Wall Street

I'm going back to Wall Street today. The cobblestone streets remind me of Ragtime by E. L. Doctorow. There was still hope around a week ago. I don't think it will linger today. Not after yesterday. I wonder how fast people started figuring out the last crisis...without all this instant technology- things took months to get around. 

Television

I can't wait until the day when we can use our computers just the same as we can use the tv. When I can turn into the Turner Classic Movie station and watch a marathon of Lucille Ball, Gene Kelly or Peter Lorre. When being stuck on the train just means a pause in my streaming video of Animal Crackers. (Taped in Astoria...by the way) If I can see a coat in a window at Ralph Lauren, take a picture of it, and buy it via my phone, why can't I watch live cable online yet? It's very frustrating when you get the chance to watch tv and it consumes your day. Now where did I leave my Monday? 

Art.

There should be a scratch-n-sniff gallery. So you can smell art. I imagine Warhol would smell like tin cans or soup. Van Gogh would smell like potatoes and a marina, with a bit of sweat. Frida would smell like dust and heat and hair and Monet would smell like algae. Dali wouldn't be there though- could you imagine the smell of melting clocks and elephants? Which also means Picasso wouldn't be there either- Guernica would be deemed too graphic for olifactory purposes. Maybe then, we'd figure out what the Mona Lisa was smiling about.

Once Upon a Time...

This guy drew crowds. I can only imagine what it felt like to be in the audience as he performed one of his amazing feats. No matter what, I think I will always remember seeing David Blaine doing his "Dive of Death". Regardless of what did or did not happen, the rush and excitement of the stage, the posters describing the feat and the crowd is what makes it worth while. That's what's magic about it all.

Bartleby...

...is set on Wall Street. I work on Wall Street. (at least until the end of the week)

For those of you not versed with the story and at risk of being crucified for this Reader's Digest Cliff Notes-dvd version, here's the basics. Guy (named Bartleby) comes to work for a man and proceeds to frustrate the staff because he doesn't want to make friends yet impresses the boss because he's damned good at what he does. Boss finds out though that he's been sleeping there, kicks him out and never sees him again.

(To avoid your ability to use this for any redeeming purpose, I will end here)

Today, Bartleby would have to sign in at the front desk of the building, take the elevator to his floor and have a fingerprint scan to get in the door. Then he'll sign in AGAIN, and take a seat. All before beginning his daily tasks. He'll go days before meeting a boss, much less the boss. At lunch, he'll scurry down to grab a wrap and water at a bistro where Bloomberg tv, cnn and nbc are on flat screens parading as art on the wall. He'll check his blackberry, change the playlist on his ipod and think about the rising cost of his loft. Wonder why he's quiet? Because his ipod's playing and when he's done with a task, he checks up on his stocks.

Bartleby could have been a temp.

I'm reading Moby Dick by Melville currently. If I saw me on the train, I'd interrupt my reading and ask if that's the book about the whale. Just for a laugh. Sadly, no one's done that yet. I think humor is lost somewhere around Spring Street.

Someday You Need a Smile

If I had to make a movie about my life, my father would be played by Chevy Chase. That should give you a bit of insight into my childhood. I did take an RV with him from Florida to Indiana once. My brother, mother and I typically let him go about his antics, either laughing or pretending not to becuase we were "serious". You Can Call Me Al reminds me of those moments, playing Paul Simon to his Chevy Chase.

Party Like its 1945.

A Monday Kind of Smile:

Working 9 to 5ish

 Dilbert stands out in my head whenever I go to an office with cubicles. I was about 13 when I read Dilbert's Principles and maybe I should credit Scott Adams with my desires for careers that allow me to think outside of the cube. I also can't help but think of Office Space. Instead of fighting the urge to tear down my wall so I have a view, all I really have to do is turn around. There's a beautiful view of downtown NYC, right at the tip near Battery Park. A huge Colgate clock stands across the river, beckoning me from my 10th floor Wall St. office. I only hope the woman who's office I look through either A)doesn't come in this week or B) is an office wanderer. Thus allowing me an unobstructed view of the outside while not labeling me creepy. The novelty of a job where there are a lot of cubicles hasn't worn off yet. Neither has the actual dressing up for work. Although, I do fight this urge at about 2pm to get up and do a dance...just to remind myself that I'm not a machine. 

New Kids on The Block.....

...were my favorite band of all time. I had all of their tapes, a few Barbie dolls. (Jordan and Joey ONLY) and I do believe I had a lunchbox complete with thermos. Not to mention the twin sheet set AND every single cassette tape. I remember my 7 year old self jumping around to the music singing my heart out and when the cassette stopped- taking a break to get some water and then flip the tape over. I can only imagine what my mother thought, she probably still can recite the words to the songs. 

When I was home after college, I found the pillowcase from the set. After 17 years, I guess that's the only thing to survive. I showed it to my father. Sometime during my NKTOB phase, I began sleeping over at friends houses. My father always tried to lure me back home saying, "Hurry up and leave, Jordan and the New Kids are coming over for ice cream and YOU aren't invited." I'd always laugh, even though some of the coolest things happened while I was gone: my mother almost lost her pinky, my brother watched an R rated movie before me, my dad's friend brought a monkey over, etc. This ice cream date with the New Kids was my father's fall back no matter my age (I believe it even came up when I announced my move to NYC at 22). In 5th grade I got the first cd (TLC's crazysexycool) and somewhere along the way, all the cassette tapes made it onto my shelf where they collect dust to this day.

Now, every time I go home, my father's made my bed with the NKTOB pillowcase. I like to think its his way of saying he's glad I'm home. And when I run into an old friend who asks when I'll be "coming back to Florida" I think to myself: not soon, I'm planning an ice cream party with the New Kids. 

My Side of Paradise

A perfect Sunday would include (but is not limited to):  a quiet morning of breakfast and the paper at 8am, a Cary Grant movie following, then somewhere in the city for a couple hours of fun and lunch. Maybe a gallery or location of a movie set. Then, back to my place for dinner.

The World is Your Oyster.

Every time I go to Long Island, I can't help but think of all the things I want to do during my lifetime and the different ideas I've had along the way.  A couple of my friends are starting to buy homes. Others are getting married and having children (not always in that order) I can still count on a few others to remain the moving souls I love them to be- traveling, going to Burning Man, etc. Meanwhile, I steadfastly remain tethered to my ambition. Pausing slightly to gather dreams along the way and store these dreams in a claw-footed bathtub for future use. As I navigate all the gift registries and courtesy cards, I can't help but wonder- what do the stars hold?