for air time to say utterly ridiculous things. And he's not the only one. All the politicians do it.

Look, I recognize that part of the democratic process is allowing anyone who meets the legal requirements for candidacy to run. Choice is good, we like to believe. And I like getting to vote. I do. Maybe this is a quintessential #firstworldproblems rant, but I think it's a huge problem: running for political office is expensive. And people with more money do have better chances. But why do we have to spend all this money on political campaigns?

Want to get elected president? Instead of having people donate money to your campaign or your super PAC, why not have people donate that same money to a fund to provide scholarships for kids to go to college? I know a lot of people who'd vote for that guy.

I know I'm oversimplifying things, but it's something that's bothered me for years. During each presidential election, a dozen or so people spend millions of dollars - each - on not getting elected. And that's true for other elections too. These politicians spend all this money not even to make themselves look good but often to make their opponents look bad, and they run these ads on television even though no one watches commercials anymore. And the secret is they could do all their mudslinging campaigns on facebook for a lot less money and people might actually see them rather than just fast forwarding the commercials on their DVR.

Okay make a jump with me. Enjoy a little music - I've been listening to this song a lot lately and it's what prompted this particular post now, of all times.

There are so many problems in our country (not to mention everywhere else) that it just seems ridiculous to me to be spending hundreds of millions of dollars on an argument. Oh, and don't we have unheard of amounts of debt? Good, let's just keep maxing out our political credit cards instead of fixing New Orleans or sending people to college or restoring the American auto industry.

Oh my God, this is insane.
How'd it get like this or has it always been this way?
Oh my God, I'm so ashamed.
And we try to close our eyes and make this go away.

Morning Musings (An Organizational Rant)

It's been so hot I've had a hard time sleeping lately. I woke up around 5 am this morning and saw golden light on my walls coming from the window, and I looked out and saw this. I don't think I've ever been so happy to see 5 am.

 

Look at it reflecting off the river!

So anyway, living in this unairconiditioned box, in combination with essentially living for an additional seven weeks out of the suitcase I packed for two weeks, has got me thinking a lot about things I need and things I don't. Apparently I can get by without air conditioning. I guess I can also get by without solid nights of sleep (at least so far). Yes, I've been wearing the same six shirts for the last month and a half. And yes, the only three pairs of pants I've had to wear basically since I left for Spain in August really do need replacing now; they get worn out a lot faster when you have less options. And not a day has gone by that I have not rued sending my other pair of shorts home, thinking, "I don't need two pairs of shorts for two weeks in Europe." My God I need to buy another pair of shorts. But apparently I don't need a lot of the clothes I know I've got sitting in drawers at home. And I don't know what all that stuff in my desk is that I haven't really seen since last summer, but I hope that when I get home I will remember I got by without it for a year and probably don't need it anymore.

I'm sure some of this attitude comes from my mom, the home organizer. And some of it comes from being a type-A neat freak (thanks for that, too, Mom), but I've still always had a lot of stuff. It's just been well-organized stuff. And now I don't want so much of it. Some things have been a little complicated since I ended up with an unexpected six weeks in New York, but mostly things are a lot simpler with only a carry on's worth of belongings. Now, don't get too excited Mom, I think part of why I'm so comfortable in this room I'm living in is because it has two bookcases packed to the gills with books, and though I go through my collection once or twice a year and always find a couple things to toss, we all know I have a harder time parting with books than with anything else.

Do you know how weird it is to be reading library copies of Harry Potter books? This may be a first.

I really am trying to think of what all the stuff in my very full room is. I have fifteen years of dance costumes in my closet, most of which I'm going to get rid of. I'm trying to sell my American Girl dolls that I have held onto for ten years even though I only ever wanted one (which I bought myself) so that I could do its hair. I finally decided to try to sell my flute that I played in junior high and then only a handful of times in the seven years since. Before I started college I condensed all my grade school crap into a single cardboard box.

There is a nagging feeling growing inside me that a lot of the random things cluttering my room are bits of my collection of Harry Potter memorabilia, which I can say from 800 miles away I won't part with. I mean, my eighteen Harry Potter books alone (not counting Tales of Beedle the Bard or Quidditch Through the Ages/Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them) take up plenty of space. And space, if you didn't know, is something of a scorching commodity in New York. It's a hotter than this weather we've been having, and that's saying something.

