Wow, it's been awhile! I'm back, and most things in my life have changed. I am, for instance, no longer making half-hearted stabs at amateur journalism (see post below). I am no longer engaging in self-flagellation over the sorry state of my M.A. thesis (see all entries from April and May). I am, most significantly, now happily "out" as a bisexual...and sadly, out of my long-term relationship, exploring the world otherwise known as "being single." Which means, of course, dating.
So far, it's been a delightful experience - not least by the caliber of persons I've been lucky enough to run across (warm, friendly, and genuinely beautiful in every way).
But at a more fundamental level, it has restored my faith in humanity. Logging onto a dating website and 'putting yourself out there' is roughly equivalent to walking out into a busy street at lunch hour, cupping your hands around your mouth and saying "Hey you! You over there! Yeah, in the red shirt - look at me!" This being New York, most people will simply ignore you. Some will throw you dirty looks. But some, miraculously, will cup their hands and yell back - and if you're lucky, will ask you out for coffee. The thought of *any* form of intimacy emerging out of the drive-by method of internet dating boggles my mind. And yet, it's nice to think that I might have something in common with a perfect stranger. It gives me hope.
On the downside, it turns out that even if you DO genuinely like someone (a lovely and unexpected contingency) these things come with a timeline. NZGrrrrl.com warns me that I will require one week of healing for every month of my past relationship -- which in my case, puts me roughly...60 weeks?
Nevertheless, I persevere.
On my bookshelf: Two months worth of Victorian labor poetry
In my refrigerator: A bowl of pumpkin-chocolate chip cookie dough
On my Ipod: David Rakoff
Sunday, November 11, 2007
Sunday, July 15, 2007
Business Leaders Talk Big, Say Little on Gentrification
Tempers flared in St. Ambrose Church tonight as black community leaders met to discuss the pending eviction of Shikulu Shange, a local proprietor whose Record Shack music store has stood as a bastion of the African community on 125th street for over 30 years.
"We are looking at Harlem eroding in every aspect," said Mr. Shange, speaking about the ever-increasing threat of gentrification. "If the Record Shack goes, you'll have to go down to 42nd street to get your culture."
Mr. Shange was joined by the Rev. James Manning, filmmaker Duana Butler, Dr. James Graves, and others in protesting the wholesale turnover of African-American businesses on 125th street. "Harlem still commands world-wide respect," said Manning, but if businesses continue to be bought up at this rate, "we will become a non-event."
Yet even though 125th street is turning into a shopper's playground, it's not clear that all business owners are suffering. The 2002 U.S. census reports that black ownership increased nationwide by 45% between 1997 and 2002, with 10% of all black firms being owned and operated in New York City. Residents who bought early -- including churches and community centers, like the Abbysinian Development Corporation -- are now seeing record profits as commercial rents climb well over $4000 a month.
Many of those companies are now finding themselves the target of harsh infighting, as rising rents pit lease-holders against renters and subletters like Mr. Shange. In Mr. Shange's case, his adversary is the United House of Prayer -- the church organization which owns the lease on his building, and which has refused to renew it for the upcoming year. Mr. Shange is particularly irate because the United House of Prayer is an African American church. "It preys on black people with a vengeance," he stated, pointing to the church's unwillingness to stand by its native roots. Activist Gil Noble pointed out that the church is represented by a white lawyer, and argued that the organization is actively working in the interests of gentrification.
The panel offered scant legal advice to business owners facing eviction, focusing instead on a host of related issues - the threat of eviction, the construction of large-scale high-rises, police harassment, and the ever-looming threat of Columbia's proposed expansion into West Harlem. The criticism was understandably heated - as panel organizer Nellie Bailey pointed out, many native Harlemites risk being shut out by the "gold rush" mentality of cheap rent and profitable business opportunity.
Rev. Mohammed addressed this topic directly, emphasizing the the need for collective ownership, which offers sole proprietors a crucial bargaining chip against large corporations who are clamoring to buy up property. "We have to engage," said Rev. Mohammed. "We've been desensitized to ownership. We've been more subletters than we've been owners."
