practice love

So why not? why not have this crazy summer fling (that will end before summer begins) with a boy you've just met, whose last name you don't know, who whispers to you in French in the middle of the night and rests his lips on you in the morning, his fingers lazily snaked between yours. Why not do it while it's fun (until it's not fun anymore), while you're young and pretty and inexperienced and smart and foolish and have never been in love so you don't have any idea what you're missing out on. (if you're missing out on anything at all.)

it's the closest imitation you're going to get; it's the california roll, the chinatown handbag, the drag queen of L-O-V-E. it's fake, but it's practice. And why not? while your heart is still strong and solid, while your defenses are brand new and only slightly weathered and you can still take a hit without falling too far from or close to the ground. This is the time to give your body what it wants, to see what it can take without asking your heart for any resources. let your heart rest. let it throb for yourself and not for someone else.

this is just practice, remember? and it will only last for as long as you want it. until your body is tired of his or your head is tired of not thinking straight or your heart just can't stand the quiet any longer. until late at night, just before dawn, just after making fake love, just before falling asleep, tangled up in eachother's arms, as the last words are slipping out of your lips, something about it feels real.

Daffodils

to honor the succulent savior, sassafrass-singing, anti-senescence,
sin-inducing, serpentine Springtime...

There's a million things I love about this time of year, and it's no secret that daffodils are at the top of my list (they've already flooded my apartment)...but this guy just says it better... his name was Wordsworth, for god's sake...

I WANDER'D lonely as a cloud

That floats on high o'er vales and hills,

When all at once I saw a crowd,

A host, of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine

And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretch'd in never-ending line

Along the margin of a bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced; but theyOut-did the sparkling waves in glee:
A poet could not but be gay,

In such a jocund company:
I gazed -- and gazed -- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie

In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye

Which is the bliss of solitude;

And then my heart with pleasure fills,

And dances with the daffodils.

So this is what you do: you tap into that well that you filled up while you could, while the love was pouring over you in a torrent, when you breathed it in deep and swallowed it whole because even though it was unusual it was also very real. And you knew that when a drought came, or just some thirst, you knew that that well would still be there, full, with no expiration date (thank god).

So this is what you've been doing, without even knowing it: you've been sipping from your well because that love is so good that a little goes a long way. Isn't that all you really need? A little something magical that makes the ordinary different and the extraordinary just icing on the cake. And, hopefully, there will always be a source that replenishes that well every so often, maybe when you're afraid you might be running low. It'll be the muse that floats out from the walls or the vision that you see when you blink, or the memory that feels like a dream; it'll be the slow, steady pulse under your breath, it'll keep you going. And when you're all dried up like an old bone and you think there's just nothing left in you, no chance or hope or way out (because somehow--can you believe it?-- you can actually forget the defining moments in your life) maybe there is a way, because there's a well.

My First Scarf

After 3 weeks, I finally completed my very first scarf.

It was as satisfying as graduating college, or getting my first job...maybe even more so, because upon completion I wasn't immediately crippled by fear and anxiety of failure...

It's a little short and has a few dropped stitches, but it's mine.

A few pictures, just to show off my masterpiece

Creativity

Watch all the way through...

Immortalizing Every Person In New York

This guy has taken up a very special project-- to draw every single person in New York City. According to the New York Times, the task could take him over 79 years-- if he draws a person every 5 minutes!-- but I think it's worth a shot. besides being an admirable feat, the guy's really talented. ya know, i happen to frequent such spots on a pretty regular basis... draw me! draw me! Look at this beaut...

ho ho ho

santa convention right outside my door...they're already drunkenly "ho ho ho-ing"...it's going to be a long night...

ah, love.

