Dear readers, please send encouragement

So, it's gotten to the point, and I knew it would happen eventually in New York, where my optimism feels a little bit bedraggled, a little threadbare. I've been in the running for a few great jobs but haven't landed one yet (though there's a good one I'm being considered for - there's my optimism again), getting into freelancing here is proving more fraught with hurdles than I expected, and my energy just feels scattered.

I think scattered may be the nature of the city, though. If you've ever called or emailed someone in New York and not gotten a response for more than a week and thought, what's wrong with this person? I can tell you. It's the city. There's so much going on, so much exciting work to do and places to check out and events constantly and your subway rides are deceptively long, that the time just goes, drains away. A week has passed and you still have unanswered emails. It's a thrilling, rollicking tornado of an existence for those who are truly "doing" the city, but sometimes it causes a person to pull back and wonder why there's never enough time.

I think my apartment situation is a big part of the malaise I'm feeling. I've been ever-so-ready to move since my roommates have devolved into not the greatest - loud music, stuff left all over the living room, dishes that sit in the sink for days, always running around like they're too fabulous to take out the trash - it could be worse, but it's gotten worse than when I moved in, and it's been wearing on me. Plus the boys that live in the neighborhood and catcall like crazy bug me, too. (Yesterday one was driving alongside me, persisting in offering a ride. I declined politely the first five times and then he made some skeezy comment and I exclaimed, "Stop harassing me!" "Harassing?" he said, befuddled).

Sabra and I were supposed to move into our new apartment Sept. 1, but now it's been pushed back til the 15th, and I was really just ready to get out of here. I am going to look at the apartment again tomorrow, so that's exciting. I'll make sure it truly does look 15th-ready (dear god, it better be). I'm just ready to be downtown and away from these current roommates!

Well, I guess that's all my complaining for now. Back to being pluckily optimistic.

Silly food quiz type thing: Who's a foodie?

Saw this on friend's food blog and couldn't resist trying it.
Granted, this is from the U.K., so it skews a little bit more towards the weird British animal-part food category (black pudding, headcheese, haggis, etc.)

Mine score was 55 - I expected higher! But I beat my friend the food blogger's score - hers was only 51. Maybe I should start that ramen blog I've been thinking about...

Want to try it?
Check out the list and hit comment to share your number.

Here’s what you do:
1) Copy this list into your blog or journal, including these instructions.
2) Bold all the items you’ve eaten.
3) Cross out any items that you would never consider eating.
4) Optional extra: Post a comment at www.verygoodtaste.co.uk linking to your results.

The VGT Omnivore’s Hundred:
1. Venison
2. Nettle tea
3. Huevos rancheros
4. Steak tartare
5. Crocodile
6. Black pudding
7. Cheese fondue
8. Carp
9. Borscht
10. Baba ghanoush
11. Calamari
12. Pho
13. PB&J sandwich
14. Aloo gobi
15. Hot dog from a street cart
16. Epoisses
17. Black truffle
18. Fruit wine made from something other than grapes
19. Steamed pork buns
20. Pistachio ice cream
21. Heirloom tomatoes
22. Fresh wild berries
23. Foie gras
24. Rice and beans
25. Brawn, or head cheese
26. Raw Scotch Bonnet pepper
27. Dulce de leche
28. Oysters
29. Baklava
30. Bagna cauda
31. Wasabi peas
32. Clam chowder in a sourdough bowl
33. Salted lassi
34. Sauerkraut
35. Root beer float
36. Cognac with a fat cigar
37. Clotted cream tea
38. Vodka jelly/Jell-O

