Summer Blues

Alright, let’s do this. Hello May, June, July, where did you go? Well, May was seriously just buckling down and doing not all that much. I hosted a board game night at my house, saw the one old friend I basically have left here once or twice, and then got my shit together and ready to head out in June. But not before a quickie weekend trip to Los Angeles to meet up with some friends who were driving down from San Francisco.

The highlight was clearly going to the newly opened Harry Potter World at Universal Studios, but exploring  East LA was fun too. My friends AirBnBed a spot in Silver Lake and from there we set off on food adventures. With my friend cruise directoring the whole thing, it was very easy to just show up and eat. Throughout the whole trip we talked about how much appeal East LA had to us as a place to move to. Short answer: with the rise of Uber, and much less driving, it’s a lot!

For the full PotterWorld review and some more talk about (potentially) living in Los Angeles, listen to episode one of my forthcoming podcast with newish friend extraordinaire, Margot. Oh wait, I haven’t built that podcast yet. But I’m gonna get on it when I get the chance. I even bought a fancy new microphone to have better sound quality. So yeah, new podcast, arriving soon!

Teaser: I’m Ravenclaw.

Heading into June, I packed up everything into my standard suitcase and duffle bag and headed off to New York. Originally I was hoping to move in with my old roommate in Fort Greene but that plan didn’t come together so after some Craigslist and Facebook Group searching, I found a sublet in Stuy Town, on 18th Street and Avenue C. (I went through my week-by-week in New York on the other blog, so I’ll skim through most of it here. Just the highlights!)

Oh, before I got over to New York, I stopped by Indiana for two nights, to see my uncle and talk some business stuff. Get business stuff cleared up mostly. I had been there four years before, when I was just starting to work seriously with the company again. The experience this time was understandably different, and I didn’t 100% need to go, but it was good to stop by. Also, Obama was in town for a speech too, so the whole town was riled up, in a good and bad way. Put it this way, I’d never spoken to so many non-Obama people before. Eye opening. We all live in our bubbles eh?

The two big things I was in New York for was my friend’s wedding in late June and the bachelor party two weeks prior. I popped in the night before the bachelor party and then cruised over to my first burlesque show for the coed festivities.

My ex was there, and I made it even more awkward by not just stepping up right away and saying hello. So basically throughout the entire night — and the wedding itself — we just ignored each other. While this might have been fine on both parts, it seemed like not the right thing to do. Even a cordial “hi” would probably have been adult. Lesson learned: Just get the awkwardness out of the way early so that it fades. Instead I just let it linger. Seeing as last time we spoke we were literally fighting, maybe ignoring each other was the best. Anyways… Beautiful wedding, and I got to be a groomsman for the second time. Plus I wore a tux for the first time ever!

Most of early June was sucked up by the NBA Playoffs, which made me get out of the house — in search of a television — and also to see random friends here and there. My main go-to hang out buddy was my friend from Taiwan, as he had also just moved to New York from Taiwan. With our flexible schedules, we wandered around a lot, hitting up random Chinese food places to rate them, and getting boba.

I also got to visit JMZ and Jenn’s new house out in Brooklyn. It’s very homey, just like their old spot, and they’ve got a boatload of work to do to the backyard, the studio, and the basement. I can’t imagine ever owning a house where I have to do any improvements. I mean, can you? I can barely install a shower head. But JMZ and Jenn are well equipped for the job. A big highlight of June was seeing their upstairs neighbor’s performance of Eclipsed on Broadway. A reminder of the type of stuff that I can’t get elsewhere.

However, something was wrong as soon as I settled into New York. The streets were chaotic, dirty, and people bugged me all around. I thought the feeling would fade but it really didn’t. By the end of June, I was already plotting to get out of New York, cutting short my summer stay. But you already know that. (Since I’m backdating this and now on an entirely different continent.)