So, we've established Potter is important. My photos and scrapbooks are important. Minimal clothing is important. The books stay. But eventually I've got to haul all this stuff across half the country, so most of the rest of it has got to go. (I can already feel this whole thing coming back to haunt me in a few weeks when I get home.)

Join me, friends! You know you've got a drawer where you throw the junk you don't know what to do with and plan to go through "at some point." Which is never. Believe it or not, I have one of those drawers. I do. And the only thing I can promise you is in it is some Harry Potter calendars from 2002. (I'm not kidding.) Don't think of it as summer cleaning, think of it as lightening up your life! Even in Europe I got tired of lugging the suitcase around. I think I wore all but two things that I had packed, and yet I still didn't want to be dragging around as much stuff as I had. So I definitely want to get rid of the excess in my life before I have to pack it into the back of an SUV and probably inevitably haul it up a narrow staircase while my mom reminds me this is the fourth time she's helped me move into a New York apartment.

And I promise you don't need all those school papers you're keeping. Just stop it. It's taking up so much space, and it's utterly useless. I gave my brother my calculus notes years ago and threw the rest away, with the exception of things I wrote. And don't keep those readings you never read that you think you will later because you want to be well-read and intellectual. Maybe that was just something I did but we'll pretend it's not. You haven't read them yet. You're not going to. And if it was given to you to read in a class, I would bet you could find it in a book or maybe even on the internet if you're suddenly possessed with the urge to read The Prince or something.

I care about skylines and pink heavens at five am and having a comfortable bed and being surrounded by books. And I care way more about my family and friends than anything. And, okay, I take an unreasonable amount of pride in the absurdity of my collection of utterly useless Harry Potter things. But part of what studying abroad did, and graduating did, and living on my own with all this free time has done, is help me figure out who I am, at least for now, and I am not all that stuff. Because I've been me for the last ten months without it. Out with the old. In with (less) new.

And the best thing about that sky? It takes up all the space in the world, but no space at all in my room. :)

The "I Just Got Out of Theatre School and Don't Understand Free Time" Guide to Avoiding Boredom

And what does a recently-graduated, barely-employed, almost-resident of New York City do with herself? (Anybody who knows me keeps asking me what on earth I'm doing with myself all day.) Thusly I present to you:

The "I Just Got Out of Theatre School and Don't Understand Free Time" Guide to Avoiding Boredom

1. First of all don't you dare be bored in NYC. People are only bored if they're boring. Don't be boring.
2. When was the last time you read Harry Potter? It wasn't recently enough. (I read the whole series every June, NO SHAME.)
3. Go see FREE outdoor theatre. The New York Times kindly posted this article with a list of tons of free theatre to see this summer. You could see a show or two a week all summer without paying a dime. I'm personally looking forward to the Pearl Jam Hamlet that will hopefully be a spectacular disaster.
4. Write a play! Try it. It's a great thing to do by yourself. David Bowie just showed up in my play. I think he's the fairy godmother.
5. Try to "tan" in a park. Lots of parks. Read Harry Potter in the park. There are so many parks. New parts of the High Line are open! Go there! I did, today!
6. Make funny pandora stations. I found out that if I just add Motley Crue to my David Bowie station, pandora will basically play all of the music I would normally listen to, which maybe defeats the purpose of listening to pandora.
7. Remember that play you're writing? Does it require research? Probably! I'm obsessed with Cold War Berlin so my play is set in Berlin in 1975. I'm pretty sure reading Your Pretty Face is Going to Hell: The Dangerous Glitter of David Bowie, Iggy Pop, and Lou Reed counts as research since Bowie was in Berlin then and he's in my play. But I'm reading In the Garden of Beasts by Erik Larson, too.
8. Learn a new language! I'm learning French for free using Duo Lingo. I'm also keeping up my Spanish skills that way. Woo. Too bad they haven't taught me how to say "I am learning French" in French. Um... Estoy aprendiendo francais! Culture.
9. Jump on any random money-making opportunity, such as being one of approximately three women working at a gay pride party attended by no less than 1,000 gay men and a few women. (Yes, I did that. It was hilarious.)
10. You still haven't gotten hooked on Mad Men and Breaking Bad yet? Get on that. They're on netflix. Yes, fine, you can rewatch all of Weeds first. The new season does start July 1...
11. Write in a blog a lot. Oh and make a list of the things you do so you can feel accomplished and share it with other people.

