L'Amour

My friend Sam is doing this thing where he and his acting friend rent out a small theater and show movies they like. The first installment of this activity was Saturday night, and it was quite the classy affair. Invitations, RSVPs, free popcorn, and Fiji water. Some people simply organize events, some people throw events; Sam is of the latter sort. The screening room Sam rented turned out to be at a very nice hotel, and the whole thing had the feel of a movie premiere, even as we were just getting together to essentially watch a DVD. Before the film, Sam and his friend screened some of the video series they'd been making over the past year. Watching the clips on a giant movie screen was very different, and it looked really great.

Before we were in the same friend group, Sam and his party crew were hired by our college Asian organization to throw a beginning of the year party at the student center for us. I remember meeting this outrageously energetic guy, who was a bit intimidating with his energy, in the computer lab in order to print out fliers and discuss details. The party ended up being a total dud -- we had no social pull -- and we kept wondering what had gone wrong. Three hundred dollars spent on promotions and a DJ and I think we had maybe twenty people attend. That's unrelated to all this, but I just remembered this Sam story and don't think we've ever talked about it. I'll have to bring it up.

Anyway, the movie selection tonight was La Haine, a film about some troubled youth in Paris' projects, and one of Sam's favorites. Earlier in the week, the two of us had the chance to get together and talk over a project we both want to do. We spent a few hours sitting in his living room, Giants versus Vikings in the background, huddled over our laptops, trading ideas and trying to nail down the scope of what we hoped to accomplish. Both of us are collaborators at heart, and we talked about how hard it is to find actual collaboration, a true 50-50 split. People say they'll do more than they will; enthusiasm for shared projects tend to peter out quickly.

I don't know where our conversations and efforts will go, but it's fun to be be creative with a friend. Just hanging out and engaging and challenging each other to make something tangible is a pretty exciting experience. Now toward results.

When we were young, George and I used to organize our playmates into assembly lines to create little children's books, all drawn out on half-sized pieces of yellow legal paper. One person would pencil, one person would ink, the next person would color, one person would staple, one person would write the words, etc. Later on, George also was on the editorial team of a Chinese school gossip rag ("The Chinese School Gazette") that would be written and assembled all in the span of one week. The printing would be done at home on our dot matrix printer Friday night and then George would bring in the stack of papers to class Saturday morning. While the teacher was futilely trying to educate everyone, half the girls in our room would be involved in the production of the latest news and views from Chinese school.

George, do you remember that? I bet we can still dig up some copies. There was an advice column, fashion tips, and of course, lots of talk about our fellow classmates. I guess in that way George has been more a part of a creative team than I have. She published before I published!

Rococo

Friday night started off at a bourbon bar, where shots could be had for an average of thirty dollars. The place was filled with post-work professionals, and the snacks served, despite being simple pigs in the blanket or deviled eggs, were presented with serious aplomb. Little hot dogs wrapped in croissants were revealed with a flourish from underneath a server's napkin. Yeah, it was that kind of place. I ordered my usual early evening coffee and it arrived on its own two foot high wooden stand, placed carefully next to our table and couches. The nice thing about bars here is that coffee is readily available. Most of the time, in other cities, I feel like a freak for asking for coffee in a bar.

I had run down here to meet my friend, who was meeting with a few of her friends. As the night wore on, we acquired two more people, and after we paid the exorbitant bill (example: $25 for two cups of coffee), we shed some weight and moved along in search of karaoke.

Around two in the morning, my newly moved in roommate called to see if I was in the city, or anywhere near headed home. Since moving in a few days ago, my roommate has been keyless because the person who has the spare has been unreliable and often unreachable. This is the same person who was tasked with coming over to walk the dog, the one I ultimately ended up dragging outside twice a day and thought often about murdering. It wasn't the dog's fault that he was neglected, I know, but my doggy hate knows no bounds. Actaully I'm not sure exactly who's at the fault, the person the landlord passed the responsibility onto or the landlord himself, but not providing something as basic as a set of keys to someone moving in is pretty ridiculous.

