Sleepless in New York

"Whatever you choose, however many roads you travel, I hope that you choose not to be a lady. I hope you will find some way to break the rules and make a little trouble out there. And I hope that you choose to make some of that trouble on behalf of women." -- Nora Ephron

When trying to say something really important, it's good to do it after a couple of drinks and even better to use someone else's words. And it's best if those words are by one of New York's most prolific and almost impossibly witty women. Renowned director, screenwriter, producer, and author, Nora Ephron not only graced us with her films (most notably: Sleepless in Seattle, When Harry Met Sally, You've Got Mail), but effortlessly penned several novels, all of which feature complicated, robust, female lead characters.  Nora championed women's rights - our right, that is, to be ambitious, contradictory, independent, dramatic, exhausting, hysterical and anything else we can come up with. 

Because the thing is, even as a woman living in the twenty-first century and in arguably the most progressive and tolerant city in the world... it's nearly impossible to get it right. 

As a kid, I was never aware that at any point in the history of the world, women were ever treated differently than men were. Why would I think twice about playing baseball instead of playing with dolls? When Dad says I can do anything, why doubt it? But recently I felt a pang of embarrassment when I told someone that I don't usually eat dinner because I don't know how to cook and if by chance I'm hungry, I'll pick something up on the way home from work.  I wished for a second that growing up I had spent more time watching my Mom in the kitchen than playing in the dirt.  But I'm a "career woman" so I'm exempt from all of that. It's enough that I work hard every day and support myself. I don't have to know how to sew because I've chosen a different path...  right?

A man walks into a meeting and is assumed to be the leader until he demonstrates he isn't capable of it.  A woman walks into a meeting and is evaluated first by her appearance. Dress or pants? What does it say about her? Then she opens her mouth... aggressive or trying to please? (which is better)? Finally, people consider the important stuff, like the substance of what she says, but only after everything else.  (If you think i'm being oversensitive, I thought so, too. That's why I polled some of my female friends. It's not just me). 

So I started thinking. Who is capable of putting so much pressure on others? Of being so judgmental and narrow-minded? Who perpetuates these norms? Women.  We do it to ourselves... constantly up the ante and hold one another to impossible standards.  What would happen if we we all got together and re-wrote the rules? Let's throw everything out the window and start from scratch -- housewives and doctors alike. From now on we'll spend more time reading newspapers than doing our hair. And we'll cry when we want and we'll cook if we want or we'll order Chinese every day. We won't avoid math and we'll get dressed up for no reason. We'll stop caring what others might think and we'll laugh at ourselves as loudly and as often as we can. 

Because that's much more fun than being a lady. 

Anticipation

A recent article in the New Yorker, coupled with a whimsical (possibly fleeting) desire to work at a publishing house (I forewent an internship at a publishing house for my current position in 2008), has reinvigorated my interest in modern literature. Maybe it's a mistake to start with the best of the best (will just be disappointed later), but was walking through the East Village yesterday and passed Slainte Bar (pronounced SHLAN-cha. It's a toast to health in Gaelic). It reminded me of the signed copy of Let the Great World Spin buried deep in the back of my closet: "For Kaila and Kristin: Slainte. Colum McCann." Not only is Colum one of the foremost writers of our generation, but his works are quintessentially New York (despite his Irish descent). What better time to revel in the beauty of this great city than in June, when the summer dawns on us and the mysteries of the city come out to play? And what better way to celebrate it than by getting lost in a timeless urban read? So here goes. First book of summer. And it's got big shoes to fill, coming off of the heels of The Color Purple.

Oh yeah, on a different and belated note, Happy Father's Day, Dad. Thanks for, you know, raising me and stuff.

Not Not Rambling

New favorite concept – double negatives.

                  How do you think that meeting went? Well, it was not not a train wreck.

                  What do you think of Romney getting the GOP nod? Well, he’s not not a 

                  bumbling, out of touch conservative who doesn’t even deserve to share the
                  debate stage with our president.

Sadly, in many cases I’ve misjudged others’ grasp of what I wrongly assumed was obvious sarcasm (not even sarcasm, really. Just grammatically incorrect honesty).  Responses usually go something like this: Wow, I didn’t know you were a Republican! That’s followed by my awkward attempt to back out of the hole I’ve dug for myself (as if I need any help making a situation awkward). So, as it turns out, double negatives are not an extremely useful comedic weapon. Nevertheless, it warms my heart to be thanked by someone after I tell him he’s not not stupid.  

Reading The Color Purple by Alice Walker (very well-known in the Afro-American canon and Pulitzer Prize winner in 1982). Needed to deviate from English literature (so I can welcome it back with open arms in 2 months time). Amazing that a reader can love a book without having any desire to enter into the world of the book. We all want to live at Hogwarts, so Harry Potter has an obvious draw, but what about novels set in some repulsive society where very little good ever happens? What does it say about us that we escape our own worlds to peek into other, less desirable ones? Shows compassion, open-mindedness and a genuine interest in humanity at the very least. And perhaps – in some small way – a sense of dissatisfaction, or probably just some sense of insecurity, with our own lives.  I know your shaking your head, but hear me out. I’m not saying that anyone in his or her right mind would trade places with Celie (I won’t horrify you with the gritty details, but take my word for it - she has been dealt one of the worst hands of anyone in American literature. No one envies her).  But maybe sometimes we need a reminder of our own good fortunes, even if a consciously grateful thought doesn’t cross our minds while we’re reading. 