That covers most of it... Plus working sometimes, hanging out with friends sometimes, talking to my family sometimes. And, you know, reestablishing my credit cards and bank account nonsense. Having access to cash is nice. Depositing checks is nice.

Oh and obsessively checking the weather to strategically open and close my windows in my non-air-conditioned apartment. You didn't like that mid-90s high-humidity last week? Yeah try doing it without air conditioning. Uh huh.

Gonna go back to Prisoner of Azkaban now. :)

Stepford Island

So then what happened?

Did I tell you that the day after I got to London my friend introduced me to a friend of hers who was looking for a subletter? Did I even mention that when I was packing during graduation week I had to sort my things into stuff staying in NYC, stuff going home, stuff going to Europe, and stuff going to New Jersey? Yeah, that's right. Try sorting your belongings into four locations while graduating from college and trying to host your family and preparing for two weeks of travel.

Aaaanyway. So I skyped with this girl from Kerry's apartment and it seemed like a good deal - the place was in Astoria, with other theatre people, and since she was leaving all her stuff, she was only going to charge me half of her rent, making the place really cheap, and the timing was right. Great!

We got back from Paris, left JFK, and began the ridiculous public transit trek (requiring two trains and a bus, not including the airtrain from the airport to the subway) and finally got to my new home for the next six weeks. We were looking forward to putting our stuff down, maybe showering, taking a nap. I was looking forward to not having to pack and unpack every few days for the next six weeks.

Suitcases hauled upstairs, unlocked the door, got inside. The place was filthy. I tried to be positive about it, but after sitting in the living room (on the trunk that they used as a coffee table, because I wouldn't sit on the couch), I decided I couldn't live there. I didn't want to be paying money to basically sit on a loft bed for six weeks. So Mom called my aunt in New Jersey, and we ran away via one more subway train and a NJ transit train.

Let's take a look at this picture: Lindsay has no driver's license, no debit card, no credit card, and no address to which to have new ones sent. Lindsay had already called to have a new debit card sent to the Astoria apartment, which she now has to cancel, since she doesn't think the roommates she abandoned are likely to want to send it to her, and she wouldn't know where to have it sent anyway. Yes, life feels like crap.

Mom changed her flight (for free, yay southwest!) so that she could stay and help me figure things out for a few days. I decided to try one more sublet option I remembered at the last minute and decided if that didn't work, I was giving up and going home to Chicago until further notice.

The sublet was on Roosevelt Island. Don't worry, no one knows where that is, I didn't either - it's a teeny island between Manhattan in the 60s and Queens, only two miles long and less than a quarter of a mile wide. The Queensboro Bridge goes right over it. I found this place thanks to a friend placing an ad in the Playwrights digest - our weekly-ish e-newsletter with announcements of performances, auditions, sublets, etc. She said "price negotiable," and I wrote her with the upper end of my budget, sure it was too low, since her place sounded so nice, but she said the people who had offered her more money were strangers, so I was in luck.

I was anxious to go look at it that day (Wednesday), but the timing didn't work. Turns out I couldn't really go until Saturday. So I spent the next couple days trying to relax in suburban New Jersey, hoping I'd be able to start putting things back in order over the weekend. I even got to see my nine-year-old cousin's third grade play about New Jersey. It was awesome. Friday night I was scheduled to work in the city, so I took the train in and then spent the night with friends in Brooklyn, since I didn't get off until 12:30.

Saturday morning I made my way to Roosevelt Island, which has a stop on the F train. (You learn something new every day). The apartment was great and the best part, to me, was the view of the Empire State and Chrysler Buildings from the living room window. It was a definite yes. We made plans for me to stay the next night, Sunday, with her leaving Monday, and then I left, the happiest I'd been in days.

In the afternoon I met up with my favorite NYU professor, Bob, who I sometimes have coffee with, and we had a celebratory brunch at Le Pain Quotidien, with mimosas, since we were feeling exuberant, I guess. We spent some time catching up on graduation and everything going on in his life - we can always talk for hours - and then went our separate ways as Bob was meeting guests later and had to get ready.

I then walked uptown to meet back up with my aunt, uncle, two cousins, and two of their friends. My other cousin was celebrating his twelfth birthday (even though his birthday is the day before mine) with an overnight in the city. My aunt has had an apartment in the Gramercy area for a long time, a place I have been fortunate enough to stay at on several NYC trips before moving here, and they were all staying in the city for the night.