By July 4th, I knew I was heading out at the end of the month. So I made efforts to cram in as much as possible before I left. And in a shocker, I headed to the beach twice. After never going to any beach in New York before. The first time was to Long Beach, where my friend and I spent hours on the sand, sitting on beach chairs, chatting away, and never even getting in the water. The second time, my friend who had acquired a car to go with her parking spot — a super backwards move that makes sense only in Manhattan — wanted to get out for the weekend so we headed to Fire Island and spent a wonderful day lounging on the beach.

Both times made strong arguments for adding “beach” to further New York agendas. But only if you have someone to drive you there. No way I can stomach sitting on a train to the beach and back. Sorry,  I still prefer my beach less than ten minutes away.

Other July highlights: a five hour karaoke night that was just epic in energy, song selection, and personnel; going to watch Wicked for the fifth time; pulling a major favor from my friend to jam seven of us into her eighteen-seat restaurant, and then my first experience with Sleep No More. And then the night before I left, I had one of those New York nights I missed so much but didn’t really find much of this summer. It wasn’t even an all nighter or anything, but started off with a group dinner with friends and then spun out into some walking around, followed by grouping up different people at a bar/restaurant for fun conversation, and all the while adding/losing people — including my friend who just landed from Taiwan. The night ended around one in the morning, with a late night Flushing run scratched due to weather and fatigue, but it left me with the sense that the magic wasn’t gone. (I mean, is it ever gone in New York? Never completely right?)

Anyway, what is that called? A whiff of a memory? A glimpse of promise? Whatever it was, I was on a plane eighteen hours later, on my way to Brazil.

NYC 2015: Part III

With the last week of New York staring me in the face, I was basically ready to take it easy. Monday turned out to be an impromptu trip to Queens, to catch up with the marrieds. G&C and P&A live like ten blocks from each other in Bayside so I public transported myself up to P’s office on top of the 5th Ave Apple Store and then he and A gave me a ride as I experienced their daily commute. P&A have a newborn son, who was not yet born last time I was in New York, and I got to hear about the travails and joys of first year baby-dom. Perhaps more travails than joys actually, but that’s the common refrain right?

After stopping in to check out their place, I walked over to G&C’s a few streets over and settled in for an evening of Uncle Jon-ness. G&C have two little girls, aged five and three, and last time the three year old barely spoke to me. This time she was hyper hyper hyper and was whirling around all over the place. It should be no surprise that I get along with little girls remarkably well and they took me on a tour of their dollhouses, Frozen paraphernalia, and various plush things they took turns hitting me with. All was going well until bed time was announced, at which point semi-chaos broke out.

Ostensibly I was at G&C’s house to watch the MNF game but most of it was a learning experience in putting kids to sleep. The whole process, no joke, took three hours. One of G or C had to be in the room to comfort the little one to bed, and even when I left at eleven-is, she was still sort of awake. Parents, I don’t know how you do it. I sure hope I never find out…

G was kind enough to drive me back into the city and I had him drop me off in midtown so I could cruise down 2nd Ave again, this time pounding out to Tribe and De La Soul. At the end of my ride, J popped up after going to Sleep No More and he took me to Punjabi Grocery & Deli on 1st and Houston for some late night Indian. Freaking delicious. It’s a tiny spot that stays open twenty-four hours and lots of cabbies stop there.

Afterwards, we hung out for a couple of hours, walking around and near his stoop, chatting about Taiwan and the U.S., and girls, of course. Any time two guys get to talking, girls will come up. I mean, any time any guys get together I guess. But in our situations, it was a very relevant conversation since we were both single and facing the canyon of almost forties. Okay, it doesn’t sound that bad, but turning thirty-seven a few weeks ago was freaking me out a bit.

Completing my baby greeting merit badge, I got up early once again and went down to Park Slope to see a YA author friend and his new baby. He and his wife do this podcast about publishing, parenting, and I listen to it religiously of course, but it was nice to say hello in person and meet his daughter. They are now the Park Slope parents that you hear about, and to be honest, Park Slope was a very lovely area I’d like to visit again.

