with fall approaching...

My dad got a new car at the end of May because I needed transportation for my summer internship. I drove this car all summer, even after I moved from Buffalo back to Albany for the last month of my break from school. I am now in Boston, waiting anxiously for my semester to start and due to logistics surrounding Jon and Ellie’s honeymoon, my car is in Boston for the next week. I was driving around downtown Boston the other day and was shocked to see the mileage creep over the 8000 mark. The car was gently used—thirty-one miles—when we got it and now, after four short months I have driven over eight thousand miles.

August was a whirlwind month. With Agnese visiting from Italy, we traveled to New York City to see In The Heights, we camped on Cape Cod, spent a few days in Boston and set up our life in a hotel in Buffalo for the greater part of a week as we prepared for and celebrated Jon and Ellie’s perfect wedding. It went off without a hitch, as did the rest of the months adventures.

Agnese flew back to Italy on the 23rd of August and I turned around and started preparing for my move back to Boston, with no breaks and no time to reflect on the pure insanity that was this amazing summer.

I am currently sitting in my bedroom at school, in the aftermath of an unpacking war. With everything in it’s rightful place I can finally take a deep breath and appreciate the beginning of a new semester and the prospect of the new characters I will meet. I am so excited for the opportunities I had this summer: unexpected and invigorating. I feel as though I wasted little time, and in return have been rewarded with experiences I can store as professionally and personally useful. I have grown up, if just a tad, and I am so grateful to everything and everyone who was a part of it. Thank you.

starting summer

I am home from Buffalo and so excited to finish up my summer and prepare to move back to Boston. Before I go back to school, there are a few things I have to do...

--camping on the Cape (leaving tomorrow)
--NYC with Agnese (visiting from Italy!)
--Jon and Ellie's Wedding

I have so much to look forward to and so many people to spend time with. I'm excited to finish up my summer surrounded by the people that I love.

just over the rainbow bridge

Living in Buffalo definitely has its perks; not only are the real estate prices low and wings hot, the proximity to Canada is very desirable. The Niagara Falls are one of the great natural landmarks in this part of the world. The Falls are absolutely beautiful and their force and power are breathtaking the first time you see them. They are also a tourist trap, including Clifton Hill, a strip akin to Vegas or Times Square: trashy and flashy. Niagara Falls is about a twenty or thirty minute drive from my current residence in Buffalo, so it would have been a shame to not make an appearance.

Two good friends from Albany came out to Buffalo for the weekend and we crossed the border for two days of responsibly careless fun. We stayed in a sketchy hostel and made it our mission to do everything we don’t or can’t do in our own country.

While on a tour of the Hillebrand Winery in Niagara-on-the-Lake, Ontario we met a nice middle-aged couple from Toronto. They were very nice, as per the Canadian stereotype and via their suggestion, we ended up at a chocolate store down the street. One thing led to another and this suggestion led to free chocolate-covered strawberries, which we took as an obvious omen to visit every destination suggested by local or Canadians. This took us on an adventure that proved to be amazing, placing us in an Irish pub, a country-store specializing in gourmet peanuts, a few too many Tim Horton’s, and loveable Canadian-chain restaurants.

I think this is a really amazing travel tip. Ask questions and listen to the people who live in the areas you’re exploring. You can research and read reviews other travelers have written, but for an authentic experience, the little things count. There is no way we would have stopped at this run-down chocolate factory, or a random country peanut store if we weren’t told to, and that we would have really missed out!

We had a great time. The weekend was exactly what I needed: to see my friends and stop worrying for a minute about my future. We made “friends” from all over the world (Canada, New Zealand, Austria, Belgium, The Netherlands, Brazil, Italy, and the unidentified home of the newly engaged girl we took a picture with). We roughed it in a hostel and the whole weekend made me so excited for my semester in Europe, Spring 2011!

guppy

I need an internship for the fall in Boston. I have been applying to publishing companies around the city, but so far to no avail. I have been sending resumes left and right, but so many companies have already found interns for the fall. A few haven’t responded yet, so I am going to send second inquiries.

I am a little nervous that I will never be able to find an internship (or on a grander scale, a job) in a big city. As much as I have enjoyed working at Prometheus in Amherst, it is in Amherst, New York. I don’t want to be a big fish in a small pond; I don’t want to live in a small town or the suburbs of a rust-belt city. I want to be a guppy: a guppy in Boston, New York, London, or San Francisco. I know that when the time comes I will get a job where I can find one. I will not be Rory Gilmore circa the eighth season of Gilmore Girls.

In other news, I am growing more pretentious every day. Yesterday Ellie and I went to a bookstore and I bought the most recent issue of McSweeney’s. I then drank my bold brew from Café Aroma and laughed aloud at sarcasm from writers with inflated egos.

bound to a rock while a great eagle ate his liver every day

My time at Prometheus is coming to an end. My last day is a week from tomorrow. It’s so bizarre to be thinking of leaving. I finally know where everything is, what I’m doing, and how to do it. I know where the commas go and that quotations go on the outside of the period at the end of the sentence. I’ve learned a lot about myself and so much about publishing. The field no longer has this shield of mystery. I know what to expect from a company that works to produce well-written, and well-designed books that reinforce the morals and ideas by which Prometheus was built.

I’ve learned that I am genuinely interested in becoming an editor. I met with Jade, an assistant editor at Prometheus. She has worked there for a year, and graduated from Ithaca College in 2008. We met to talk about her job, as she is doing exactly what I hope to do in a few years. Talking with her, I realized that in editing books, I would be a life-long student: learning something new from each new book. I never want to fall into a job where I am not using my brain. I never want to stop learning.

I am a writer, or at least that’s what I tell myself, but I am not going to try to build a career around unreliable jobs. I want to work with other writers in making their great ideas better. If I can be part of the process that distributes important discourse to a greater public, I will feel as if I have done my job. Books, in print and online (alright, I’ll acknowledge the e-book phenomenon) are vital to society as a whole. Literature shouldn’t be a hobby available to a pretentious niche. Books, nonfiction and otherwise are important enough for me to feel as though I want to work with them for the greater part of my life.