We went to the spy exhibit at the discovery center in Times Square - God bless my aunt and uncle for chaperoning three twelve year olds and a nine year old in New York City - via subway. The adults thought the exhibit was really interesting, with lots of McCarthy-era technology, but it required far more reading than the boys were really interested in, so we moved through pretty quickly. With so much time to spare we went to Toys R Us and the boys rode the ferris wheel. I didn't even know there was a ferris wheel in Toys R Us, I'd never been in there. And I don't need to go again.

After Toys R Us we headed back down to Union Square - they to go to Max Brenner's for dinner, I to go to work just a few blocks away. After work I went back to the apartment, conveniently close, and then on Sunday morning we all went out for breakfast at Big Daddy's, one of their favorite places.

My plan then was to head out to Roosevelt Island (my suitcase having been brought in the car with everyone and stored in the apartment), but we realized the bag of all the toiletries I'd bought at a Target in NJ - much cheaper than anywhere in the city, of course - had been left back home. So we left my suitcase with the doorman and I rode with everyone back to New Jersey.

Then the rainstorm came. There was huge thunder and lightning, and I decided I didn't want to travel and lug my suitcase all over New York in that weather. So I contacted my friend, told her I'd meet her the next day to pick up the keys, and spent one more night - Tony night! - in New Jersey.

Late Monday morning I finally took one last train into the city. I met up with Ryann, my subletter, at Playwrights to get the keys, walked up to the apartment to pick up my suitcase, and then took two trains to get to my new home. Exhausted but happy, I unpacked, which took about five minutes, as I only had one suitcase, and then enjoyed staying in one place for a while.

The apartment is amazing, with a big kitchen and big living room. I have my own room, which I think is bigger than my bedroom at home, with a half bath attached. From my window I can see bits of Manhattan and Queens, as well as an outdoor theatre directly below me. There's a Shakespeare play going on there this month, and someone I know happens to be in it.

Roosevelt Island is weird though. It's like a small suburb in the middle of New York City. It has a tiny branch of the public library - the size of a one room school house and carrying exactly ZERO Harry Potter books. There is one school and one high school. There is a post office. There is a police station. There is a grocery store. There are I think two churches. There is a bus that goes around the island that costs 25 cents. There is a starbucks and a duane reade. There are two hospitals, a park, a baseball field, a basketball court, a youth center. There are a few restaurants, a thrift shop, things like that. Most of the people who live here are either young families or older people, because of the hospitals - lots of people in wheelchairs. So really. It's like a suburb but condensed into less than one square mile, so it's apartment buildings instead of houses. The apartments are nice but the buildings and the hallways are all very industrial. It's weird. It's beautiful, there's lots of trees and lots of water, but I think it's too quiet. I'm enjoying it for now, like a six week vacation, but I guess it's okay that I can't really afford to live here.

Still... I'll miss this view.

Fin (Days 15 & 16)

Our last day in Paris was a rainy one and we were pretty exhausted so we had already decided we would spend the day in the neighborhood. Both of us felt we'd done all we wanted to do in Paris for this trip, so we had a leisurely morning repacking and having breakfast, then walked around near the hostel. Le Village hostel is in an area with lots of fabric shops, which really interested Mom, so we spent some time looking at fabric and then went souvenir shopping.

Fortunately we really hadn't bought much more than postcards anywhere else (with a couple exceptions from the Harry Potter studio tour), so we knew how much space we had for extra stuff. We got a few presents for family and a few things for ourselves - I hadn't bought anything the last time I was in Paris, and I hadn't started my shot glass collection yet when I was there, so I bought one and a few other things.

As we were heading back to the hostel we passed Le Petit Musee du Chocolat - a chocolate store that could give Honeydukes a run for its money - so we spent some time exploring it. There were lots of colorful sculptures made entirely out of chocolate, including a scale model of the Eiffel Tower. It was a fun little thing to do before we left, and we managed to not buy anything, which was good since traveling with chocolate is not the best idea.

