Whirlwind

Early last Friday morning, I boarded a bus bound for Bourne, Massachusetts and made my way towards Cape Cod for my high school friend Eileen's wedding. I was met at the bus station by her sister, Julie, and along with Julie's friend Amy, we drove to the Seacrest Resort, where the majority of wedding guests were staying. After helping unpack the car, I quickly changed into my bathing suit and made my way to the beach, where I spent the remainder of the afternoon, listening to the screams of young children playing in the sand and ocean. Unfortunately it was rather gusty, so it wasn't the most relaxing of beach days, but it was unbelievably nice to have the noise of Manhattan shut off for a while, and allow my thoughts to drift away into the crash of the waves and sound of the wind. Amy and I then helped with a few errands before dropping Julie off at the rehearsal dinner and going to the Chappaqoit Grill for a bite to eat. We feasted on a delicious salad and two pizzas, one with baby clams and marinara, and the other with figs and fresh ricotta. Both were heavenly. After a glass of wine and all that food, I could barely keep my eyes open, so after returning to the hotel, I promptly dozed off for a little nap. I slept for a couple hours, then Amy and I went to the hotel bar to get a couple beers. This supremely awesome hotel lounge band, Phaze II, was playing a really synth-y, groovy version of "Copacabana" while we were getting our beers, and kept the hit tunes coming throughout the night. After an hour, all the rehearsal dinner guests returned to the hotel and the party kicked off in full gear, progressing to poolside and then to the beach as the night wore on.

The next day, I slept for a while, then grabbed a little sandwich at the hotel grill which I scarfed down so I could spend the afternoon lounging by the pool before we had to get ready for the wedding. I tanned, then swam, then tanned, then swam, then tanned, then made my way indoors for a shower, at which point I realised that despite putting sunscreen on my back, I was streaked with sunburn across my entire backside. Attractive. Anyways, we got ready for the wedding and drove over to Highland Theater at 5 pm.


These friends of Eileen's were all sporting seersucker, which we deemed photo-worthy.




The crowd after the ceremony.


Eileen's friends laughing over photographs.


Me and Eileen.


Me and Eileen, a slightly more full-length version. As a side note, I'd like to point out this is a fairly unflattering angle of me. Being tall, it's like this curse that only a short female will take my photo by leaning as far back away from me as possible, transforming me into a giant gargantuan Amazonian woman. Eileen's dress is pretty, though.


The most touching part of the evening was the speech Eileen's father made.


People at my table.








Eileen and her father dancing at the wedding.

After the reception ended, we all made our way back to the hotel, where the festivities continued on the beach til sunrise. Then I slept til 11, when we had to get up to check out of the hotel and make our way to Woods Hole for a brunch. It was a really lovely brunch in this gorgeous house right over an inlet, with a warm and luxurious breeze gently blowing. I tried to curl up and take a cat nap, but we had to head back to the bus stop in Bourne so I could make it back to Manhattan.

Monday I'd requested off work, and I'd like to dub it "the best day of my life." I woke up around 10, lazily putzed around my house for an hour, then dropped my dress off at the cleaners and went to buy golf clubs from a guy selling them via craigslist. After my purchase, I ate a little lunch, then went up to the Guggenheim Museum, which I walked around for a few hours. I'd put a roll of b&w film in my Nikon manual camera, so I ventured into Central Park and shot photos for a few hours, then had a small sandwich at a cafe on the Upper West Side before going to Macy's to buy lipstick. Then I grocery shopped and went to the gym. A thoroughly relaxing and rejuvenating day.

I went back to work on Tuesday feeling ready to work hard throughout the week. Plus, I had a performance of "Gypsy" (starring none other than famous actress Patti Lupone) to look forward to that evening. So I left at 6 pm and walked over to City Center to meet Catherine for the event. It was good -- but not great -- performance. Certainly a lot better than the atrocious version of "Mary Poppins" I saw a few weeks ago with my mom, grandma and sister.