After a cat nap, I got up with my ex-roommate, M, and we trekked to K-Town for some sundubu. Unfortunately, we were dressed exactly the same. Denim jacket, white tee, black pants, and even matching black Chucks. I took my jacket off just so we wouldn’t look so ridiculous. Y met us at dinner, in anticipation of karaoke, and after some song selection indecisiveness, my karaoke pal M burst into the room and we were off, screaming into our mics and and drinking everything in sight. Songs hit list: Starship, “Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now.” Meatloaf, "I Would Do Anything." And of course Eric Carmen, "Make Me Lose Control," the real reason we're friends. I love singing with M because she throws in everything I want to hear and then we sing with abandon.

A little light headed, I thought my night was done but J was with his friend at Attaboy, the old Milk and Honey speakeasy. His friend C was returning to Taipei the next day and so we just sat around chatting. At 4AM, once we spilled back out, they were hungry so we took a taxi to K-Town — back up for me — and threw down another full meal. With the sunrise out, we stumbled home at dawn.

Predictably, I was dead the next day and stumbled out of bed in time to clean up and then hustle over to my friend’s book signing. Overall I rode across the WB Bridge probably five or six times this trip, getting used to the landmarks each time. On a heavy Citibike, it’s not a super easy ride, and I arrived late and all sweaty. S’s book is a printed version of her one woman play I saw back in S.F. a few years ago, and it’s her first release so I was glad to be able to be there for support. Afterwards we gathered at Pencil Factory for a bit before I had to jet back across to Manhattan, to meet some friends for dinner and dessert.

On Thursday SW and I met up with K for dinner, but beforehand we were at an art gallery in Tribeca. The piece was sort of Game of Thrones meets White Queen, and mostly we stood around chatting. K’s been traveling like crazy, either for work, bicycling, or vacation, and this was the one time we could catch each other. She took us to this Vietnamese place in Chinatown, Pho Vietnam 87, that was quite good, a rarity for New York.

Looking for something to do, I biked over the bridge again to catch C at a concert she was attending in Williamsburg. Even though it was late, the headliners were just starting to go on so I ponied up for a discounted ticket and slipped in. The crowd was older, smelly, and very dense so I opted to head upstairs to the balcony where I could stare down in peace. The band, Severed Heads, was described to me as “German industrial EDM” and I still have no idea what that means. It wasn’t exactly my type of music but I stuck it out though both encores, and then I took C and her friend S around the corner to Kinfolk for an hour or so of dancing.

On Friday morning, I popped right up before noon to get some bagels with SW at Sadelle’s in Soho, apparently the hot new thing on the scene. If you love to wait for two dollar bagels and twelve dollar lox and cream cheese, this could be your spot. Final verdict: undecided, because we only got a bagel or two, and a subpar cheese danish. Fancy place though.

I had made a lunch date with N, who was coming off of teaching his creative writing class. Wanting to hang out with M, I just conflated the two together because I figured we could talk books and writing and stuff. Getting writers together is always a good thing, because writers gotta stick together! I even had a second to go see S, who just had a baby two months ago but is walking around and like totally still working and researching. Some people just make motherhood look easy I guess!

After a much needed afternoon nap, I got up for 9PM dinner with JMZ and Michael. We ate at a curious place, Jack’s Sliders and Sushi, and it had been awhile since we all got up together. There was a pit stop at Veloce for a drink before we headed down to LES for some dancing at The Late Late (great name!). On this trip, I haven’t been to any of the old LES standards at all, which has been great. It reminds me that New York’s going out scene is just so much better. Even the dull spots have better music, and there’s usually a workable crowd anywhere you end up. We shut down The Late Late and then went up to finish our night at Veselka, behind breakfast foods and chicken soup. I took a little clear the head walk up with M, and then bounced on home. Dawn again.

