I was at the gym this morning when Minority Report came on the TV. Aside from the fact that it is by far one of my favorite movies (the idea of preemptive crime prevention has always been a curious one to me), the film caught my attention for another reason: too many of the things taking place onscreen felt a little too familiar.
For a film created in 2002 as a futuristic projection of technologies to come, the screenplay was more fantasy than fact. Now, rewatching it, the possibility of a world wherein humans are scanned and tracked as entities is not far-fetched at all, and it's a little unsettling.
With the advancements of technology and social networking sites these days, I feel as though we've all given up such a huge chunk of the very things that humanize us; today's successful people are akin to today's successful businesses - they know how to brand themselves. How much this has to do with the actual integrity or quality of the brand is sometimes irrelevant.
Twitter, Facebook, reality TV, YouTube - it makes everyone and anyone accessible. Anyone with the right amount of determination can self-create their 15 minutes of fame via video (the "Forever" wedding dance that was seen around the world), stunt (the Heene's balloon boy became a best-selling Halloween costume) or words (alleged mistresses coming forward claiming they've had affairs with you-know-who).
And while this idea that "anyone can become a somebody" is something that is knowingly American (and not always in the best way...), I've come to realize that this voyeuristic culture is just cheapening our cultural society and is a serious cause of social decay (is that too harsh? Probably).
It used to be that "celebrity" meant something. There was a mystique surrounding figures like Gene Kelly, Marilyn Monroe and Gregory Peck. The public adored them and were fascinated by them because they were untouchable, these superhuman beings who could command attention on the red carpet and onscreen. Fame was granted to those who had the talents to be esteemed, and that was it.
Nowadays, pulling stunts and having many children seems to qualify anyone for the title of "celebrity." And since sites like Twitter have cropped up, these flashy names are even more accessible and humanized - to the point wherein people start to shift their focuses and morals and really believe that being "popular" and "well-known" is the end-all-be-all of their existence.
In the long list of things to strive for, I don't know if this is the best thing to base your standards of success upon.
And the irony of it all is that when people are caught in the public eye in a less-than-desirable position, the first response is always "I'm only human."
Only. Human.
Definition?
05 December 2009
28 November 2009
EATS, up!
After much delay, I've finally posted and will continue to regularly:
http://manhattaneater.wordpress.com/
Enjoy!
Also, if you're in the City and have a place you'd like to try out...let me know. (:
http://manhattaneater.wordpress.com/
Enjoy!
Also, if you're in the City and have a place you'd like to try out...let me know. (:
The Roaring 20s
The 20s aren't meant to be easy - but that fact gets buried fairly often. Nestled somewhere between the trying years of adolescence and the feared complacency of routine that characterize the teens and the 30s, respectively, the 20s are supposed to be "the best years of your life." Old enough to drink, young enough not to care about mortgages and "real" responsibilities. Idealistic enough to believe, pragmatic enough to execute.
Tacking on that label, however, can mean that those who aren't yet out of college, and those who are too far removed from the 20s, soon forget just what a weird and tumultuous time it is. Gone is the security of familiarity, with friends and family scattered throughout the state, country, world. Gone is the dependability of routine, of knowing that even the worst circumstances will come to an end coinciding with the end of a semester or school year. And most importantly, gone is the degree of certainty that there is a "correct" next step to take moving toward the next phase of life.
Being in your 20s means that, ultimately, for the first time in a long time, you really have to evaluate what it is you want, how you're going to get it, and why you want it. Prior to this vast slate known as "the real world," everything in life was comparatively neat.
Everything could be traced back to expectations. After elementary school, you moved on to junior high and high school. You worked hard in high school with the knowledge that your standardized test scores (ick) and grades would promise you success in the form of a college acceptance letter. You spend four years (or more or less) in college trying to solidify your beliefs, your thoughts, your goals as a genuinely active member of society. You expect that this, and all the things you have learned in and out of classes in your 20-something years of life, will also guarantee some form of social success. You have, after all, paid an arm and a leg for it. And then...you graduate.
Everything from there on out has absolutely nothing and everything to do with expectations. With the exception of going to grad school (this is still being in a system, in a more managed chaos), college grads are then really hit in the face with the question they should have been answering all those 20-something years ago: What do I want to do in life?
Short of hanging out with friends and exchanging woes and ideas about what it is that makes us happy, we are no longer armed with the leisurely time to really question things. There are no more classroom lessons, scheduled vacations, or discussion sections that will prompt us to think in these terms. Life after college can become pretty draining, pretty monotonous, pretty quickly.
But questioning...it's just something that needs to be done, else we toil mindlessly and just kind of drift into our 30s. And this is why the 20s are so tricky. Because the truth is, once you're out of a system, everything becomes a juggling act.
It's like piecing together a puzzle. All your years leading up to your 20s involved forming the pieces by means of learning about your likes, dislikes, interests and talents. Your 20s become, then, the years where you start to gather the disparate pieces and try to make out a discernable shape. You see what pieces you can use, which ones you can't, which ones are misshapen, and where they all fit together. But perhaps most importantly, you can, after attempting to mold all these bits together, see what is missing.
Living through the 20s is difficult because without the expectation that there is a correct route to take or a right way to piece together the puzzle, there is so much uncertainty. Life has given you enough experience and "wisdom" to recognize that you don't have all the answers and that you can't force things into place. But because the 20s involves honing and building and connecting, it's often difficult to take a step back and see that big picture.
And the missing pieces? They'll always be in the last place you look.
Tacking on that label, however, can mean that those who aren't yet out of college, and those who are too far removed from the 20s, soon forget just what a weird and tumultuous time it is. Gone is the security of familiarity, with friends and family scattered throughout the state, country, world. Gone is the dependability of routine, of knowing that even the worst circumstances will come to an end coinciding with the end of a semester or school year. And most importantly, gone is the degree of certainty that there is a "correct" next step to take moving toward the next phase of life.
Being in your 20s means that, ultimately, for the first time in a long time, you really have to evaluate what it is you want, how you're going to get it, and why you want it. Prior to this vast slate known as "the real world," everything in life was comparatively neat.
Everything could be traced back to expectations. After elementary school, you moved on to junior high and high school. You worked hard in high school with the knowledge that your standardized test scores (ick) and grades would promise you success in the form of a college acceptance letter. You spend four years (or more or less) in college trying to solidify your beliefs, your thoughts, your goals as a genuinely active member of society. You expect that this, and all the things you have learned in and out of classes in your 20-something years of life, will also guarantee some form of social success. You have, after all, paid an arm and a leg for it. And then...you graduate.
Everything from there on out has absolutely nothing and everything to do with expectations. With the exception of going to grad school (this is still being in a system, in a more managed chaos), college grads are then really hit in the face with the question they should have been answering all those 20-something years ago: What do I want to do in life?
Short of hanging out with friends and exchanging woes and ideas about what it is that makes us happy, we are no longer armed with the leisurely time to really question things. There are no more classroom lessons, scheduled vacations, or discussion sections that will prompt us to think in these terms. Life after college can become pretty draining, pretty monotonous, pretty quickly.
But questioning...it's just something that needs to be done, else we toil mindlessly and just kind of drift into our 30s. And this is why the 20s are so tricky. Because the truth is, once you're out of a system, everything becomes a juggling act.
It's like piecing together a puzzle. All your years leading up to your 20s involved forming the pieces by means of learning about your likes, dislikes, interests and talents. Your 20s become, then, the years where you start to gather the disparate pieces and try to make out a discernable shape. You see what pieces you can use, which ones you can't, which ones are misshapen, and where they all fit together. But perhaps most importantly, you can, after attempting to mold all these bits together, see what is missing.
Living through the 20s is difficult because without the expectation that there is a correct route to take or a right way to piece together the puzzle, there is so much uncertainty. Life has given you enough experience and "wisdom" to recognize that you don't have all the answers and that you can't force things into place. But because the 20s involves honing and building and connecting, it's often difficult to take a step back and see that big picture.
And the missing pieces? They'll always be in the last place you look.
24 November 2009
19 November 2009
18 November 2009
15 November 2009
14 November 2009
10 November 2009
08 November 2009
03 November 2009
Thoughts, unfiltered.
I woke up this morning with a thought in my head, a strangely blissful in-between of sleep and awake and awareness. And so instead of really trying to grasp at the details of that thought, which I think would have ruined the moment, I just grabbed a pen, my journal, and wrote. And these are the thoughts coursing through my head:
I'm in New York City. I live, breathe, smell this town in a way that I never thought I'd get a chance to. Every November, as the holidays draw closer and the prospect of returning "home" begins to fade back into my consciousness, I stop. And think. About how a whole year has gone by, and what I did last year at this point in the semester (because back then, my life was measured in semesters) and what I was most concerned with at that point in time, what made me happiest and what I had envisioned for the future. Because I think what you worry about at a given stage of your life tells a lot about what's the most important thing on your mind at the moment.
And this thinking makes me grateful. Because at this time last year I think I was starting to unravel a little bit. There was the stress of trying to stay on top of classwork while interning in Beverly Hills at a job where I could tell the other employees were miserable; the impending panic of being able to find a job or have a more defined direction before graduation; the creeping feeling that I was running on empty because my mind was just veering in too many directions at once. I remember the break-in in San Francisco, the break-down in my apartment, the unabashed tumble of emotions as I tried to figure out why I was so internally stressed and still so adamantly in denial.
To say that a lot has happened in the past year is perhaps a moot point - of course it has. So perhaps a better thing to say is that a lot has simultaneously shifted and solidified within the last few months. As of the end of October, I've been in NYC for just over five months, and there are so many emotions associated with that anniversary of sorts.
Life can only be understood backward, but it must be lived forward.
I was so focused on other people's lives and helping them out so as to avoid taking a good hard glimpse at my own life and figuring out how to fix any outstanding problems. Spend time catching up with friends over dinner or a drink? It was preferential to actually studying for exams or finishing up projects, or heaven forbid, reflecting. I've always grown up as a nostalgic child, looking to the past and trying to figure out how to recreate it in my head so that it fits the mold of the steps that have taken me to where I am now, if that makes any sense. In other words, seeing my current position for what it was - at the time, on the brink of meltdown - meant that I wanted look back on my upbringing and my personality and see what it was that caused me to be so discontent at that point.
And everything pointed to two things. First, I was raised to be a perfectionist - follow-through and initiative were drilled into me from a young age. If I didn't know the answer to something, I just had to ask. And there was never any question about whether or not I would be able to accomplish something I put my mind to. I was fortunate enough to grow up surrounded by positive influences and strong role models. Failure was not something I knew, though potential was. Too many teachers, too many people always saying that I had "potential" - untapped potential - to do something. It took all the way until high school to fully understand what that meant. Potential. The only thing stopping me? Myself.
I was shy beyond words. I would hide behind a book, prefer silence and awkwardness to trying to get to know other people. But while I might not have gotten to know other people very well, I knew my own personality inside and out. My likes, my dislikes. My fears, my talents, my weaknesses. All this plays into the here and the now, the fact that I'm striving to become a journalist, a profession that thrives on, honestly, learning about yourself through other people. The focus, on the outside, is off me. I'm a reporter: I absorb, I learn, I teach. Who would have thought that a profession that's so notoriously people-friendly would in the end begin to turn me introspected again?
The point is this. At this time last year, I was doing a lot of reflecting, about how I had become the type of person that I was, just mulling over my shortcomings, questioning my own motives to stay busy and stop thinking, but today...today, so much has changed. This year I reflect on being in New York and about how my experiences have shaped me. How being independent and stubborn in my beliefs, naive at times to the ways of the world, has gotten me this far. I know people say it's a combination of luck and skill that guarantees success (and what does that word mean, even?), but I also know that I can only control one half of that equation. Sometimes I do genuinely wonder how I got to where I am, able to talk to celebrities and big-shot editors without so much as a flinch. How did that even happen?
I do know this, though: I learned early on that if you don't ask, you'll never know. So these days, I'm just asking myself more questions than usual.
I'm in New York City. I live, breathe, smell this town in a way that I never thought I'd get a chance to. Every November, as the holidays draw closer and the prospect of returning "home" begins to fade back into my consciousness, I stop. And think. About how a whole year has gone by, and what I did last year at this point in the semester (because back then, my life was measured in semesters) and what I was most concerned with at that point in time, what made me happiest and what I had envisioned for the future. Because I think what you worry about at a given stage of your life tells a lot about what's the most important thing on your mind at the moment.
And this thinking makes me grateful. Because at this time last year I think I was starting to unravel a little bit. There was the stress of trying to stay on top of classwork while interning in Beverly Hills at a job where I could tell the other employees were miserable; the impending panic of being able to find a job or have a more defined direction before graduation; the creeping feeling that I was running on empty because my mind was just veering in too many directions at once. I remember the break-in in San Francisco, the break-down in my apartment, the unabashed tumble of emotions as I tried to figure out why I was so internally stressed and still so adamantly in denial.
To say that a lot has happened in the past year is perhaps a moot point - of course it has. So perhaps a better thing to say is that a lot has simultaneously shifted and solidified within the last few months. As of the end of October, I've been in NYC for just over five months, and there are so many emotions associated with that anniversary of sorts.
Life can only be understood backward, but it must be lived forward.
I was so focused on other people's lives and helping them out so as to avoid taking a good hard glimpse at my own life and figuring out how to fix any outstanding problems. Spend time catching up with friends over dinner or a drink? It was preferential to actually studying for exams or finishing up projects, or heaven forbid, reflecting. I've always grown up as a nostalgic child, looking to the past and trying to figure out how to recreate it in my head so that it fits the mold of the steps that have taken me to where I am now, if that makes any sense. In other words, seeing my current position for what it was - at the time, on the brink of meltdown - meant that I wanted look back on my upbringing and my personality and see what it was that caused me to be so discontent at that point.