Back at the hostel we ate a small lunch of whatever leftovers we had from various meal purchases - a little Chinese food, some fruit, some cheese and bread. Then before we left I ran up the street to Subway to get us food for later, since we figured we didn't want to have to eat dinner in the hotel restaurant. (We were staying at the airport hotel for the night since our flight was pretty early the next morning.) We walked to the train station where we would take a train out to the airport and then catch the hotel shuttle back to the hotel.

But our adventures weren't over.

While waiting in line to purchase our train tickets, we spotted a guy with an adorable puppy. Turned out he was American and was homeless because his roommate didn't like the dog, so he asked if we were leaving Europe and had any coins to spare (since banks won't convert coins, just paper money, even if it's 2 euros). After we purchased our tickets we had a 2 euro coin to give him and as we were playing with the puppy he mentioned that he cut hair and asked if he could give me a haircut. I kid you not. As it had been two months since my last haircut and was going to be about another two months before my next one, this was perfect. He did it right in the station, on a platform. We got lots of stares, but apparently he does this all the time. He's the hair cowboy. Google him. It's for real. He's kind of famous:

So I got my hair cut in Paris, in the train station. His puppy, Nanook, was tied up over by our stuff where my mom was patiently waiting, but he quickly got free and ran over to us. So then it became my job to stand on his leash and keep him from eating my boots while also trying to stand still as Kanu cut my hair. Ultimately it worked out great. I got a haircut, I got it for way less than I could ever get it cut in NYC, he got some money. We got to meet a cool guy and an adorable puppy, and it's a great story to tell.

Kanu and Nanook walked us back to where we would get our train and we parted ways. We were able to catch a train right away to the airport, an express train that got us there in half an hour at that. Then as soon as we got up to where the hotel shuttles arrive, our hotel shuttle showed up (which only comes every half hour). We got to the hotel, checked in, and went up to our room where we ate, as it had now been a while since our last meal thanks to my haircut. Relaxing baths, comfy beds, one more round of packing, and bed.

The next morning we were on the first shuttle back to the airport at 5:15. I hadn't been in this terminal last time, and it was super cool. Very technological, space age aesthetic. There was a weird atrium area that had a bunch of escalator-ramps that all went to different floors and pointed in strange directions and seriously looked like that shot in Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone when you see all the Hogwarts staircases for the first time. I half-expected them to start changing places while we were riding them.

We were flying Iceland Air home, so we flew from Paris to Rekyavik, basically three hours straight north. I watched 500 Days of Summer, which I actually found pretty depressing, and then found Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows (part 1) and started watching that. I was about halfway through when we landed in Iceland.

Our layover in Iceland was only about an hour, but we got our passport stamped since we were heading back to America and then quickly bought food at the only place to buy food in that section of the airport. It was a weird experience, with everything in kronor, having absolutely no sense of how much something cost. We got our food and checked out and it was like 2,500 kronor or something, which meant absolutely nothing to us but felt like a lot. Apparently it was like $18 or something, which was a lot for what food we were getting, but it's an airport.

Then it was time to board our flight to JFK. We ended up seated next to a girl from Iceland, so we got to hear her speak Icelandic with some of the flight attendants. I watched the rest of Harry Potter and was in the middle of watching The Hangover (which I had never seen - I know, I know) when our screens stopped working and they couldn't get them fixed. So mostly I tried to sleep for the rest of the flight.

We landed in New York I think a good 40 minutes early, and then began the next adventure, but that's a story for another day.

One (Museum) Day More (Day 14)

So Sunday was free museum day. We got up early so that we could be at the Musee D'Orsay before it opened, since we figured whatever line we encountered would only get longer as the day progressed (we were right). As you may recall, Ganesh and I made multiple attempts to visit this particular museum last year but did not succeed because the museum was "on strike." What this actually meant was that the museum employees were on strike because the museum, which was supposed to be reopening having just finished a major renovation that added a lot of new gallery space, had not added any more staff to cover this additional area. I think it finally reopened a week or two after we were there.

Anyway, it was definitely open that day, and we got there just before it opened. It took us about half an hour to snake our way through the line that had formed, weathering just a little bit of rain on the way. We first went to see the special exhibition, Degas and the Nude, which was extremely comprehensive (and therefore a little dull for people who don't particularly study penstrokes) and because it included so many drawings the rooms were very dark to protect the artwork. Like going to see bats at the zoo. It was not like the Degas of the ballet dancers, but some of it was interesting. We then headed out to explore the rest of the museum.