39. Gumbo
40. Oxtail
41. Curried goat
42. Whole insects
43. Phaal
44. Goat’s milk
45. Malt whisky from a bottle worth £60/$120 or more
46. Fugu
47. Chicken tikka masala
48. Eel
49. Krispy Kreme original glazed doughnut
50. Sea urchin
51. Prickly pear
52. Umeboshi
53. Abalone
54. Paneer
55. McDonald’s Big Mac Meal
56. Spaetzle
57. Dirty gin martini
58. Beer above 8% ABV
59. Poutine
60. Carob chips
61. S’mores
62. Sweetbreads
63. Kaolin
64. Currywurst
65. Durian
66. Frogs’ legs
67. Beignets, churros, elephant ears or funnel cake
68. Haggis
69. Fried plantain
70. Chitterlings, or andouillette
71. Gazpacho
72. Caviar and blini
73. Louche absinthe
74. Gjetost, or brunost
75. Roadkill
76. Baijiu
77. Hostess Fruit Pie
78. Snail
79. Lapsang souchong
80. Bellini
81. Tom yum
82. Eggs Benedict
83. Pocky
84. Tasting menu at a three-Michelin-star restaurant.
85. Kobe beef
86. Hare
87. Goulash
88. Flowers
89. Horse
90. Criollo chocolate
91. Spam
92. Soft shell crab
93. Rose harissa
94. Catfish
95. Mole poblano
96. Bagel and lox
97. Lobster Thermidor
98. Polenta
99. Jamaican Blue Mountain coffee
100. Snake

Wonder Weekend

Had a total blast this weekend. The highlights:

-Friday night, dinner with Caitlin et al at Schiller's in the Lower East Side, a couple of blocks from both Brad's place and from my future apartment. Schiller's is really famous because it's about a zillion years old, and while I liked the food and the atmosphere, I felt like the menu should have had more in the way of light options appropriate for summer. Oh well, when you've been around a zillion years, I guess you do what you want. Brad's boyfriend Walter, who is much older, was visiting from Austin and he was nice enough to pick up the tab for all of us, which he frequently does. He has a gruff air about him, but he's actually a sweetie.

After Schillers we headed to this cute underground bar I've been to before, which doesn't really have much in the way of a sign, so I'm not sure of the name. Bar 151 or something. When that place proved kind of dead, Brad was at a loss (he mostly goes to gay bars) and nobody else knew the neighborhood. I'd been to one nearby bar a couple of weeks before and remembered that it had good dance music --not so much clubby, just eclectic, more old-school -- so we headed over there and sure enough, the music was rockin'. It was mostly 50s and 60s soul, which reminded me of Sock Hop music, and is about my favorite for dancing. After a few vodka and red bulls, we were all boogying along with the hipster-y crowd.

-Saturday, I straightened up a bit and worked a little on this important project I'm doing (more on that later) and then in the late afternoon Lariss and I headed to the Warmup party at P.S.1, the contemporary art museum in Long Island City, Queens that's housed in a former school. The party was fun - music, beer, lots of pretty people - but what impressed me most was the museum itself. At most museums I get the feeling that I'm a spectator merely taking everything in, a very one-sided relationship, but somehow these exhibits engaged viewers more deeply. It wasn't anything gimmicky and self-consciously "interactive," either, it was just that we were asked to more than just look. In one mostly dark room, six diver suits hung from the ceiling, ominous and larger than actual people. They were holding large wrenches and other scary-looking metal implements and occasionally a light would flicker on above one of them. Sound effects included much creaking and groaning, and a strange smell filled the air that was probably compressed oxygen. It was eerie and weird and nightmare-ish.
I liked many of the other exhibits, too, but what I appreciated overall was their variety. Different media - film, hanging things, a room with all the walls painted like a Utopic brookside scene with big fluffy beanbag chairs to recline in. It was (in my inexpert opinion) contemporary art at its best: not towering, abstract, and impenetrable, but designed to engage the viewer in varied and surprising ways.

Saturday night we were out with the girls in what has become a typical night for us: Dinner at Employees Only, dancing at Tenjune, and then a nightcap at Employees Only. Irish knows everyone there, so we sat with the employees in the garden and ate late-night snacks and some people smoked. Then Lariss and I shared a cab back to the Upper West Side.