The next morning/afternoon, I was groggy as heck but M called about basketball and I biked over to a court on 16th and 2nd Ave. There was nobody there but we amused ourselves by taking lots of slo-mo video and photos of us mid-flight, basket or no basket. Eventually two young guys showed up and we engaged in a couple games of two-on-two. Us old men got the better of them, since we were bigger and bully-er, and it was super fun. When I returned I was hoping to grab a nap but that didn’t happen so instead I started packing up as I was headed out of SW’s place that night. J happened to be heading to Super Taste for hand cut noodles and so I met him and a bunch of his friends there. Again, super interesting people and one of them I had literally just read about a few weeks ago, but didn’t know it till afterwards.

With New York winding down, I took one last bike ride and then called it a night. Sunday ended up being lazy, with brunch, a Brazilian movie, and then a finale meal at Saravanaa Bhavan (you should read the article about its founder, if you haven't).

• Podcast: Writing in Real Life
• Punjabi Grocery and Deli
• Pho Vietnam 87: A Cut Above Chinatown's Vietnamese Restaurants (2014)
• 7 Important Facts Gleaned From the Opening Day of Sadelle's
• Why The Fashion Industry Is (Finally) Talking About China
• Masala Dosa to Die For (2014)

Overall New York was exactly what I wanted it to be. And I think I'm ready to go back. I mean, when the weather gets warm again. From the time I was there, the temperature swung from 90s to 70s and I left at just about the perfect time. While I love Taipei, the sheer amount of stuff New York has on offer is unbeatable.

Then again, three weeks ago I was starting to convince that maybe being in San Diego wouldn't be too bad, what with its convenience, easy lifestyle, and the beach. I guess I won't know till I know right? There's a lot of compelling reasons to be in New York right now, so really the winter should be used to make moves.

NYC 2015: Part II

After a fast start to the trip, Monday was just sit back and recover time. I crashed out until evening and then wound up in Times Square, looking for a movie, any movie. We ended up watching American Ultra, in which Jesse Eisenberg plays a secret agent turned stoner, and his girlfriend is Kristen Stewart. I’d heard the movie wasn’t good but had good chemistry between the leads. Instead the best thing to come out of the film was the end credits song, Miniature Tigers’, “Oblivious.” Afterwards we jaunted over to The Halal Guys, which now has a stand on each of the four corners on 53rd and 6th. Apparently The Halal Guys is headed to the West Coast soon, in Costa Mesa of all places.

The next night we prepped to head out to Semilla, Pam’s new restaurant. I Tumblr and tweet about Semilla incessantly because it’s Pam's (and Jose, her partner) first solo project. They’ve been getting rave reviews from everywhere and I was hoping to get a reservation squeezed in because when I was here last year, Semilla was still, literally, under construction. The amount of work that Pam and Jose put into building out the space was amazing — JMZ did their website and some other graphic work too. (Update: Semilla just received a Michelin star!) The food is “vegetable forward” and if you’re in town, you should give it a shot before it blows up even more. At dinner, we sat next to a guy visiting from Austin and since he said he was a dancer, I invited him along with us to Daybreaker the next day.

I had been to the San Francisco version of Daybreaker, basically an early morning rave with coffee and juices instead of alcohol, but this was the original and much bigger in every respect. I saw my camp friends there, the ones who started Daybreaker, and it was pretty fun to just dance around for two straight hours. I’m not sure how much fun my other friends had, but it was a unique experience at the worst. At around 8:30am, they opened the blackout curtains and it really was like the sun was rising to engulf the club. Not bad!

After some rest and collapse, I ran uptown to Asian American Writer’s Workshop to stalk/see this blogger I’d been following for years, Technicolor. I covered her book release here, but in general it was mind-warping to have one of my favorite bloggers on-stage at AAWW, talking about her book debut. I kind of don’t like to talk to talk to people I follow but in this case the audience size was right and the space un-intimidating, so I chatted it up with Alex for a few minutes as she signed my book. As it turned out, she’s half-Taiwanese (I had always assumed half-Japanese) and her professor mother was slated to come teach in Taiwan soon. Can you imagine if I somehow became real life friends with a blog person I’d been tracking through the years? It would be like a dream come true, but also weird right?