So for the past few nights, my exhausted roommate has had to call me to see where I was, and to come pick up the keys in order to go home. It's the sort of slight inconvenience that can absolutely ruin your day. Speaking of inconveniences, this same new roommate has had two of her friends crashing at our apartment. I'm the last person to object to having people stay over, but at no point was I informed of this beforehand except in an, "Oh my friends will be staying here for a couple of days (starting tonight) and I cleared it already with _____" kind of way. That's pretty rude right? I don't actually care or mind at all, because the guests have been pleasant, but I forgot how some of the basic neccesities of politeness can go all out the window when dealing with strangers and living space.

At least the stupid dog is gone.

Last summer when I was here, I spent the better part of an afternoon with Sally and her friend exploring the Moma and then eating in K-Town. Throughout it all, I gave my best effort to engage her friend in conversation. Generally speaking, I can talk about anything, but I find that sometimes the guy I'd just met has no interest in responding. That was the case with Sally's friend, who resisted all my attempts at small talk. I wondered if he just wasn't very social, but I noticed he was fully capable of responding to Sally's comments and questions. Okay, so it was just me.

The experience soured me on trying to be nice or inquisitive about guys who clearly aren't interested in the same. Really, I'm not actually legitimately that interested in talking to you random dude, I'm just trying to not ignore you so you don't feel left out. Usually I ram through conversation silences by peppering my target with questions. If someone doesn't like to talk about themselves, well, they just don't like to talk at all I guess. I find that if a person doesn't engage or ask you a question back after a reasonable period of time time, I'm better off just returning to my iPhone.

I think I need to give up this self appointed role of social conversation facilitator. I feel bad when someone isn't talking or feeling included, but really we're too old to be shy or anti-social. I'm losing my patience with this. If you can't hold your own in a conversation setting, you're useless to me. To all of us.

Suedehead

Despite stumbling home at five in the morning, after a night of dancing and late night eats at The Meatball Shop (where the "family jewels" option on the menu means adding a fried egg), I was requisitioned to head into the city at an ungodly hour. I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said I'd never been on the L before noon, and as I walked down the stairs to the platform around ten-thirty, there was a crowd of people waiting at least six deep to catch the next train.

I checked to see if it was a holiday, or if I was somehow caught in rush hour. For the most part I've been away from public transit during the crucial morning and evening rush hours, and given the choice I'd always rather walk a mile over squeezing into the train cabin. Except for once when I was smashed in so close to someone in front of me that the top of her fluffy hat kept tickling my chin. The girl in front of me was tiny and I tried my best to hold my position so she wouldn't get more squashed. I was so afraid to sneeze.

The longest I've had to wait for any train so far is twenty or so minutes for the L, because it only runs in those increments late at night, which is often when I return home. Those trips are never bad though, as I'm always more awake than my fellow passengers, and often catch the sun rising as I walk the one block back to my apartment.

This morning's outrageous scene reminded me of the Disneyland Star Tours line, as everyone waited to board the next shuttle to Endor. When the L pulled up a few minutes later, there was already an incredible mass of people stuck inside, and there was no way I was going to bother trying to get on. Turning to a girl nearby, I asked if this was normal.

"I've never seen it like this. Ever."

I contemplated just walking across the Williamsburg Bridge into the city, as the sky was clear and the weather (relatively) warm. A nice stroll across the bridge wouldn't be too bad I thought. Heading up the steps together, the girl offered to share a cab into the city. Since I was under a bit of a time constraint, I thought it wouldn't be that bad of an idea.

As we stood on the corner waiting for a car service to arrive, a pickup truck rolled up and a young man leaned out to call my acquaintances' name -- which I hadn't asked, because that would have been weird and impolite.