I have realized the passion I have always felt for literature and book publishing is not unfounded. That is probably the most significant thing I have taken from this internship. Even working with the trivial details of the industry, I appreciate it for the experience I have gained.

Thank you, Prometheus, for teaching me not only to carry the torch of secular understanding and reason with a set of humanistic ideals, but also to continue on the academic path I have started on; to lay the bricks for my future.

A note to the nonexistant people reading this blog: Buy books from Prometheus, they're not all crazy-atheist. Do it!

save it

A writer’s blog about rejections is not an original idea, so I will keep this brief.

I have recently been rejected by Quick Fiction and Staccato Fiction for publication. I was also notified that I didn’t get an internship I interviewed for.

I knew rejection was going to be part of this game.

I’m thinking about starting a scrapbook. A scrapbook of all my rejections.

Make that three rejections. Bananafish provided me with a 6-hour rejection. Woot!

kind of creepy

I’ve been writing a lot of Spot Coffee, trying to meet the deadline I’ve set for myself. I’m writing a novel, for better or for embarrassment, due on the 28th of August, right before I go back to Boston.

Last week, when we were out running errands, we went to the downtown Spot, as opposed to the shop closer to home. While we were there I noticed a guy who was wearing plaid and counting syllables. He is obviously my soul mate.

I went back to Spot with Ellie on Tuesday to get work done, and syllable-man was sitting a few tables over, deep in his work. It’s interesting how you notice people who have similar schedules, out in the world.

I went to Spot again today, to continue to write my novel, it is currently seventeen pages (!) and he was there again. I am accidentally, borderline stalking him. Or he is stalking Spot.

Maybe we will be friends. Probably not, but its nice to recognize regulars in a community or in my life. I have become a regular at Spot, and in Buffalo. I don’t feel like I’m visiting anymore, I feel completely at home where I have my regular places to go, where I am bound to run into people I recognize, people who are regulars in their own right.

I would like to count syllables, too.
Ellie, this entry is for you.

(Oh, a rhyming couplet!)

[very]shortstories

She asked if he was tired of Europe, ready to go home to her. He said he spends the whole time running to catch trains that he misses anyway.

what more

Taste of Buffalo is amazing. Vendors of all the restaurants in Buffalo together, downtown, between ‘the chip strip’ and City Hall. They are set up with their best menu items and with tickets you buy things and eat your way through downtown Buffalo. It’s a great way to get people out and appreciating the city.

Downtown Buffalo makes me sad. It is everything Albany would be if it weren’t the capital of New York: cities that were booming during industrial periods that have since been decimated. Vacant streets and little business. Abandoned store-fronts and ‘historic’ landmarks that are falling down but too precious to demolish.

I’m really starting to like the city of Buffalo. It has a lot to offer a younger crowd and downtown is actually really [architecturally] beautiful. If I were to have gone to school here I would have had a great time. The people of Buffalo are as nice as those of the mid-west (I assume, based on stereotypes, having never been there). Buffalo has an arts scene and great coffee. Bars and restaurants are open late and real estate prices are low. Everyone should pack their bags, become Bills and Sabres fans, and move to Buffalo.

Good chicken wings and lake-effect snow. What more could you want?

heatwave

It is hot out. Yes, it is summer. We are having a heat-wave. I am not complaining. I love the heat.

After work I went out to the pool in our apartment complex that I have never before used. I have found my place for the rest of the summer.

If I complain about heat I constantly think of when I complain of the cold during winter. I am trying to be appreciative of things when I have them. I refuse to want what’s on the other side of the fence.

I don’t want to regret losing things I didn’t appreciate to begin with.

disease

I have a dress collection that has been in progress since high school. I love dresses and wear them the majority of days. Today I wore two different dresses and found both of them uncomfortably large. I’m borderline depressed because my dress collection is beginning to render itself useless. Who wants fifty dresses that are too big?

I suppose I will just have to buy more.

the90 home

I drove back to Buffalo with a friend from home who is also living out here for the summer. He lives in a part of Buffalo that I’m not familiar with (the suburbs…). After dropping him off I was nervous I wasn’t going to be able to find my way back to W. Ferry, but my navigational skills surprised me and I was home without a glitch.

I felt like I was driving home tonight and being familiar with the streets of Buffalo is comforting. I am finally getting to know the area, a little, and it is definitely a great feeling.

I love traveling and seeing new places but I think I want to spend enough time in each place that I am familiar with the area enough to call it home. Is it practical to think I could live in many different areas throughout my life? I might get tired of moving around. I might crave to consider one place home.

a tip for retail

Ellie and I took Audrey for a walk when I got home from work. It was a beautiful day in the mid 70s and sunny, a rarity for Buffalo, even in the summer. We walked through Elmwood Village, where I, naturally, had to stop at Spot Coffee.

While Ellie waited outside with the dog, I went in and got a cappuccino, a Thursday afternoon reward (yes, I can justify anything). The hipster punk-scum that worked there asked what he could get for me. But no, he didn’t phrase it in such a nice way. He said, “Ma’am, what can I get for you?” Oooooh, he called me ma’am (which now justifies my calling him hipster punk-scum).

When complaining to a friend about being called ma’am, I was told, “why don’t you blog about it”, in a rather belittling way. However facetious this phrase was meant, I am taking the suggestion seriously. This is an opportunity to set something straight.

The term, Ma’am, should never be used to refer to a woman who is either A. younger than thirty, B. unmarried, or C. wearing an adorable sundress.

For those of you working in retail, pay attention. You are always safe when you use Miss. Nobody will ever be offended when they are referred to as Miss, even if they are approaching an age that is embarrassing to reveal. If you do feel the necessity of throwing around Ma’am, save it for a woman who has a toddler on her hip or a baby in a stroller.