Shange chimed in, pointing out how important it is to keep black businesses in the family. "You cannot inherit a job," he said. "But if you build a good business, the next generation can take it over."
For the moment, though, the mood was despondent. "What is the power of our dollars?" said organizer Nellie Bailey. "Harlem is losing its African American population. We people of color are being forced out."
"We are looking at Harlem eroding in every aspect," said Mr. Shange, speaking about the ever-increasing threat of gentrification. "If the Record Shack goes, you'll have to go down to 42nd street to get your culture."
Mr. Shange was joined by the Rev. James Manning, filmmaker Duana Butler, Dr. James Graves, and others in protesting the wholesale turnover of African-American businesses on 125th street. "Harlem still commands world-wide respect," said Manning, but if businesses continue to be bought up at this rate, "we will become a non-event."
Yet even though 125th street is turning into a shopper's playground, it's not clear that all business owners are suffering. The 2002 U.S. census reports that black ownership increased nationwide by 45% between 1997 and 2002, with 10% of all black firms being owned and operated in New York City. Residents who bought early -- including churches and community centers, like the Abbysinian Development Corporation -- are now seeing record profits as commercial rents climb well over $4000 a month.
Many of those companies are now finding themselves the target of harsh infighting, as rising rents pit lease-holders against renters and subletters like Mr. Shange. In Mr. Shange's case, his adversary is the United House of Prayer -- the church organization which owns the lease on his building, and which has refused to renew it for the upcoming year. Mr. Shange is particularly irate because the United House of Prayer is an African American church. "It preys on black people with a vengeance," he stated, pointing to the church's unwillingness to stand by its native roots. Activist Gil Noble pointed out that the church is represented by a white lawyer, and argued that the organization is actively working in the interests of gentrification.
The panel offered scant legal advice to business owners facing eviction, focusing instead on a host of related issues - the threat of eviction, the construction of large-scale high-rises, police harassment, and the ever-looming threat of Columbia's proposed expansion into West Harlem. The criticism was understandably heated - as panel organizer Nellie Bailey pointed out, many native Harlemites risk being shut out by the "gold rush" mentality of cheap rent and profitable business opportunity.
Rev. Mohammed addressed this topic directly, emphasizing the the need for collective ownership, which offers sole proprietors a crucial bargaining chip against large corporations who are clamoring to buy up property. "We have to engage," said Rev. Mohammed. "We've been desensitized to ownership. We've been more subletters than we've been owners."
Shange chimed in, pointing out how important it is to keep black businesses in the family. "You cannot inherit a job," he said. "But if you build a good business, the next generation can take it over."
For the moment, though, the mood was despondent. "What is the power of our dollars?" said organizer Nellie Bailey. "Harlem is losing its African American population. We people of color are being forced out."
Sunday, June 10, 2007
Attention bankers: PA is outside the "blast zone"
NY Times reports that Pennsylvania is trying to sell itself as "Wall Street West" -- a safe, accessible alternative for hedge funds in case New York is destroyed in a nuclear holocaust. Good to know! Now if my world goes up in smoke, at least business can continue as usual in the Poconos.
In other news, it looks like Bloomberg's congestion pricing plan may have a chance after all. It's now got financial incentives attached - roughly half of $1.1 billion dollars in federal aid set aside for cities that fight urban traffic. That's a substantial add-on to the $400 million that congestion pricing is expected to generate per year. In effect, the U.S. Department of Transportation has just doubled the value of pricing out commuters.
In other news, it looks like Bloomberg's congestion pricing plan may have a chance after all. It's now got financial incentives attached - roughly half of $1.1 billion dollars in federal aid set aside for cities that fight urban traffic. That's a substantial add-on to the $400 million that congestion pricing is expected to generate per year. In effect, the U.S. Department of Transportation has just doubled the value of pricing out commuters.