And everything pointed to two things. First, I was raised to be a perfectionist - follow-through and initiative were drilled into me from a young age. If I didn't know the answer to something, I just had to ask. And there was never any question about whether or not I would be able to accomplish something I put my mind to. I was fortunate enough to grow up surrounded by positive influences and strong role models. Failure was not something I knew, though potential was. Too many teachers, too many people always saying that I had "potential" - untapped potential - to do something. It took all the way until high school to fully understand what that meant. Potential. The only thing stopping me? Myself.
I was shy beyond words. I would hide behind a book, prefer silence and awkwardness to trying to get to know other people. But while I might not have gotten to know other people very well, I knew my own personality inside and out. My likes, my dislikes. My fears, my talents, my weaknesses. All this plays into the here and the now, the fact that I'm striving to become a journalist, a profession that thrives on, honestly, learning about yourself through other people. The focus, on the outside, is off me. I'm a reporter: I absorb, I learn, I teach. Who would have thought that a profession that's so notoriously people-friendly would in the end begin to turn me introspected again?
The point is this. At this time last year, I was doing a lot of reflecting, about how I had become the type of person that I was, just mulling over my shortcomings, questioning my own motives to stay busy and stop thinking, but today...today, so much has changed. This year I reflect on being in New York and about how my experiences have shaped me. How being independent and stubborn in my beliefs, naive at times to the ways of the world, has gotten me this far. I know people say it's a combination of luck and skill that guarantees success (and what does that word mean, even?), but I also know that I can only control one half of that equation. Sometimes I do genuinely wonder how I got to where I am, able to talk to celebrities and big-shot editors without so much as a flinch. How did that even happen?
I do know this, though: I learned early on that if you don't ask, you'll never know. So these days, I'm just asking myself more questions than usual.
24 October 2009
Home, free.
I think, after nearly a month, I'm finally past the withdrawal period. When I first lost access to the Internet at my apartment, I didn't really know what to do with myself. After work, I would head home, spend about half an hour attempting to get the wireless to work, write for a bit, read a little, make a few calls and then kind of mull around and make lists of things I wasn't able to do without online access (sad but true, har har).
Now, though, I don't know quite what to do when I do get an extended period of time to troll the web. I browse a few sites and blogs, but consciously stay away from time-suck things like Facebook because I've grown so used to stealing just a few minutes worth of personal Internet use at the office (other than that, there's just too much work to be done!) that I'd rather just get what I need off the Internet and then log back into the real world.
I've somehow been given the rare opportunity to extricate myself from the digital realm, and after living life without the burden of the web for a bit, it'll be hard to go back. Thus far, the reasons not to be constantly plugged into other people's lives are outweighing all reasons to do so, and I kind of like it.
Remember Neo in The Matrix? Remember what a revolutionary idea it was at the time to imagine that our waking hours were actually part of a subconscious dream, and that our reality was some sort of bleak, technologically charged world? I know it sounds dramatic, but being cut off from social networking and chatting and everything and focusing in on the present - not just the now, but the HERE - is a little bit like that. Unsettling at first, but then refreshing and welcome.
Generally speaking, life is a little more productive this way, I'm more able to focus on my own goals and tasks, and I've eliminated so much of the white noise that's been permeating the day-to-day.
Yeah, it's a little harder to keep in touch with people this way, but it makes those infrequent phone calls and emails that much more poignant. And it helps to put quite a few things into perspective - split your focus among one too many things, allow yourself to be pulled in too many directions and your core can crumble pretty easily.
Now, though, I don't know quite what to do when I do get an extended period of time to troll the web. I browse a few sites and blogs, but consciously stay away from time-suck things like Facebook because I've grown so used to stealing just a few minutes worth of personal Internet use at the office (other than that, there's just too much work to be done!) that I'd rather just get what I need off the Internet and then log back into the real world.
I've somehow been given the rare opportunity to extricate myself from the digital realm, and after living life without the burden of the web for a bit, it'll be hard to go back. Thus far, the reasons not to be constantly plugged into other people's lives are outweighing all reasons to do so, and I kind of like it.
Remember Neo in The Matrix? Remember what a revolutionary idea it was at the time to imagine that our waking hours were actually part of a subconscious dream, and that our reality was some sort of bleak, technologically charged world? I know it sounds dramatic, but being cut off from social networking and chatting and everything and focusing in on the present - not just the now, but the HERE - is a little bit like that. Unsettling at first, but then refreshing and welcome.
Generally speaking, life is a little more productive this way, I'm more able to focus on my own goals and tasks, and I've eliminated so much of the white noise that's been permeating the day-to-day.
Yeah, it's a little harder to keep in touch with people this way, but it makes those infrequent phone calls and emails that much more poignant. And it helps to put quite a few things into perspective - split your focus among one too many things, allow yourself to be pulled in too many directions and your core can crumble pretty easily.
22 October 2009
16 October 2009
Life on standby
Okay, so life without the Internet is at once the best and worst thing to happen to me.
Just thought I'd say.
End.
Just thought I'd say.
End.
01 October 2009
29 September 2009
And the beat goes...
Something about the combination of chillier fall weather and my recent love of throwback muzak is making me nostalgic these days. I had a long conversation with a random bodyguard at an event I was covering today, and he was telling me about all the artists he used to work for. We started chatting about who we thought were arguably today's biggest music moguls, and we came to the consensus that Mariah Carey still tops the charts both Stateside and internationally. Britney Spears has garnered some pretty hefty points in that department, but whether or not she has the same staying power is yet to be seen.
So I started thinking about just what it is about Mariah that's made her such a staple in our cultural consciousness. Voice? Well, eight octaves can't be a walk in the park. Image? She's gone through her low points (Glitter, anyone?) but has somehow always managed to rise above it all. So I think, glamor and tabloid fodder aside, it's simply hard work - but making it all look effortless in the process.
I mean, the reason why today's flash-in-the-pan celebs seem to just rotate in and out of the spotlight is because they're all capitalizing on their looks, their connections or their antics. But how much of it is based on simple hard work? The way the entertainment sphere works, with so many people constantly buzzing around you, helping you with your schedule, your makeup, your hair, your car door - how easy is it to become dependent on all of that, and to let your work ethic slide?
Random thoughts, I know, but I was thinking about this in these terms: Mariah's at the top of her game at 40, having just launched a new fragrance line and released a new album that critics praise as a throwback to the "old Mariah." She could have easily dropped out of the upper circles of celebrity after Glitter, or her meltdown, or a million other things. And yet she's managed to pick herself back up and recreate the kind of career she always knew she wanted to have - by no less than knowing what she wanted and going for it.
Strange to think that you can draw life lessons from someone as glam and notoriously diva-esque as Mariah, but I think there's something to be said for her concern over every meticulous detail of her career. She might have a million people handling her, but she knows what's going on. She knows how to see the big picture and work hard for what she's got.
Hmm. HANYway. End random thoughts.
So I started thinking about just what it is about Mariah that's made her such a staple in our cultural consciousness. Voice? Well, eight octaves can't be a walk in the park. Image? She's gone through her low points (Glitter, anyone?) but has somehow always managed to rise above it all. So I think, glamor and tabloid fodder aside, it's simply hard work - but making it all look effortless in the process.
I mean, the reason why today's flash-in-the-pan celebs seem to just rotate in and out of the spotlight is because they're all capitalizing on their looks, their connections or their antics. But how much of it is based on simple hard work? The way the entertainment sphere works, with so many people constantly buzzing around you, helping you with your schedule, your makeup, your hair, your car door - how easy is it to become dependent on all of that, and to let your work ethic slide?
Random thoughts, I know, but I was thinking about this in these terms: Mariah's at the top of her game at 40, having just launched a new fragrance line and released a new album that critics praise as a throwback to the "old Mariah." She could have easily dropped out of the upper circles of celebrity after Glitter, or her meltdown, or a million other things. And yet she's managed to pick herself back up and recreate the kind of career she always knew she wanted to have - by no less than knowing what she wanted and going for it.
Strange to think that you can draw life lessons from someone as glam and notoriously diva-esque as Mariah, but I think there's something to be said for her concern over every meticulous detail of her career. She might have a million people handling her, but she knows what's going on. She knows how to see the big picture and work hard for what she's got.
Hmm. HANYway. End random thoughts.
26 September 2009
Lessons from New Haven
If there's one thing to be said about journalism and New York and settling into your 20s, it's that every day is a test of your comfort zone. Be it venturing into a different part of town or approaching new faces, your role as a West Coast transplant in an East Coast environment consists of always toe-ing the line between the familiar and the unfamiliar, pushing boundaries all the while. This is the time and the place to learn by trial and error, after all.
This I figured out quickly in New Haven.
When I left the city to report this past weekend (already a week ago!), I knew that I would have to bring my A-game. Working on my own (save for the two other reporters who were equally busy on their own wild goose chases) meant channeling any and all of my past experiences as a student journalist and, well, as a human being, into trying to interview reluctant sources.
I thought that 22 years of life would bring with them a certain amount of intuition, but after spending three and a half days trying to get hesitant students to speak with me, I realized that intuition or not, I'm still in an industry wherein my livelihood depends upon the whims of others.
My livelihood. Depends. Upon the whims. Of others.
Whether or not I get a story doesn't come down to an algorithm or a certain number of hours put into a given project. Whether or not I'm able to deliver a final, quality product to my editor depends upon how good I am at convincing sources that what they know is worthy of public knowledge.
I have to not only get other people to talk, I have to know just how to speak myself.
And it's a dangerous balance to find, isn't it? Journalists have that reputation of backstabbing and manipulating for the sake of a juicy story, and it's one that, though an exaggeration, is definitely based on a certain amount of truth.
With an editor at your back urging you to file your latest findings, it's often hard to admit that you've turned up nothing. That you've spent days gently talking to sources and trying to cultivate a relationship so that they will trust you enough to talk - all for naught. When push comes to shove, I can see now how easy it is to just grasp at a few small leads and blow them out of proportion, sensationalize what little bit of news there is to be had.
Reporting in New Haven last weekend was a learning experience. The frustration I felt in trying to convince sources to speak to me, knocking on doors and making phone calls, visiting organizations and juggling emails, was nothing compared to the fear and uneasiness felt by an entire community following the brutal on-campus murder. In speaking with members of the neighboring areas, I became absorbed in their concerns, their wary attitudes, their adamant stance against imposing journalists.
I was hooked.
I trolled news sites and watched the news from my hotel room into the late hours of the night, trying to find some way to understand the crime, the people, the story that was unraveling nervously for the public to see.
And what I found in all my research, and through days of speaking with community members, was that autonomy and respect are the two things that every person demands. Deprive people of either and they don't want to open up.
I never used to be good at talking to people, and I still work on it constantly. I grew up ultra quiet, always fading into backgrounds and opting to observe rather than partake. That phrase, "think before you speak"? I think I just never progressed from one stage to the next.
So I can understand the comfort it must be to stay silent. Many of the people I spoke with didn't want to go into details because they were afraid they might be wrong. Others thought it best to steer clear of the story altogether. They were all still processing the horrific events in their head, and to have the media show up and try to pry open their mouths to speak was - abrasive, to say the least.
When I fell into journalism during freshman year of college, I was pushed quite rudely out of my comfort zone. One part of the trade is listening and watching. The other part, the part I needed so badly to learn, was to speak, to initiate, to project. And goodness knows that once I started, I just couldn't stop - now I can rattle on for hours, and sometimes I talk to strangers just to test myself (not heeding those childhood warnings, I suppose), to see if I can still talk to and relate to people at random.
A part of me went into New Haven a little too confident that I would be able to speak to the people that no one else could get to, because I assumed that I had honed speaking to strangers to a tee.
What I hadn't counted on was that training and intuition aside, what I didn't have was experience - crucial on all counts. While nothing previous could have fully prepared me for the tiring nature of the 24-hour reporting, a few more life experiences definitely would have shown me just where I could push and where I should back off.
This is the stuff they just can't teach you in the classroom, and the reason I can't wait to keep learning. Each time I expand my comfort zone it means I have to push that much harder to break free of it.
This I figured out quickly in New Haven.
When I left the city to report this past weekend (already a week ago!), I knew that I would have to bring my A-game. Working on my own (save for the two other reporters who were equally busy on their own wild goose chases) meant channeling any and all of my past experiences as a student journalist and, well, as a human being, into trying to interview reluctant sources.
I thought that 22 years of life would bring with them a certain amount of intuition, but after spending three and a half days trying to get hesitant students to speak with me, I realized that intuition or not, I'm still in an industry wherein my livelihood depends upon the whims of others.
My livelihood. Depends. Upon the whims. Of others.
Whether or not I get a story doesn't come down to an algorithm or a certain number of hours put into a given project. Whether or not I'm able to deliver a final, quality product to my editor depends upon how good I am at convincing sources that what they know is worthy of public knowledge.
I have to not only get other people to talk, I have to know just how to speak myself.
And it's a dangerous balance to find, isn't it? Journalists have that reputation of backstabbing and manipulating for the sake of a juicy story, and it's one that, though an exaggeration, is definitely based on a certain amount of truth.
With an editor at your back urging you to file your latest findings, it's often hard to admit that you've turned up nothing. That you've spent days gently talking to sources and trying to cultivate a relationship so that they will trust you enough to talk - all for naught. When push comes to shove, I can see now how easy it is to just grasp at a few small leads and blow them out of proportion, sensationalize what little bit of news there is to be had.
Reporting in New Haven last weekend was a learning experience. The frustration I felt in trying to convince sources to speak to me, knocking on doors and making phone calls, visiting organizations and juggling emails, was nothing compared to the fear and uneasiness felt by an entire community following the brutal on-campus murder. In speaking with members of the neighboring areas, I became absorbed in their concerns, their wary attitudes, their adamant stance against imposing journalists.