To break it down:

Stroller/hip child- Ma’am
Girl in sundress- Miss

That is the end of my rant. Spot Coffee, I will forgive you if you fire that child.

here's the gist

I’m writing a novel, inspired by my previous blog post and Doug Paul Case’s summer project. It may not be socially or culturally enriching or important, but I intend for it to be enjoyable. If I can write something, and have someone connect with it, then I will be happy. I am writing a novel that will be categorized as a beach read, and I am all right with that. It is my summer project, part two.

I have set a deadline for myself. I plan on moving back to Boston on the 29th of August, so I have a week before classes start to find a job so I won’t be poor for the remainder of my tenure at Emerson. I have until the 28th to complete my novel, of roughly 180 pages, at 300 words per page (the Prometheus standard page). That is a very short novel, of approximately 54,000 words, or about 4 pages a day.

In similar, yet unrelated news: I’m reading Little Bee, by Chris Cleave. I’m really enjoying it. It is a book I wouldn’t normally have picked up, but I thought a trip back to the New York Times Bestseller’s List would help me find an enjoyable piece of fiction for the summer. After spending too much time in Barnes & Noble, I went home with the book and it has definitely been worth it. It’s a fresh story told in an interesting way, not geared toward women, and I highly recommend it.

friday morning traffic

I don't know where this story came from, but I think it is the beginning to a longer piece, but I might already hate the character. Oh well...

It might be dangerous to drive across four lanes of traffic to the sixth tollbooth. Twenty minutes into my commute I race to fit in the lines leading up to number six, regardless of the traffic coming at me. It’s 7:30am and I’m already late.

My head is pounding. Tequila Thursdays were a favorite in college. Six shots before we even left for the night. Tequila Thirties doesn’t quite have the same ring, unless you count the ringing in my ears and the throbbing pain in my neck.

A blue Jetta cuts me off as I merge onto I90 and I scream a nice, fuck you, knowing the middle-aged man talking into the Bluetooth piece in his ear is completely oblivious to my car and my existence.

The BBC World Service blares through the radio: the only thing that calms me in the morning. Ironic, how endless reports of bad news can put my own little life in perspective. A new government in some Stan country I’ve never heard of, and a senator from West Virginia just died and the balance of power in the Senate is cause for concern. Every morning I wait to hear the world is coming to an end, and I’m rarely disappointed.

By time I’ve reached the tolls my caffeine addiction has been satisfied and I can feel the wrinkle in my forehead relaxing to the permanent crease that has been there since college. An audible sigh escapes my mouth and I rifle through my change to collect the $1.25 I need, and hand it to Eddie.

Eddie is the elderly man who has worked in the sixth tollbooth since I started my 9-to-5, maybe before but I wouldn’t know. He knows me now, at least by recognition. He asks me how my morning is going, takes my money, careful not to drop the quarter, and smiles. He never raises the bar before he tells me a joke, something to “brighten my morning” as he always says.

It might be dangerous to cut across four lanes of traffic to get to Eddie’s tollbooth, but I do it anyway; every morning, at roughly 7:52, after my coffee and after the world news.

This morning Eddie asks me if I’d ever though how rough driving could be if cows could fly like bugs. I don’t know where he comes up with these thoughts.

I laugh, and drive away, thankful that my windshield wipers push away mosquitoes, and not cows.

puppy love

When you have a dog you take her for a walk. You take her for a walk everyday around the same time and you might even take the same route. Habit.

Other people have dogs and they take them for walks everyday around the same time and they take the same route.

By simple exposure, these dog-owner couples become your friends. They stop and pet your dog and you pet theirs. You say things like “oh, she’s so cute, what’s her name?” You say that because of her bowlegs she must be part basset, or that her playful energy means she’s absolutely part lab or retriever. You make dog-talk with these strangers, and then carry on your walk, to see them again tomorrow.

Ellie brought up the point tonight that you can’t just go up to a stranger and say, “oh, you’re so cute, what’s your name?” You can’t say, “such a long nose. You must be Italian.” These are things you don’t say to complete strangers, and part of society that would be completely lost on a puppy.

Puppies walk up and sniff another dog’s butt and they’re instantly friends or foes. Sounds easier. Try it and let me know how that goes.

fiction

This is the worst scenario I can think of at present:

Getting excited for something that you know isn’t worth it, and then being disappointed when it doesn’t happen, an outcome that is safer and right.

Fight between logic and impulse. Play things safe, following your head and doing what you know is the best decision. Even when things flop, rest assured because you followed what you, reasonably, thought was the right thing to do/way to go. When you act on impulse and things fall apart, it’s harder to justify your actions because you have nothing feasible to back them up. You can’t do things because of a “feeling”. Feelings are impossible to measure.

The only problem is when you play it safe your situation will only yield safe, predictable outcomes. It’s simple math.

Try to follow your “heart” and use feelings to support actions, but it will blow up in your face, or at least your head. That’s the risk.

Gibberish.

open road

I went home to Albany for the weekend to take a little break from Buffalo and sleeping on a futon. I left my brother and his fiancé with the new puppy and drove 300 miles across the state with an iced coffee and a freshly burned Ingrid Michaelson CD.

I love driving and road trips. There is something so relaxing about just driving fast on an open road, with so much to look forward to. I love the time to myself to just think or belt music that no other human ears should be subjected to.

The weekend was just what I needed to lift my spirits and feel a dose of Albany-summer. I spent time with good friends, saw an excellent Italian film at the Spectrum, went to Grafton Lake to get sunburns and went shopping. With a trip to the diner and a night of Gilmore Girls the weekend was complete.

Being home was great but it makes me miss everyone that much more. I miss friends from home because this summer was supposed to be time spent with them and I miss friends from school, after being with them all year. I’ve been video-chatting with Lee Doran and Greg Turner tonight, as well as Alex Castillo (these are shameless shout-outs). I love what I’m doing this summer with the publishing company and spending time with Jon, Ellie, and the recent addition of Audrey, but I will be excited to go back to Albany in August and Boston in September.