On my way home, I received a text from Jess telling me to come to Sin Sin in the East Village for a drum & bass party. I was so exhausted, but I decided to embrace the invite and make my way there. I scarfed down a slice of pizza at my house and walked down. Upon arriving, I learned that none other than one of the best drum and bass deejays, Shy FX, was slated to perform. The vibe was splendid -- everyone extremely excited and ready to dance like crazy.

The next day, I made my way to work with a smile on my face, unfazed by the rain and thunderstorms (or lack of enough sleep). Jenna and I took our usual afternoon work-and-walk (which usually involves grabbing a coffee and talking about work while walking, mostly as a way to escape the constant chitchat going on in the production studio, where we're currently working while they renovate our offices), this time to Bryant Park. We walked back around 5 p.m., and Jenna left a half hour after. I was using the time to catch up on a few emails since I didn't need to leave til 6:15 p.m. for the gym. Suddenly, right before 6 p.m., we heard thunder booming. Only, the thunder didn't stop. The men in the production studio started going to the window, and suddenly pandemonium started -- everyone yelling to immediately vacate the building, mixed with shouts that the building next door was exploding.

I ran to my desk and grabbed my bag, and then followed the herds down the fire escape stairs. The thundering explosive sounds echoed throughout the hallway. I ran down the thirteen flights of stairs and out into the street, where all we saw was a giant cloud of smoke billowing in the street. We ran up 42nd St, and then on to 2nd avenue. I sort of wandered and followed the crowd, trying to ascertain what was happening -- all around people were saying that the building next door had exploded, that a plane had crashed into a building, that a bomb had gone off in Grand Central -- and trying to figure out what my next move should be. If the building falls over, should I get out of its path of destruction? What would the path of destruction be? I decdied that in any case I should head towards home. Meanwhile, I began texting with friends to try to figure out what was happening. Finally by the time I'd made it halfway home, I got my dad on the phone and he read the latest update that said it was a steam explosion. I made my way to Catherine's at this point, for a much-needed glass of wine and to watch the latest episodes of "Flight of the Conchords," "Confessions of a Matchmaker" and "Top Chef."


Imagine you've just run down thirteen flights of stairs everyone in a state of panic, and you turn onto the street and this is the first thing you see. Not fun.

So. Since my building was right next to the explosion and right smack in the center of the "frozen zone", I didn't have work on Thursday. Or on Friday. By Friday afternoon I was officially venturing into bored territory. I'd slept plenty, gone to the gym for hours, watched "The Godfather" (the latest film on my Netflix queue), surfed the internet like a billion times, read books, taken photos, taken the film to the processing lab in the West Village, sent emails, etc. I am hoping our office reopens on Monday so I can at least go back to work. It's not fun simply not working when everyone else is.

Lately

I've been in a reflective mood over the past few weeks, spurred by events both personal and professional. One little thing after another -- and suddenly I'm left feeling off-center, like I've lost some connection to my core self. It's good though to be shaken, sort of like going through an internal dialectic struggle, in which new things and experiences crop up, distracting us from our planned course, creating a new sort of chaos. Then this subsides, reminding us to refocus on what's most important, while opening our minds to new possibilities.

After a five-month hiatus, I've finally been reading again. The other night, while turning the pages in a book, I suddenly felt a large kick in the gut to take up photography again. I've been starring at my (relatively freshly) painted blue walls, wondering what to hang on them. At first, I thought I'd put up a few nice posters I'd find at a museum here in New York, but despite searching at the Guggenheim, Met, and Natural History Museums, I haven't yet found anything particularly inspiring that I feel like shelling out money for. Then I thought I'd print a bunch of the black & white and colour photos I took during the last year as I bounced around Europe. But those photos are primarily on discs or film back at my parents' in California, so I've felt a little lazy about asking my mom to search for these discs in my stuff and mail them to me. So, it struck me, "Why not use these blank walls as the perfect excuse to get back out and photograph again?" I've been feeling very much in need of a hobby, a passion. Instead of directing my thoughts to angrily/woefully speculating how future events may (or may not) play themselves out, why not return to the joy of capturing the moment. The sort of books I've been reading (everything from fiction to non-fiction, mostly with a spiritual bent on everything from Christianity, Hinduism, Zen Buddhism and Sufism) have all emphasised the importance of living and being in the present.