Wednesday, May 23, 2007
Relationship 2.0
Josh and I are watching Sports Night, and he curls up next to me with his arms around my waist, just like he used to when we first started dating. It's something we don't often do -- spooning consciously -- and it was perfect. Sweet and romantic, the sign of a thriving relationship.
Fifteen minutes later, I realize that the cuddling has turned into dead weight. Josh is fast asleep, and he's starting to drool on me. Fifteen minutes, the scope of a relationship -- from "tenderly cuddling" to "starting to lose feeling in my left arm." The weird thing is, I couldn't be happier.
Fifteen minutes later, I realize that the cuddling has turned into dead weight. Josh is fast asleep, and he's starting to drool on me. Fifteen minutes, the scope of a relationship -- from "tenderly cuddling" to "starting to lose feeling in my left arm." The weird thing is, I couldn't be happier.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
Making Plans, Making Time
Summer hasn't officially started yet, but between the 80 degree temperatures and the late afternoon thunderstorms, it feels like June already. I spent all afternoon reading, doing research, and listening to the rain. It's not quite hot enough to be uncomfortable -- just slightly sticky, but with a warm breeze, so the perspiration lifts almost instantly, leaving the skin cool to the touch.
Today was a good day for planning. I don't know if I ever actually accomplish anything with my lists, but they serve as a nice check to the hurtling cacophany that would otherwise be my life. Things get so busy so fast -- reading scripts, making my way through summer reading, fantasizing about writing real articles, and trying to start the research for them. Bullet points make it easy to see when you're working on too many things at once.
Today was a good day for planning. I don't know if I ever actually accomplish anything with my lists, but they serve as a nice check to the hurtling cacophany that would otherwise be my life. Things get so busy so fast -- reading scripts, making my way through summer reading, fantasizing about writing real articles, and trying to start the research for them. Bullet points make it easy to see when you're working on too many things at once.
A Hot Summer Day
My day so far:
1. Woke up at 9:30. First story idea-- female retirees seeking college grad roommates for cushy rent-stabilized Village apartments. Spent the morning researching elderly housing options in NYC. Learned that NORC stands for "naturally occurring retirement communities," and that the number of minority retirees will rise by 280 percent by 2015. Did a thorough overview of Gotham Gazette's advocacy pages. Feel like I know the site better - not sure I know any more about the issue.
2. Waited for Robie to deliver air conditioners
3. Realized that I had a script coverage interview at 4. Realized I've only seen two of their films. Remembered that the last time I went to one of these things without doing my homework, it didn't go over so well. Three hours to interview - time for at least one movie. Ran to video store and rented two movies - The Assassination of Richard Nixon and Duck Season.
4. Popped in The Assassination of Richard Nixon. Two hours of watching Sean Penn go nuts - a slow, demeaning slide into workaday oblivion. Movie ends. Sean Penn dies. Robie is not coming with air conditioners today.
5. 4:00 p.m. Script coverage interview. Took the subway down to 23rd street, and for the first time ever took the R line. The office reminds me of Michael's office - clean, well-polished, an air of cluttered professionalism - only these people are pleasant and young, and have not been forced to switch careers into advertising or "commercial" documentaries. Whle I'm sitting in the office, a storm blows in, and there is a mad rush to close the windows, interrupting the mad rush to answer phones, the mad bickering about salad fixings, the enthusiasm of an office in midday. Out the back door, I see a metal staircase going up to another building, and what looks like a clothes line, drenched in the pouring rain. I leave with three scripts, change clothes in the bathroom, and head out into the late afternoon drizzle.
6. Josh is at home. We curl up and watch a half hour of television.
7. Back to news research. Read the follow up on the NYT article about kids sleeping in offices -- hundreds of postings, mostly New Yorkers angry about how hard it is to live here. Anyone living in Manhattan is a snob for not considering the boroughs, anyone who can pay $800 a month is a trust fund baby, and anyone writing from out of state is thrilled to rub in the pricing difference. It starts out interesting, but gets depressing fairly quickly. I close off before finishing the thread.