So much to do and so many places to be. It’s not always easy floating between three cities.

on bringing home Audrey

We were nervous today as we sat in the car at the red light. We didn’t think about the drive to the shelter. We thought about meeting for the first time and then the life together. We found you online, you were surrendered only two days ago. You have sad eyes and a long nose and a perfectly wagging tail. With your ballerina bowlegs and your floppy ears, you are perfect. We didn’t know this as we sat in the car at the red light.

We were scared you had been through trauma that would make you difficult to train. Scared that you hadn’t been treated well before. We were scared you would use the carpet in the apartment as your personal bathroom, as it turns out you have. We were afraid that you wouldn’t be a good fit, and we were afraid of what your existence would do to ours.

There was something so surreal about sitting in the car at that red light. We could have made a dangerous U-turn and gone back to where we had come from, sure that someone else would have adopted you. We didn’t.

Ellie got her baby today: a beagle-basset hound-lab mix, nine months old and not yet housebroken. She has waited so long and hasn’t been disappointed. She fell in love the moment she saw those sad eyes on the screen. She couldn’t wait for that puppy, but still, we hesitated at the light, thinking that even when you’re unfailingly sure of something, it can still be scary and cause you to take a second to stop and think before you continue on your way.

cancelled

Netflix is one of the greatest services ever. It now has the capacity to stream through the Wii. Ellie and I have been taking advantage of instant Netflix for the past week or so. I won’t speak for her, but I have become quite addicted. Actually, I’ll throw her in this too, as the third season of Angel speaks for itself.

I don’t know why good shows get cancelled and shows like Bridezilla (which I’ve never seen but just recently heard of) or Millionaire Matchmaker are thriving. With the new Wii-Netflix connection, I watched the Arrested Development series, which was cancelled after it’s third season. I never watched it when it was on the air. I had only seen it a few times at the end of this past semester when a good friend of mine was watching it. It is one of the funniest shows I have ever seen. It’s so well written. I foolishly laugh aloud while I’m watching it by myself, which always makes me mildly uncomfortable for no reason. I watched the three seasons of it in the past week and am now really sad that it’s over.

This is kind of just a rant that TV is terrible and ratings only reflect the stupidity of our nation as a whole. I might just be bitter that I won’t get to see what happens to Lucille or between George-Michael and Maebey, or if that seal is going to take Buster’s other hand.

I should probably get a more productive hobby.

sick

I hate being sick, but especially when I’m not home. I wasn’t feeling well and I spent most of today feeling gross and wishing I were home, where I could hide under my covers and not be in the way of anyone or anything that was going on. It’s sometimes difficult living without a place to go and be alone. I feel like I am usually in the way.

I’m so grateful to my brother and soon-to-be-sister-in-law for letting me crash on their futon for the greater part of a summer. I hope they don’t hate me for doing so and I hope they are not silently building their resentments. Perhaps I will go home this weekend and give them some space and time to themselves.

I am tired.

slacker

I suppose I took a little break from my blog. With the move to Buffalo and the new job, I could say I have been too busy. That would be a lie. Here are a few, brief, updates.

I am absolutely loving my internship with Prometheus. I am learning a lot, most importantly that my career aspirations aren’t unfounded.

I am being published in August in Wigleaf’s online magazine: a flash fiction story, originally published on this blog! I’m very excited about it, to say the least.

My cousin, Michelle, married her fiancé Nathaniel this past weekend in Rochester. It was a beautiful wedding and I had a wonderful time with my family. With a day in Utica afterwards, the weekend was complete.

not within our publishing parameters

31 rejections letters. 12 were sent out via email and 19 were sent in self-addressed envelopes.

I wrote rejection letters today. I tried to view it simply as clerical work. Papers get stacked up and sometimes you need to just sit and get caught up on correspondence. I enjoyed reading all of the proposed titles and glancing through manuscripts and inquiries. Publishing houses, obviously, receive more submissions than they could ever possibly publish. I have a feeling rejection letters will be part of my daily to-do.

The writer in me couldn’t help but feel a bit disheartened. I know how challenging it is to be chosen for publication, but something about seeing people’s names and the hard work they put into their piece I was rejecting on behalf of the editor-in-chief made it so real. I typed the emails that sent bad news to smart and deserving people. I know, as I have a lot of work currently pending for decision at literary magazines, waiting for that email is excruciating. It hurts even more when it’s a rejection.

It’s all part of the process, and honestly, the likelihood of rejection makes the field that much more challenging and rewarding. Writing wouldn’t be worth it if anyone and their brother could throw some words together and see it on the shelf at Barnes & Noble.

Writing those rejections reassured me, in a selfish way, that personally, I am on the appropriate side of the publishing process. I want to help those whose ideas and execution are worth putting into print to share and connect with the world. If I can’t produce them myself (not saying I can’t), I at least want to assist others, because that is something I know I can do.

so much to learn

I bought the Chicago Manual of Style. The editor-in-chief at Prometheus named it as the standard they use in their publishing process and requested that I have it for my time there. After emptying my pitiful bank account to buy it, I sat down and read through the table of contents. I have so much to learn.

I start my internship at Prometheus tomorrow morning. I am nervous and excited and a couple other emotions that I’ve hinted at in previous entries of this blog. In reference to my first post, when I thought I was going to be pouring coffee for the summer in Albany, lets see what I can do.

Ready, go.

blackbird, fly

I cried when I hugged my parents goodbye today. It wasn’t rational and I couldn’t explain it. It was enough to embarrass me and enough to freak out my dad and make my mom cry. I’m going to see them again in two weeks, and I don’t even live in Albany for most of the year anymore. I wasn’t crying because I was leaving home and I wasn’t crying because I was saying goodbye to my parents, as much as I love them.