To get inspired, I've been looking at this blog by a photographer named Rob Gardiner, who has been traversing various metro lines in London on foot, capturing what he sees along the way with a pinhole camera. Perhaps I'll try something similar here in New York, at least as a way of exploring the city. I've gone out before with my little digital camera to shoot, and normally I find myself immediately bored with what I'm seeing. All I want to photograph are the rooftops of buildings and the sky -- which I suppose could be beautiful but mostly end up looking flat and dull. I know there's a lot of disdain for b&w photography, people consider it 'easy' or 'simple', but in looking over the photos on the previously linked blog, it drives home this connection to the various writings I've been reading lately -- something in the simplicity of these photos, in the erasure of the distraction of colour, we can see things as they really are, shapes and forms, distilled from time and context.

Success is as dangerous as failure.
Hope is as hollow as fear.

What does it mean that success is a dangerous as failure?
Whether you go up the ladder or down it,
you position is shaky.
When you stand with your two feet on the ground,
you will always keep your balance.

What does it mean that hope is as hollow as fear?
Hope and fear are both phantoms
that arise from thinking of the self.
When we don't see the self as self,
what do we have to fear?

See the world as your self.
Have faith in the way things are.
Love the world as your self;
then you can care for all things.
— Tao te Ching

Billboard

During the month of June, a billboard I worked on went up in Times Square. A week before it came down, two of my friends from ad school joined me in celebrating my first outdoor advertisement with a small bottle of Moet before we went down to Wall Street to drink amongst traders (obnoxious, but I enjoy getting a free drink).






Oh look, I fell out of the ad!






Anne and Anna, posing on top of a subway grate à la Marilyn Monroe.

Family Time

A few weeks ago, my sister and I headed down to southern New Jersey, just outside of Philadelphia, for our cousins' high school graduation party. Our Mom had flown in a few days before and every family member other than our dad managed to make an appearance at the fête.


To get there we had to navigate the New Jersey Transit Line, which we took to lovely Trenton. We then waited to catch a train in the direction of Camden.


My sister, enjoying the wait.


The RiverLine train, which cost, like, a whopping $1.35 and provided the occasional view of the Delaware River along the way.


We got off at this random stop and waited for our Aunt Martha to pick us up. Then it was another 20 miles to her house in the middle of NOWHERE.


Anyway the party was super fun. Here's my sister and Aunt Sarah enjoying the backyard.


My Mom, clothed in polka dots.


My cousin Tom, verbose as ever.


My cousin Amanda, Aunt Selma, and Grandma.


My cousin Erik, one of the graduates we honoured.


My Aunt Martha and my Uncle Dave.


My cousin Jack, cousin Rosie, and Aunt Yin.


My mom and her two sisters ...


... figuring out how to pose.


I'm not sure they ever figured it out.



'






We sat around all afternoon and ate and ate and ate.






My cousin Molly.




My cousin Catherine.


My cousin Jack, a.k.a. Jesus II.


My sister.


So the major highlight of these family get togethers is my Grandma's chocolate chip bars. They're like chocolate chip cookies with less flour, more sugar, and twice as many chocolate chips. Needless to say we all fight over them ... and focused on preventing everyone else at the party from taking more than their due.


Then we made Jack a crown from a balloon. (Remember how you entertained yourself before everyone could drink?)

It was a really fun day; the next day I drove to some town in the middle of New Jersey with my mom and Grandma (Rutgers, I think?) where I was dropped off at the train station as they were driving back to Connecticut. Fun, but I have no interest in hanging out on NJ Transit for a long time.

I Work in Advertising, Goddammit

This is one of the funniest (and true) things I've read in a long time (even if I've read it three years after it was first published). While you're over at Blagg Blogg, check out some of his other writing pieces, like his rants pretentious deejays and American Apparel.