Monday by the Numbers

Number of hours, in the past 48, that it's been raining: 48
Number of hours, in the past 48, that I've been wearing my pajamas: 45
Number of times, in the past 48 hours, that I've left the apartment: 3 (to the mailbox; next door to buy chips; to the library)
Number of rooms rearranged this morning: 2
Number of movies watched, in the past 48 hours: 3
Number of knitting projects I've attempted, in the past 48 hours: 4
Number of recipes looked up online: several hundred
Number of times I've checked my email for my final grad school decision: several hundred
Number of times I've said, in the past 48 hours, "I want a dog": 78
Number of people I saw who were wearing the same outfit as me (black trench, jeans, and a black umbrella): 12
Number of cars parked on the sidewalk in my neighborhood: 4
Number of corner stores between the apartment and the library: 8
Number of episodes of the Gilmore Girls I've watched: 2 1/2
Number of times I said, "I wish I knew Captain Wentworth and/or I wish he was real": 6
Number of student loan payments submitted: 2
Number of mysteries read: 2

Lights, Camera, Action

So it is Saturday and my cousin and I went to the American Folk Art Museum (which was SO COOL, I highly recommend) and then went and got seriously good sandwiches at a place in Hells Kitchen (her: really fresh mozzarella, tomato, basil, olive oil; me: Gruyere, apples, pine nuts, asparagus, and a little honey.) But the REAL excitement happened only a few blocks from the apartment when we were walking back from the train.

A woman popped in front of us and said, "hey, would you two like to be in a commercial?" And since our judgment was impaired by the massive sandwiches we just consumed, we said ok. It was some commercial (details were vague) about the Superbowl and an ad agency, where they were asking people on the street, "what is your favorite part about the Superbowl?" and the pedestrians would say, "the commercials." So that is what we did. Well, Melis said, "the commercials" and then I had to look at her and agree, "yes, definitely the commercials." The irony of this is that she mutes the commercials in the Superbowl and I don't really pay attention to the Superbowl because I'm usually knitting during it.

But anyway, it was hilarious. We had to do about 10 takes because of traffic and people randomly walking by, and the guy holding the microphone to ask us the questions was SO WEIRD and had beady eyes. There was a director and two camera dudes and everything. And it was right by our firehouse, so I'm just really glad none of them were out there, or we'd never live it down. I looked like a total rockstar in an "Ithaca is gorges" shirt, corduroy jacket, yellow scarf, and shades. I am also fairly dubious that this will ever, ever make it on air, which would be just fine with me. However, we did sign a waiver, so if it does make it to air, I will know. And I may or may not be sharing that with all of you.

Celebrating..the Removal of Snakes? Green Beer?

Unlike the English, I know how to pull Guinness properly. You have to let it sit, you have to let it go black, and then you have to push it back so that not more gas goes into it. Five twelfths of an inch is the ideal head round the top. And if somebody paints a shamrock into it, you're allowed to stab them in the eye with a fork. I remember I worked in a pub in the town I grew up in, and it was a very tough pub, and they wouldn't take a Guinness off me until I'd been there for awhile.
--Dara O'Briain, on QI

I went to the St Patrick's Day Parade in Manhattan (because why not? I love parades, I love bagpipes, it seemed like a win-win.) And it was fun. The route goes along 5th Ave and is at least 6 hours long, but I only caught the last 1 1/2 or so. Conveniently, 5th Ave is also where a lot of museums are, so I just went into the Frick Collection for awhile, which is always worthwhile. (I would give some non-essential teeth or toes to work at the Frick. Go there and you will see why.) It is unnerving, however, to be inside a museum and hear banging, muffled music, and cheering from outside. The guards kept peering out the windows at the melee.

Anyway, since I've been lax on the pictures of late (my camera has lost it's tiny mind) I'm going to do a photo diary of sorts so you can experience the parade a bit yourselves. Oh, and it was 65 degrees, sunny, and gorgeous.
1. First people I saw, before even going into the museum. They were super sweet and chatty.

2. Pipe and Drum band, take 1. Unintended consequence: first time I've heard bagpipes since graduation. A little sad.

3. Pipe and Drum band, take 27. I like the swing-y kilt action. A lot of these bands had flasks (or indeed, bottles of Jameson) tucked into their socks.
4. Pipe and Drum Band, take 503. Not a great picture, but they are from BROOKLYN. Represent!