This is the first time I’ve left home to do something other than school, which will benefit my aspiring career. It’s the first time I’ve chosen, in a serious spectrum, what I need to do over what I want to do. I’m making a bigger deal out of this whole internship/move thing than is warranted, but it’s affected me on a level that I didn’t think it would. I feel as though I’m living the time I will look back on and think of as my coming of age experience, if such a thing can be feasibly defined. To say the death of my childhood, is kind of morbid, but I feel as though I’m changing and, perhaps, growing up.

I’m accomplishing goals in ways I haven’t before. I’m finishing projects that I’ve started when I would normally abandon them. I’ve accepted a challenge for the summer that I want to run from. The reality of what I am doing, right now, is surreal if only because I am actually doing something. You never would have said I could do this-- Never encouraged me to take a chance on something that might mean something for me. You never let me fly.

proyecto

Beckie woke me up this morning and told me the coffee was ready and we were going shopping. After I finally got up to the promise of caffeine, we decided that we shouldn’t spend such a beautiful day inside. We were feeling productive. Project-mode.

We went to Home Depot with drawings and figures. We wandered around the lumber section receiving inquisitive looks with often mocking and condescending undertones. We had our wood cut in predetermined proportions. We were harassed mildly by a group of guys our age that were building a bar and we were slightly patronized by the man with the saw (who incidentally cut one piece ½ an inch too short…devil). We took our cut pieces to the paint section and picked out a creamy mocha. The men behind the paint counter raised their eyebrows. At the checkout a woman complimented my dress and a teenage boy implied, in a way we still don’t understand, that Beckie was my daughter.

Two young women in Home Depot shopping for lumber and paint are greeted with unwarranted chauvinism. I was kind of offended.

We built a bookshelf designed to fit on top of my dresser. I am moving to Buffalo tomorrow morning and we thought it was a good idea to have something to help organize my things so I don’t take over my brother’s living room.

An afternoon of drill-bits and misogyny turned into a night of feminism as I sat down with friends in an otherwise empty theater to see Sex and the City 2. Full of ridiculous outfits and a lifestyle impossible to afford, this was actually one of the worst movies I’ve ever seen. I love Sex and the City and I loved the first movie, but I guess this is a good example of the benefits of letting a good thing die. This movie was offensive in regards to the Middle East. It reinforced every stereotype and did nothing to work against any kind of expectation. The acting was so bad it was hard to believe and the story-line and script were shameful. Disappointing is basically the only word I can use to describe it.

not so eggciting

I went to downtown Albany for lunch with a good friend from high school. We went to Bombers Burrito Bar, which is basically the only place I ever eat downtown. It’s sad that Lark Street is the only thing keeping the culture of downtown alive.

I love Albany and I love having grown up here. I have so much “hometown pride”. I was born and raised in the city and I went through the inner city’s public schools. My graduating class was around 550, having started with a freshman class of over 1000. Albany High was featured often on the evening news and eyebrows were raised when professionals and other people outside the community realized where I went to school. Words like “dangerous” and “scary” were implied and questions about shootings, knife-fights and gang violence quickly followed. I used to say over and over that I loved Albany High and the educational and social experience it had to offer was unlike any other suburban or private counterpart.

I hope my persistence and unfailing defense of Albany and the city schools wasn’t from disillusionment. I see so much potential in what Albany could offer to a city of young and hopeful people but it is falling short. I see Albany falling apart and it scares me. I wouldn’t know where to start in revitalizing a city ravaged by a post-industrial economy and a severely growing case of white-flight.

I want my pride to be based in more than nostalgia.

on which the heat has broiled my brain

High of 97 degrees. Ran at 11pm and still 80 degrees. Lightening filled the sky and sweat dripped down my face. Looks like it’s going to storm.

blisters

I am living this week as my last week of the kind of summer I’m used to.

I have been sleeping in and seeing friends. I’ve been going on walks late at night to talk of the mysteries of life, questions and doubts that my best friend and I share. I’ve been running around on a carefree whim, with dirty feet and hair frizzy from the humidity. It was 91 degrees today and my fingers and toes are swollen.

Everything is swollen. Every muscle in my body hurts from running and the heat. I have blisters and a sunburn. I’m getting bug bites and I have a constant and conscious desire for water. Summer is sticky and uncomfortable, but I don’t want to take it for granted. Next week I’ll be inside in air conditioning, wishing I could run around with dirty feet and have nothing to do.

fun things happened today

1. My dad bought a new car and is letting me borrow it for the summer. He says I need a way to get to my internship!

2. I saw a group of good friends from high school that I haven’t seen in a while. It was great catching up and seeing where everyone is and what they’re all doing.

3. I ran 8k (about 5 miles) with my weird peer-pressure jogging club. This is the furthest I’ve ever run. Great success.

unwanted

It finally feels like summer. With 80 degree weather and sunburns. My entire family went golfing this morning. We went to a par-3 course and only had a few injuries (fore means look to see where the ball is coming from and move if it looks like it might hit you…but sometimes you don’t see it coming). We had a barbeque and went for a run. This is what summer is, it’s perfect.

Stretching on the lawn after running tonight, I was getting bit by mosquitoes. I got bit through my pants, which I didn’t think could happen. I always forget about the bugs. I grew up camping every summer so spiders and bugs don’t generally bother me (except when daddy long legs are thrown in my tent). I’m not squeamish about getting rid of bugs when they’re in inappropriate places, but tonight they were disgusting. Maybe because over the winter I forgot what mosquitoes were like, or maybe Boston doesn’t have as many, but their annoyance was prevalent enough to make my blog. Bugs are gross.

indiana's early morning dew

A road-trip from Buffalo to Albany with my brothers started this week: my last week at home for a few months.

My whole family was out in Buffalo for Jon and Ellie’s graduation from Canisius College. When we’re all together it’s ridiculous and exhausting, but comforting at the same time. My family has an energy: a cohesive unit that feeds off itself for hilarity and support.