Today Irish and I had an amazing time at the free Yo La Tengo show at McCarren Park Pool. It was the last of the legendary Jelly NYC shows, and was bittersweet because after this they're closing the pool as a concert venue and turning it back into a pool. Right now it's an enormous shell where a public pool used to be, and it's perfect for all of the varied activities they had today: the show, dodge ball, four square, lots of booths giving things away and signing people up to vote, etc., and Irish's and my favorite: the slip n' slide. We spent hours slip n' sliding, and made friends with two little girls, sisters who were 5 and 8. They were so darling and sweet, and liked to hold our hands and we hung out with them all afternoon. It was an adorable family, actually. The parents were young and good-looking and (evidently) French, because the little girls started speaking it with their cousin, to our surprise. It was really a wonderful time - relaxed and carefree and a perfect way to spend one of the last summer Sundays.

New Communications

Had an appointment at the Apple store today to get a "genius" to look at my cracked iPhone. The screen had a small crack and half of the touch icons had stopped responding. I figured there was nothing to be done but that I ought to have them look. In an annoyed mood I fought my way through throngs of tourists at the 59th and 5th location to get to the appointment I'd had to wait two days for.

"Yep, it's cracked all right," the genius said, examining my phone. "We'll have to get you a new one." He busily started pulling out some paperwork. 

"Wait, how much will that cost?" I asked, dreading the answer.

He looked at me a beat, "Well, it shouldn't cost anything. It should still be under warranty."

Zing!

As though it were the most natural thing in the world, he did a few things and then handed over my new $400 piece of equipment. It took ten minutes.

I hadn't even realized my phone had a warranty. But now I'm the elated owner of a brand-new phone and brand-new white case. Who needs the iPhone 2.0?

****

Now that I'm leaving the UWS soon, there's a list of must do's before I go (don't call it a "bucket list" or I'll have to reconsider our acquaintance). One of them was to have beers with David from the hood on the roof of his building (I didn't meet him in the hood, actually, I met him through Maria). He actually grew up in the building and now lives there with his parents while he figures out his next career move. It's pretty sweet. His parents and some other Utopia-minded types took over the building 30-some years ago when it was abandoned and buildings like that could be had for free by the "urban homesteaders" willing to fix them up. So David grew up knowing all of his neighbors, not needing to knock before he went into their apartments -- a great way for a kid to be raised. 

So anyway, we had the beers, and then David's friend Julia came by with an orange watermelon that I at first thought was a pumpkin.

"Why is she plopping a pumpkin on the table?" I thought. "Is this yet another harbinger of fall?

But, no, it was another reminder that this is still summer -- if only for a short while longer. 

After the beers, David and I got pizza slices at Koronet on Broadway and 110th. Columbia students were everywhere, enjoying the mild night and one of the last summer Thursdays. Their classes must start soon. Everyone's in the mood to squeeze in as many last moments as possible, including me.

Plunkety-plunk

Many things have happened since I last checked in. Some snippets, in no particular order:

Went to another MediaBistro mixer last night (honestly, not sure if these things are worth it), and saw the same fluffily balding guy staring pointedly in my direction. I've now downgraded his status to downright creepy. Hopefully I won't get another emailed invitation to "Get together socially." Got hit on subsequently by another weirdo. Did I make any business connections? Not really.

    *****

Felt the first chill in the air, during a month that's supposed to be sweltering. There was such a crisp breeze this morning that I dug my winter clothes out from under my bed. But then the day warmed up and I put them back.

*****

Today I walked down a midtown street with two piano stores and a choir school. It was after 8 in the evening and the shops were shuttered. Though I longed to hear the trill of some long-forgotten song trickling out between a door crack, I heard no music.

*****

1)Saw the 70s version of "Superman" in Bryant Park (the one with Christopher Reeve). I'd never realized what an overly long movie it is, which is all the more difficult to sit through when you're unable to hear due to crappy park sound system. Enjoyed flying scenes, however. 

