all grown up

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Peace out .blogspot

And tell all yer fam n friends!

who goes to Florida in June?

 ...my mom and I.  But atleast we drank bloody mary's and wine before the flight.  Infact, the flight was so smooth, we both slept the whole time. Yes--the aircraft magically gliding through the sky at 30,000 feet (something I will NEVER trust or understand), lulled us to sleep.  Not the alcohol. Anyways.
We had a reason for going! My Grandma lives in Florida!  Now, I love my Grandmother to death, but please...repeat after me:

I will not retire in Florida

I will not retire in Florida

I will not retire in Florida

Thank you. You'll thank me too.

In any case, we had a wonderful time! Despite the fact that there is absolutely nothing to do in Greenacres and the humidity index is higher than the number of brown shirts I own, every second spent outside of West Plam was worth it....because my Grandma is the absolute best.  She has a wit and sharpness that puts me to shame; her ability to make fun of herself comes out quickly and often unexpectedly: "Laura, you read me like a book.  Not a best seller, just a book."  And then: "I miss that lizard that used to live out on my porch.  That lizard was attached to me--the first thing to fall in love with me in decades.  It's a different species, but who the hell cares!"

 During our stay, we saw two movies, went out to dinner, took my Grandma to the grocery store, bank, etc, and drank wine. Lots of wine. To ya know, cool off.

 

I also found time to go to the beach, where I properly walked past the public section and pretended I was a member of the Four Seasons Resort.  I was happily equipped with an empty beach, a cushioned recliner, hors d' oeuvres, and a bar with discounted cocktails.  It wasn't until the bill came and I had to "simply" sign my room # that I realized I would be caught.  I smiled and asked if I could pay cash, and ran out of there as fast as I could. 
     With my free time (which was sure a plenty) I managed to read 1 1/2 books, take on the heat with a couple of runs, and become one shade closer to becoming African. One day. 
Until then, remember to call your Grandmothers, revel in the fact that you're young and spy, and please, just don't retire in Florida.


 I love you, G. 

nature vs. natural

The other day, I woke up in my brother's apartment in Greenpoint, Brooklyn.  When I went outside, I realized what a beautiful day it was.  A silky blue blanket wrapped itself around the city skyscapers, the sun warmed the sidewalk, and a slight breeze kept me comfortable.


And at that moment, I was relieved that I was leaving the city and going home.


There is this ongoing battle in my mind as to whether or not I love New York City.  My appreciation for it comes in waves; some days I am enamored by the architecture, the people, the culture (you wont find African masks in Northport).  And other days the smells, the concrete, and the crowds overwhelm me, and I wonder why does anyone want to live here?  

 


I do have fun in the city. The day before I took the train over to the East Village and grabbed lunch with my best friend Danielle. She's getting her Master's at NYU, so we met at Union Square, walked south toward her campus, and enjoyed some sandwhiches and great conversation along the way. It was a beautiful day, and I took a pleasant stroll around Washington Square Park before heading back to Brooklyn after she left for class. I wrote at the dog park in McCarren Park, laid in the grass while watching a mean game of kickball, and discovered one of Williamsburg's best-kept secrets: $3 falafal sandwhiches. Big Tree had its first show at Pete's Candy Store on Lorimer that evening, so the rest of my night involved friends, music, and a lot of whiskey. Yet I woke up that next morning in Greenpoint, and I felt weird. Blame it on the hangover, but I began wondering what I really enjoy so much about the city.

I usually find myself resorting to its parks, because that's the closest thing I'll get to real nature.  Yet the parks (to me, atleast) are just a great way for the city to convince its patrons that you're not actually stuck in a sea of concrete.  The nature in NYC isn't natural, and while I appreciate its existence, I'd chose The Adirondack Park over McCarren any single day.


Would Central Park be as loved if it was plopped in the middle of the Colorado Rockies?  Or does its appreciation only exist because of relation?  (Thank God I can escape the shops on Madison and Lex and retreat to the Reservoir; hoooray for patches of green so I can picnic with my $7 wheatgrass smoothie and $3 hotdog).  Am I being unfair for scoffing at every tree and bush that is strategically planted in the parks? Perhaps. And maybe then its hypocritcal to have such profound resepect for our national parks, which have only been succumed to tree cutting and human pollution for the creation of roads and an outpour of tourism.