With that over, I met J at Union Square to take in Sleeping With Other People, which featured Alison Brie and Jason Sudeikis as a pair of serial cheaters who, no spoiler, end up falling for each other. Sudeikis is an annoying on-screen presence, like a schlubby Ryan Reynolds. Even with some good lines and cute moments, a rom-com lives and dies by its leads and this one died for me, even though I love Brie. Movies I wanted to catch in New York but didn’t: The Diary of a Teenage Girl, Pawn Sacrifice, Sicario, The End of the Tour.

J left to go back to Taiwan the next day, but not before we got to try out the “V Special,” which was V’s deli sandwich special: something like eggs, ham, avocado, and hot sauce. Pretty incredible. And somehow I stumbled my way to lunch too, to eat arepas with K during her lunch break.

On Thursday night, after a long nap, I welcomed the newest returnee to New York, our friend R from the Bay. He had been talking about moving back to the East Coast after some time in L.A. and S.F., but it all happened super quick as he took a new job and was out here in like a week. We caught up at yakitori in St. Mark’s and then headed over to Tiki Tabu, a rooftop tiki bar in LES. Turns out, I’d been to this bar before, but it was something entirely different. Still, the music was good and we got to hang out with a Manhattan view while listening to some good music. (The music was good pretty much anywhere I went, which made me ache even more to be back.)

Last October, when I was still fresh to Taipei, I attended a Sunday b-boy party at Chess and met a few friends there. One of them turned out to be from San Diego and we’d kept in social media touch since. After getting to know him better, J is like the successful version of me — or I’m the poor man’s version of him, either or. What that means is that he’s a nomad who seems like he’s just traveling wherever he wants, but while accomplishing things and getting shit moving. We trailed each other down California’s coast for a few weeks before hitting the beach one afternoon in San Diego. Since then he’s been back to Taipei for a food pop-up — he’s part owner of a hip ramen / Taiwanese restaurant in D.C. — as well as a few other locales.  From what I can tell, he’s got his hands in a ton of random things, including Fashion Week related. Who are these people?!

Friday night we also ended up stopping by his place, a LES food and dance place that I’d been to before, but didn’t even know he owned. The music there wasn’t quite my speed though so we left after a bit to head to the Meatpacking. Oh, before that, we had dinner with my friend K, newly engaged and in the midst of moving with his new fiance into an apartment. Lots can happen in ten months when you’re gone eh? Last October, K and M were barely even dating — he was still in dogged pursuit. And now, engaged!

Although I missed my friend in Meatpacking, we ended up shifting to No.8 in Chelsea and found a lively dancing scene there — with, you guessed it, great music — and so of course my friend and I stayed till they shut down. Another Friday, another fantastic going out time!

I woke up ass up super early on Saturday, in order to hit up dim sum with my new hostess, SW. There was once a time when I relied on her for all the dancing spots but now SW is of the “go to sleep at 11PM and go hiking at 8AM” variety. We walked down from her Chinatown apartment for dim sum at Golden Unicorn — plus a huge long wait — and met up with a friend she’d met the night before.

After parting ways, the two of us headed to the New Whitney Museum, which was huge and crowded. We zipped through the upstairs floors, hit up the terrace for awhile, and ended up by on the fifth floor couches, overlooking the Hudson River. Not a bad way to spend an afternoon. After waiting around for K and her friend A to say hello, we booted out of there and hit up Chelsea Market to fuel up on tacos. The taco place, Los Tacos No.1, was new to me and quite legit, even with a long line.

Even though we were a bit tired, we headed to SL’s apartment for a casual dinner she’d invited us to, on the strength of our dim sum lunch. SL was British, as were her three friends, and we ended up having a really great dinner and convo. As it got to around midnight, I coerced them to come karaoking with us and a few RSVP misfires later, we were embedded at Wow Karaoke in K-Town, belting out Eighties hits. Again, it was another of those perfect New York weekends, when you start one place and end up somewhere else completely, with old faces and new friends thrown in.

After the too-short karaoke session, we whipped down to Central Bar for some nightcap dancing, which went well until K burned her hand on a candle and our night officially ended around 4AM.