We discovered pretty quickly that by this point in our trip, we were getting a little museum-ed out. Consider that in the past two weeks we had been to: the Tate Modern, the National Gallery, the Tower of London, the Reina Sofia, the Prado, the Picasso Museum, and the Dali Museum. It turned out our favorite thing about the Musee D'Orsay was probably the building itself. Once a train station, the museum was created when train traffic became too heavy and they needed a bigger station, so D'Orsay got turned into a place for art. (This is how most art museums get created in Paris, it seems. L'Orangerie was once a greenhouse and the Louvre was actually a palace until Louis XIV decided it was too small and built Versailles.) The museum had gorgeous architecture, particularly including a couple of giant ornate clocks, presumably so people wouldn't miss their trains. We did see some famous works by Degas, Manet, Monet, Van Gogh, Caillebotte, Pissaro, and Seurat. Pretty cool.

After that it was still pretty early so we decided to take Sam's advice, despite our skepticism, and visit the Hunting and Nature Museum. Sam had said people always doubted him and then really liked it.

We didn't.

There were lots of stuffed-formerly-alive animals, a lot of sciencey things about animal anatomy and bones and whatnot, and some weird animal-themed art. A few rooms full of hunting rifles. Fortunately the whole thing was only really two stories of a not-particularly-large building (probably used to be something else). We laughed it off and headed out in search of food, as we were now both very hungry.

Most places seemed to be closed in the area, but as we were walking back to the metro we passed a Chinese place and bought a few things to try and took them to go. We got enough food for two meals, really, and certainly saved over eating in a restaurant. So then we and our lunch headed back to the hostel. After eating we took a nap and then went to meet up for the Montmartre walking tour.

The tour starts in front of the Moulin Rouge, which is quite possibly the most disappointing landmark in Paris when you see it in person for the first time. It's not half as big, beautiful, or romantic as it's made out to be in the movie. Still, we started there and then wound our way through the streets of Montmartre (not far from the hostel, really), seeing Van Gogh's building where he lived with his brother, the restaurant where Picasso sold sketches of waitresses for food, the only vineyard/winery in Paris (which produces only about 400 bottles of apparently mediocre wine a year), artists' square, and the studio where Picasso and Modigliani lived together back in the day. The main stop on the tour is of course the Sacre Cour at the top of Montmartre (which means means martyrs' mountain). One of the first and now also the last stop on the tour is the cafe that Amelie works in (in the movie Amelie, which I've still never seen), where we got a free glass of wine at the end. Mom and I didn't really like the wine though, and the management decided we weren't allowed to sit down at tables if we weren't buying food even though they weren't busy. I liked the place they used to end the tour better. Last time we were allowed to sit for as long as we wanted and the wine was better. So. Those are my feelings about the Amelie cafe.

After the tour we went back to the hostel for a quick rest and then went out to attempt yet again to see the Eiffel Tower light show. It only happens once an hour on the hour, so we went and saw it at midnight. We took the metro to Trocadero, where you can see it from across the river, and ideal viewing place. As I've said before, and as I warned my mom, I think it's pretty  lame. It basically looks like paparazzi are covering the tower with flashes going off constantly for about five minutes. That's all. But, Mom liked it and she was glad she got to see it at night. So then back to the hostel and to bed.

Tour de Paris (Day 13)

Our second day in Paris we got up and had breakfast in the hostel, which included coffee, orange juice, croissants, and cereal. We sat by a window looking out on the street, at a little table like in a French cafe. After breakfast we headed to do the free walking tour of Paris like I did when I visited last time. I had hoped we might get Arnaud as a tour guide again, but he wasn't at Saint Michele plaza, so we went with a guy named Sam instead. Mom later found out Sam has family in Yankton, South Dakota, where she lived after college. Small world.

Sam was a good tour guide, told us a few different stories than what I learned last time, and it was fun to see so many beautiful parts of Paris again. It got very warm in the middle of the day, but Sam did his best to stop frequently in places with bits of shade. At the end of the tour we went with Sam and some of the other tourists to a French restaurant with meal deals for people who did the tour. Perhaps the best part about the restaurant was the waiter who single-handedly served everyone who showed up. He had the perfect stereotypical French accent and seemed to really enjoy being a waiter. One of the items on the menu was duck, and as he served people he would say "I have a duck, for you, maybe?" and when he was right he would say something like "Wonderful" or "Perfect." He was really adorable.