I was hooked.
I trolled news sites and watched the news from my hotel room into the late hours of the night, trying to find some way to understand the crime, the people, the story that was unraveling nervously for the public to see.
And what I found in all my research, and through days of speaking with community members, was that autonomy and respect are the two things that every person demands. Deprive people of either and they don't want to open up.
I never used to be good at talking to people, and I still work on it constantly. I grew up ultra quiet, always fading into backgrounds and opting to observe rather than partake. That phrase, "think before you speak"? I think I just never progressed from one stage to the next.
So I can understand the comfort it must be to stay silent. Many of the people I spoke with didn't want to go into details because they were afraid they might be wrong. Others thought it best to steer clear of the story altogether. They were all still processing the horrific events in their head, and to have the media show up and try to pry open their mouths to speak was - abrasive, to say the least.
When I fell into journalism during freshman year of college, I was pushed quite rudely out of my comfort zone. One part of the trade is listening and watching. The other part, the part I needed so badly to learn, was to speak, to initiate, to project. And goodness knows that once I started, I just couldn't stop - now I can rattle on for hours, and sometimes I talk to strangers just to test myself (not heeding those childhood warnings, I suppose), to see if I can still talk to and relate to people at random.
A part of me went into New Haven a little too confident that I would be able to speak to the people that no one else could get to, because I assumed that I had honed speaking to strangers to a tee.
What I hadn't counted on was that training and intuition aside, what I didn't have was experience - crucial on all counts. While nothing previous could have fully prepared me for the tiring nature of the 24-hour reporting, a few more life experiences definitely would have shown me just where I could push and where I should back off.
This is the stuff they just can't teach you in the classroom, and the reason I can't wait to keep learning. Each time I expand my comfort zone it means I have to push that much harder to break free of it.
25 September 2009
22 September 2009
18 September 2009
15 September 2009
Twitter this, twitter that
So things have obviously been a-buzz in the office as of late, what with film festivals and fashion week and awards shows to cover. Oh, awards shows. If there's one thing to be learned from the entire Kanye debacle (okay, so there's many things to be learned from the incident, but this one tops them somehow), it's that people are really starting to recognize the power of Twitter - and the dangers of it too.
It's a pretty interesting concept, being able to read all the reactions as they unfolded, both those of the celebrities in the audience and those of the people watching the show from back home. There's less of a filter that way, and as a result, I think people make themselves equal parts accessible and vulnerable.
Katy Perry saying that what Kanye did was the equivalent of "stepping on kittens" was pretty dang funny; reporters prematurely tweeting that the President called him a jackass, though, made me wonder about how careless Twittering might blur lines that are already poorly drawn.
Twittering, for what it's worth, humanizes people. When Joe the Plumber is Tweeting about his latest sandwich invention, Joe Zee of Elle could be Twittering his own thoughts on the latest Derek Lam collection at the same time. And people would actually want to read both. So I guess it's a good thing, being able to directly "talk to" your favorite musicians, actors, comedians. But once it gets to be politicians and bigger public figures who have a distinct public persona to keep up? Then it gets tricky.
Long story short, I never used to understand the point of Twitter. But now, I'm intrigued.
It's a pretty interesting concept, being able to read all the reactions as they unfolded, both those of the celebrities in the audience and those of the people watching the show from back home. There's less of a filter that way, and as a result, I think people make themselves equal parts accessible and vulnerable.
Katy Perry saying that what Kanye did was the equivalent of "stepping on kittens" was pretty dang funny; reporters prematurely tweeting that the President called him a jackass, though, made me wonder about how careless Twittering might blur lines that are already poorly drawn.
Twittering, for what it's worth, humanizes people. When Joe the Plumber is Tweeting about his latest sandwich invention, Joe Zee of Elle could be Twittering his own thoughts on the latest Derek Lam collection at the same time. And people would actually want to read both. So I guess it's a good thing, being able to directly "talk to" your favorite musicians, actors, comedians. But once it gets to be politicians and bigger public figures who have a distinct public persona to keep up? Then it gets tricky.
Long story short, I never used to understand the point of Twitter. But now, I'm intrigued.
Maybe
This sounded so amazing live in the office today that I thought I would hunt it down. And I kind of love the music vid. (:
12 September 2009
Movin' on up.
My cousin's a proud papa, as of last night.
...and the generations continue to shift and shuffle. (:
...and the generations continue to shift and shuffle. (:
11 September 2009
08 September 2009
Musical chairs
Sometimes I feel like I'm playing musical chairs with my life. I made a comment to a friend the other day that my life is just one continuous stream of side notes. There's a continuous trek toward a somewhere and a something, but the vast majority of my experiences thus far have been detours, and part of me wonders when and if I'll be on a clear path anytime soon.
I mean, I'm fine either way if I will or if I won't, but some days I just wish I knew. Because it would be a lot more convenient that way.
I say musical chairs because at present, I'm balancing a few things simultaneously, and my efforts and attention seem to move pretty consistently through each project, though they can never cover all bases simultaneously. I'm still working at People (thank goodness), but am job-hunting and freelancing on the side, as well as editing for an online publication and studying for the GRE. I'm working on starting a magazine (which is a stop-and-go process), and trying to compile all my clips into a comprehensive personal site and business card.
Needless to say, days are long but weeks are fast.
It's like this immense, weighty guessing game. Round and round and round I go, where I'll stop, nobody knows. I'm trying to prepare for every possible situation at once and have a foot semi-firmly planted in different options should the opportunities arise, but it's pretty dang tiring.
Graduate school? I'd love to get a masters in education somewhere down the line, but don't know that I'm in the right mindset for that just now. The GRE is a preparation for it, though.
Working at People? It would be SUCH a fantastic opportunity, and I love working there so much, but I know that the way the economy and the industry is, I can't put all my eggs in one basket.
Freelancing? It's a tough lifestyle, and something I always saw as more of a supplement than a full-time investment. I've got ideas, but it's a hard sell getting publications to want and need them at just the right time.
Applying to other publications? Honing my skills at my present job means I focus all my attention on that, and am usually too tired to think about applications or interviews otherwise. It's a necessary thing, though, and so I'm working on it.
Creating a magazine? This is the ultimate dream, but because there aren't instant results, it's obviously slower to take flight. When there are so many other things that seem to take precedence over this "personal project," it's easy to lose site of the ultimate goal, which would be really creating something with all my heart.
There are so many paths to take, so many chairs to edge around. Because when the music stops, I want to be sure to get a seat - which one is irrelevant.
This might sound strange, but in this case, I just don't want to be left the last one standing.
I mean, I'm fine either way if I will or if I won't, but some days I just wish I knew. Because it would be a lot more convenient that way.
I say musical chairs because at present, I'm balancing a few things simultaneously, and my efforts and attention seem to move pretty consistently through each project, though they can never cover all bases simultaneously. I'm still working at People (thank goodness), but am job-hunting and freelancing on the side, as well as editing for an online publication and studying for the GRE. I'm working on starting a magazine (which is a stop-and-go process), and trying to compile all my clips into a comprehensive personal site and business card.
Needless to say, days are long but weeks are fast.
It's like this immense, weighty guessing game. Round and round and round I go, where I'll stop, nobody knows. I'm trying to prepare for every possible situation at once and have a foot semi-firmly planted in different options should the opportunities arise, but it's pretty dang tiring.
Graduate school? I'd love to get a masters in education somewhere down the line, but don't know that I'm in the right mindset for that just now. The GRE is a preparation for it, though.
Working at People? It would be SUCH a fantastic opportunity, and I love working there so much, but I know that the way the economy and the industry is, I can't put all my eggs in one basket.
Freelancing? It's a tough lifestyle, and something I always saw as more of a supplement than a full-time investment. I've got ideas, but it's a hard sell getting publications to want and need them at just the right time.
Applying to other publications? Honing my skills at my present job means I focus all my attention on that, and am usually too tired to think about applications or interviews otherwise. It's a necessary thing, though, and so I'm working on it.
Creating a magazine? This is the ultimate dream, but because there aren't instant results, it's obviously slower to take flight. When there are so many other things that seem to take precedence over this "personal project," it's easy to lose site of the ultimate goal, which would be really creating something with all my heart.
There are so many paths to take, so many chairs to edge around. Because when the music stops, I want to be sure to get a seat - which one is irrelevant.
This might sound strange, but in this case, I just don't want to be left the last one standing.
06 September 2009
Thought of the day.
Getting what you want isn't the hard part.
Knowing what you want is.
...maybe I've been watching too much Everwood, ya know what I mean?
Knowing what you want is.
...maybe I've been watching too much Everwood, ya know what I mean?
Family & familiarity
This might sound really trite and dumb of me, but I hadn't realized how much I had underestimated the value of family until this past weekend. I spent the better part of yesterday out on Staten Island, visiting the extended family - people I haven't seen in nearly 10 years, all of whom still remember me in pigtails or jumpers or both.
My aunt and uncle (Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul, my closest relatives back in LA) flew out to New York for a weekend of reunions and meals and reminiscing. They're both just past 70, but are as active and social as ever (this is a common thread in my family, the longevity and the activeness). They've never had children and therefore take on any kids - that is to say, anyone in a generation past theirs - as their own.
My cousins and I all have fond memories of spending summers and weekends at their house, watching cartoons (theirs was the first house to get cable, and later, the first to have AOL back in the dial-up days), eating lots of candy and essentially having free reign over our days. They were the aunt and uncle who would say "yes" to extended bedtimes and "no" to homework, and we loved them for it.
What we didn't realize was that, along the way, they were building the kind of trust and bond between their generation and ours that would prove essential as we all began to grow up.
I got a phone call from my uncle on Thursday when he and my aunt landed in the City, and he insisted that I make the trek out to Staten Island with them yesterday, that it was important that I reacquaint myself with that side of the family. They all want to see you, he said. You've grown up a lot since they last saw you.
So I went. My aunt (recovering from some pretty intense physical therapy post-surgery), my uncle (exclaiming every two seconds about how much New York has changed), my cousin (just about to start his senior year at NYU) and I boarded a ferry in the early afternoon. Destination: memory lane, Staten Island.
A ferry and train ride later, we were in the heart of Staten Island, surrounded by trees and homes with dusty white picket fences and cars that hummed down small tarred roads. The aunt and uncle we were visiting were actually old college friends of Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul, a wonderful couple that might as well have been family, if not by blood.
I hadn't seen either of them in ages, and sure enough, they made comments about how tall I've gotten, how much I've changed, how glad they were that I've decided to move out to the east coast (But don't tell your mother I said that). It was eye-opening to see the age in their eyes, the wrinkles that crept up around their smiles, the grey that shone in their hair at certain angles.
Clearly, we had all changed.
It wasn't until their daughters, Susan and Linda (my adopted cousins of sorts), joined us, that I really felt the weight of the change. I finally met Susan's 5-year-old son Michael, autistic and so charismatic (half-Chinese and half-Irish is a beautiful mix, his dad Kevin pointed out), and Linda's fiancé Chris (she had had a different boyfriend last time we met).
Knowing that these cousins had built a life for themselves in the interim between now and when I had last visited was an unexpected shock. Usually, visiting relatives means seeing physical signs of aging, but not complete lifestyle restructuring.
From their perspective, they couldn't believe that I had already shorn my pigtails and glasses, let alone graduated from college. It boggled their minds that I was old enough to drink, when the last time they had seen me I was still disgusted by the bitter taste of coffee.
We all went out to dinner, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around the generational shift that had taken place. Michael was calling me Auntie. Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul were now Grandma Jane and Grandpa Paul. My cousins, one nearing 30 and the other nearing 40, weren't the young, flighty girls I had remembered them to be. They had something solid, something established. They were creating their own sense of home and family.
But though the change was startling, it wasn't scary. Because honestly, seeing all the interactions at the dinner table - Linda dumping grape leaves on Susan's plate, Kevin talking football with Chris, a long-lost uncle catching up with Aunt Jane - made me see just how important those initial bonds still were.
In the middle of all the craziness of moving to New York and trying to find a foothold in the journalism industry, I had forgotten what it felt like just to spend an afternoon with family. And just...be.
I've always contended that if you have your family and your health, then nothing else really matters. Things fall into place, problems work themselves out, and the world keeps turning. This weekend confirmed that. At the end of the day, what I decide to do in the coming years and where I ultimately end up will be more than fine no matter what. I've been blessed with a loving family (and an intricate network of extended family), and that support is immeasurable.
Having that knowledge is invigorating, inspiring. From a solid base like that you can really go anywhere. Like I'd been taught by the great Sumi back at USC, roots before branches.
Roots before branches.
My aunt and uncle (Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul, my closest relatives back in LA) flew out to New York for a weekend of reunions and meals and reminiscing. They're both just past 70, but are as active and social as ever (this is a common thread in my family, the longevity and the activeness). They've never had children and therefore take on any kids - that is to say, anyone in a generation past theirs - as their own.
My cousins and I all have fond memories of spending summers and weekends at their house, watching cartoons (theirs was the first house to get cable, and later, the first to have AOL back in the dial-up days), eating lots of candy and essentially having free reign over our days. They were the aunt and uncle who would say "yes" to extended bedtimes and "no" to homework, and we loved them for it.
What we didn't realize was that, along the way, they were building the kind of trust and bond between their generation and ours that would prove essential as we all began to grow up.
I got a phone call from my uncle on Thursday when he and my aunt landed in the City, and he insisted that I make the trek out to Staten Island with them yesterday, that it was important that I reacquaint myself with that side of the family. They all want to see you, he said. You've grown up a lot since they last saw you.