Sunday was busy busy. I popped up and rushed out of the house to get down to Brooklyn Book Festival, in order to see D&S’s book panel. Unfortunately, I got there about five minutes late and the panel was overcapacity. It ended up alright though, as I lingered around outside, chatting with S’s husband about Taiwan and his years spent wandering around China and Asia. I really wished I could have seen D&S speak but oh well, they’ll have other book events soon I’m sure.

The book festival was crazy packed, with lines for everything — the last time I’d gone was maybe three years ago — and I didn’t end up having much time anyway. I snuck in a quick fifteen minutes with my writing friend, M, before having to rush off to half a panel on gender and sexuality before having to bolt to K-Town to catch up with D&S. Basically Sunday was just rushing rushing rushing, with hardly any quality time fit in.

After sitting down for dessert, S came to meet me and we threw down some pizza before going to watch Mission Impossible. This fifth installment got an improbable 92% on Rotten Tomatoes. Again, never trust the wisdom of the crowds… After some post-movie tapas and a short walk, I grabbed a Citibike and cruised the thirty or so blocks back home, blasting Carly Rae Jepsen all the way. Glorious!

NYC 2015: Part I

Usually I like to be in a place for longer, but two plus weeks in New York was better than nothing right? Originally I was planning to AirBnB a spot but since I was only going to be there a few weeks, I relied on the kindness of friends to house me (as usual). I didn’t have many specific plans once I hit the city but in an effort to document what I ended up doing, here we go!

First off, I took a non-direct flight from San Diego to New York, which turned out to be a huge mistake. Due to a three hour delay on the front end, I missed my connection in Philadelphia and was almost stuck at the airport there for the night. Instead, I ran from gate to gate, in out-of-breath sprints, and eventually got a ride to Newark. From there, I took a cab into the city — minus luggage since that had gone on to LaGuardia — and got to my friend’s house in Alphabet City around one in the morning. Although it was late, we did our basic catch up and I found out that not only was my friend not in a relationship — when I left, he was! — but he was also recently unemployed and taking some time to figure out his next move. I believe the next morning V bought an extra Playstation controller for Rocket League, even though we never ended up playing it...

The next afternoon, in a move that threatened to tear apart the fabric of reality, I went to the gym. Yes, I put on my work out shoes — same as my regular shoes — and got in forty minutes of real deal exercise. V’s work out routine was this Japanese thing (“tabata”) where you do a set of something for twenty seconds, rest for ten, and then go again. Think lots of push-ups, jumping jacks/stars, and tricep dips. It was mostly fun of the first bit, but by the end I was ready to collapse.

For the next few days I bragged to everyone how much I’d worked out. And vowed to not do it again. Once a decade is plenty.

I generally don’t tell anyone I’m in town until I’m actually there, so the next day I started texting people that I’d arrived! Cue the excitement. Okay, not really. As it turned out, my friend was in town from Chicago and was doing drinks with a number of our friends already. Perfect! After stopping by a friend’s ex’s fashion week show, we went down to Flatiron Hall to say hello. I’d missed J’s wedding back in June, and totally regretted it, so this was a nice surprise, being able to catch her back in New York.

And then since I needed to dance right away, we (my friend from Taiwan who was here for the week, and M, who lives in Greenpoint) hopped in a cab to Williamsburg and hit up Kinfolk 94 and eventually The Tender Trap. Both places were pretty empty but the music at Kinfolk was stellar — at one point there was PM Dawn. We also met a close-up magician who was in the same Magic Castle training class as Neil Patrick Harris. I guess if I could make poker chips and foam balls disappear and reappear, I’d bring props to the club too. The only other people dancing were us three, the magician, and a bunch of lesbians who were making out in every corner and empty space of the dance floor. Kinfolk: always great music, always a different crowd.