Before we left the restaurant we got tickets for the Montmartre tour and Mom chatted with Sam a bit. We asked for his recommendations for museums on Sunday because, as it would be the first Sunday of the month, all the museums were free. We decided on the Louvre and he recommended the Museum of Hunting and Nature (Le Maison de la chasse et de la nature). He then directed us back to our hostel via a bus so that we could see some more of the city. We caught the bus and headed back, taking the metro as well (because it's impossible to get anywhere in Paris without changing buses or trains or something) and rested for a while.

Later that evening we went out to visit Shakespeare and Co, my favorite bookstore. Mom wasn't a big fan of the tight spaces (which makes everything a little crowded even when there's only a few people there), but she waited patiently in the upstairs reading room while I looked around and decided what to buy. Finally the store was closing (at 11 pm) and I settled on Fragile Things by Neil Gaiman. Mom picked out a postcard and we headed out into the Parisian night.

It was Saturday and things were pretty crazy. I tried to navigate the metro to get us to the Eiffel Tower, because Mom wanted to see the light show. We ended up having a lot of train problems and got tired and hungry and gave up and went home. There was a particular hitch getting off the train at one point where we had to go up an escalator, but police were checking tickets at the top so there was a backup. Now, as you probably know, escalators keep moving whether the people in front of you move or not. There was a brief moment of very scary backup as we kept pushing the people in front of us and the people behind us started pushing us. But finally we got home and fell into bed after a long day touring gay Paris. (pair-eee)

A French Day (Day 12)

We flew into Paris Beauvais (have fun pronouncing that one) and then took a bus into the city, which took about an hour. From the bus we took two metro trains to our hostel which was just two blocks away from the metro stop. I was familiar with this hostel because it was the one Ganesh stayed at back when I was in Paris in October. The location, right in Montmartre and so close to the metro, made it ideal. Plus I knew it would be quiet and comfortable, and we had a bathroom in our room which we only had to share with one other person.

Despite the walk being only two blocks to the hostel, we stopped just a few feet from the metro at a little crepe stand and got crepes for lunch. Then around the corner I popped into Dia (the grocery store I regularly shopped at in Madrid) and got us a liter of orange juice for a euro. Our room wasn't ready yet when we got to the hostel (it was only about 12:30) so we sat in the lobby and ate and did some research on what else we wanted to do that day. Mom had a list of free things to do, one of which included a Friday afternoon fashion show at the Lafayette Galleries, the Parisian equivalent of Harrods, Macys, etc. Right before we left, we checked at the desk and our room was ready, so we dropped our stuff off upstairs (taking the tiny elevator one person at a time) and then headed off.

We couldn't find anything about a fashion show at the store, but it was in a beautiful building with a stained glass dome in the middle and, from the top floor/roof, we got a pretty beautiful view of the city, for free. Mom got her first real view of the Eiffel Tower. We sat for a while, took a few pictures, looked around, and then headed down to explore the store. We took some time taking pictures of the dome and then went to the actually gallery, which had a modern art exhibit that we didn't understand at all. A lot of it was cartoon drawings with writing on it, in French, so we were pretty lost. Something involved Kanye West; I don't know.

From the store we decided to walk back to the hostel to see more of the city. Along the way we found a farmers market where we picked up some things for dinner - a potato pastry, artichoke salad, cherries, bread - and looked around a lot. It was all a bit of a challenge since we couldn't politely get anyone's attention in French, so we kind of had to just stand around and wait for people to help us, but it was a fun experience seeing everyone at the market.

Without very much happening, we had a very nice, French day doing things it didn't really seem like tourists would do, most of it without trying. It was a nice easy first day in Paris, and we went to bed early to catch up on sleep before the next day's adventure.

Getting Out of Barcelona (Days 10 & 11)

Our second day in Barcelona we planned a day trip to Figueres, a town outside of Barcelona that is home to the Dali museum. It took us about two hours by train after quite an adventure just to get to the train station, but when we arrived in Figueres it was a welcome break from the seemingly constant problems of Barcelona.

We followed signs for about a fifteen minute walk from the Figueres train station to the museum, through some smaller streets with interesting shops. When we got up to the museum we bought our tickets (fortunately right before a big line formed) and then sat down to have a quick lunch before the museum. We got a good deal on a burger/fries/drink/ice cream combo (neither one of us wanted any more Spanish food), sitting outside.