So I went. My aunt (recovering from some pretty intense physical therapy post-surgery), my uncle (exclaiming every two seconds about how much New York has changed), my cousin (just about to start his senior year at NYU) and I boarded a ferry in the early afternoon. Destination: memory lane, Staten Island.
A ferry and train ride later, we were in the heart of Staten Island, surrounded by trees and homes with dusty white picket fences and cars that hummed down small tarred roads. The aunt and uncle we were visiting were actually old college friends of Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul, a wonderful couple that might as well have been family, if not by blood.
I hadn't seen either of them in ages, and sure enough, they made comments about how tall I've gotten, how much I've changed, how glad they were that I've decided to move out to the east coast (But don't tell your mother I said that). It was eye-opening to see the age in their eyes, the wrinkles that crept up around their smiles, the grey that shone in their hair at certain angles.
Clearly, we had all changed.
It wasn't until their daughters, Susan and Linda (my adopted cousins of sorts), joined us, that I really felt the weight of the change. I finally met Susan's 5-year-old son Michael, autistic and so charismatic (half-Chinese and half-Irish is a beautiful mix, his dad Kevin pointed out), and Linda's fiancé Chris (she had had a different boyfriend last time we met).
Knowing that these cousins had built a life for themselves in the interim between now and when I had last visited was an unexpected shock. Usually, visiting relatives means seeing physical signs of aging, but not complete lifestyle restructuring.
From their perspective, they couldn't believe that I had already shorn my pigtails and glasses, let alone graduated from college. It boggled their minds that I was old enough to drink, when the last time they had seen me I was still disgusted by the bitter taste of coffee.
We all went out to dinner, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around the generational shift that had taken place. Michael was calling me Auntie. Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul were now Grandma Jane and Grandpa Paul. My cousins, one nearing 30 and the other nearing 40, weren't the young, flighty girls I had remembered them to be. They had something solid, something established. They were creating their own sense of home and family.
But though the change was startling, it wasn't scary. Because honestly, seeing all the interactions at the dinner table - Linda dumping grape leaves on Susan's plate, Kevin talking football with Chris, a long-lost uncle catching up with Aunt Jane - made me see just how important those initial bonds still were.
In the middle of all the craziness of moving to New York and trying to find a foothold in the journalism industry, I had forgotten what it felt like just to spend an afternoon with family. And just...be.
I've always contended that if you have your family and your health, then nothing else really matters. Things fall into place, problems work themselves out, and the world keeps turning. This weekend confirmed that. At the end of the day, what I decide to do in the coming years and where I ultimately end up will be more than fine no matter what. I've been blessed with a loving family (and an intricate network of extended family), and that support is immeasurable.
Having that knowledge is invigorating, inspiring. From a solid base like that you can really go anywhere. Like I'd been taught by the great Sumi back at USC, roots before branches.
Roots before branches.
01 September 2009
Missing?
I don't tend to miss things or people much, but this is an exception. And I don't know quite what to think of it.
29 August 2009
Stranger advice
The beauty of being able to talk to random strangers for a living is that you get a heck of a lot of unsolicited advice from sources you wouldn't otherwise peg as purveyors of truth. And because you're constantly asking questions, you start to adopt a "talk to me" expression on your face that invites even the most seemingly unfriendly faces to spill their secrets and tell you the story of their lives.
I wonder if this is a phenomenon that happens often to writers or journalists in the City. It's been happening on a pretty regular basis throughout the past few months, and I think it's kind of a fantastic thing, but sometimes it's more than that. Just last night, as I was sitting on the subway on my way home to Astoria, a man in a three-piece suit sat down next to me.
Two guys hopped onto the train just as the doors were about to close, looking pretty flustered. One of them asked me for directions to Penn station, but with my headphones in I didn't hear him the first, second or third time he asked. And then when I did hear him, I didn't understand what he was saying in his flustered state.
So the three-piece man (hereafter known as the TPM) got him to calm down and gave very detailed directions not once, not twice, but three times to make sure that he understood where to go. After the two men got off at the next stop to switch stations, thanking them, the TPM turned to me and said:
"Those can be dangerous, you know."
"I'm sorry, what can be?"
"The headphones. There's been a series of robberies from passengers either sleeping or zoning out with headphones this past month. Especially on the F train. So make sure you watch your things."
"Right, thanks," I said, smiling at the nicety of a man giving helpful, unsolicited advice on the subway.
"I think those guys were trying to take your things, actually. They were just checking to make sure you couldn't hear them."
Thank you, TPM. Thank you. That could have been bad. HA.
I wonder if this is a phenomenon that happens often to writers or journalists in the City. It's been happening on a pretty regular basis throughout the past few months, and I think it's kind of a fantastic thing, but sometimes it's more than that. Just last night, as I was sitting on the subway on my way home to Astoria, a man in a three-piece suit sat down next to me.
Two guys hopped onto the train just as the doors were about to close, looking pretty flustered. One of them asked me for directions to Penn station, but with my headphones in I didn't hear him the first, second or third time he asked. And then when I did hear him, I didn't understand what he was saying in his flustered state.
So the three-piece man (hereafter known as the TPM) got him to calm down and gave very detailed directions not once, not twice, but three times to make sure that he understood where to go. After the two men got off at the next stop to switch stations, thanking them, the TPM turned to me and said:
"Those can be dangerous, you know."
"I'm sorry, what can be?"
"The headphones. There's been a series of robberies from passengers either sleeping or zoning out with headphones this past month. Especially on the F train. So make sure you watch your things."
"Right, thanks," I said, smiling at the nicety of a man giving helpful, unsolicited advice on the subway.
"I think those guys were trying to take your things, actually. They were just checking to make sure you couldn't hear them."
Thank you, TPM. Thank you. That could have been bad. HA.
28 August 2009
27 August 2009
Forget regret
The worst kind of frustration is the knowledge that you didn't do something that you should have done. Nay, the worst kind of frustration is the kind that stems from the fear that you might have missed out on something great because you chose to go a different route. You know you should do differently, but you don't.
You're to meet an old friend for dinner, but you're tired and even though you know it's a horrible thing to do, you bail on the reunion.
You have every intention to respond to emails as soon as you receive them but instead let them back up for months at a time.
You cram pet projects onto the back burner because you don't have the time for them, though you optimistically believe that the results will somehow magically appear.
Very little of long-term, lingering regret comes from things that you did do - it's what you didn't do that sticks with you long after the deed has been done. And down the line, a buildup of these regrets make you feel like a pretty crappy human being.
This past weekend, I spent a good chunk of time reorganizing and prioritizing all the bits and pieces of my life thus far in the City. I answered emails dating back through June (guilty), sent apologetic messages to important people I've neglected (guilty), and began to revamp my plans for pet projects that have been buried under an influx of everyday busy "stuff" (guilty guilty guilty). I hadn't realized how horrible of a to-do pack rat I had become, shoving everything into a "to-do in the future" pile that was slowly overwhelming my life.
It was like a toxic spill of past "didn't dos" had begun to permeate my day-to-day living.
In being able to clear out my clutter from these past few months, however, I finally began to feel like I was able to start anew with the opportunities I have set before me. Forget living life with no regrets. I want to live life with no excuses. Trying to live with no regrets is only half of the equation. Having no excuses means being able to gauge a situation and acting on gut instinct or careful calculation or both - for the sake of no regrets in the future.
It's retrospective and projective all at once.
Part of this newly cleansed agenda and style of living means I need to clear my conscience on both ends and just focus on the present. Without focus (which is what I think I lost along the way), this transitionary period can mean a lot of pulling too much in one direction or the other, and ultimately, a lose-lose situation.
You get caught up in the past, and it's hard to move into the next phase of life. You worry too much about the future and you miss out on the present.
I get nostalgic about a lot of things, but the best memories are the ones that I've left alone, not the ones I dabble in and wish I could change. In looking toward my future, then, maybe it's best to apply the same approach: stop making excuses now for things I can't predict will or won't happen down the line, and just do what I feel is the "right" decision at the moment. The understanding being, of course, that everything happens for a reason and will pan out okay in the end.
Being more direct now means saving grief down the line, and more than that, it means being able to live without excuses to justify my regrets, or any regret about my excuses.
Live life daily. Rinse. Repeat.
You're to meet an old friend for dinner, but you're tired and even though you know it's a horrible thing to do, you bail on the reunion.
You have every intention to respond to emails as soon as you receive them but instead let them back up for months at a time.
You cram pet projects onto the back burner because you don't have the time for them, though you optimistically believe that the results will somehow magically appear.
Very little of long-term, lingering regret comes from things that you did do - it's what you didn't do that sticks with you long after the deed has been done. And down the line, a buildup of these regrets make you feel like a pretty crappy human being.
This past weekend, I spent a good chunk of time reorganizing and prioritizing all the bits and pieces of my life thus far in the City. I answered emails dating back through June (guilty), sent apologetic messages to important people I've neglected (guilty), and began to revamp my plans for pet projects that have been buried under an influx of everyday busy "stuff" (guilty guilty guilty). I hadn't realized how horrible of a to-do pack rat I had become, shoving everything into a "to-do in the future" pile that was slowly overwhelming my life.
It was like a toxic spill of past "didn't dos" had begun to permeate my day-to-day living.
In being able to clear out my clutter from these past few months, however, I finally began to feel like I was able to start anew with the opportunities I have set before me. Forget living life with no regrets. I want to live life with no excuses. Trying to live with no regrets is only half of the equation. Having no excuses means being able to gauge a situation and acting on gut instinct or careful calculation or both - for the sake of no regrets in the future.
It's retrospective and projective all at once.
Part of this newly cleansed agenda and style of living means I need to clear my conscience on both ends and just focus on the present. Without focus (which is what I think I lost along the way), this transitionary period can mean a lot of pulling too much in one direction or the other, and ultimately, a lose-lose situation.
You get caught up in the past, and it's hard to move into the next phase of life. You worry too much about the future and you miss out on the present.
I get nostalgic about a lot of things, but the best memories are the ones that I've left alone, not the ones I dabble in and wish I could change. In looking toward my future, then, maybe it's best to apply the same approach: stop making excuses now for things I can't predict will or won't happen down the line, and just do what I feel is the "right" decision at the moment. The understanding being, of course, that everything happens for a reason and will pan out okay in the end.
Being more direct now means saving grief down the line, and more than that, it means being able to live without excuses to justify my regrets, or any regret about my excuses.
Live life daily. Rinse. Repeat.
16 August 2009
Getting on the bandwagon
So the mother learned how to text today. And this is what I get:
this is my first texting. i got 100 free texts in two months. most of my friends using calls instead of texting. that why jean pang asked me whom am i going to text. nice questiuon. ha! Ha! D'Hour is at our house now. He likes Seattle very much. this is a long text. I am waiting him to leav so we can out to dinner.
My favorite part is when she decides to note that this is a long text by typing "this is a long text," thereby elongating the text.
Second favorite part: she's texting as she's waiting for my brother's friend to leave so the fam can go out to dinner. Isn't that what angsty teens do when they're waiting for parents' friends to leave?
...ha.
this is my first texting. i got 100 free texts in two months. most of my friends using calls instead of texting. that why jean pang asked me whom am i going to text. nice questiuon. ha! Ha! D'Hour is at our house now. He likes Seattle very much. this is a long text. I am waiting him to leav so we can out to dinner.
My favorite part is when she decides to note that this is a long text by typing "this is a long text," thereby elongating the text.
Second favorite part: she's texting as she's waiting for my brother's friend to leave so the fam can go out to dinner. Isn't that what angsty teens do when they're waiting for parents' friends to leave?
...ha.
15 August 2009
Why journalism?
Given the current economic climate and the state of the publishing industry, I feel like this question is being addressed in an increasingly urgent manner - by not only its consumers but also its creators. Why spend money on print material in the form of newspapers and magazines when you can just as readily (and more inexpensively) access the NYTimes online or surf your favorite specialty blog? What's the point of having a profession dedicated to a written report of the news when people are becoming their own news aggregators via Twitter and Facebook?
What's the big necessity of quality journalism these days anyways? Who cares?
I've been thinking a lot about this for a while (as I'm sure every recent J-school grad has been), and I hope I don't sound too naive or dramatic when I insist that journalists are as necessary to society as, say, politicians. Or doctors and lawyers. Or engineers and celebrities (yes, the latter are necessary too...usually).
These past few weeks, I've been working on several projects that require me to dig deep into the archives of People and unearth some articles of prominent American figures and other huge news events. And there's definitely something to be said about holding a hard copy of a 1979 magazine, poring over the pages in search of the one detail in the presidential interview that could make or break a major news story now.
There's such a sense of history and weightiness to having a solid product that just can't be replicated by shoveling through piles of e-magazines and archived digital files. When things are written for magazines or newspapers, they're out there for good. There's a sense of credibility to the words that writers use when they put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) that can't be undermined by a few strokes of the "delete" key and completely changed (or deleted) online.
And seriously, this is literally news in the making. It's a huge responsibility and a huge thrill to think that the decisions made around the table at each morning meeting - what will go on the cover, what stories and photos to run - these are the decisions that will help to shape a generation and a culture.
I realize that I'm not saving lives. Or creating energy-saving household goods. Or impacting society in a way that is deemed "heroic" - but at the end of the day, I spread knowledge, and that's the best way I know to contribute using what skills I've acquired over the years. And I know that writing, from an outsider's perspective, isn't really a "career path" to take; it's more of a hobby. But I've discovered in my four years at USC, and again now as a reporter for People, that honing the craft and being able to relate otherwise untouchable subjects in a clear, honest way to readers is something that's rewarding in and of itself, paycheck aside.
In questioning the future of journalism, and to a more selfish extent, my own future with journalism, I talked to a lot of seasoned editors and writers to get their take on starting out anew at this point in time. And the thing is that they were optimistic, encouraging about the possibilities I would come across in this ever-changing journalism landscape.