I’ve found that friends, with a few exceptions, come and go at different points in life. Family is always there. I’m so lucky to have such a wonderful immediate family. I really don’t know what I’d do without them.

This is a bit sentimental and I apologize. I think it’s important every now and then to take a step back and appreciate things that are truly worth it.

jump

Jon said, jokingly (I hope), that when he told me to move out to Buffalo this summer he didn’t think I’d actually take him up on it. I didn’t either.

I applied for an internship not thinking I’d get a response. I went to an interview not thinking I’d get hired. I got hired. Fate has called my bluff.

I’ve surprised myself. I’ve done something that is what I should be doing, not just what I want to do.

For once I’ve done something without planning it to exhaustion. I didn’t get bored with the idea before it started, because I’ve been (relatively) living in the moment. I got a call from a coffee shop this morning and an hour later I was sitting in an interview. I’ve been running around, getting things done and not worrying if they’re right. At some point there is no right or wrong, there is only what’s been done. I guess between plans and actuality, what you pursue is the right path because it’s the only path.

glass

My soon-to-be sister-in-law, Ellie, cleaned her apartment today. She was organizing and going through things. While I sat unproductively on the couch, she came out of her room with a thick glass piggybank in the shape of a bear. The bear had a slit at the top: money goes in and doesn’t come out She announced that today was the day she would break open her piggybank. She had been saving for twenty-one years and she was ready.

Having learned from kids running away from home, we put a towel down on the kitchen floor and went for the hammer. With the first tap on the bear’s nose, Ellie was cautious. She was cracking open something that meant a lot to her: something she had for almost her entire life. The bear’s nose proved too strong to break easily, so the bear was turned on it’s stomach. With few quick swings to the bear’s head, the glass cracked and money spilled out, covered in a fine glass dust. Like archaeologists we sifted through the change with tweezers and afterward we threw out the glass, including the piece with the bear’s little black nose.

Ellie, like my brother Jon, is graduating from college on Saturday. She is facing a lot of what I have been feeling lately: fears of change and becoming a person. We’re going through this together, as I am living with them for the summer. She’s broken the piggybank, and I think she’s ready to go.

found a summer

I am the summer intern at Prometheus Books in Amherst, NY. I will be working mainly in the editorials department. I will be learning to proofread and copy edit this summer in a little office in the library at the publishing company. I am to be given a brief overview of the daily office atmosphere of a working publisher. I am terrified, but really excited. I start on the second of June. AHHH!

Prometheus Books publishes mainly non-fiction books for the educational, scientific, and professional markets. They are the leading publisher for topics of secular humanism and science of the “skeptical nature”. They publish, on average, 100 books a year, so during my time at Prometheus, 16 books will be published!

I am becoming a real person, and I couldn’t be more excited. I thought this summer was going to be a total bust. I didn’t think I would be doing anything more than [maybe] a part-time job at a fabric store. I am starting my professional career; even if is the form of an unpaid internship. I’m not going to be lying around watching reruns on basic cable. I am doing something real, now.

Stuff White People Like....Unpaid Internships, hilarious and true...

a fool's paradise

Everything stresses me out. From episodes of Law & Order to cans of peanut butter left opened on the counter. I don’t watch scary or suspenseful movies and I try to shy away from interacting with my irrational phobias because of anxiety. People always say I stress myself out for no reason. I think it’s partly genetic. Just like my father, I worry about everything.

I had an interview today at Prometheus Books. I was nervous about it for two weeks. I won’t know if I got the internship for a few more days but I am done stressing. I can’t do anything about it now. To use a shameless cliché, my fate is sealed, and I’m really trying to just relax. What’s done is done (how many clichés can I use...) and I’m going to enjoy my next few days in Buffalo. Not to count my chickens before they hatch, but I also put in a few applications for a part-time job out here in Western New York. I think this is shaping up to be a productive summer.

I’m preparing myself to not get the position at Prometheus. I’ve already worked through the stages of grief and I’m on to acceptance. When I don’t get hired, I’ll be on my way back to Albany for a summer with my friends, which doesn’t sound half-bad. I got interview experience, a new dress and a week with my brother and soon to be sister-in-law. Not bad. Stress-free. Breathe.

thank you

I took the train from Albany to Buffalo. A four and a half hour drive turns into a five and a half hour train ride, with delays becomes six hours. Despite the long trip, I really enjoyed it. I love travelling by train. It’s relaxing and I can sit and think, or sleep.

When I got on the train in Albany I walked three cars to an empty seat and tried to lift my suitcase up into the overhead rack. I am weak and decided against struggling with it to not look as incompetent as I felt. I wheeled my bag to the front of the car and a guy sitting in the front “save-for-disabled-passengers” seat (he wasn’t disabled) said I could put my bag there, where there is extra space. I removed my computer (as to not be irresponsible) and went back to my seat. Just outside of Amsterdam, the same guy was walking up and down the aisle until he found me and then said he was getting off at the next stop, if I wanted to sit near my bag.

This small gesture of responsible kindness made me so happy. This guy looked kind of sketchy, but he wasn’t. Outside Boston there are nice people: people that go out of their way, if just a little, to make a stranger’s day easier. I’d forgotten there were still genuinely nice people.

I love living in the city. I think the opportunities and experiences urban life has to offer outweighs any minor complaints I may have. My only fear is that I will forget to do-good, something I always try to do. Try to remember.

some day

I saw the new movie, Babies, which is a documentary that follows the lives of four babies for their first year. There are two boys, from Mongolia and Namibia and two girls, from Tokyo and San Francisco. It being Sunday night at the Spectrum, the only other people in the theater (apart from Sarah, Beckie and myself) were two grandmothers and two girls in their twenties. The exclusively female audience didn’t surprise us, but the difference in reactions did. While childbirth made us audibly queasy, the older women sighed reminiscently at the acquired definition of beauty. It was obvious that experience and maturity played a part in emotional investment. Everyone winced when the babies looked as if they were in danger of being hurt but we also laughed, our maternal instincts on the backburner.