he other night, i went to the bar across the street. this bar and i have a love/hate relationship because the bastards that loiter outside of it at 3am on weekdays keep me up at night (it's gotten so bad that if i wake up in the middle of the night, i can tell what time it is by the volume of the ruckus outside) and yet, it's the most convenient place to go for a drink. i went there the other night to meet some already sufficiently drunk and rowdy male friends (i would have hated them if i was trying to sleep). after the thorough entertainment of watching them act like idiots and helping them hobble out of the establishment, i was about to cross the street to go back home when some gentlemen started talking to me.

it was totally innocent, so i didn't mind having a friendly chat, even if they were a little tipsier than i was. after a few minutes of conversation, a friend of theirs, a short, slightly balding, beady-eyed, beak-nosed, crooked-smiled, altogether awkward guy came out to join in. and then, all of a sudden, the two gentlemen i had been talking to were gone. Poof! Like loyal wingmen, they had helped their friend, and made their way back into the bar.

so i was stuck outside with this guy, let's call him Little Man, and we started talking. it was clear that he had little to no social graces; in a matter of minutes, while trying to make me laugh, he had insulted my hometown ("LA? you don't look fake enough for LA!"), intellect ("are you sure you want to go into books? are you sure you read enough?" ), and even my heritage ("you're indian? hope you're in the right caste..." ). he was striking out in ways i didn't even know existed. and yet, i felt bad for Little Man; i could clearly see he was trying to be charming and funny, but just going about it in all the wrong ways. he asked if he could buy me a drink, and against my better judgement, i said yes (i was feeling altruistic) (besides, we're in a recession, people, it's getting harder and harder to get a free beer.). about three sips into my drink he managed to insult my skin color ("hey, at least you're not as dark as he is!"). quickly, i got the hell out of there.

the next morning, i was marveling at the wrongness of the wrong guys. normally, in order to make myself feel better when i'm feeling particularly demoralized about men, i go to the weddings and celebrations section of the new york times, because sometimes all you need is a success story. and while i wasn't sure that a simple article could cure the hopelessness i felt after this particularly horrifying encounter, i figured every little bit helps. what i found was remarkable.

i read this and have hereby found a way to remedy every post-Little Man gloom from now on.

not that i'm a cynic, but i'm pretty realistic when it comes to l-o-v-e and such (i.e. i believe love fades, marriage is a contract, and my boyfriend will never go to europe without me because he will most certainly cheat with some irresistible italian girl), but a love story like Macmanus and Funke is a Meg Ryan romantic comedy waiting to happen. it makes me believe in not just flighty, exciting love, but the responsible, smart, sticky love that runs deep.

faith restored, for now.

Daily Drop Cap by Jessica Hische

old, old stuff

was going through the folder in my hard drive that i reserved for "recreational writing," though high school and college etc. (i.e. all the stuff i never had to submit for a grade) and i found some little things that brought back some serious memories. it's times like these that i remember why it's so important to write-- these are experiences that would have eroded into some dusty past. some good, some bad, but i'm glad to be able to say, i lived that...

I know how your hands feel over mine, and I know the calluses over your fingers, and I know the brownness of your eyes and the smallness of your mouth, and the way your lips purse together when you’re watching baseball. I know how red and puffy your face gets when you’re really exhausted, and your funny, ineloquent accent. I know the warmness of your skin and the warmness of your body. I know how it feels when your palm rests on the back of my leg, and the curve of your shoulders when you’re hunched over your desk. I know how afraid you are of getting close to me, ever since I learned how your lips feel pressed against mine, and how your nose feels pressed against mine, and how your soft, slow tongue feels pressed against mine. I know your nervous habit of running away from me when others are around and I know the tenderness of your voice, the kindness of your eyes, the quietness, the sweetness of your affection that hangs in the air—like steam from a hot shower—when we are alone in a room.

Daily Drop Cap by Jessica Hische

ominant, daring, hardly domesticated, indicatively dusky, distant dalliance, annual denouement, darling December

It's the first of December! The only month whose cruel weather is balanced by the warmth that everyone seems to exude as soon as the chill hits. I don't know about you, but as soon as I said my first, "Happy Holidays!" I've been a gonner-- catching myself singing carols aloud (note: i hate christmas music), decking my halls (that's right, complete with twinkle lights, tree, and pine-cinnamon-cranberry scented candles), and generally spreading the holiday cheer.