The museum was gigantic. Every time we turned a corner, one room became three rooms, and then sometimes there were little rooms that had just one painting in it. It was kind of like an artistic fun house. There were tons of drawings, sculptures, and paintings big and small. Some things seemed very normal, from when he was learning to paint, and then there was iconic Dali, lots of compositions of unexpected combinations of objects. There wasn't a lot to read though, most things were left completely unexplained. It was really interesting, but we got pretty tired before we were done due to the little amount of sleep we'd gotten the night before.

Admission to the museum included admission to a special exhibit called the Jewels of Dali and was a really beautiful showing of jewelry Dali designed. Some of it was surrealist like his other work, some of it was just pretty, and some was both. Most of it was well-lit, which I appreciated as well. And fortunately the exhibit was small so that we could then head back to the train station.

Along the way we stopped at the grocery store (Caprabo, like the one I shopped at by school in Madrid) and bought some cheese, almonds, and orange juice to snack on. We then only had to wait a few minutes for a train back to Barcelona. Although we were both tired, neither of us got much sleep on the train because we met a very chatty woman from South Korea who was traveling by herself and was just arriving in Barcelona. She asked a lot of questions and I think tried to get my mom and I to show her to her hostel, but we got off the train the stop before hers so we got out of that one.

We had to walk from the train station to the metro station thanks to some construction, but along the way we stopped to see two of Gaudi's most famous buildings - Casa Batllo and Casa Mila, also known as La APedrera (The Quarry). We took a few pictures and then hopped on the train back home. Mom wanted to try getting off at the next stop on the train line because it looked equidistant to our hostel but we'd come at it from the other side, so we'd get to see something new. Turned out the map was not at all to scale, we were far away, and we walked in the wrong direction so that we ended up just getting back on the train and going back to our usual stop. Funny, Barcelona. Real funny.

On our walk from the metro to our hostel we stopped at Wok to Walk, a chain I like in New York and an easy way to not eat Spanish food again. One box of noodles was enough for the two of us and we headed back to the hostel and attempted to go to bed after our roommates headed out for the night.

Things seemed alright, because the air conditioning was fixed and the boys said they'd try to be quieter. But the music was still loud downstairs and eventually the boys came back and weren't quiet and brought friends who weren't even staying in our hostel. We thought about leaving right then, but stayed through the night.

In the morning we ate breakfast in the hostel, checked out, and canceled our reservation for that night. We packed up, put our stuff in the luggage room for the day. Our only agenda for the day was Sagrada Familia and Parc Guell, two more Gaudi masterpieces, so we took our time going places. It was hot and humid so we didn't spend as much time at Sagrada Familia as I did my first time, but mom appreciated all the stained glass. We ate lunch at a subway, mom asked a man for a look at his map, and we figured out how to get to Parc Guell by bus.

Then we couldn't find the bus stop, so we walked back to the subway and took the train up to the park area. I had gotten off at a different stop when I came and walked up the hill, this time we came from behind the park but we still had to go uphill - on a street with escalators. Lots of escalators. I've never seen anything like it. We spent a little time in the park and eventually took a taxi back to the hostel because there was no good public transit option and we were both tired.

After a brief trip out to get Sam a Messi jersey (he plays for FC Barcelona) and a souvenir for Dad, we hurried back to the hostel, picked up our bags, and took a taxi to the airport hotel Mom had booked that morning. It was one of the best decisions we made on the trip. We got there around dinner time, ate our leftovers from lunch, relaxed, took long hot showers, slept in comfortable beds, it was quiet. I found Castle on tv and managed to change it to English and then later watched a Spanish game show called El Cubo. Quite entertaining.

In the morning we took the first shuttle to the airport and checked into our flight to Paris. Due to a long line at the Ryanair visa check, the desk we were supposed to check in at closed and we had to go directly to our gate where we had to gate check our bags. That meant that even though we'd already paid to check them when we booked the flight, we had to pay again. I started yelling at the woman in Spanish. But there was nothing we could do so we paid and checked the bags and got on the plane. The only comforting thought I remembered this was the flight we had never actually gotten charged for because Ryanair doesn't charge right when you book, so we hadn't actually already paid for the bags. In any case, it was one last crappy thing that happened in Barcelona. But, we were on to Paris!