2)Saw a Mexican film called "Duck Season" (which I kept wanting to call "Duck Soup") at a park in Queens tonight with Molly and Ian. It was the last of a wonderful outdoor film series there that offered foreign films with coordinating (nationality-wise) bands and food. Wish I'd thought of that!

*****

Everyone here is obsessed with summer ending. Already, in a late-July issue, "Time Out"'s cover story was "50 things to do before summer ends." It's as bad as the back-to-school issue of Seventeen that used to plunk its way into my mailbox in early July demanding that I begin to think about wool and boots. People seem to be frantically gobbling up these last few weeks of summer, the Labor Day deadline looming. Who knows, it's my first summer-into-fall here, so for all I know, the second Labor Day ends the temperature plummets and everyone starts wearing turtlenecks. I'll let you know. 

I'm used to long, lazy Austin summers that stretch on and on until sometime in early to mid-November you feel your first goosebump in months, and think, "Oh gee, I wonder if I still own anything long-sleeved?" This has been a mild August, and between the chill, the "Time Out" headlines and the fall clothes in store windows, I sometimes feel as gloomy as though it's mid-winter already. But then I look around at the glorious New York day and remember that wow, it is in fact full-fledged summer! 

(some) enchanted evenings

Saw "South Pacific" on Sunday. I had gotten the tickets for free and my friend Brad had been supposed to come with me and then he cancelled at the last minute, so I desperately texted everyone I knew, dangling a free ticket. Jean Scheidnes wanted it, thank god, but you'd be surprised how tough it is to give away a fifth-row ticket to the season's most sold-out Broadway show. Everyone was in Hoboken or something (What's the world coming to?). My backup plan had been to scalp it and watch the play alone, but I don't think there's much scalping demand at Lincoln Center. 

The show was a perfect Broadway effort. Jean loved it, too. It was modern yet true to the original, and the cast was so exuberant, clearly having a blast. Afterwards we had some wine at the Hudson Hotel. It was gray out and we perched on a bed-like banquette on the roof deck they have there. The air was heavy and damp -- good Sunday-afternoon air. We perched there and talked about books and fashion and the future. ("Perch" is the verb of choice of society girls, you know - no one "sits" anymore, too ordinary). I felt ever so posh. 

Tonight went to a MediaBistro mixer at a nondescript East Midtown bar. It was called Chill - an aptly nondescript name. Unfortunately, it attracted a crowd of men who, if not wholly nondescript themselves, were there for a different sort of mingling than I had in mind. At least one was, and he pounced on me the moment I got there. I signed in, got my name tag, ordered some wine, and there he was - he literally had me cornered. Actually he was a nice guy and seemed interesting and not sleazy or anything, but he wasn't cute -- he looked tired out and was balding in a fluffy way. But not just that - he reeked of desperation (though not of liquor -- in fact, he seemed like he could have used a drink). He's making a documentary about the convergence of music, film and art in the 60s and 70s. Sounds really interesting, actually, but the guy was just a bit awkward. He cut right to the "chase": had I moved here alone? was I STILL single? did I want to get together "socially"? Had I seem the biopic of Hunter S. Thompson? did I want to go? I gracefully escaped, claiming I needed to find a friend. And now I just received an email from him, using that "getting together socially" phrase again. Ick. 

It's just like the French guy who started talking about going home together well before we were even ready to leave Zanzibar (the bar, not the country -- if he took me there I'd probably sleep with him). Then he asked me if I wanted kids, and how many. (I told him five). We didn't go home together, but I had to be very persistent in saying no. Egads! 

These men want to skip all the flirting - the fun stuff - and fast-track things. They're in a hurry. And people say women in their thirties are desperate...

Donde esta la mystere, boys? It's not sexy without it. Men aren't the only ones who like a dose of the Rules. 

Wowzers, Coney Island!