Or maybe I'm just not a city girl.  I walked out of Jim's apartment in Greenpoint and couldn't wait to seize the day on Long Island (I know, right?)  But I went home, put on my sneakers, and ran for an hour.  I ran past the sailboats bobbing in the harbor and the lawnmowers humming on their lawns.  I looked up and saw that same silky blue blanket which looked remarkably larger--finally free to stretch itself over the surface of the earth.

you are what you eat

After day two of work, which also happened to be day two of Lobster Night, I've realized this: you are what you eat.

Even though there are a million places to get lobster in the summer months on Long Island, people still somehow find their way to fancy Italian restaurants where lobster gets fumbled around with fine sicilian meats, foccacia bread, and an overabundance of oil and vinegar.  Still, these obese, sunburned Floridians that escape the southern heat and retreat to the Northeast still expect seafood perfection...... wherever they go.  This fact is coupled with a fancy Italian restaurant (which shall remain nameless) trying to up its sales any way possible, even if it means executing something that in the end will fall on its face.


Results? Obese, sunburned Floridian Pescavors that grumpily eat their lobster at said upscale Italian restaurant.  


Yet, these guys kept coming, and coming, and coming; soon, the place was completely filled with lobsters, both human and crustacean.

winter to summer

Hiiii
So, it looks like spring decided to just, well, not happen this year, as we've gone from chilly, unforcomfortable gray days to hot, humid, and SUNNY conditions.  I don't really mind the skip over spring, since it's my least favorite season. Give me apple picking, pumpkins and changing leaves in the fall, and skiing, tea and fireplaces in the winter.  Yes--spring is the season of rebirth, but I'd much rather  experience the climax of new life:  hot, sweaty messes in the summer where the consumption of sangria, day trips to the beach, and daylight till 9PM is in full force. 


                      
                                       Sunken Meadow Beach, late February

                                               Sunken Meadow beach, late May

Life slowed down for a bit which bothered me, but things are finally getting back into motion.  There are more rehearsals, shows, and music to be practiced and played, I am once again a server at some fancy-shmansy restaurant (although I vowed never to return to the "business,") and I'm filling in the gaps with six-mile runs, novels from the public library, trips to the beach, and time in the city where I tell myself I'm not going to spend all my money...and then I do. .


I'd continue typing, but my front wrist is really out of shape from holding up trays of wine, martinis, and soco old fashions (seriously--there is a muscle there). Moreover, I've had a bad cold for over a week now, and I think I must finally admit that I too, have allergies.  Apparently EVERYONE is getting hit hard this season; Mayor Bloomberg has planted mostly male trees this year, since female trees are full of seeds (us fertile beings) which end up being messy and ugly. Male trees are prettier and cleaner, but they also have more pollen. Hence, more sneezey people. Is there any irony to male trees being the reason behind sick, grumpy people?

Goodbye Everyone, Maybe

So apparently The Rapture is tomorrow. I wont throw my two-cents in; if it happens, it happens. (But it's not going to happen).

I'll keep my mouth shut.

Just read what someone else had to say about it in The Guardian:

"One caller in Oregon wanted to know if he should arm himself to protect his family from the doomed in his street who might be jealous that those who have "found Jesus" were about to go to heaven.

The show's host assured him that nonbelievers would be too busy being tortured by fire to worry about seeking vengeance on him."

The Other Laura

Many moons ago when I lived in Maryland for a month before moving into the District, I decided to go free Yoga classes on Sundays in DC.

I lived behind these pieces of Ghanaian fabric and commuted to Yoga.

The first day I was there I met another girl named Laura. I realized rather quickly she is pretty much my long-lost twin; she had moved to DC after graduation to intern at Nat Geo. I had moved to intern at the Smithsonian. We are both named Laura. We both like yoga. And when she told me she wanted to walk across America, I fell in love.

When I finally moved into the city, I found out that my house was..a block away from hers. Admidst our busy schedules, we tried to hang out whenever possible, and any sort of "crisis" or "thing" I was going through she could automatically relate to... OR was going through the same thing! Gentlemen. Careers. Life goals. Moving to France? Walking across the country?

Long story short, when I moved out, Laura took over my room because her lease was running out and her plans changed abruptly, giving her an option to spend more time in DC. We stay in touch, and I love the girl to death. More importantly, Laura has a blog where she writes daily haiku's, and I'm in love with them.

Some favorites:

(lessons learned by listening to Blues Traveler)

You'll get no answer.

Alone (goes on forever).
Mountains always win.

and

(I believe in this)

I believe in this:

There are infinite beliefs.

All fine. This is Mine.

Read the rest of her beautiful poetry here. Do it! Do it. CLICK CLICK CLICK!