It's also my birthday month, which tends to throw me in an existential funk (has since I turned 15), but also makes me wholly grateful for the life my 20-something self has been allowed to live. Turkey day is just the kick off to my month of giving thanks-- this is the month that i brainstorm potential resolutions, marvel at the time that's passed, marvel at what's to come, all the while trying to avoid eating myself into a stupor (i'm a sucker for holiday treats).

despite the greying weather and the somehow always unexpected cold, i'll stay in a good mood. at least until the new year when i make promises to myself that i'll try (earnestly and steadfastly) to keep until i tire and become a little bit cynical again (just in time for valentine's day).

for now, though, things are looking up. Happy holidays, lovers.

D courtesy of DailyDropCap

a good sell

there's nothing like a good commercial to get the day started...
i'm a sucker for the creative, interesting, sometimes funny, sometimes heartbreaking ads that make an impression. it's really an artform-- whether youre selling a brand, a product, a message, or all three, you only get 30 seconds to make it stick. and with all that bad-vertisement that somehow makes it onto our tubes, when it's done well, it stands out. Enter HTC.
the right look, message, music, everything. saw it for the first time earlier today and for some reason, it's in my head. hopefully, in about a minute, it'll be in yours...

what do you wish would happen by the end of the day?

one of the countless reasons there's nowhere i'd rather wake up...

Where do you wish you could wake up tomorrow?

"...Once upon a time, we awoke with a new question on our mind. We didn't quite know what the buzz and bustle of a Brooklyn afternoon would bring. In search of nothing more than some fresh answers, we found a few dreams instead.

It's a simple question and the answers can lead us anywhere. So go ahead, ask yourself."

www.fiftypeopleonequestion.com

ForamsList.com

OK, so maybe this is a result of one-too-many Meg Ryan movies (and proud of it!), but I am a sucker for the missed connections on Craigslist. I check them every so often because i totally have this fantasy of being the best friend in the romantic comedy (think Judy Greer, Rosie O'Donnell etc.) who finds The Ad and just knows its meant for her girlfriend and insists that she contact the poor, lovesick author of the missed connection. and when her girlfriend refuses, the best friend takes it upon herself to write a response, pretending to be the real target of the ad and-- well, you get the picture. fast forward to valentine's day on top of the empire state building, and there ya go: faith in love restored and all is well in the world.

I am not so idealistic, but even a realist can dream.

Usually there are more illiterate creepers than genuine romeos, but tonight, while scoping out some of the MCs on CL, i came across a few standouts. this just might even improve their chances of finding L-O-V-E (and then my own selfish fantasy of being the romantic enabler might be realized!). if not, consider it just a little something to make you feel warm and fuzzy as the chill settles in ...Enjoy!

Book Beau:

Uptown 6 - 9 AM- Unbearable Lightness of Being - m4w (Midtown East)

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Date: 2009-10-09, 12:41PM EDT

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6 train at around 9 AM- You got on around Bleecker or Spring and sat down next to me. We were both reading but I couldn't concentrate. I noticed that you make really big folds at the corners of the page to serve as a bookmark. I almost said "I think you could make the folds a little bit smaller and would serve the same purpose", but I didn't feel like interrupting your reading, especially so early in the morning. Then you got off at 33rd maybe. Anyways, that's that.

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1413749914

Platform Puppy Love:

I saw you on the L train platform... - m4w

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Date: 2009-10-09, 1:37AM EDT

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...at Union Square.

It was Thursday night. We were both waiting for the 8th ave bound L. You were reading a book. I had just come down the stairs when I stopped to wait for the train and then there you were.

You were wearing a pink v-neck sweater, white collared button up shirt underneath, gray/beige skirt, and knee high boots. You were listening to your ipod. You have shoulder length brown hair and brown eyes and easily the prettiest face I've seen on a subway platform.