Friday night ended up being one of those wonderful New York nights where you go into it with no expectations and then it ends up being wonderful and crazy and one of a kind and you're reminded of why you love New York. I knew it would be fun, but I headed for dinner with girlfriends in the West Village with just that expectation - that it would be fun. We ate at a spot called Employees' Only, three doors down from Irish's place and wonderful and candlelit and speakeasy-like, with great music that's never so loud that it drowns out your conversation. We know the owners there since Irish goes all the time, so we had a great table and wonderful food and then after they had a free round of drinks waiting for us at the bar. 

I met a French guy named Jerome and spoke French with him a little and he got my number and then I laughed with my girlfriends and then we moved on. We tried the Beatrice Inn and some rat-dog, 98-pounder of a girl with a long black tail for a mane was guarding the door and deemed us unworthy to enter, even though we all looked hot. I think it's because Kristin, who's an actress, brought out some weird Scottish accent when asking if we could go in -- she's older and I don't think she was into the scene, but it meant none of us were permitted to enter - oh well.

Lariss, whom I met in Austin at my birthday party was there (I had invited her after she texted me Thursday and I'm so glad she came!), so then Irish Lariss and i continued to upstairs at Harry's or Henry's or something - one of the Cipriani places (likely soon to be bankrupt if Page Six Magazine is to be believed) and there we met up with Tatiyana, who thinks she's ever-so-cool and probably is (but shouldn't make it so obvious), who introduced us to the owner and made us feel grateful for the opportunity to pay $15 for well vodka. Sort of, anyway.

Then Lariss, Irish and I hopped in a cab to Tenjune, in the meatpacking and danced our asses off with a veritable United Nations of men - Swiss, German, other things I don't remember. The German guy who was hitting on me was really ugly, pale and blond with a big pumpkin head (not my type at all, even minus the pumpkin head), so at 3:30 when we escaped into the night I wasn't sorry. Crossing the street, we ran -- literally almost smacked into -- some Spanish guys, who started chatting us up until Lariss and I had paired off - me with the tall gorgeous floppy-haired collegiate-looking guy and her with the shorter guy who was cute and had long lashes. They took us to a diner down the street that was aptly called The Diner, and we ate pancakes until the place closed down 20 minutes later. The cute floppy-haired guy ate off my plate, and I swooned, even though I couldn't help but think it should have been the other way around. But he paid, so it was fine.

Then we went out into the brightening early morning and the crazy long-lashed guy declared that it was time to go to the beach. We chuckled, but he was serious. He ran across the street and hailed a cab and told us to get in, we're going to the beach. The driver wasn't sure - are you sure? he kept asking us, but at least one of us was sure, so we went to Brighton Beach/Coney Island in the cab. It was 5:30 a.m. and tons of people were there, all of them 70 and over, taking a morning constitutional or swim. Why are you up so early, we asked one Speedoed oldster. Just try sleeping past 5 when you're my age, he replied.

a comedy tonight

First note: We got the apartment. It's been a hellish cross-continental exchange between Sabra, her mom and aunt, my dad and me (we need guarantors, since we're not rolling in dough), but it's set. Tomorrow I go to sign the lease!

So I'm leaving the UWS just as I've made friends in the hood. There's a whole lot of young people quietly living up here, a bunch of whom are friends with each other. I met the three guys who live in apt 33 (my number) in the building next door, and one of them invited me to his comedy show tonight. Well, it got cancelled because the bar where they hold their shows is shutting down - today! Rising rents... Seems to be the theme around here...

So instead they had everybody over to some friends' apartment on 104th st. - a nice, big place shared by four people, and a regular party evolved into singing and sketches by the comedy troupe. The best one was a skit where two British guys were interviewing babysitter candidates. Among the motley crew, a detective in hat came in and started spewing off names involving children's book titles. "That Amelia Bedelia, etc." The best joke was something like: "Now, Madeline I like. She's a sweet French number. She'd make Clifford the Big Red Dog sit up and say 'Woof.' She gave Alexander a terrible, horrible no good, very bad...boner." When I heard that I nearly fell off my chair.