5. Pipe and Drum band, take 7006.

6. and 7. In which I am hungry, but the pretzel truck is behind a barricade on the other side of the street, and instead of eating I take a picture of my parade appropriate feet.

8. ALBANY's Christian Brothers Academy. Represent!


9. Good on you, James Connolly. This followed a lot of banners telling England to leave Ireland.

10. Now THESE were cool. There were different banners for the counties of Ireland, and people on the street who were from there would burst into their song, or cheer. And I just think the banners look neat--the parade is 249 years old, and they have kept it really traditional. The banners remind me of the ones used in suffragette parades.

11. The moment we've all been waiting for! Jamestown, yes, Jamestown High School, my alma mater, was in the NYC St Patrick'ss Day Parade. I actually have no recollection what they played, although I think it might have been Scottish.

Please note the atrociousness of the new uniforms (hello, school board, if you're reading this...are we Lancaster? Think again.) But they sounded good! And the kid getting water squirted in his mouth over on the right is hilarious.

I was near the end of the parade route (as was the JHS band) so it was pretty uncrowded, which was nice, especially considering that this was the last parade I went to, and there wasn't any room to walk around.

The verdict? Low key, some good debauchery on the sidelines, some funny spectators, some flask-passing, and general calmness--probably thanks to the huge number of police in attendance. If you're in the city next year, I would definitely recommend it!

Cake Monster, and other Friday Tales

I had some SOLID people watching/random interactions today. Here is a sampling:

First Tale
I went to apply for a job at Brooklyn College this morning, and sort of snuck in--you're supposed to flash a school ID, and I was going to explain that I didn't have one and they just waved me through. It's a very pretty campus, design-wise, although the building interiors are 1970's puce green. And the HR department is very much not helpful, but it still gave me a chance to read my book, on a bench, next to a reflecting pool, in the sun. A good way to spend a morning.

When I left, I stopped at Lord's Bakery. I realized that I have not mentioned Lord's Bakery on this august blog, but let me just say: YUM. My cousin stops there on her way to school and I have been there a few times, but it's been awhile. When I went in today, my eye strayed immediately to the Red Velvet cake, which I've never had the guts to buy. The women wearing hospital scrubs in front of me was buying a piece, so I asked her if it was as good as it looks (note: it looks good.) Her response? "Oh. My. God. I keep telling myself that it's not good for weight loss but I'm just getting off of work and I figure on special occasions...erm, I guess it's not really a special occasion. But it is Friday!" Endorsement enough for me.

And if any of you like Red Velvet cake I would be more than happy to mail you a piece. I scarfed half of it while on the subway, feeling like one of those people who drink beer out of paper bags on the subway...shiftily forking cake out of styrofoam container. No matter. I ate the rest as a late afternoon snack.

Second Tale
After I got off the subway, post-cake binge, I was waiting for the shuttle and a guy started chatting to me. (Probably it was my sultry green Converse and green scarf combo that did it.) Here is how it went:
Guy: You know, I'm really tired. I'm just coming off the night shift at my job.
Me: Ah.
Guy: And it was worse than usual...because Mike Tyson showed up...and he bit off my ear. And then I fell down the stairs.
Me: Wow, that does sound like a bad time. I hope you can relax now. Oop, here's my shuttle, bye!
Guy: [yelling, as I get on the train] I was just kidding about Mike Tyson.

Third Tale
Later on in the day, I went to Prospect Park and people were out in full force--bikini wearing people AND overcoat wearing people. I set up my chair to bask and was next to a group of 7 year old boys who were having a grand time. They were running and sliding in the mud and then the one closest to me bellowed, "I found it!! I found the treasure!!!" And held out a handful of...worms. His friends were duly impressed, before then deciding that they were inhabiting Mars and found "Mars rocks" (dirt clods, which they then threw at each other) and shooting each other with "laser guns" (sticks) and generally just being funny. The tree next to me turned into a spaceship, and away they went.

I think "play date" might be the most annoying concept ever, and it grips the Park Slope yuppies, so it was nice to see these kids being silly and happy and just playing for once. Furthermore, I had blackened catfish for dinner, it is still warm out, and I have company coming this weekend. Not to mention the cake!

Spring Forward

Brooklyn is, to paraphrase e e cummings, mud-luscious and puddle-wonderful at the moment. It got up to 60 today, and people went even crazier than normal (myself included). Prospect Park was filled with wishful thinkers in shorts and t-shirts. A man roller-bladed by me while simultaneously talking on the phone. I found myself beaming at small children and waving at tiny dogs. Multicolored girls in swirling skirts drew giant dinosaurs and flowers on the sidewalks. Kids wandered around with dazed looks and mud-spattered knees.