Sometimes people take my “I sleep all day” statements as hyperbole. As V found out, I really did sleep late into the afternoon and evening. On Friday I rolled out of bed at like six, prepped up and headed toward K-Town to meet with M. She was already downstairs at her neighborhood bar and we chatted with her friend for a bit about his girlfriend problems and the challenges of going from six blocks to an uptown/downtown romance. Also, when does someone get key status? Their simple opinion: Never, until you live together. Harsh.

Afterwards, M took me around the corner to a steakhouse where we sat in a long line of two tops against the wall. Each interior seat was occupied by a woman, and on the outside seat was planted a man. Like maybe ten couples, all just sitting in a line. So weird. The couple next to us were on the worst date ever, as the guy lectured on and on while the woman sat quiet and displayed little to no interest. I was sure they weren’t on a first date, as the guy was being truly boring, but M assured me it was a first date. It’s a tough (dating) world out there ladies, cut bait on a mansplainer when you can!

Later on, I hopped over to meet up with K&S, and then we walked over to No Malice Palace for dancing. In line, K started talking to the people behind us and they turned out to be quite nice and fun. She simply had told them some friends of hers that had gotten out of line would be right back, which was a very polite thing to do. NMP is a freaking hotbox but the music is always good and it’s basically a no fail fun place, assuming you can get in. A couple more people joined us inside and I even ran into a friend’s brother, whom I had met last year right around this time. This was the party I’d been looking for, with the right people, the right music, and the right atmosphere. Thanks New York!

Since drinking leads to early mornings for me, I got up at 11AM-ish and scrolled through Facebook, trying to see who was in New York. As it turned out, my ex-roommate M was going to be moderating a panel at Photoville, New York’s largest photographic event out in DUMBO. I got myself revved up and out the door to make the early afternoon panel on migration and statelessness. (Read M’s bio, it sounds so damn impressive. Like who are you?!) What I learned was that photographers really shouldn’t talk about their work. I mean, no, they should, but it’s difficult to separate out the photographer from the photos. Like one the panelists just didn’t articulate himself well and I couldn’t take his work seriously. And another photographer, whose work was clearly amazing, seemed to lose some of the audience due to his thick accent. “Let the work speak for itself,” seems to apply in these cases.

After the panel, two of M’s friends cruised the rest of the exhibition with us and then we booked it to Chinatown for soup dumplings. As it turned out, my favorite couple/people from San Francisco were in town, after participating in the Labor Day 9-Man tournament the weekend before. They met up with us for dumplings too and it was one of those times when strangers come together but the discussion doesn’t skip a beat. Everyone got along, we were talking about interesting things, and there was just no lull in the conversation or boredom, etc. It was amazing! Afterwards, we didn’t want to end the day there so hopped to a bar for a quick drink and then rolled up to K-Town for some bonchon. And then after fried chicken, we went down to Revision, right next to V’s apartment, for some dancing and drinks. All in all, a perfect day slash night! (A handful of us chased the night to a few other bars, but that was likely a mistake. “Don’t chase the night,” as Worldwide Wes / Bill Simmons says.)

It made me think that the long percolating Before Sunrise-like movie I’d want to make should really be about a group of people. After all, those were the times I liked best about New York. How you can just travel from place to place, picking up new people, and having the night go wherever. It’s not something that happens in other cities, as far as I’ve experienced, and I associate that sort of time with only New York. It would be a challenge to get that kind of chemistry depicted on-screen but that’s an interesting twist on the genre right?

With Sunday here, I woke up early yet again and met up with JMZ and Jenn in Noho for brunch. We were tucked into a back corner booth at Cafe Select, and it was a lovely place to take down their Croque Monsieurs. Afterwards, we waited around for P to show up, as this was her day off. P’s new restaurant had been getting brilliant reviews for months and her schedule was even more slammed than usual but we got to spend most of the afternoon and early evening chilling out. A true rarity.