"Piper!" he called out of his window, leaning over to hand her a newsprint copy of something. The two were friends and as it turned out, he was heading into the city so Piper and I just hopped in for the ride. Over the next twenty minutes, as traffic wedged its way into Lower Manhattan, I found out that they were both in the art scene, one a multidisciplinary artist and the other a curator. As their conversation turned from upcoming trips to China, to possible future exhibitions, then to the sorts of automobiles that may be owned in their future, I started to realize that these were probably the most foreign creatures I'd encountered yet in New York.

I had no idea what they were talking about, the people they were referencing, or the world they existed in. "Ah, this is the young and hip Brooklyn I've not come across yet," I said to myself, "Intriguing." The young man who picked us up thought I was Piper's friend and halfway through the ride, he asked how we knew each other.

"Oh we just met right now, downstairs at the subway," I replied. Surprised but amused, he jokingly called out Piper's full name and what state she was from. Then she did the same to him in a moment of fake alarm. Of course I already knew his name as I was leafing through the newsprint magazine advertising his recent work, which was being shown in a gallery opening later that night. In the back of his pickup were boxes of the program, and he was headed into the city to drop them off.

"Yeah the L was having some issues and we were going to share a ride into the city when you came along," Piper said to him, quickly adding, "But I had a good vibe about him." So on went our short journey and after arriving in Soho, I jumped out and said a quick thank you and good bye.

Of course, because I am who I am, I later Googled them both. Turns out this is who they are and I was right, they are the most foreign people I'd yet to meet in New York -- but possibly a common occurrence in Brooklyn? If I had known they were so easily Internet found, and what they did and who they were, I would have asked a billion other questions on the spot. (And then they would have ejected me out of the backseat with great haste.) Instead the only evidence I had of the random experience was the black ink smudged on my fingers from all the newsprint as I hustled uptown to complete my errand.

When Goodness Falls

So I've been hopping to a few young adult book events recently. Sunday was the largest signing and gathering of YA authors I'd ever experienced. I arrived late and stood in the back, shifting from side to side and listening carefully as they read and talked about their work. My book event a few weeks ago was at this exact book store, and D and I had just attended their celebratory thirtieth anniversay party the past Monday. Having D along for all of these things makes it incredibly great because for the most part I have no idea who these people are, and even peering at name tags only brings up vague recollections of who they might be. At best I've kind of heard for their work or maybe seen their book cover around. D knows a lot of the authors, editors, and industry people by sight, or at least reputation, and so going as a duo makes me feel not as totally lost. Or awkward.

I've met authors before, of course, but mostly in small groups or through my online YA circle. Seeing ten illustrious authors gathered together was an entirely new experience for me, and I'd never actually been to an author panel as an audience member. Even when I'm part of an event, I find it so fascinating to hear what my fellow authors say, and most of the time I wish I was the one asking the questions, as I have a bajillion and one things I'm curious about.

Another novel experience presented itself when I got to attend an authors only drinks night during the week. There I met and talked to a handful of authors, some of whom I actually knew about, and one whom I'm actually kind of a fanboy of. His book was the very first YA book that I read, as my agent had recommended it to me when we had first talked about writing in the genre. As I was introduced around, I was physically surprised when I saw this person. After a few years of only following someone online, and seeing their posed author photos, it totally shocked me that he was there. Like in front of me, and I was able to like meet and talk to him.

So that's the kind of things that have been really cool about being in New York, at least from the industry standpoint. Everything is new to me, and just having events and people who do what I do, after being physically community-less my entire writing career, is kind of exciting and dare I say it, inspirational?

Ballad of Lemons

Tonight was supposed to be Black Swan time. Instead the movie was sold out for two straight showings -- I forget how hazardous it can be to watch a popular movie on a weekend in the city -- so my friend and I cruised back to Brooklyn to check out a graphic and arts thing. The bustling space was filled with the much rumored trendy hipsters of Brooklyn I'd yet to encounter, and after five minutes of standing around, we decided the scene was not really to our taste. With the rain this weekend, the weather was gorgeously warm and my friend suggested walked back across the bridge to Manhattan. After picking up a cup of corner coffee and a can of coconut juice, we set off.