After seeing this movie, I can admit that babies are adorable and it’s so interesting to see how cultures that are completely different in every way can nurture children to grow and develop at astonishingly similar rates. I don’t want a baby any time soon, but I wouldn’t mind having some around the family. Life is brilliant to watch.

old times

We cooked up a storm. We ransacked the refrigerator. We made the most delicious pasta salad. It had homemade Italian sausage that spent time drying out, hanging in my aunt’s attic. It had feta cheese and black olives, green peppers and sweet balsamic vinegar. We made white chai tea, steeped for three minutes. We made large pearl tapioca beads and added them to our tea with a boiled sugar syrup to create a delicious chai bubble tea. Stewart’s didn’t have crazy straws, but the normal ones worked just fine. We made a feast and haven’t cleaned the mess.

opa!

The St. Sophia’s Grecian Festival, more popularly referred to as the “Greek Fest” has been a staple in my childhood. Every May I spend a weekend watching my Greek friends dance in full costume and fill up on gyros, baklava, loukoumathes and spanakopita. The Greek Fest always means running around with friends and not being able to walk a foot in the crowded tent without seeing a familiar face: parents of friends, teachers or friends I maybe lost touch with but happen to see every year at Greek Fest. It’s loud music and sundresses that have been hiding in my closet all year. A parking lot of high school students sneaking vodka out of water bottles and a tent full of the Greek population of Albany drunk on ouzo. I grew up going to Greek Fest and being surrounded by people that I knew from every aspect of my life in “Smalbany”, as locals affectionately call my hometown.

Tonight was the first night that Albany didn’t feel small. Except for a few friends that I had planned on meeting up with, I had never been faced with so many unfamiliar people. The parking lot, instead of being a meeting ground for friends from school, was crawling with kids I didn’t know. My friends that usually dance in costumes every hour were now standing with me, watching the kids of the church dance those same dances we knew so well.

Home doesn’t feel like the home I’m used to. After being away for so long, things have changed. Every time I think about things changing and being uncomfortable with growing up I get upset, but tonight was the first time I accepted what was happening. I’m glad I didn’t know the high school students drinking behind their parents’ backs and I’m glad I didn’t run into a thousand people I can smile at and make small-talk with, knowing they know my parents and our entire life-story.

I’ve always been nervous that I won’t be able to let go when I need to grow up and call a new place my home. I don’t think it’s going to be so hard. I’m not there yet, but I can see that in a few years, when I graduate and need to move on to a new point in my life, it will more or less happen organically. I’m changing, but for once I can say, I’m not afraid.

chipped tea-cups

I am a hoarder. Probably not to the TLC-special extreme, but the potential is definitely there.

After procrastinating for a week, I cleaned out my room and unpacked from school. I emptied my closet and my bookshelves. I went through stacks of notebooks and papers from high school and my first two years of college. I found boxes under my bed filled with ticket stubs and playbills. There are pictures and friendship bracelets, birthday cards dating back to 2005 (the rest are probably in a box on the top shelf of my closet) and an arm from a stuffed bear that Beckie and I won from a claw machine and decided to “share” by ripping its arms off. I found memories I wish I hadn’t, but I also got to reminisce. I didn’t throw away as much as I should have. I have a bad memory and I think it’s nice to keep small souvenirs of important life events.

This is where it starts. A ticket stub here, a newspaper clipping there. Then, before you know it, I’m going to start wearing a life-alert bracelet just in case mountains of books avalanche, knocking me over into a pile of dirty stuffed animals, before a box of fabric does me in: making it impossible to see daylight again.

I read an article about an elderly man who was trapped inside his own home. His out-of-control quantity of meaningless garbage fell on top of him. His negligent family didn’t start looking for him for six days. That will be me.

My grandfather likes to stop at garage sales. He buys things regardless of whether or not he needs them or likes them. The less useful an item is, the more desirable it is: island of misfit toys complex, if that’s a thing. This is probably genetic. I should seek preemptive help.

plot

It was rainy and cold today. When it doesn’t make it out of the forties in May, a movie day is appropriate. Sarah B. and I hunkered down with pizza and old movies. We watched His Girl Friday, which I own but had never seen. In high school, Mr. McGurn used to tell us that kids have no patience for black and white movies. He said that the minute he puts one on, everyone in the room is asleep. I watch a lot of old movies, but I think he is correct.

I am not a film expert and I don’t claim to be but I think that it does take a lot more concentration to watch an old movie because of the way the film industry has progressed. With advancing technology, the story line is becoming increasingly less important as long as the special effects are there. If you were to take Avatar’s story line without the enormous budget, it is Pocahontas. I wouldn’t spend $30 to see Pocahontas, like I did to see Avatar. I think my point, if I even have one, is that if you have the patience to sit through a movie without color or exciting effects, old movies have amazing stories. Although this is a generalization, I think the plots of older movies are more intricate and creative. Crazy things happen in His Girl Friday, and while I still don’t understand the title, I really enjoyed the movie. Perfect for a rainy day with Cary Grant.

observations from today

1. No sales tax on clothes in Massachusetts is a great way to justify spending money. Everything is automatically 8% off.

2. A great friend is one you can shop with for seven hours and still want to hang out with afterward.

3. The soundtrack to Violet is great road-trip music.

4. Closed-toe shoes are professional.

5. The new New York license plates are ugly.

6. Some people make bad choices.

7. Running is painful when you haven’t in seven months.

coffee talk

I started to clean out my closet today, hoping to open up some space so I can unpack from school. I am currently sitting on my bed surrounded by the contents of my closet: covering every inch of my floor. My room is a fire hazard. If I needed to evacuate I would have to jump over a pile of ugly shoes and dance with a dress form before making contact with my doorknob. I’m not sure why I started this project knowing I wasn’t going to finish it. So irresponsible.