Being a part of the transition means helping to shape where journalism is going, and helping to shape journalism means helping to create the boundaries and safeguards that dictate where society flows down the line too.
Call it power-tripping or realistic revelation, but either way, it's a good way to go.
Another thing that journalism vets always emphasize is this:
There's no reason to do journalism and stick with it if not for the passion.
There's not a whole lot of money to be had, save for a select few who have paid their dues and worked their way up. The hours are insane - news doesn't sleep when normal people do. It's easy to fall victim to the workaholic syndrome because stories and reliance on other people can so inexplicably take precedence over your social life and family life. Really, if you take the genuine passion of conveying a human story, an emotion or a reaction out of the journalism equation, the picture looks pretty dang grim.
So when people ask me, "Why journalism?" I really take it to heart and think about why I'm investing so much in an industry that seems to return so little.
And the truth is that the same way completing a study or watching a class graduate is rewarding for scientists and teachers, respectively, being able to constantly learn and grow as a person "for a career" is more a return than I could have ever asked for.
Despite everything that's shifting and changing in society right now, none of it would matter if it weren't documented. And I don't mean in a quick Tweet or a few Facebook photo albums. I mean in publications that have continued to reinvent themselves and fight against critics who say that the new wave of "journalism" is all user-based and unmanageable. When you look back 20 , 30, 40 years from now and want to remember what happened when Obama won the presidency, you'll look to old Tweets and status updates and blogs to see individual reactions, sure.
But it's up to journalists to capture the mood of an entire nation and society at a specific moment in time.
...and that's why, journalism.
What's the big necessity of quality journalism these days anyways? Who cares?
I've been thinking a lot about this for a while (as I'm sure every recent J-school grad has been), and I hope I don't sound too naive or dramatic when I insist that journalists are as necessary to society as, say, politicians. Or doctors and lawyers. Or engineers and celebrities (yes, the latter are necessary too...usually).
These past few weeks, I've been working on several projects that require me to dig deep into the archives of People and unearth some articles of prominent American figures and other huge news events. And there's definitely something to be said about holding a hard copy of a 1979 magazine, poring over the pages in search of the one detail in the presidential interview that could make or break a major news story now.
There's such a sense of history and weightiness to having a solid product that just can't be replicated by shoveling through piles of e-magazines and archived digital files. When things are written for magazines or newspapers, they're out there for good. There's a sense of credibility to the words that writers use when they put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) that can't be undermined by a few strokes of the "delete" key and completely changed (or deleted) online.
And seriously, this is literally news in the making. It's a huge responsibility and a huge thrill to think that the decisions made around the table at each morning meeting - what will go on the cover, what stories and photos to run - these are the decisions that will help to shape a generation and a culture.
I realize that I'm not saving lives. Or creating energy-saving household goods. Or impacting society in a way that is deemed "heroic" - but at the end of the day, I spread knowledge, and that's the best way I know to contribute using what skills I've acquired over the years. And I know that writing, from an outsider's perspective, isn't really a "career path" to take; it's more of a hobby. But I've discovered in my four years at USC, and again now as a reporter for People, that honing the craft and being able to relate otherwise untouchable subjects in a clear, honest way to readers is something that's rewarding in and of itself, paycheck aside.
In questioning the future of journalism, and to a more selfish extent, my own future with journalism, I talked to a lot of seasoned editors and writers to get their take on starting out anew at this point in time. And the thing is that they were optimistic, encouraging about the possibilities I would come across in this ever-changing journalism landscape.
Being a part of the transition means helping to shape where journalism is going, and helping to shape journalism means helping to create the boundaries and safeguards that dictate where society flows down the line too.
Call it power-tripping or realistic revelation, but either way, it's a good way to go.
Another thing that journalism vets always emphasize is this:
There's no reason to do journalism and stick with it if not for the passion.
There's not a whole lot of money to be had, save for a select few who have paid their dues and worked their way up. The hours are insane - news doesn't sleep when normal people do. It's easy to fall victim to the workaholic syndrome because stories and reliance on other people can so inexplicably take precedence over your social life and family life. Really, if you take the genuine passion of conveying a human story, an emotion or a reaction out of the journalism equation, the picture looks pretty dang grim.
So when people ask me, "Why journalism?" I really take it to heart and think about why I'm investing so much in an industry that seems to return so little.
And the truth is that the same way completing a study or watching a class graduate is rewarding for scientists and teachers, respectively, being able to constantly learn and grow as a person "for a career" is more a return than I could have ever asked for.
Despite everything that's shifting and changing in society right now, none of it would matter if it weren't documented. And I don't mean in a quick Tweet or a few Facebook photo albums. I mean in publications that have continued to reinvent themselves and fight against critics who say that the new wave of "journalism" is all user-based and unmanageable. When you look back 20 , 30, 40 years from now and want to remember what happened when Obama won the presidency, you'll look to old Tweets and status updates and blogs to see individual reactions, sure.
But it's up to journalists to capture the mood of an entire nation and society at a specific moment in time.
...and that's why, journalism.
14 August 2009
09 August 2009
05 August 2009
Life in Technicolor II
You honestly can't listen to this song and be in a bad mood. There's something pretty epic about it, no?
02 August 2009
What next?
Graduation slipped into June slipped into July fit perfectly into August. And now, more than two months after walking across the stage and accepting my (fake) diploma on the lawn just behind Doheny, I'm looking at the next step. Now that summer internships are wrapping up and people are moving out of the City and back into the realm of "normal" life and routine, I'm left with a creeping feeling that this really does mean that I have to (and I hesitate to use the phrase) "grow up."
The more permanent aspects of life here in New York are finally starting to fall into place. I'll be moving into my apartment in Astoria, Queens in just a week's time. And though my internship should be up just one day prior to moving day, come the following Monday, I'll be starting my first stint as a full-time temp. Exciting? I think yes.
I went bed shopping today. It was pretty telling, I think, that I've never had the privilege (chore?) of shopping for a mattress - not for myself, at least. Growing up, a lot of decisions like that were never mine to make. At home, all the pieces of my house, save for the more personal (read: ridiculous) parts, like old craft projects or awesome-but-useless posters and pillows, were selected for me. In college, I never moved outside of university-owned housing because I didn't want to have to deal with furniture or finding people to sublease my place when I went abroad.
Now, all of a sudden, I'm building my room for scratch. And this time around, I don't know how long I'll be there. Everything else always had a time stamp. High school, six years (this was Whitney and we smooshed junior high and high school together). College, four years. London, one semester. Everything was set in manageable chunks. This...this is different.
It's exciting, don't get me wrong, to be able to construct in my head what I want my little piece of New York to look like, and even the most trivial things seem to be important, but it's also a daunting task. It's hard to prepare for something without a more definite end date in sight.
Without classes to return to in the fall or a projected date of return to California and "home," the things I decide to fill this room with will become my own little kind of home. The semi-permanence of it all is exhilarating, because after the more transient nature of summer in NYC, I'll finally get a chance to experience what it's like to live on another coast, with another kind of culture, in the company of other people who have decided to call this City home.
I've said from the start that I fell instantly in love with NYC, that it just felt right in a way that no other place had before. And while this is still true, looking at being in the City for the next few years or so seems like such a huge commitment that the best thing I know to do right now is just enjoy it in the present moment and not worry too much about things coming down the line. Otherwise I might just spazz a bit with the finality of it all.
Fitting, isn't it? The commitment-phobe who's afraid to commit to her own life.
I reached a point a few weeks ago where I let doubt venture into my vision of New York. My mind was pretty clouded, looking out at the people around me and starting to let suspicion encroach upon our relationships. The City can be very dog-eat-dog, after all, and I think listening to enough people tell you that you have to be strong and preemptively keep away from opportunists can make anyone a little bit paranoid. Then I took a breather and realized that spending my energy focusing on the negatives really wasn't getting me anywhere.
If things get tough, I've always been taught, then do something about it.
And if you're not doing anything to actively change your situation, then don't complain.
So I literally sat down and wrote out a list of things I want to accomplish in New York, ranging from the small (find the best rooftop bar) to the big (get published in the NYTimes) to the fantastic (train for next year's NYC marathon). And I realized that, open-ended though this jaunt is in the City, I just don't have enough time in the day to waste on negative emotions.
Being put in a different context and learning to adapt is something I've gotten used to over the years, and this New York experience is none too different. The key, regardless of situation or location, is to stay hungry and to stay humble. Everything else will follow. With so many things up in the air, though, I'll admit that it is comforting to know that I'll at least (as of next week) have a place to call home for the next few ______s.
And in looking toward the next step, that's all I can ask for, really.
The more permanent aspects of life here in New York are finally starting to fall into place. I'll be moving into my apartment in Astoria, Queens in just a week's time. And though my internship should be up just one day prior to moving day, come the following Monday, I'll be starting my first stint as a full-time temp. Exciting? I think yes.
I went bed shopping today. It was pretty telling, I think, that I've never had the privilege (chore?) of shopping for a mattress - not for myself, at least. Growing up, a lot of decisions like that were never mine to make. At home, all the pieces of my house, save for the more personal (read: ridiculous) parts, like old craft projects or awesome-but-useless posters and pillows, were selected for me. In college, I never moved outside of university-owned housing because I didn't want to have to deal with furniture or finding people to sublease my place when I went abroad.
Now, all of a sudden, I'm building my room for scratch. And this time around, I don't know how long I'll be there. Everything else always had a time stamp. High school, six years (this was Whitney and we smooshed junior high and high school together). College, four years. London, one semester. Everything was set in manageable chunks. This...this is different.
It's exciting, don't get me wrong, to be able to construct in my head what I want my little piece of New York to look like, and even the most trivial things seem to be important, but it's also a daunting task. It's hard to prepare for something without a more definite end date in sight.
Without classes to return to in the fall or a projected date of return to California and "home," the things I decide to fill this room with will become my own little kind of home. The semi-permanence of it all is exhilarating, because after the more transient nature of summer in NYC, I'll finally get a chance to experience what it's like to live on another coast, with another kind of culture, in the company of other people who have decided to call this City home.
I've said from the start that I fell instantly in love with NYC, that it just felt right in a way that no other place had before. And while this is still true, looking at being in the City for the next few years or so seems like such a huge commitment that the best thing I know to do right now is just enjoy it in the present moment and not worry too much about things coming down the line. Otherwise I might just spazz a bit with the finality of it all.
Fitting, isn't it? The commitment-phobe who's afraid to commit to her own life.
I reached a point a few weeks ago where I let doubt venture into my vision of New York. My mind was pretty clouded, looking out at the people around me and starting to let suspicion encroach upon our relationships. The City can be very dog-eat-dog, after all, and I think listening to enough people tell you that you have to be strong and preemptively keep away from opportunists can make anyone a little bit paranoid. Then I took a breather and realized that spending my energy focusing on the negatives really wasn't getting me anywhere.
If things get tough, I've always been taught, then do something about it.
And if you're not doing anything to actively change your situation, then don't complain.
So I literally sat down and wrote out a list of things I want to accomplish in New York, ranging from the small (find the best rooftop bar) to the big (get published in the NYTimes) to the fantastic (train for next year's NYC marathon). And I realized that, open-ended though this jaunt is in the City, I just don't have enough time in the day to waste on negative emotions.
Being put in a different context and learning to adapt is something I've gotten used to over the years, and this New York experience is none too different. The key, regardless of situation or location, is to stay hungry and to stay humble. Everything else will follow. With so many things up in the air, though, I'll admit that it is comforting to know that I'll at least (as of next week) have a place to call home for the next few ______s.
And in looking toward the next step, that's all I can ask for, really.
28 July 2009
Lesson learned
Don't make someone a priority if they only make you an option.
...because really, there isn't enough time in the day to waste on people like that.
...because really, there isn't enough time in the day to waste on people like that.
23 July 2009
A good song for dancing, a good song for dreaming
Didn't realize the song I heard at Mandela Day was featured in (500) Days of Summer. Only more reason to like the film. (:
Beautiful.
Beautiful.
20 July 2009
How deep is your love?
Excuse the cheesy, heart-ridden video. This is more for the sake of a beautiful cover of a great song. Real update, with real words to come soon.
17 July 2009
The short of it.
And in the end, validation of this kind is so surreal that (and this is cheesy) my heart can't stop smiling.
11 July 2009
09 July 2009
05 July 2009
Best nuggets of advice
...and yes, I just said "nuggets." So I'm reading this book:
and I'm finding lots of bits of inspiration in it, many quotable things, so I thought I would share:
"A number of people said they were simply in the right place at the right time. Many of our respondents, Don Hewitt among them, used the word lucky when describing the arc of their lives or careers. While they may have indeed been fortunate in different ways, we should take this as a sign that they're thankful for their success - that they understand the value of humility. Most people understand that chance favors the prepared. Hard work, risk taking, refusing to quite, and the will to get to the next waypoint no matter how formidable the obstacles appeared helped to define these people." ...as stated in the introduction.
"Stop working for a living and start designing a life." ...as stated by Tony Robbins.
"The important thing to know is that one thing that was really beneficial to me was my naivete ... Those who need certainty don't do anything, because nothing is ever certain." ...as stated by Survivor creator Mark Burnett.
"The key to achieving success in business is passion. Don't approach the business with a formula or just expecting to make a quick buck. You must have a desire. A vision. And then go at it hammer and tongs." ...as stated by Steve Forbes.
...and I'm just four chapters in.
and I'm finding lots of bits of inspiration in it, many quotable things, so I thought I would share:
"A number of people said they were simply in the right place at the right time. Many of our respondents, Don Hewitt among them, used the word lucky when describing the arc of their lives or careers. While they may have indeed been fortunate in different ways, we should take this as a sign that they're thankful for their success - that they understand the value of humility. Most people understand that chance favors the prepared. Hard work, risk taking, refusing to quite, and the will to get to the next waypoint no matter how formidable the obstacles appeared helped to define these people." ...as stated in the introduction.