It smells like sewage, standing water, dirt, and petrol. It's not overwhelmingly a bad smell, but you can tell that things are trying to dry themselves out. I had to have the reference librarian get a book out of storage for me, titled Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life (it's Roald Dahl's short stories, in case you thought it was something soppier) and he proceeded to sing me the song. I found a marble on the sidewalk--it's a bit cloudy, but with a shock of turquoise through it. I ate the first acceptable avocado I've had in Brooklyn.

The cars still skreetch their brakes and make me jump, and the sirens still blare, but it is sunny, so all is well.

Where Everybody Knows Your Name

One of the benefits (and disadvantages, actually) of living in a small town is that people "know" you. They know your history, your families history, and different things about you--hobbies, favorite food, the clothes you usually wear, etc. This being "known" is nice, in a way, but sometimes it's nice to NOT be known, to be able to invent yourself as someone else without many preconceived notions about you.

Where am I going with this? Well, it's been nice being anonymous as one of the 2.5 million in Brooklyn, but sometimes it gets a little tiring. I don't want to keep having to tell people where I went to school, or what my favorite color is, I want them to KNOW. I'm lazy. What makes it harder is that I don't have a usual spot or routine that makes me known. I'm not a consistent enough drinker to have a regular bar. I don't drink coffee, so I don't buy it from a certain bodega every morning, on the way to a job that I don't have. I don't order the same food from the same restaurants. I get bored with taking the same routes, so I walk different blocks at different times, and take different trains (not that this would matter--it's not like I stare at my fellow commuters and try to remember them.)

However, where I do go on a regular basis is the corner store next to our apartment, and I like to think that the guys who work there recognize me. For the most part at least, they know that I never want a bag, and that I'm usually buying seltzer. But here is what happened today. I sprinted to this store for orange juice (twas pouring), and lo and behold, behind the counter was the youngest brother, who I haven't seen in a few months (he's in school, presumably, so he was around a lot in the summer, but not now.) This is how the conversation went.

Store guy: LADY!! Where have you BEEN lately?
Me: Where have I been? Where have YOU been?? I haven't seen you in awhile!
Store guy: I'm here most Saturday afternoons, you must not be coming in then.
Me: That must be it. [he waves a bag at me] naw, I'm good without a bag.
Store guy: [skeptical eyebrow raise, and points out the window] do you see that? What is it doing outside??
Me: Raining...
Store guy: your juice is going to get all wet. Is this what you want?
Me: Really, I'll be fine. It's a quick walk!
Store guy: Hey, I'll see you soon right? Maybe next time you buy some seltzer?
Me: you can bet on it.

I'm known. Sort of.

Getting Lost in Queens

I love Queens. I can't really explain why, but I do. And fortunately, my Super Cousin got me the Not for Tourists Guide to Queens, so I've been waiting until the weather was nice to test that out.

So after a leisurely breakfast of pancakes and cheesy television, my sister and I sallied forth to the Great Borough to the North. Our plan was to go to Louis Armstrong's house (she plays the trumpet, I like famous people's houses) and then wander about Flushing-Chinatown, and the Flushing Meadows park (where the US Open takes place.) This was the plan.

We got off the 7 train at 111 St, looking for 107th St where Armstrong's house is. Now, one would think that 107th St would be between 108th and 104th Sts, but it is in fact not. Nor, after walking around and seeing (I'm not kidding) 10 unisex nail salons, did we see any sign of 107th St. Unperturbed, because it was sunny and glorious out, we headed over to the park, with many an adventure trying to circumvent the Grand Central Parkway en route. When we got to the park, we saw the science museum, and since we like science museums, we thought we would check THAT out. Alas. It closes at 2 pm in the winter; it was now 2:15. Liz took a picture of me making a sad face in front of it, and off we sallied, again. This time, we walked over by the Unisphere, which was awesome.
(thanks to wikimedia for the image)
It's just a giant steel globe, but we took some goofy pictures of us, Atlas-like, in front of it. Also, it's the site of the 1964 World's Fair, and the pivotal scene in the great film classic, Men in Black (I'm not kidding, I thoroughly enjoy MiB, probably more than I should). We wandered some more, sat some more, basked in the sun some more, and finally looked at a map, which revealed that originally we were exactly 1 1/2 blocks from 107th St, which diagonally comes out of nowhere. We walked back, but were too late to get in--and anyway, you have to have a tourguide, and we don't like that as much. After a few sketchy pictures of the house, we went BACK to the 7 train, stopping at a bakery on the way.