There was some band in the background playing on the drums but I wasn't really listening to them because I was mostly looking at you.

I hope somehow you see this.

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1413245776

Brutally Smitten:

Fuerza Bruta Sept 30 - m4w

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Date: 2009-10-08, 3:32PM EDT

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You were wearing a blue/torquoise tanktop under a black and white jacket and had a diamond nose stud. The show was amazing, but your eyes were mesmerizing. I lost you to the crowd before I could thank you for brightening my night. You were the most beautiful girl I've ever seen.

• it's NOT ok to contact this poster with services or other commercial interests

PostingID: 1412429040

lánytestvér

so i've been house-ridden the past few days, spending a LOT of time on the couch, munching and watching I Love Lucy and Say Yes to the Dress re-runs. If i'm not on the couch, then im in my bed reading Freakonomics or reflecting. yea, thats right, reflecting. at the risk of sounding like a starry-eyed lofty cliche, having this much down time (unemployed, remember?) and being in poor health makes reflection a pretty productive use of my time. sometimes i catch myself thinking of Hungary-- memories of waking up at dawn to the incessant cockadoodle of the rooster in the backyard; sitting on the deck outside of my room and reading under the pear tree. today, a memory in the corner of my mind worked its way to the front...

we sat in the car in silence, our faces lit only by the residue of headlights. (no streetlamps on these village roads.) on this last night in the village, there were no words. but three weeks of speaking through smiles and signals had taught me that anita and i didn't need words. i felt my eyes swelling as i tried to blink away tears. after climbing mountains, picking grapes, translating songs, drinking and eating and laughing together-- without ever speaking english-- anita had become a part of my heart. and now, we had to say goodbye. sitting in that quiet car in the middle of the village street, we became aware of the very real possibility that we might never see each other, never be next to each other, never breathe the same air, ever again. she looked at me, said my name, and put her hand to her heart. i did the same. i dont think knowing english or hungarian would have done us any good-- there were no words that could fill a room the way that gesture did. it was then that i realized the providence that had brought us there, together in a parked car on a dimly lit dirt road in the middle of rural Hungary. it was the first time i felt a quiet love in the most meaningful way. we had the kind of bond that most people are only born into-- i'd found a sister on the other side of the ocean.

killing time like its my job

i'm no good at this unemployment thing. sure, it's given me time to think, reflect, tap my inner yogi, shop, lunch with friends, forget what day it is, nurse some nasty hangovers, wander the streets in this beautiful weather, and relish in a state of general boredom...but it's surprisingly difficult. by tuesday morning i was on the phone with my dad, confessing my anxiety about waking up with nowhere to go. oh, the horror! like a good dad, he was quick to ease my qualms about being temporarily jobless for the first time in 3 years, and reminded me that maybe i should embrace the rare moment in my life that i don't have to work. thanks, daddio.

so we'll see how this goes. i guess, like most new yorkers, i thrive in busyness-- feeling late, rushing to the train, panting as i run back up 3 of the 5 flights to my apartment to retrieve my poor, forgotten cell phone... i love that stuff. and i'm sure, soon, i will be back in that mode. for now, i'm a manhattan meandering, binge blogging, nolita homebody with a whole lot of time on her hands.

and now im watching Hitch and all i want is some rice pudding

One more thing: what's the point of DVR if you don't have to miss what's on tv (a You've Got Mail reference...I can't resist)?

Argg where's me paperback?

This article got me thinking...