"Stop working for a living and start designing a life." ...as stated by Tony Robbins.
"The important thing to know is that one thing that was really beneficial to me was my naivete ... Those who need certainty don't do anything, because nothing is ever certain." ...as stated by Survivor creator Mark Burnett.
"The key to achieving success in business is passion. Don't approach the business with a formula or just expecting to make a quick buck. You must have a desire. A vision. And then go at it hammer and tongs." ...as stated by Steve Forbes.
...and I'm just four chapters in.
02 July 2009
Timing is everything
Back in the summer between sophomore and junior year of high school, I remember spending five out of seven days of the week in a cramped two-story building that only occasionally sputtered AC through its dusty vents. In the sweltering heat of that summer, I, along with some 30 other unlucky (or fortunate, depending on how you looked at it) high school students scratched numbers in margins, broke down analogies and word roots and filled in standardized test bubbles until our eyes began to glaze over.
Ah, the SATs.
Somewhere in the middle of all this cut-and-dry testing was also the preparation for a much more amorphous aspect of the dreaded exam: the essay. The prompts were, for the most part, broad enough so that each of us was able to tie a pseudo-personal experience to the theme. These cut-and-paste prompts consisted, without fail, of a profound quote followed by an all-inclusive question about how said quote was applicable to our lives. Looking back, given that we were mostly 16-year-olds in the classroom, it was ridiculous to think that we actually had the kind of experiences necessary to relate to some of the quotes.
Some lent themselves to insightful essays, others to meandering tirades about the way systems like school and the SATs were inefficient and inaccurate.
"Distance makes the heart grow fonder."
"Whether you think you can or you can't, you are right."
"Luck favors the prepared mind."
Of the many famous quotes we were instructed to scale down to a personal level, this last one always struck me as particularly interesting. I remember staring at the prompt for a good amount of time, trying to figure out, for the life of me, what it really meant.
Luck favors the prepared mind.
So, essentially, to capitalize on promising circumstances (luck), one has to have been able to forsee it. Right?
When it came time for me to teach these same SAT writing classes two years later, I always pulled this as the sample quote for the class to discuss. Was it that people who could "predict" their good luck got the most of it? Did that mean that optimists were statistically more likely to be lucky? What exactly do people prepare for?
And now I think I know a little better. Luck favors the prepared mind. So much of what is happening right now at this point in my life is a good intersection of preparation and happenstance. It's already July, and the nerve-wracking searches for an apartment and a steady job aren't quite as stressful as I thought they would be. I've done the research, I've put shoe to pavement, and now it's just a matter of being in the right place at the right time.
Very few things in life are guaranteed - health, family, career, friends - even the most basic aspects of our existence can be taken from us in a second. It's not being pessimistic, I don't think, but rather, being realistic. I think you discover this a lot more post-college because there is less of that structure and built-in community that so distinctly characterizes the college experience. And so all a person can do is prepare. Not necessarily for the worst, but just...for life.
It's like the reason why they always tell SAT test takers to bring two pencils. Likely you'll never need that spare one, but the way things happen, the one time you decide you don't need that spare pencil, your only one breaks. You're out of lead. And you're left staring at a test with no means to fill in those dreaded bubbles.
Then all I guess you have to do is raise your hand and ask. And sometimes, if you're lucky, the proctor will have mercy and hand you a pencil and help you out.
Because even though so much of life, of luck, is being in the right place at the right time, to get yourself out of a sticky situation, sometimes all you have to do is raise your hand and ask.
Someone will be over shortly.
Ah, the SATs.
Somewhere in the middle of all this cut-and-dry testing was also the preparation for a much more amorphous aspect of the dreaded exam: the essay. The prompts were, for the most part, broad enough so that each of us was able to tie a pseudo-personal experience to the theme. These cut-and-paste prompts consisted, without fail, of a profound quote followed by an all-inclusive question about how said quote was applicable to our lives. Looking back, given that we were mostly 16-year-olds in the classroom, it was ridiculous to think that we actually had the kind of experiences necessary to relate to some of the quotes.
Some lent themselves to insightful essays, others to meandering tirades about the way systems like school and the SATs were inefficient and inaccurate.
"Distance makes the heart grow fonder."
"Whether you think you can or you can't, you are right."
"Luck favors the prepared mind."
Of the many famous quotes we were instructed to scale down to a personal level, this last one always struck me as particularly interesting. I remember staring at the prompt for a good amount of time, trying to figure out, for the life of me, what it really meant.
Luck favors the prepared mind.
So, essentially, to capitalize on promising circumstances (luck), one has to have been able to forsee it. Right?
When it came time for me to teach these same SAT writing classes two years later, I always pulled this as the sample quote for the class to discuss. Was it that people who could "predict" their good luck got the most of it? Did that mean that optimists were statistically more likely to be lucky? What exactly do people prepare for?
And now I think I know a little better. Luck favors the prepared mind. So much of what is happening right now at this point in my life is a good intersection of preparation and happenstance. It's already July, and the nerve-wracking searches for an apartment and a steady job aren't quite as stressful as I thought they would be. I've done the research, I've put shoe to pavement, and now it's just a matter of being in the right place at the right time.
Very few things in life are guaranteed - health, family, career, friends - even the most basic aspects of our existence can be taken from us in a second. It's not being pessimistic, I don't think, but rather, being realistic. I think you discover this a lot more post-college because there is less of that structure and built-in community that so distinctly characterizes the college experience. And so all a person can do is prepare. Not necessarily for the worst, but just...for life.
It's like the reason why they always tell SAT test takers to bring two pencils. Likely you'll never need that spare one, but the way things happen, the one time you decide you don't need that spare pencil, your only one breaks. You're out of lead. And you're left staring at a test with no means to fill in those dreaded bubbles.
Then all I guess you have to do is raise your hand and ask. And sometimes, if you're lucky, the proctor will have mercy and hand you a pencil and help you out.
Because even though so much of life, of luck, is being in the right place at the right time, to get yourself out of a sticky situation, sometimes all you have to do is raise your hand and ask.
Someone will be over shortly.
25 June 2009
23 June 2009
Real eyes realize real lies
Try that one three times fast. Then watch this. And really listen. I don't think I'll ever get sick of this one.
21 June 2009
The importance of entertainment
Truth be told, just a brief two weeks ago, prior to starting my internship at People, I recognized the importance of entertainment in people's lives, but never found the time to subscribe to the daily ins and outs of celebrities and their lives. I'm a movie and music junkie, though, and thus am always looking to find the next big film or the latest on-the-rise artist. But I think there should still be that distinction between an artist and his work, to some extent. Delving into the lives of famous persons is interesting at best, invasive at worst.
Now, however, knowing the most minute details about a given celebrity has become my job - what they're wearing, who they're talking to, what they're eating. And this has brought me to really try to see the big picture as to why the public is so fascinated with these relatively unattainable, unrealistic lives that the stars lead. I was on set for a Robert Pattinson film just this past Friday, and was taken aback by how much his devout 11- and 12-year-old fans knew about his personal life. Everything these girls knew was part of a packaged image that the media had sold to them in the form of movies, interviews, posters and books.
At that age, you don't question a whole lot of what the media feeds you.
And it's a frightening thought, that each of these famous people have become such ... commodities. Franchises of their own name. They pretty much own their looks and mannerisms (if even that much) and sell off their talent and oftentimes, voices (both figuratively and literally, in the case of musical artists) in exchange for fame and consequential money. It's mind-boggling that people can give so much of their own humanity, whether or not by choice, so that they might gain some sort of fame in the long run.
It reminds me of the great quote from "The Talented Mr. Ripley":
I'd rather be a fake somebody than a real nobody.
I understand that people want to leave their mark on the world, and ultimately, to be recognized for what they've done. The same way that some people are passionate about saving lives or writing books, these individuals just happen to be passionate about entertaining others and adding a little bit of fun and drama to others' lives. It's just unfortunate that the people who are in entertainment for the craft are overshadowed by the drama queens and kings who find debauchery off-camera just as profitable as drama onscreen.
It's an interesting balance to strike, and what I appreciate about people in the business of talking about the business of people (aka, the magazine People, har har) is that they understand that talking about celebrities' lives is about as important as talking about the distant cousin who eloped for the fifth time last weekend: it makes for interesting discussion, but she's still human. To exploit information or try to itemize the person beyond what work the publicist has already done to do so would be wrong.
Because when people care more about things like whether or not Lindsay Lohan stole jewelry from a photo shoot than what's going on with nuclear arms in North Korea, I think it shows not just a break in reality, but also a NEED for this break from reality.
All this to say that celebrity culture and the people who love it will always be interesting. Whether or not it's relevant to our lives that Lindsay Lohan might have stolen jewelry from a photo shoot is debatable, but it's not wrong to know about it. I'm still trying to find a way to wrap my head around the idea of "celebrity news," but I guess a little extra information and a few extra blogs in the morning couldn't hurt, right?
Because really, as easy as it would be to dismiss entertainment as fluff, I can see how just knowing what's going on in the celebrity realm is instrumental to some people's days, to their lives. And so long as people care, I will learn to know the ins and outs of that ephemeral, glittery world, har har.
Now, however, knowing the most minute details about a given celebrity has become my job - what they're wearing, who they're talking to, what they're eating. And this has brought me to really try to see the big picture as to why the public is so fascinated with these relatively unattainable, unrealistic lives that the stars lead. I was on set for a Robert Pattinson film just this past Friday, and was taken aback by how much his devout 11- and 12-year-old fans knew about his personal life. Everything these girls knew was part of a packaged image that the media had sold to them in the form of movies, interviews, posters and books.
At that age, you don't question a whole lot of what the media feeds you.
And it's a frightening thought, that each of these famous people have become such ... commodities. Franchises of their own name. They pretty much own their looks and mannerisms (if even that much) and sell off their talent and oftentimes, voices (both figuratively and literally, in the case of musical artists) in exchange for fame and consequential money. It's mind-boggling that people can give so much of their own humanity, whether or not by choice, so that they might gain some sort of fame in the long run.
It reminds me of the great quote from "The Talented Mr. Ripley":
I'd rather be a fake somebody than a real nobody.
I understand that people want to leave their mark on the world, and ultimately, to be recognized for what they've done. The same way that some people are passionate about saving lives or writing books, these individuals just happen to be passionate about entertaining others and adding a little bit of fun and drama to others' lives. It's just unfortunate that the people who are in entertainment for the craft are overshadowed by the drama queens and kings who find debauchery off-camera just as profitable as drama onscreen.
It's an interesting balance to strike, and what I appreciate about people in the business of talking about the business of people (aka, the magazine People, har har) is that they understand that talking about celebrities' lives is about as important as talking about the distant cousin who eloped for the fifth time last weekend: it makes for interesting discussion, but she's still human. To exploit information or try to itemize the person beyond what work the publicist has already done to do so would be wrong.
Because when people care more about things like whether or not Lindsay Lohan stole jewelry from a photo shoot than what's going on with nuclear arms in North Korea, I think it shows not just a break in reality, but also a NEED for this break from reality.
All this to say that celebrity culture and the people who love it will always be interesting. Whether or not it's relevant to our lives that Lindsay Lohan might have stolen jewelry from a photo shoot is debatable, but it's not wrong to know about it. I'm still trying to find a way to wrap my head around the idea of "celebrity news," but I guess a little extra information and a few extra blogs in the morning couldn't hurt, right?
Because really, as easy as it would be to dismiss entertainment as fluff, I can see how just knowing what's going on in the celebrity realm is instrumental to some people's days, to their lives. And so long as people care, I will learn to know the ins and outs of that ephemeral, glittery world, har har.
20 June 2009
Foodies rejoice
Officially set up my food blog, and will now proceed to document food adventures here:
http://manhattaneater.wordpress.com/
Yes, friends. You heard (read?) right. MAN(hattan) Eater. Thanks, anonymous friend, for the name. Any tips on where to grub, things to order, places to rummage through, please drop a line!
http://manhattaneater.wordpress.com/
Yes, friends. You heard (read?) right. MAN(hattan) Eater. Thanks, anonymous friend, for the name. Any tips on where to grub, things to order, places to rummage through, please drop a line!
Seen and heard.
Seen on the subway on my 2 hour journey to Rockaway Beach yesterday:
“To doubt everything or to believe everything are two equally convenient solutions; both dispense with the necessity of reflection.”
Also seen yesterday on my way back:
17 June 2009
I love love love.
Today was such a good day that I just don't know how the rest of the week will top it.
I know these blog posts seem to be nothing but positives, but honestly, things just keep better each day. It's a little bit ridiculous.
Life, I am humbled. Just when I thought you had peaked, you surprise me yet again.
I know these blog posts seem to be nothing but positives, but honestly, things just keep better each day. It's a little bit ridiculous.
Life, I am humbled. Just when I thought you had peaked, you surprise me yet again.
16 June 2009
Heard on the train
A couple steps onto the train moments before the doors close shut behind them. The woman is pregnant, and the man is carrying about five large shopping bags. It's crowded, rush hour. Someone quickly gets up from his seat and shuffles to the side to let the pregnant woman sit down.
"Oh, I'm fine," she said, smiling. "He might need to sit down more than me."
She nods toward her husband's bags.
"We went shoe shopping today, I've been sitting plenty."
"Oh, I'm fine," she said, smiling. "He might need to sit down more than me."
She nods toward her husband's bags.
"We went shoe shopping today, I've been sitting plenty."