Here is one of the many reasons I like Queens. You go 2 subway stops, and you feel like you're in a completely different world--then you go 2 more subway stops and it happens again. When we first got lost, we were in a Hispanic neighborhood, and the two of us were very incongruous by our different appearance (and probably by the fact that it was the middle of the day and we were wandering about.) Anyway, Latino music was blaring, people only were speaking Spanish--even all the signs were in Spanish. The bakery we stopped at had Ecuadorean soda, which I got, and we also got a roll and a croissant for snacks (VERY good, both. The soda, however, had 32 grams of sugar and tasted like a Shirley Temple on Steroids, but I enjoyed that too. Because my palate is deranged.)

When we got off the subway on Main St, Flushing, we again stuck out, but this time we were in Chinatown. So we walked some more, watched some high schoolers playing basketball, and just took in the sights--the stalls of fruit, people hustling to catch the bus, the man selling Northface jackets out of his trunk, the stores full of Hello Kitty paraphernalia, the faint scents of spices and gasoline and mangoes. And then we ate some more, obviously. This time it was steamed dumplings, from a hole in the wall tiny place. YUM. And they were 10 for $2.50, so that's hard to beat. We bade farewell to Queens, took 2 trains, a bus, walked some more, and came back to the apartment.

It may seem like not much was actually accomplished today--no museums, no sports, no plans fulfilled of any kind. But it was really, really fun. The sun helps, of course, but more than that it was just experiencing the city in a different way, and seeing the people. New Yorkers are a kind bunch, usually, and it made me glad, yet again, to be living here.

Overheard in NYC

First of all, and most importantly, Happy International Women's Day! Although, why it's just one day is a bit depressing if you think about it too much... However, phenomenal women, go be fabulous, all of you. Because you are! (I took this picture in Manhattan forever ago.)Secondly, my sister is visiting, it's sunny, and once she quits lollygagging (or rather, sleeping!) we're going to get bagels and walk around Greenwich Village and check out Bob Dylan's hotspots. Should be good times. Last night we make belated-Valentines Day cookies and watched part of the Oscars. Turns out wine bottles don't make as good rolling pins as you think they might--or I may just be inept.

Thirdly and finally, the title of this blog refers to a wonderful exchange we eavesdropped on yesterday in Union Square, where we met our cousin after her yoga class for Vietnamese noodles. Walking next to us was a man with a beard and his small daughter/granddaughter/niece (I can never guess kid's ages, she was probably around 7 years old.)
Man: So my grandfather lived around here, and he used to hire a lot of men to do construction work for his company. One man was a really good construction worker, but then he started to go blind.
Girl: What happened then?? Look, that lady has a yoga mat JUST like yours!
Man: Yes, she does! Well, my grandfather still wanted to hire him even though he was blind. This man was good at working with wood and steel, but what he was really good at was stonework.
Girl: If I was him, I would have picked wood, because I think steel and stones can be *dangerous*. Do you think they're dangerous?
Man: I think they can sometimes be dangerous, yeah. But do you know why he could still do stonework when he was blind? Because he could feel the way the stones felt.
Girl: [thinking it out]...and, stones are all different, right! So you could use your hands and not your eyes to see them.
Man: Exactly. And my grandfather commissioned him to build a great BIG fireplace in his house...

And then they turned and I couldn't hear them anymore.

Love Song to a Home Town

A few weeks ago I read an article that Joyce Carol Oates wrote in the Smithsonian about her hometown, Lockport NY. She told about growing up there (the glory of the public library, her poverty, having to take the greyhound to school and spend hours in the bus station with middle aged men, etc.) and then asked--would there be a Joyce Carol Oates without Lockport? It's an interesting question, as much as JCO freaks me out, with her spider limbs and her large eyes that seem to see right through people. I saw her lecture at Chautauqua a few summers ago, and she is certainly mesmerizing in an unnerving way, much as her stories are. Anyway, I hear you asking--where is Ahhna in Brooklyn "from"? How did it make her who she is? Will she ever tell us about it? Of course she will!

I am from, born, and raised in Jamestown, NY. It is what I would describe as my home town, although I haven't lived there exclusively for close to five years.