8. I pass the 100 page mark on Ulysses. Woot!
1. Woke up at 9:30. First story idea-- female retirees seeking college grad roommates for cushy rent-stabilized Village apartments. Spent the morning researching elderly housing options in NYC. Learned that NORC stands for "naturally occurring retirement communities," and that the number of minority retirees will rise by 280 percent by 2015. Did a thorough overview of Gotham Gazette's advocacy pages. Feel like I know the site better - not sure I know any more about the issue.
2. Waited for Robie to deliver air conditioners
3. Realized that I had a script coverage interview at 4. Realized I've only seen two of their films. Remembered that the last time I went to one of these things without doing my homework, it didn't go over so well. Three hours to interview - time for at least one movie. Ran to video store and rented two movies - The Assassination of Richard Nixon and Duck Season.
4. Popped in The Assassination of Richard Nixon. Two hours of watching Sean Penn go nuts - a slow, demeaning slide into workaday oblivion. Movie ends. Sean Penn dies. Robie is not coming with air conditioners today.
5. 4:00 p.m. Script coverage interview. Took the subway down to 23rd street, and for the first time ever took the R line. The office reminds me of Michael's office - clean, well-polished, an air of cluttered professionalism - only these people are pleasant and young, and have not been forced to switch careers into advertising or "commercial" documentaries. Whle I'm sitting in the office, a storm blows in, and there is a mad rush to close the windows, interrupting the mad rush to answer phones, the mad bickering about salad fixings, the enthusiasm of an office in midday. Out the back door, I see a metal staircase going up to another building, and what looks like a clothes line, drenched in the pouring rain. I leave with three scripts, change clothes in the bathroom, and head out into the late afternoon drizzle.
6. Josh is at home. We curl up and watch a half hour of television.
7. Back to news research. Read the follow up on the NYT article about kids sleeping in offices -- hundreds of postings, mostly New Yorkers angry about how hard it is to live here. Anyone living in Manhattan is a snob for not considering the boroughs, anyone who can pay $800 a month is a trust fund baby, and anyone writing from out of state is thrilled to rub in the pricing difference. It starts out interesting, but gets depressing fairly quickly. I close off before finishing the thread.
8. I pass the 100 page mark on Ulysses. Woot!
Monday, April 23, 2007
So many distractions, so little time
ShaZAAM! My first day back on the housing market, and what do we find? A gorgious pre-war rent-stabilized apartment between Manhattan and Columbus on a huge tree-lined street. Make that a boulevard. A beautiful tree-lined boulevard with laundry in the basement. The catch? Five flights of stairs.
Life is full of tough choices.
Second semester's almost over. I'm wallowing through the last section of my Gilda paper, trying to reorganize pieces of writing that I completed weeks ago. Writing is hard. It sounds easy when you put it like that, but no -- it's actually quite hard. Another paper by Friday, another by Monday a week, and then I'm pretty much done.
Life is full of tough choices.
Second semester's almost over. I'm wallowing through the last section of my Gilda paper, trying to reorganize pieces of writing that I completed weeks ago. Writing is hard. It sounds easy when you put it like that, but no -- it's actually quite hard. Another paper by Friday, another by Monday a week, and then I'm pretty much done.
Sunday, April 22, 2007
Liev Schreiber Rocks My World
Today I finally left my computer. Three days of typing, of wracking my brain, and generally failing to produce anything approaching cogent thought. I threw in the towel, went to brunch, then hopped on the train and went downtown to see....
Liev Schreiber in Talk Radio. Wow. I've seen Liev Schreiber, and he's certainly dreamy, but he's always kind of hovered in my mind next to Billy Zane in the Phantom. Onstage, though, he was electrifying. The show is an hour and forty minutes long, and follows the on-air breakdown of shock jock Bobby Champlaine, one-time idealist, now tackling anti-Zionist nut jobs, drug addicts, and (worst of all) liberal do-gooders on his nightly radio program. The show asks a fairly hard-hitting question -- what do you do when you've been elected the voice of the people, and you have absolutely no interest in what they have to say? Schreiber delivers a blistering response apropo of Faust -- you elect yourself their god, and you turn up the mike.