14 June 2009
Love at first living
Call it a culmination of good timing, fantastic people, healthy eating, sleep, exercise, being on-point and focused, or some reason completely independent of all of this, but I feel so ALIVE in this city. I sincerely love it, and sometimes (okay, most times) I can't believe I'm actually waking up every day in a bed somewhere in the middle of it all.
It's such a blessed life I'm living, and I absolutely feel at home here. I'm finally getting a chance to sit down and reflect after a busy week, and there's a groove and rhythm to this city that I've fallen easily into.
You know that fantastic feeling that you get when you meet someone new and you both mutually, silently, agree to skip over tedious small talk? You introduce yourselves and five minutes later find yourself deeply immersed in conversation about purpose and passion and how blips of your childhood have helped to shape your views. You tell each other about your grandmothers, your fears, your proudest moments - things usually reserved for those who have built up your trust over the years.
The connection is uncanny, and you wonder how you've gone so long in life without meeting someone just like this, the yin to your yang and a true reflection of the kind of person you are and kind of person you want to be.
This is how I feel about New York.
I feel comfortable with the pace of life and the people around here like I really haven't ever before. Back in L.A., I always felt as though I was having to put myself out on the line to be judged, and a lot of the people I encountered in L.A. didn't feel quite solid, if that makes any sense. So many people were floating or just hoping to get by from one deadline to the next, one exam to the next project, just doing what they could to stay afloat. A lot of the time, I felt as though I was doing that too.
Something about urban sprawl makes it so easy to lose focus of what's important - why you do the things you do - in favor of smaller, less relevant details.
But in NYC, I feel like more people live for a common purpose - to live. There's so much energy, positive energy, flowing through here that it's hard to really feel like an outsider, or to stand still for very long.
With so many people around, everyone has to be a people-person. I think that's what's such a draw for so many people to come to NYC. Here, the human condition is ever-present, the kind of personalities that collide on the streets so diverse. Regardless of what people initially came to the city for, everyone is looking to learn and grow just by being among and with so many stories and persons.
New York is the kind of place where everyone is willing to help each other out because it's understood that people are working hard just to earn their keep here, and I kind of love it.
People have been nothing but pleasant so far here. At work, there are no egos and everyone works in tandem toward deadline - it's the kind of work environment most people only dream of.
I'm never bored and there's always something to be done, but at the same time, there's no stress. I'm finding that living day-to-day is so beneficial to both health and state of mind. I've never been in a single place and met so many like-minded people all at once. Open-minded, curious, ambitious.
I miss home just a bit, but for now I'm won over by life here on the east coast. It makes me swoon, haha.
The city's like the counterpart I never thought I'd find. (:
It's such a blessed life I'm living, and I absolutely feel at home here. I'm finally getting a chance to sit down and reflect after a busy week, and there's a groove and rhythm to this city that I've fallen easily into.
You know that fantastic feeling that you get when you meet someone new and you both mutually, silently, agree to skip over tedious small talk? You introduce yourselves and five minutes later find yourself deeply immersed in conversation about purpose and passion and how blips of your childhood have helped to shape your views. You tell each other about your grandmothers, your fears, your proudest moments - things usually reserved for those who have built up your trust over the years.
The connection is uncanny, and you wonder how you've gone so long in life without meeting someone just like this, the yin to your yang and a true reflection of the kind of person you are and kind of person you want to be.
This is how I feel about New York.
I feel comfortable with the pace of life and the people around here like I really haven't ever before. Back in L.A., I always felt as though I was having to put myself out on the line to be judged, and a lot of the people I encountered in L.A. didn't feel quite solid, if that makes any sense. So many people were floating or just hoping to get by from one deadline to the next, one exam to the next project, just doing what they could to stay afloat. A lot of the time, I felt as though I was doing that too.
Something about urban sprawl makes it so easy to lose focus of what's important - why you do the things you do - in favor of smaller, less relevant details.
But in NYC, I feel like more people live for a common purpose - to live. There's so much energy, positive energy, flowing through here that it's hard to really feel like an outsider, or to stand still for very long.
With so many people around, everyone has to be a people-person. I think that's what's such a draw for so many people to come to NYC. Here, the human condition is ever-present, the kind of personalities that collide on the streets so diverse. Regardless of what people initially came to the city for, everyone is looking to learn and grow just by being among and with so many stories and persons.
New York is the kind of place where everyone is willing to help each other out because it's understood that people are working hard just to earn their keep here, and I kind of love it.
People have been nothing but pleasant so far here. At work, there are no egos and everyone works in tandem toward deadline - it's the kind of work environment most people only dream of.
I'm never bored and there's always something to be done, but at the same time, there's no stress. I'm finding that living day-to-day is so beneficial to both health and state of mind. I've never been in a single place and met so many like-minded people all at once. Open-minded, curious, ambitious.
I miss home just a bit, but for now I'm won over by life here on the east coast. It makes me swoon, haha.
The city's like the counterpart I never thought I'd find. (:
I like family, family is good.
In an email from the mother:
Dear Brian and Joyce,
How is your day in New York? I went to dad's residents' graduation today. Guess what? Dad won the Golden Blade Award again.(This is the award voted by the residents every year, the highest honor a staff physician can win in the department) Last time he won the award was 2006. He is the staff who won the most. I'm so proud for him. He doesn't socialize a lot with people but he has PASSION for teaching his residents and works very hard, also very responsible. I believe he sets a great example for you. Don't forget to congratulate him. Ha! Ha!
Love,
mom
Dear Brian and Joyce,
How is your day in New York? I went to dad's residents' graduation today. Guess what? Dad won the Golden Blade Award again.(This is the award voted by the residents every year, the highest honor a staff physician can win in the department) Last time he won the award was 2006. He is the staff who won the most. I'm so proud for him. He doesn't socialize a lot with people but he has PASSION for teaching his residents and works very hard, also very responsible. I believe he sets a great example for you. Don't forget to congratulate him. Ha! Ha!
Love,
mom
09 June 2009
06 June 2009
Big spending
So many things come down to two factors: how much you spend, and how you spend, period. Time, money, energy, life. How you utilize your time is just as important as how much you dedicate to a given task. The quality of the things and experiences you pay for are just as significant as how much you dish out for tickets or a meal. I never wanted to see life as a transaction like this, but at a very basic level, I think I'm finding that it's true.
I tell people that I've never really liked math, but I actually (spoiler alert!) do. Given that I've found a passion in the written word, in uncertainty and crafting out the "right" answer (as well as accepting that most of the time, there IS no "right" answer), math seems to be the furthest thing from that mentality. It's regimented, exact, defined. There are rules and theories and very meticulous steps to be taken. You can't solve integrals and create your own answers, really.
But I think so much of math and economics can be used in journalism and in figuring out the ins and outs of daily life. With something as purportedly "unstructured" as writing, it's necessary to create frameworks and lists and deadlines, else I would be completely lost in a deluge of ideas, projects and distractions.
Time.
In these past few days, I've had more free time than I've had in quite a while, and it's strange on so many levels. I can see now how simple it would be to just rest easy and watch one day slip into the next, dusk turning into dawn, curled up in bed just thinking about getting things done without actually doing anything. That was my first day of down-time, simply planning out what I had to do in the coming week, and then calling it a day. But then, the unsettled antsy-ness set in.
And then, what little analytical mind I have set in (I don't have much common sense, but if I scrounge I can feign some). If I want to justify the fact that I'm paying this much money to be in the city, that my parents are putting this much faith behind my endeavors, and that I've pretty much been working toward this goal for a better part of my academic career, then I would need to get myself in gear.
Input, output.
Money.
At present, I can see two months ahead of me, and how I spend those two months will greatly impact how the rest of the year/rest of my time in NYC plays out. I started thinking about all of this because I've opted to create a running excel sheet of expenses - you know, something old, "grown-up" people do. Just to see, honestly, how much I can afford to keep trying new restaurants around town.
And that's when I realized why sites like Yelp and Timeout reel in so many users, and why reviews will always garner readership. People want to ascertain that the money that they're spending is going toward good product, even if that means that they're spending more. The majority of the things I find I spend my money on (thank you, excel sheets), are experiences, not tangible things. Concert tickets, dining out, marathon fundraising (and here I plug for anyone willing to donate to a good cause).
Energy.
And maybe this is because with experiences, you can ensure that however much money you put into them, you'll always win out because you can choose to enjoy the moment. The same way internships are only as good as the effort and energy you put into them, most life experiences are only worth as much as you make them. Hence, the things in life that are most valuable are the ones that you have to work toward. The more energy put in, the more energy is given back.
Math speaks leaps and bounds more than numbers on a page - definite answers are reassuring sometimes because they prove that there is some semblance of equilibrium to be found in our daily efforts. Spend quality time, money and energy on a project, and it's bound to give back an equal return.
Or at least, that's the hope.
That's Life.
I tell people that I've never really liked math, but I actually (spoiler alert!) do. Given that I've found a passion in the written word, in uncertainty and crafting out the "right" answer (as well as accepting that most of the time, there IS no "right" answer), math seems to be the furthest thing from that mentality. It's regimented, exact, defined. There are rules and theories and very meticulous steps to be taken. You can't solve integrals and create your own answers, really.
But I think so much of math and economics can be used in journalism and in figuring out the ins and outs of daily life. With something as purportedly "unstructured" as writing, it's necessary to create frameworks and lists and deadlines, else I would be completely lost in a deluge of ideas, projects and distractions.
Time.
In these past few days, I've had more free time than I've had in quite a while, and it's strange on so many levels. I can see now how simple it would be to just rest easy and watch one day slip into the next, dusk turning into dawn, curled up in bed just thinking about getting things done without actually doing anything. That was my first day of down-time, simply planning out what I had to do in the coming week, and then calling it a day. But then, the unsettled antsy-ness set in.
And then, what little analytical mind I have set in (I don't have much common sense, but if I scrounge I can feign some). If I want to justify the fact that I'm paying this much money to be in the city, that my parents are putting this much faith behind my endeavors, and that I've pretty much been working toward this goal for a better part of my academic career, then I would need to get myself in gear.
Input, output.
Money.
At present, I can see two months ahead of me, and how I spend those two months will greatly impact how the rest of the year/rest of my time in NYC plays out. I started thinking about all of this because I've opted to create a running excel sheet of expenses - you know, something old, "grown-up" people do. Just to see, honestly, how much I can afford to keep trying new restaurants around town.
And that's when I realized why sites like Yelp and Timeout reel in so many users, and why reviews will always garner readership. People want to ascertain that the money that they're spending is going toward good product, even if that means that they're spending more. The majority of the things I find I spend my money on (thank you, excel sheets), are experiences, not tangible things. Concert tickets, dining out, marathon fundraising (and here I plug for anyone willing to donate to a good cause).
Energy.
And maybe this is because with experiences, you can ensure that however much money you put into them, you'll always win out because you can choose to enjoy the moment. The same way internships are only as good as the effort and energy you put into them, most life experiences are only worth as much as you make them. Hence, the things in life that are most valuable are the ones that you have to work toward. The more energy put in, the more energy is given back.
Math speaks leaps and bounds more than numbers on a page - definite answers are reassuring sometimes because they prove that there is some semblance of equilibrium to be found in our daily efforts. Spend quality time, money and energy on a project, and it's bound to give back an equal return.
Or at least, that's the hope.
That's Life.
05 June 2009
01 June 2009
Things to do.
To be held publicly accountable (in no particular order):
1. Set up food blog
2. Create running list of restaurants to try
3. Launch actual blog (not to knock on blogger, of course, but to compile clips)
4. Set GRE study schedule
5. Revamp resume
6. Create list of publications to freelance pitch to
7. Write freelance pitches
8. Running list of apartment options
9. Design business card
10. ERUDITE
11. Blog for inCOLOR
12. Game plan for AVJ
13. Book list
14. NYC half-marathon fundraising
15. Master calendar of important deadlines (aka SNL taping lottery deadline, obviously)
16. Excel sheet finances
17. Save money (pending, obviously)
18. Brush up on current events
19. Brush up on current celebrity events (necessary for the job, necessary for the job)
20. Cut my nails
All very important things, hoping to cross a few off in the next few days. (:
1. Set up food blog
2. Create running list of restaurants to try
3. Launch actual blog (not to knock on blogger, of course, but to compile clips)
4. Set GRE study schedule
5. Revamp resume
6. Create list of publications to freelance pitch to
7. Write freelance pitches
8. Running list of apartment options
9. Design business card
10. ERUDITE
11. Blog for inCOLOR
12. Game plan for AVJ
13. Book list
14. NYC half-marathon fundraising
15. Master calendar of important deadlines (aka SNL taping lottery deadline, obviously)
16. Excel sheet finances
17. Save money (pending, obviously)
18. Brush up on current events
19. Brush up on current celebrity events (necessary for the job, necessary for the job)
20. Cut my nails
All very important things, hoping to cross a few off in the next few days. (:
31 May 2009
Just something I thought was necessary to copy in its entirety. Originally published in the San Francisco Chronicle - good insight into the changing journalism industry the way journalists (and those who care about journalism) should view it.
Welcome to a dying industry, journalism grads
Sunday, May 31, 2009
The dean gave me some very strict instructions about what to say today. No whining and no crying at the podium. No wringing of hands or gnashing of teeth. Be upbeat, be optimistic, he said - adding that it wouldn't hurt to throw in a few tips about how to apply for food stamps.
So let's get the worst out of the way right up front: You are going to be trying to carve out a career in the worst economic downturn since the Great Depression. You are furthermore going to be trying to do so within what appears to be a dying industry. You have abundant skills and talents - it's just not clear that anyone wants to pay you for them.
Well, you are not alone.
How do you think it feels to be an autoworker right now? And I've spent time with plenty of laidoff paper mill workers, construction workers and miners. They've got skills; they've got experience. They just don't have jobs.