Book Piracy?

though it's still not quite a part of the mainstream, the ebook threatens to flip the business model for book publishing on its head. the internet has made it even more complicated, and has brought up the question that the journalism industry, torn between online and paper versions, with has been riddled with for years now: how to monetize?

i feel like the fact that these are books should be enough to keep us in line. this isn't that subtitled Bollywood movie you're mom has been dying for you to see, or the version of "Always Be My Baby" from Mariah's Daydream tour. These are books. doesn't everyone get emotional about them? i can't even imagine downloading a book illegally-- i feel guilty enough borrowing from the library sometimes. and to be honest, i feel like the readers who are actually into reading for pleasure aren't really going to go for this. i think they're part of the sentimental bunch who have a soft spot for full bookshelves.

i think pirated books mostly threaten the textbook industry. think about it: as students, the bane of our existence (or at least top 5, under being sexiled) is buying textbooks. if you buy them at the bookstore, you will no doubt pay through the ass for a book you'll most likely crack open MAYBE twice in the year (hello, The Economics of Labor Markets). if you buy online, you have to worry about when, from where, and in what condition your book will get to you. nothing sounds more appetizing than a quick, easy, free way to get our reading done. afterall, we're more likely to rationalize our unethical actions by our economic situations: 1. we're paying tuition, after all, so it's not like this is free-free... the transaction is just a little less direct; and 2. we're students! we're poor! we'll buy books when we can afford them, and when we want them.

i'm not supporting it, but i can't say i wouldn't be tempted. and hey, maybe publishers could work something out with file sharing systems to better monitor and somehow monetize the situation. this might be difficult, but it's not impossible. we managed to create the beast that is the internet, and instead of taming it, maybe we should be frolicking through the fields with it. after all, if you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

(image from Heads of State, New York Times)

an evanescent, velvety, vital, visceral vesper

At sunset I sit on my fire escape, reading and drinking a glass of wine. I love to sit here and look up and down the street. To my right, I can see pretty far past Little Italy into Chinatown. Left, I can almost see the Chrysler building, if I lean over a little bit. The scent of pizza wafts up, four stories high, to where I’m sitting. The smell is a familiar tease now; I’m as accustomed to it as I am to the smell of dog piss (though one is no doubt more appealing than the other). People pass under me in small groups, an occasional singing bicyclist zips past, but it’s quiet, mostly. Fall isn’t here yet, no. The trees are just barely tipped yellow; the breeze is only mild. I still see flip-flopped pedestrians walking their dogs. Kids still run around in the park without their coats. And—perhaps my most compelling piece of evidence—there aren’t any couples out. I watch the sun fall over trees and behind me. It feels like a dream. It was, once.

Today, my yoga instructor put us into Tree Pose (I guess she was feeling ambitious). As we struggled to get onto one foot and raise our hands over our heads, she said, “Feel for soft ground. You can always find your balance not from strength, but from soft ground.” Easier said than done, I thought. What the hell is “soft ground,” anyway? All I know in this town is hard: how to walk hard, work hard, be hard. I love that about this place. And that, I guess, was her point. In this Manhattan bubble, where we’re on go until our heads hit the pillow (note: I started to sleep so much better when I moved here), it’s easy to stay stimulated, occupied, elastic, stretching and stretching. Being as excitable and impatient as I am, the energy is intoxicating.

As it gets darker, the bars start to light up. Laughter gets louder from the dives across the street. The sound of after-work drinkers, pre-dinner cocktailers, or extra-early nightcappers—who will no doubt wake me hours from now—mixes with sirens. But for now, they’re just part of the hum of this city, tuning.

These evenings on my fire escape make up my foundation. This is where I find balance and peace above the horns and cries and calls of the city. This is why I love this place: I’m four stories up, and I’m on soft ground.

Or maybe I should devote my time to this!

how can i say no?

The Bucket List

and This is just too close to home...

shouldn't october be the eighth month of the year?

open-aired, autumnal, overdue, on-my-own (almost), officially unemployed, October

Tonight marks my official first Sunday of being "in-between jobs." blah. so now i've got some time to kill! I figured i might as well make the most of it, so i'm going to try to find as many interesting solo (free/cheap) activities in the city as i can.

this is what i have so far:

1. yoga

2. flu shot.

clearly, the list needs a little work. Maybe i can catch up on some reading in my beloved park before the poor thing gets cut in half again... but then what?

also, i love Stacy London