I don’t close my book each night and think “thank God” – er, not literally of course, but let's go with it just for the sake of this point – “thank God my sister is safe and sound in our home right now, unlike the female characters in this book.”  But it registers somewhere in my subconscious that by pure luck I wound up in an entirely different and better situation than Celie. Somewhere in the depths of my brain I’m thinking… wow, how truly awful that this happened to someone (even a fictional someone). But equally, how amazing that not only have I never encountered this, but I am so far removed from it that I can only begin to understand it by reading about it in a book. It's a kind of "aha" moment for the subconscious, right? This may be a stretch, but I'm going to venture to assert that these subconscious "aha" moments inform our daily lives. Kindness for the homeless man on the street, trying to "walk a mile" in your boyfriend's / parent's / manager's shoes instead of becoming frustrated with them, etc. If we're not reading, when do we otherwise have the opportunity to meet and understand such an array of people from all walks of life? Living in the East Village, I've probably got a better chance than most people, but even I have never met the likes of Celie or Heathcliff or Fagin. And if we can fully accept them into our lives and hearts, then who can we not find common ground with?   

I Look About Me, and Make A Discovery

This summer, London will make history. The city will be witness to an historic event centuries in the making; a momentous time that will be forever remembered as one of celebration, triumph and nostalgia. That event, as we all know, is Charles Dickens's 200th birthday.

Long after Sketches by Boz, Dickens still haunts the streets of London, or perhaps just London as I see it. Dickensian London in its most literal sense didn't ever exist. It's over-crowded, gritty, fast-paced and often overwhelming. The streets are mean, pungent and disease-ridden. Smoke pervades every public and private space and some underlying sense of gloom hangs in the air. The fictional city is a caricature of what London might have actually been in the 19th century.

[Quick side note: Dickens himself was quite dramatic. He nearly died from conducting dramatic readings of his works long after his health had failed him. He was also paid to write as many words as possible, so although he may have really believed that he needed five pages to convince us that  Thomas Traddles's hair stuck straight up into the air (I've no doubt that it did), he did have another incentive to be verbose].

London is a key component of any Dickens novel - as worthy and important as a main character. But the city serves as a backdrop to a more profound commentary on the strength of the human will. London (as a character) is a foil to the likes of David Copperfield, Oliver Twist and Pip. The desperation and hopelessness of the city highlights the goodness and determination of not only Dickens's leading characters, but of any underdog, of any seemingly hopeless case, of anyone at all whom the world has written off. His novels champion those who value kindness and compassion. The modest, loyal, honest protagonist with a moral compass inevitably prevails, due partly to his own actions, but partly to Dickens's faith in mankind - do good by others and you will be rewarded. And not because of a belief in any religion or higher power but due to an ultimate faith in humanity and society, despite their failings.

Dickens's works were published in weekly or monthly installments in magazines to allow anyone to purchase the reading with the little money he had leftover after paying bills and buying food for the family. The pages were meant to be read aloud to family members by candlelight or near the fireplace - perhaps on a Sunday evening. He wrote for the sailors, teachers, farmers, tailors, watch makers and street sweepers of England; for the hard-working (regardless of class); for the mothers and fathers and orphans and friends; for anyone who makes the world beautiful by demonstrating kindness, strength and faith. This is why a Dickens novel is timeless and reads as though it were written yesterday. And this is why I choose to see London, and the rest of the world, as Dickens did.






To my kind friend who encouraged me to write - I've given it my best effort, despite how unworthy and ill-suited I am to the task.

"Machines never come with extra parts, you know. They always come with the exact amount you need. So I figured if the entire world was one big machine, then I couldn't be an extra part. I had to be here for some reason."

-- Hugo, a brilliant and beautiful movie.

To serve a purpose... not to have a dream, exactly. But to have a reason to do what you're doing, or to know there is one, whether or not you're aware of it. And then maybe to know that it's been realized, however small the purpose might have been; even if you didn't know of it all along. That must be something, yes?

Feeling Energized

Disclaimer: This post isn't interesting. Just writing down what I've been thinking all weekend. Feel free to stop reading... I just saved you 5 minutes.

New look - what do you think? Not sure I'm feelin' it yet.

Ran 8 miles today starting at 7 mph and finishing at 10 mph. Haven't felt healthy / strong enough to do that in a while (and that was after two nights out!) Felt compelled to apply for the NYC marathon this fall. Probably won't be accepted through the lottery, but figured I'd give it a shot. Was so strange being at my old NYU gym. Felt like I am 19 and a student again (I am!)

NYU ski trip this weekend. I plan to sit in the lodge reading a book. Sounds like a great weekend away.

So here's what's bugging me about work (shocking - I know... something is annoying me about work...) Because I still do care about the place where I work and want us all to be successful, I just cannot understand why people think the world is going to end because some meeting or project didn't go the way they wanted it to. I often get frustrated, but even when I'm worked up about something, in the back of my mind I always remember that we are all showing up to the office every day to try to accomplish something. We all have good intentions and whether we agree on the approach is really not the point. Is your family healthy? Can you pay your mortgage?... then why are you yelling?

The one thing that really puts me over the edge is when others don't treat me or someone else respectfully - when good people get so caught up in their day jobs that they are angry with other good people about something that really doesn't matter anyway. I get angry, too... but sometimes I think we all need to take a step back and really put things in perspective.

How will we all behave if leaders (or anyone around us for that matter) don't lead by example? If we don't see behavior around us that we want to emulate, then we aren't inspired to perform. The system breaks down without this sense of respect and admiration. Without it, inefficiency and apathy ensue and people polish off their resumes. The first step (in my humble / ill-informed opinion) is to get back to basics. Treat others the way you want to be treated. Act with integrity. Be empathic.

That's my gripe for the day!

Peru Photos

Better late than never.

https://plus.google.com/photos/108264707487202081589/albums/5696042993635346641?authkey=CLqyxZaZ09WeHg

These are mostly Neil's photos. Captions are in the comment box to the right.