On another note…

I got ice cream with an old friend tonight, someone I’ve known since we were two, just starting out in preschool. One of the benefits of having lived in the same house in the same city the whole time I was growing up is having friends that have known me my entire life. While we don’t talk often during the semester, it’s so nice to have people to spend time with who might not know everything that’s happening on a day-to-day basis but know me so completely. I’m fortunate to have several friends that I’ve known since Day One. Sometimes I think they know me better than I know myself.

daunting

There were two occupied tables in the diner, a favorite hometown haunt; we were sitting at one, catching up after a semester apart. She says with her bachelors in anthropology she will end up working at Anthropologie, selling expensive dresses to girls who can’t afford them. As a junior in high school you can’t wait to finish, graduate and go off to a university. As a junior in college you start to panic, the only thing waiting on the other side of the tassel is life: unpredictable and too real to be fun. I tell her she can always get her masters.

At the other table, a graduating student sits with her boyfriend and celebrates over a piece of cheesecake. The waitress asks from where she is graduating. The girl replies, forlornly, law school because a bachelors isn’t enough these days.

We look at our coffee, rotten cream curdling on the surface.

“I’m not going to law school”, my friend says and raises a hand to ask for the check.

gutter

I’m probably not the worst bowler in the world. I’d say I’m in the top ten. Every time I’ve been asked to go bowling in the past year or two I have strategically found a way out of it.

Tonight, my family dragged me to Redwood Lanes. They have all-you-can bowl deals with disco balls, black lighting and a live DJ from 10-2am. It would be a great place to be if I didn’t completely hate the game. I’ve been thinking about why I dislike bowling so much. I think it goes beyond me being really terrible. I’ve narrowed it down to the following reasons.

1. The Shoes. I don’t know how often bowling shoes are replaced or how effective that spray is that they use. Every time I see someone with 8 ½ size feet at the bowling alley I wonder if they’ve worn the shoes that I’m wearing. I hate feet and communal shoes. Are you supposed to return the shoes with the laces tied or untied?

2. Heavy Balls. I can’t get a ball that is six pounds because that’s probably what I used when I was ten, but the ten-pound balls are always too heavy because I am weak. It’s really hard to find something in between and walking around forever putting my fingers into drilled holes where [unwashed] hands have been is gross.

3. Waiting for your ball to come up the ramp. It’s not a long wait but it’s just long enough that I stand awkwardly, not knowing what to do or how to stand. Is it long enough to walk back to where everyone else is standing? Should I turn around and say something? Maybe I’ll just stare at the pins and wonder why they’re all still standing up…

4. The Walk. I can never get the walk right. People do fancy little jumps and half runs. They slide one leg and do some kind of weird dance. Most of them just look silly.

Tonight I got a couple strikes and a few spares but the highlight was when Lady Gaga came through the speakers. Is bowling a real sport?

mom’s high heels

I went shopping to find professional clothes. I don’t own any. I tried on black pencil skirts with button-up blouses and black blazers. I looked ridiculous and didn’t buy anything. New York & Company was having a 50% off sale and they always have business-appropriate apparel but as I stared at myself in the mirror I couldn’t help but feel like a kid playing dress up, sliding around in my mom’s pumps, hoping to grow into them soon.

and just for fun...

science
He keeps a shoebox next to his bed for newspaper clippings and pictures from magazines that he finds interesting. He writes on small pieces of paper in the middle of the night when he has an idea he will forget before morning. When he wakes up and looks through the box, he often doesn’t remember writing what he reads and usually can’t read his handwriting. The notes that he can decipher are gibberish. He spends the day trying to make sense of the messages he’s left for himself. Elephants hate science. He ponders without conclusion and goes to bed again.

neverneverland

I am currently stuck in a weird Peter-Pan-mentality. I never want to grow up. I’m turning twenty in half a year and something about saying goodbye to my teens is very strange. I’m entering a time when it’s less acceptable to live the carefree existence of a child. I need to start taking responsibility for my future and it’s hard because I, selfishly, haven’t yet decided that I want to become an independent and functioning member of society.

I’m in a self-sabotaging cycle of not seeking out opportunities that might be beneficial because I’m afraid of where they will take me. Fear is at the root of this entire predicament. I’m scared of change and what it will mean for the life I’m used to. Dave Bard once told me, “no trepidation”. I like this phrase because it rings so true to my situation and my life, and trepidation is fun to say. I can’t be afraid to take a chance because if I never do I may never be successful, in any sense of the word.

I may have an opportunity to do something this summer that would be so fantastic for my plan to be a writer/editor/super(wo)man and I am absolutely terrified. To not jinx myself, I’m not yet going to reveal this opportunity to the blogosphere. All I can say is, no trepidation.

misfit

Walking away from Emerson today was surreal. As I strolled down Newbury Street with my family, the weight of the semester and my last final lifted and the realization that I wouldn’t be going back to my bed on the 7th floor of Piano Row tonight hit me. I am on my way back to Albany, sitting in a mini-van with almost everything I own. Crushed between a box of poorly packed shoes and the unlocked door as a laundry basket with Scrabble and Loaded Questions slides into my right shoulder is an utterly perfect arrangement for this fateful trip on the Mass-Pike.

Despite my initial plans to have a productive summer in Boston with a fancy internship at a publishing house and a pale-complexion characteristic of a nine-to-five, I am facing four months more akin to the summer after my senior year of high school.

I’d like to vow this as my last unproductive summer. In the fall I’m going to be entering my junior year at Emerson and as an aspiring member of the publishing community I will need internships and unpaid positions/skills and things.

I will not waste this summer; rather I’m going to view these next four months as a hiatus or a sabbatical, or something. I’m a researching writer striving to experience everything and anything. My first step to learning something from the world will be the job hunt I’m embarking on tomorrow, lets see what I can do.