I spent most of my adolescence very ready to leave there. It felt like everyone knew me as my mother's daughter, or my grandmother's granddaughter, and it got a little old. I was bored and fidgety and wanted to be out. When I went to college, I knew that I would heartily miss many of the people, but was pretty sure I would not miss the place. That perception has been both true and not true. I've been in Jamestown for the past two weeks, hence the lack of blog posts. (I've been recouping from my skirmishes with the US Healthcare system, and have thus been drinking a crazy amount of tea, lying around, and sleeping. Lots of sleeping.) But I'm back to Brooklyn tomorrow, so I've been thinking about Jamestown and what it means to me. So, here goes.

Jamestown is the reason I can write. I don't mean this in an "I'm a good writer sense" (although I guess I do alright) but I mean when I went to college I was one of the few students I encountered who knew what topic sentences and thesis statements were. This totally surprised me. The public education system in Jamestown is (by and large) very good. For not being amazingly funded, I had some wonderful teachers--passionate, smart, literate, and literary. The "cool kids" at JHS are more along the nerd lines than a lot of high schools.

Jamestown is the reason I can play music. Again, not in a concert sense, but music is a big deal there, and there are some amazing music teachers. My piano teacher was (and is) one. It's sort of a marvel how these people end up there, but it is vitally important. The school musicals are big enterprises, as are the offerings from the Little Theater. There are always fairly good showings at local bars, too, with a variety of jazz/punk/rock/alternative/weird music. Which brings me to to...

Jamestown is the reason I can eat and drink on the cheap. Well, it's not haute cuisine, and the variety tends to be mostly American bistro, but there are some good places. Forte, which is Red Dove-ish--great decor, great food. The Taco Hut, which is Americanized Mexican, but SO good. Wings? Absolutely! (and better than Buffalo, if you ask around.) Sandwiches? Sure thing. (Go to The Pub, and you can also get a draft for $1.50.) Pizza? Most definitely. I tend toward Paces, which is near my house (go with the white garlic) but most of my friends swear by Perfect Pizza, the restaurant formerly known as Lena's. Ecklof Bakery's Pink Stripe Cookies are a local institution. And there is always Wegmans, obviously.

Jamestown is the reason I enjoy nature. Jamestown and the surrounding areas are beautiful in all seasons, except February-April when everything is wet or slushy or with grey snow. But currently, it is full of glistening icicles and snow mounds. Come summer, it will be green and the lake will be shimmering and glorious (while still smelling faintly like dead carp.) I didn't realize how much I would miss the lake this summer, the first summer I was not there.

Jamestown is the reason I can shelve books. The James Prendergast Library is the best public library I have ever been to, and I'm including alllll the NYC ones in that. It's great. The booksale is great. The renovations have been GREAT. I am biased because I worked there for
three summers, and I make all my out of town friends go there. I also make them go to the cemetary--it's a really nice cemetary!

Jamestown is the reason I can appreciate culture in many forms. Every year, my family goes to the Reuben Fenton Historical Center for the Christmas Tree Display. It's always the same--Swedish room, upside down tree hanging from the ceiling, lady in a tree dress, the string tree in the nursery, and the four story tower where you can see most of the town. I love it. The Roger Tory Peterson Institute is a fun place, for people who love Peterson and for people who love nature. The various Lucille Ball museums are cool, at least once. And the Lucy fests are people watching galore.

Jamestown is the reason I can tolerate intolerant people. I have forgotten how closeminded many people in this area are, and then I read the Letters to the Editor in the Post-Journal. And I remember. It's truly unfortunate, but you deal with it, otherwise you go crazy. Not that I never yell at the paper or anything... (and the same thing occurs with the Finger Lakes Times, too.)

Jamestown taught me to stick it to the Man. People in WNY do not like authority figures. And they love Folk Heroes. Case in point: Bucky Phillips, who killed a State Trooper, and people STILL wanted to hide him in their homes. Not that I support that. But--they are willing to agitate for things they believe in, like state parks and financial reform. Not bad stuff.

Jamestown is the reason I am content to look. One of my favorite things to do in the summer (or really, anytime/anywhere) is to drive down Baker's Hill just when the sun is setting, with some sort of rock music blaring, and all of the windows down. You crest the hill, and it looks like the opening shot of All Creatures Great and Small, albeit without the tiny stone houses, unless you drive another 10 minutes to PA. I've rode/driven that hill many times in many weathers, and it always makes me smile. It makes you slow down and just look--at the trees, cows, homes. And your home, a little ways off.