Long walks around the city are basically my favorite thing to do and it worries me that winter will prevent this. In my mind, I figured this would be my last opportunity, as the weather forecast called for dipping temperatures and snow flurries in two days. I had promised myself to not complain, or talk much, about the weather here, but I'm finding that weather is an unavoidable topic. I mean, maybe it's the thing that people immediately come around to when they find out I'm from San Diego, but I think talking about weather here is different than back home. Here, weather dictates what you can do and your motivation to do it. San Francisco is the same way, but generally in SF, if it's not raining, we could still drive anywhere, so weather wasn't really a deterrent. In New York, the weather is as much a part of the topography as any hill in San Francisco, or driving distance in Southern California.

I rationally knew all this, but I'm experiencing it in a more observational and nuanced way this time around, versus when I was in Michigan or Jersey City. At the end of the day, winter is coming and I'll just triple layer thermals and get out there anyway.

After our long meandering walk back into the city, I took my friend to the dance spot I was introduced to last weekend. It was great again, even if the music was a bit erratic. We stayed for a couple of hours, avoiding the annoying showy girls on our left, and sort of meeting a few guys from London out to have a good time. My friend is going through some emotional times, and as proven yet again, dancing is a great temporary relief. That, and I hope, conversation.

Oh have I been too discrete?

Generally a song or a band makes it onto my radar but I don't do much research on them until personally invested. Then after a show, or an appearance on SNL or something that captures my attention, I start to Google the heck out of them. (Hey Michael Buble!) So last night we're headed to some event featuring Ra Ra Riot. I'm not overly familiar with RRR but did like their album and absolutely love the track "Can You Tell." With no RSVP or much in the way of a reason to be there, my friend finagled us in by the wise reasoning that, "They rarely turn you away, especially if you say you RSVPed." She was right, and we breezed right in. I'm gonna have to try that more.

We found ourselves in a gallery space filled with expensive and mostly useless electronics: touch screen televisions, a chair massage cocoon, a space saving exercise cycle, a six hundred dollar jacket marketed as "invincible." We were basically there for free drinks and snacks.

Earlier in the night, we had already tossed back a few four dollar beers while talking about relationship woes and learning new things about each other. Actually it was all new because this was the first time we'd hung out, after meeting at an event a few weeks ago. We covered how we got from there to here, why we seemed to share similar insecurities and the inability to let things take their natural course, hit and missed on some interests, and basically got along famously.

Back at the event, my friend said, "The people here are like, too pretty." I knew what she meant. Most everyone was well groomed and had the casual air of good looking. Being unafraid of social interaction, my brash new friend set about chatting people up to discern why this particular crowd was here. Turned out, all the carefully scruffy plaid types were friends of the band, everyone else was corporate. I'd heard from friends that bands often pimped themselves out to play business gigs. It's a thankless job -- but pays well -- as most of the crowd doesn't really know your music and there's not exactly a concert vibe happening.

But Ra Ra Riot was really great live, and people were all paying attention, even if dancing didn't exactly break out everywhere. The band formed as undergrads in Syracuse and have quickly built quite the following and national buzz. They are also really young, like early twentyish young. We happened to meet their manager, who couldn't have been much older than twenty five. Ra Ra Riot is six members, and features a classically trained cellist and violinist. The cellist, Alexandra Lawn, is my new favorite Alexandra. Actually she's probably lots of people's favorite Alexandras, and for good reason with her combination of talent and beauty.

It makes me think about all the things that Ra Ra Riot has going for it: easily digestible music, a stellar front man with a pretty voice, indie geek cred, two beautiful strings players, a good backstory with a smattering of tragedy, and lots of critical acclaim. Two nights ago they were on Letterman, tonight they were playing for me. For free.