Needless to say, Talk Radio is particularly relevant in the post-Imus era. Sitting through the hour and a half is brutal and fascinating at the same time -- as someone who's managed the call lines for two hour shows, it felt like I was watching Marc Steiner all over again, battling between two particularly obstinate guests (usually a pro-Palestinian and a Zionist) on a completely intractable issue. You know it's not going to be over in the next twenty-five minutes, but you're also aware that there's something magic - and not a little painful - transpiring inside the studio booth. Schreiber's radio magic is rougher, more cynical, and a good deal less polite, but it is intangibly there, and by the time the two hours are up, it's hard not to feel a little bit transformed.
Liev Schreiber in Talk Radio. Wow. I've seen Liev Schreiber, and he's certainly dreamy, but he's always kind of hovered in my mind next to Billy Zane in the Phantom. Onstage, though, he was electrifying. The show is an hour and forty minutes long, and follows the on-air breakdown of shock jock Bobby Champlaine, one-time idealist, now tackling anti-Zionist nut jobs, drug addicts, and (worst of all) liberal do-gooders on his nightly radio program. The show asks a fairly hard-hitting question -- what do you do when you've been elected the voice of the people, and you have absolutely no interest in what they have to say? Schreiber delivers a blistering response apropo of Faust -- you elect yourself their god, and you turn up the mike.
Needless to say, Talk Radio is particularly relevant in the post-Imus era. Sitting through the hour and a half is brutal and fascinating at the same time -- as someone who's managed the call lines for two hour shows, it felt like I was watching Marc Steiner all over again, battling between two particularly obstinate guests (usually a pro-Palestinian and a Zionist) on a completely intractable issue. You know it's not going to be over in the next twenty-five minutes, but you're also aware that there's something magic - and not a little painful - transpiring inside the studio booth. Schreiber's radio magic is rougher, more cynical, and a good deal less polite, but it is intangibly there, and by the time the two hours are up, it's hard not to feel a little bit transformed.
Tuesday, April 17, 2007
Saturday, April 14, 2007
Dull sublunary lovers love.
There are some moments when you come across something you read ages ago and it just clicks -- just a brief moment of alignment, when you hear the phrase, remember it, and are suddenly transported.
This one reminds me of Mrs. Euker, Jonathan Goldberg, and twelfth grade English. Who does it remind you of?
This one reminds me of Mrs. Euker, Jonathan Goldberg, and twelfth grade English. Who does it remind you of?
A Valediction Forbidding Mourning
As virtuous men pass mildly away,
And whisper to their souls to go,
While some of their sad friends do say,
"The breath goes now," and some say "No";
So let us melt, and make no noise,
No tear-floods nor sigh-tempests move;
'Twere profanation of our joys
To tell the laity our love.
Moving of the earth brings harm and fears:
Men recon what it did and meant;
But trepidation of the spheres,
Though greater far, is innocent.
Dull sublunary lovers' love
(Whose soul is sense) cannot admit
Absence, because it doth remove
Those things which elemented it.
But we, by a love so much refined
That ourselves know not what it is,
Inter-assured of the mind
Care less eyes, lips, and hands to miss.
Our two souls, therefore, which are one,
Though I must go, endure not yet
A breach, but an expansion,
Like gold to airy thinness beat.
If they be two, they are two so
As stiff twin compasses are two;
Thy soul, the fixed foot, makes no show
To move, but doth if the other do.
And though it in the center sit,
Yet, when the other far doth roam,
It leans and hearkens after it
And grows erect as that comes home.
Such wilt thou be to me, who must
Like the other foot obliquely run;
Thy firmness makes my circle just,
And makes me end where I begun.
Thursday, March 15, 2007
Here's an archaic piece of trivia: in 1936, "Gone with the Wind" (the book, not the movie) beat out Faulkner's "Absalom, Absalom" for the Pulitzer Prize. Way to go, Georgia: I'll bet Mammy cheered for that one.