So let me be the first to say this to you: Welcome to the American working class.
You won't get rich, unless of course you develop a sideline in blackmail or bank robbery. You'll be living some of the problems you report on - the struggle for health insurance, for child care, for affordable housing. You might never have a cleaning lady. In fact, you might be one. I can't tell you how many writers I know who have moonlighted as cleaning ladies or waitresses. And you know what? They were good writers. And good cleaning ladies too, which is no small thing.
Let me tell you about my own career, which I think is relevant, not because I'm representative or exemplary in any way, but because I've seen some real ups and downs in this business.
I didn't start out to be a freelance writer or a journalist, but after a number of false starts and digressions, I discovered that's what I really loved doing. In about 1980, I was a single mother of two small children, and my work quota was four articles or columns a month. I did my research at the public library. I bought my clothes at Kmart or consignment stores. The kids did not get any special lessons or, when the time came, SAT prep courses.
Then came the fat times, in the '90s, which I realize now were an anomaly in the history of journalism. The industry was booming; editors would take me out for three-course lunches in Manhattan. I'll never forget one of those lunches: It was with the top editor of Esquire, and I was trying to pitch him a story on poverty. He looked increasingly bored as we got through the field greens with goat cheese, the tuna carpaccio and so forth - until we finally got to the death-by-chocolate dessert, and he finally said, "OK, do your thing on poverty - but make it upscale."
It was still an uphill struggle to write what I cared about, but at least I was getting generously paid - up to $10 a word by Time magazine. Imagine that - $10 a word. Most Americans would be happy to make $10 an hour.
Then, bit by bit, it all began to fall apart. The news weeklies: Time let me go in 1997. The book publishing industry was in tatters by 2005. And then the newspapers began to shrink within my hands or actually disappear. I was beginning to feel a certain kinship with blacksmiths and elevator operators when the recession hit in 2008, and every single income stream I had began to dry up.
But it was the recession, of course, that saved me from self-pity. I began to get sick and tired of the typical media recession story - which was about rich people having to cut back on the hours they spend with their personal trainers. All right, I realize those are man-bites-dog stories compared to a story about a laid-off roofer being evicted from his trailer home. But it seemed to me that the recession had absolutely eliminated the poor and the working class from the media consciousness. Once again, they had disappeared from sight.
So a couple of weeks ago, I pitched a certain well-known newspaper a series of reported essays on precisely this topic. They took it - but at about only one-quarter of what they had paid me for writing columns five years ago, barely enough to cover expenses. That bothered me. But then I had a kind of epiphany and realized: I've got to do this anyway. I'm on a mission, and I'll do whatever it takes.
Which brings me back to the subject of journalism as a profession. We are not part of an elite. We are part of the working class, which is exactly how journalists have seen themselves through most of American history - as working stiffs. We can be underpaid, we can be jerked around, we can be laid off arbitrarily - just like any autoworker or mechanic or hotel housekeeper or flight attendant.
But there is this difference: A laid-off autoworker doesn't go into his or her garage and assemble cars by hand. But we - journalists - we can't stop doing what we do.
As long as there is a story to be told, an injustice to be exposed, a mystery to be solved, we will find a way to do it. A recession won't stop us. A dying industry won't stop us. Even poverty won't stop us because we are all on a mission here. That's the meaning of your journalism degree. Do not consider it a certificate promising some sort of entitlement. Consider it a license to fight.
In the '70s, it was gonzo journalism. For us right now, it's guerrilla journalism, and we will not be stopped.
******
Journalist Barbara Ehrenreich is the author of "This Land is Their Land: Reports From a Divided Nation" (Holt Paperbacks, April 2009). She delivered this commencement address to the UC Berkeley Graduate School of Journalism class of 2009 on May 16. Contact us at forum@sfchronicle.com.
Seen and heard.
Had dinner with a friend tonight, and it was an interesting conversation, both of us trying to describe our experiences with the city thus far.
Me: I know this sounds really weird, but I don't feel like New York City is actually much of a ... physical place. It's more of a state of mind or something.
Him: DUDe. I know what you mean. It's more like ... temporary. Everything feels really transient - the people, the events, everything. It's like a city on speed.
Me: Doesn't seem like anyone's ever here for very long, except for the people who've already become a part of the city - the cops, the street sweepers, the beggars. It's one or two years and then PEACE out, NYC.
Him: But at the same time ... I can totally imagine the city standing here on its own even without the people. It's got a life of its own and sometimes I feel like it would breathe better if all the people weren't suffocating it so much.
Me: I know this sounds really weird, but I don't feel like New York City is actually much of a ... physical place. It's more of a state of mind or something.
Him: DUDe. I know what you mean. It's more like ... temporary. Everything feels really transient - the people, the events, everything. It's like a city on speed.
Me: Doesn't seem like anyone's ever here for very long, except for the people who've already become a part of the city - the cops, the street sweepers, the beggars. It's one or two years and then PEACE out, NYC.
Him: But at the same time ... I can totally imagine the city standing here on its own even without the people. It's got a life of its own and sometimes I feel like it would breathe better if all the people weren't suffocating it so much.
30 May 2009
Life in motion
Movement is key to this city and probably the best reason why people hate and love NYC so much. No one or thing is ever really stagnant, and it constantly feels as though people are surging toward some greater something that I can't, and even they can't, see. But this isn't Amsterdam on Queen's Day, when hoards of people stumble around high and drunk in literal circles (okay, half circles) in search of a happening party or reason to cram their faces with more fatty bliss. Nor is this Hollywood on a Friday night, when girls stuffed into too-tight dresses and guys in Ed Hardy gear take to the streets for nights of unplanned debauchery.
New York's movement is one that encompasses these two elements, sure, but also includes the kind of simultaneous uncertainty and confidence that only this city can create. Everyone's on a journey toward something, pursuing their dreams and sacrificing finances and practicality in the process - the grand difference being that they don't do so with blinders on.
The city's all about shortcuts and detours and having a general sense of direction while pretending to know what's up. I understand now why New Yorkers are notorious for being know-it-all and condescending (though this stereotype has only held true in a rare instance so far). Living in this city means having to build up an aura of knowledge, culture and self-assuredness. If you appear that way from the outside, people are more likely to treat you as such so that you can build yourself up to that level on the inside.
Fake it till you make it.
Not to say that people are fake, just that it's getting easier to tell who's from the city, who's been here and assimilated for a bit, and who's freshly transplanted from another town. The quick pace of NYC streets reveals this well enough - seasoned pros charge into traffic, dodging cars and buses while bobbing along to their iPods. Those who have been here for a few years attempt to get away with this internal calm, but usually balk at the last minute when an errant taxi bludgeons down the street.
The newbies - they wait. They look left and right and then left again for good measure and wait for the rest of the crowds to shuffle over to the other side of the street. Their movement is more about getting to their destination in one piece than showing off their street savvy. They're more willing to wait for the "OK, go" and ironically, don't notice as many things along the way because of this dogged concentration on the end goal.
Street numbers will jump from 42nd to 14th, and it's a question of what each individual will have processed in that numerical gap.
Uncertainty and confidence.
It's a lot to try to embody and learn all in the first bit of this journey, but it's amazing how inspiring and curious walks down NYC streets can be. Time to get me some moving and shaking, and I don't mean no chess or salt.
New York's movement is one that encompasses these two elements, sure, but also includes the kind of simultaneous uncertainty and confidence that only this city can create. Everyone's on a journey toward something, pursuing their dreams and sacrificing finances and practicality in the process - the grand difference being that they don't do so with blinders on.
The city's all about shortcuts and detours and having a general sense of direction while pretending to know what's up. I understand now why New Yorkers are notorious for being know-it-all and condescending (though this stereotype has only held true in a rare instance so far). Living in this city means having to build up an aura of knowledge, culture and self-assuredness. If you appear that way from the outside, people are more likely to treat you as such so that you can build yourself up to that level on the inside.
Fake it till you make it.
Not to say that people are fake, just that it's getting easier to tell who's from the city, who's been here and assimilated for a bit, and who's freshly transplanted from another town. The quick pace of NYC streets reveals this well enough - seasoned pros charge into traffic, dodging cars and buses while bobbing along to their iPods. Those who have been here for a few years attempt to get away with this internal calm, but usually balk at the last minute when an errant taxi bludgeons down the street.
The newbies - they wait. They look left and right and then left again for good measure and wait for the rest of the crowds to shuffle over to the other side of the street. Their movement is more about getting to their destination in one piece than showing off their street savvy. They're more willing to wait for the "OK, go" and ironically, don't notice as many things along the way because of this dogged concentration on the end goal.
Street numbers will jump from 42nd to 14th, and it's a question of what each individual will have processed in that numerical gap.
Uncertainty and confidence.
It's a lot to try to embody and learn all in the first bit of this journey, but it's amazing how inspiring and curious walks down NYC streets can be. Time to get me some moving and shaking, and I don't mean no chess or salt.
28 May 2009
Small world after all
They say New York City is a melting pot for people from all different races, backgrounds, ages, religions, cultures. People from all over the world congregate in this small corner of the globe with hopes of learning more about themselves and others via close-quarter daily interactions. Given this truth, then, I guess it makes sense that living in the city really makes you realize just how small the world really is.
Take, for instance, the fact that my roommate (randomly assigned) was best friends with my former USC roommate back in third grade, when both of them lived in Oregon.
Or the fact that at least two people I know are settled into the same apartment complex as me.
Or the strange happenstance that my apartment - nay, my room - nay, my BED - is the one and the same as the one my childhood friend occupied for 1.5 years as a student at NYU.
Too many coincidences, too much serendipity, to not reason that everything happens for a reason and that things turn out the way they're supposed to in the end. It's turned from a series of What if's to a steady parade of Can you believe it's? And I think being pleasantly surprised like this is a pretty dang good thing.
The other day, I was in line for student rush tickets for Billy Elliot, and it didn't look as though the theatre was going to be selling any due to poor planning. Having worked in a theatre as an usher (random, I know, but a great experience), I know that the policy is for each theatre to reserve a certain number of tickets as student rush - else it wouldn't be fair to advertise the possibility at all. This was not the case.
The management informed the 20+ students in line that there were only 15 tickets left for the entire show that day - and seeing as how there was still a trickle of last-minute patrons paying full price for the remaining tickets, it didn't look like any would be released to the students.
I counted the students ahead of me in line. Nine. It was a gamble. If each student bought two tickets, it would be pointless to wait. If each bought just one, I was guaranteed to buy the two (one for me, one for the madre) I needed, and thus beat the system, albeit wait in line for a while.
Now, given that student rush meant prime tickets for $24 (regularly priced $160), I didn't want to forfeit the chance of ridiculously cheap tickets by stepping out of line if there was a sliver of a chance I could score the tickets.
As luck would have it, one of the girls ahead of me in line happened to live in the same building as me - we'd met and spoken briefly in the elevator when we both moved in on Sunday. We started chatting (there wasn't much else to do while everyone around us was getting angry and feisty with the management) and realized we knew some of the same people.
We had a good conversation, something I wouldn't have expected from five seconds in an elevator ride and a familiar face.
That's when the ticket manager declared that all tickets were to be sold for half price, no student discounts, at $81.50 - take it or leave it. My friend in line decided to opt out - she'd been banking on student tickets and decided to swing by another time. She gave me her place further up in line and left.
I got the last two tickets.
Small world, huge chances. Strange circumstances, happy surprises.
It's kind of ridiculous, this kind of luck. But I ain't questioning it. (:
Take, for instance, the fact that my roommate (randomly assigned) was best friends with my former USC roommate back in third grade, when both of them lived in Oregon.
Or the fact that at least two people I know are settled into the same apartment complex as me.
Or the strange happenstance that my apartment - nay, my room - nay, my BED - is the one and the same as the one my childhood friend occupied for 1.5 years as a student at NYU.
Too many coincidences, too much serendipity, to not reason that everything happens for a reason and that things turn out the way they're supposed to in the end. It's turned from a series of What if's to a steady parade of Can you believe it's? And I think being pleasantly surprised like this is a pretty dang good thing.
The other day, I was in line for student rush tickets for Billy Elliot, and it didn't look as though the theatre was going to be selling any due to poor planning. Having worked in a theatre as an usher (random, I know, but a great experience), I know that the policy is for each theatre to reserve a certain number of tickets as student rush - else it wouldn't be fair to advertise the possibility at all. This was not the case.
The management informed the 20+ students in line that there were only 15 tickets left for the entire show that day - and seeing as how there was still a trickle of last-minute patrons paying full price for the remaining tickets, it didn't look like any would be released to the students.
I counted the students ahead of me in line. Nine. It was a gamble. If each student bought two tickets, it would be pointless to wait. If each bought just one, I was guaranteed to buy the two (one for me, one for the madre) I needed, and thus beat the system, albeit wait in line for a while.
Now, given that student rush meant prime tickets for $24 (regularly priced $160), I didn't want to forfeit the chance of ridiculously cheap tickets by stepping out of line if there was a sliver of a chance I could score the tickets.
As luck would have it, one of the girls ahead of me in line happened to live in the same building as me - we'd met and spoken briefly in the elevator when we both moved in on Sunday. We started chatting (there wasn't much else to do while everyone around us was getting angry and feisty with the management) and realized we knew some of the same people.
We had a good conversation, something I wouldn't have expected from five seconds in an elevator ride and a familiar face.
That's when the ticket manager declared that all tickets were to be sold for half price, no student discounts, at $81.50 - take it or leave it. My friend in line decided to opt out - she'd been banking on student tickets and decided to swing by another time. She gave me her place further up in line and left.
I got the last two tickets.
Small world, huge chances. Strange circumstances, happy surprises.
It's kind of ridiculous, this kind of luck. But I ain't questioning it. (:
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