Chow Hound

Sometimes you just got to let it out you know? One of my friends felt sheepish telling me about unresolved feelings for her boyfriend ten years ago. As I questioned her on the chain of events, her memory was clear and specific. It was all news to me but it was obvious that these things were just as fresh in her mind as nearly a decade ago.

This evening, after some time watching people drink and sing their lungs out at a karaoke cave, we kept the party moving to a back room dance place in the East Village. It seems to be that New York has a lot of these sorts of places. Innocent on the outside, party on the inside. As our cab arrived earlier than my friend's, I texted her, "We're here but there's no music." I was pretty sure our night was over; I should have known better. Hidden behind a pastry shop, a Mexican restaurant, or a quiet wine bar, New York has an abundance of secret spaces with people partying the night away. I thought I liked secret bars a lot, but those have disappointed of late, and I've switched my allegiance to semi-disguised dance places.

Afterward, a little drunk and buzzy, we settled in to eat in Chinatown. Halfway through our meal, the conversation turned to college grievances. Things that had happened years ago came spilling out. Pent up feelings, angry diabtribes, curses and judgements. Some of the people we talked about were my good friends, and we all knew that, but hearing a different perspective is always interesting. In theory, I could have risen to my friends' defense, but this was a forum for opinions, not a fight for truth.

In any social circle, there's a party line or dialogue that is traditionally kept to and I forget sometimes that that's not how everyone thinks. In fact, even inside a particular social circle, people's opinions are rarely aligned. Not everyone's going to get along, and not everyone's perspectives are the same. What're you gonna do?

Pour Me a Shot

Tonight, romance was in the air, along with a stiff winter wind. It was the first time I could see my breath after an exhale. It's time to shack up with that cuddle buddy you've been neglecting all summer -- or to start lining up applicants to be your winter boo. Those cold sheets won't warm themselves! My bed times have been stretching later and later, and that means my afternoons are non-existent again. By the time I emerge from my slumber cave, the sky is usually dark and I barely have time to flip through some email before bundling up and heading out.

A big perk of living in Williamsburg is being a few blocks over from my friend Sam. Despite his busy schedule, we have grand plans to hang out, to have movie nights, and to have tons of discussions about what projects we need to get moving on. Actually Sam's schedule is already packed full of things he's accomplishing, so I just need to follow suit. His enthusiasm and energy is contagious and talking to him always fires me up. We're both well versed in romantic comedies and take the genre super seriously. After talking through some stuff, my mind was going a mile a minute as I cruised out to watch Love and Other Drugs with another friend.

Watching a rom com may not be the best way to recover from heartbreak and eight oh eights, but it's a prescription that's never failed me. Oh wait, I don't have heartbreak, just break ups. But for those with actual feelings and emotions, watching a film about love is bound to jump start that healing process right? For the past two weeks I've been trying to nurse my friend through his current situation and after the movie, I asked him what parts really impacted him. When in crisis, you really can't watch or experience anything without relating it to your own struggles. This was no different for him. I swear I heard him sniffing at one point. Well good for you man, let it out.

There's always that scene at the end, when the hero chases the girl down and gives her this big speech. If there's one thing guys have been impacted by, with all the romantic comedies, it's this idea that if you make yourself vulnerable enough, that if you give a good enough (and heartfelt enough) speech, you can still save the day -- even if you royally fuck up. I'm not sure how I feel about that. On one hand it gives hope to the poor suds that we are, but it also creates an unrealistic expectation that if we present our hearts on a silver platter, we should get what we want.

Sorry guys, I don't think it works that way.

I remember watching Waitress with my ex-girlfriend, some time after we broke up. There's a storyline in there about adultery and cheating and it was the wrong movie to watch together, considering the circumstances toward the end of our relationship. I'm lucky I made it out of that movie alive. Whoo.