In other news, I wrote two new paragraphs today. I, too, am slouching towards Bethlehem.
On my Ipod: Lang Lang
In the fridge: Haagen Daaz mint ice cream
In other news, I wrote two new paragraphs today. I, too, am slouching towards Bethlehem.
On my Ipod: Lang Lang
In the fridge: Haagen Daaz mint ice cream
Saturday, March 10, 2007
Slate on the Down Low
http://www.slate.com/id/2161452/fr/flyout
Ah, Slate. The ability to package white American racism with suitable snarkiness is something every major news organ should aspire to.
Ah, Slate. The ability to package white American racism with suitable snarkiness is something every major news organ should aspire to.
To do this weekend: Redo everything I did last week.... I had a terrible moment today - after hours of photocopying, I finally got home and started rereading earlier sources, and going back over the Franey I stumbled over a key point that I had thought was mine -- an off-hand comment I read months ago, underlined, and apparantly burned into my psyche. I hadn't even realized I'd gotten it from her.
The good news is that the paper's taken a fairly interesting turn, and I may not need the passage after all. This argument about bodies lacking aggressors (industrialization + systemic violence = weirdly passive victims) -- I think there may be something to it. I've spent all week reading about free trade policy, trying to figure out where E.D. Morel diverges from Kingsley and why concessions are different from crown colonies, and what resources were being drawn from what colonies (yes they pay me to do this). I just finished my note cards, and tomorrow I think I can start writing again.
Music on the Ipod: Glenn Gould
In the DVD player: NOTHING! Just books, and more books.
Wishful thinking: Can't wait for April...
The good news is that the paper's taken a fairly interesting turn, and I may not need the passage after all. This argument about bodies lacking aggressors (industrialization + systemic violence = weirdly passive victims) -- I think there may be something to it. I've spent all week reading about free trade policy, trying to figure out where E.D. Morel diverges from Kingsley and why concessions are different from crown colonies, and what resources were being drawn from what colonies (yes they pay me to do this). I just finished my note cards, and tomorrow I think I can start writing again.
Music on the Ipod: Glenn Gould
In the DVD player: NOTHING! Just books, and more books.
Wishful thinking: Can't wait for April...
Monday, March 5, 2007
I finally managed to drag myself off the couch and out of Morningside Heights, and man, was it worth it! Josh and I went to see "Zodiac" - a movie that validates all of those creepy afternoons sitting alone in my first-floor apartment and scaring myself silly on Crime.net. What an amazing film -- I can't get it out of my head.
Best scene: Robert Downey Jr. playing Pong in his shipboard apartment, hacked out, legs crossed, bathobe open in a single shaft of light. Yes, Robert: You too could be a psychopathic serial killer.
Best scene: Robert Downey Jr. playing Pong in his shipboard apartment, hacked out, legs crossed, bathobe open in a single shaft of light. Yes, Robert: You too could be a psychopathic serial killer.
Saturday, March 3, 2007
Seventeen pages - still no argument
I'm fighting it out with old JC again tonight, and so far he's winning - I've read and reread these passages a hundred times, and still can't this section straight! I'd forgotten how tough this part of it is -- the part where you've launched off a great proposal, only to hit a big fat wall with the research.
Today was the last straw for my laptop. The "O" key fell off six months ago; today the rubber tip came unglued (the piece that depresses the sensor). Given my predilection for vowels, it might be time to brave the Apple Store again.
In my CD player: Electro-folk mix, sans guitar (thanks Sarah!)
In my freezer: Empty container of ice cream; three bags of frozen fruit
Last DVD played: Arrested Development
Today was the last straw for my laptop. The "O" key fell off six months ago; today the rubber tip came unglued (the piece that depresses the sensor). Given my predilection for vowels, it might be time to brave the Apple Store again.
In my CD player: Electro-folk mix, sans guitar (thanks Sarah!)
In my freezer: Empty container of ice cream; three bags of frozen fruit
Last DVD played: Arrested Development
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