Meanwhile, my Taiwan friends were in Soho and after leaving JMZ, Jenn, and P, I met up with them and went to dinner at some Italian spot. J and C were in town from Taipei to help their aunt move from Queens to the Upper East Side, and although it was exhausting, J was still down to do stuff at night. After dropping off C in the UES, we went downtown to grab Citibikes and I took her on her first New York ride, across the Williamsburg Bridge, cruising by the construction that has overtaken WB’s west side. On the way back, we trolled through East Village for pizza, falafels, and hot dogs.

That was the first four days and I'd basically covered all the things I wanted to do in New York already. What's next?!

Always Ballad

Okay, so Rosemary's Baby was not scary, not like The Exorcist, which is what I was expecting. It's one of those films that's constantly referenced in pop culture -- and a few times this past season on Mad Men -- so I thought it was about time to watch it. Over two hours later, my verdict is: meh. I'm sure it's a super classic and there's a lot to admire about it, but rewatching certain old movies is almost a chore. The archival stale wheat germ before you can move onto sugary summer fare like Despicable Me 2. Now that's a movie! I don't care if I'm trying not to overhype stuff, go see it. That and Sarah Polley's brilliant Stories We Tell were recent things that I'd highly recommend. Plus 20 Feet From Stardom if you're into that type of thing. Heck, here's my last three months of movie watching, in too many words.

Roman Polanski is a child sexual abuser, Orson Scott Card opposes same sex marriage, and George R.R. Martin probably has a few skeletons in his closet too. I was thinking today about the idea of boycotting art because of the creator. That would eliminate a wide swatch of consumables. A lot of great stuff comes from super fucked up people. I mean, I can't say I love David Choe's stuff always, but I do love following him, even if his interests and expressions are way off from my morals. Then again, what morals right? Excited to see Ender's Game!

But seriously, where do you draw the line?

I do this thing, where I'm always checking in on an old blog, Hipstomp, on the month that I'm currently at, weighed against his archives. It's one of my absolute all time top five blogs and I've probably re-read the whole thing like ten times over. Being in New York lends even more interestingness to Rain's posts. He blogs like I want to blog. I emailed him once, a few years ago, to see if he had an agent for his work in progress. I guess that project never got finished. Now he writes for a design magazine or something. I should try to see who we might know in common, so I can go gush/grovel at his feet.

Lately I've been trying to figure out a topic for a newsletter I can start. I saw a friend on Facebook follow The Skimm and hopped on a few months ago. Now I see articles about it everywhere and there's a weird uptick in newsletters. I'd been hoping to start a friend circle gossip one using Tiny Letter, but that idea requires people to tell me secrets they either a) don't have or b) won't divulge. So that project is out.

But I'm mulling over the idea of doing a Skimm-esque newsletter, perhaps for pop culture. It would take an intense amount of energy but I'm basically doing it already on some level. I just need to find some fellow heavy consumers and get on the ball. I think the key behind the newsletter resurgence is that you have a very tightly focused demographic to advertise to. Because that's where the money is right? Telling people what to buy. But under the cover of something else.

• A Daily Newsletter You'll Want To Actually Open (2012)
• Meet The Women Behind The Skimm, Your New Secret Weapon
• You Need To Know About: The Skimm
• Tour The West Village With The Skimm's Gorgeous Founders
• Roommates Quit Jobs At NBC To Help You Skim News Every Morning (2012)

Having this bike share thing is changing my life. I've walked to the subway exactly zero times. There's a rack of Citibikes half a block away and I just jump on one and zoom a mile down to the subway. It's super glorious. The entire last week I even got to places on time, or early! And it's even better in the city -- albeit more nerve wracking -- because when the subway lines aren't convenient, you just hop onto a bike and go. Traveling east to west has never been such a joy.

And on Saturday afternoon we rode bikes from JMZ's apartment in Bed-Stuy to Williamsburg. It was a short three mile ride and we arrived soon after Jenn and her friend, who drove. What I have noticed tooling around on a bike are the varying quality of the streets. I'm scanning everywhere for potholes, bumps, potential danger spots. All while trying to look around for traffic too. It's incredible how alert you have to be to survive, and I'm pretty sure I'm not even that good at being alert. I made a vow to myself to not ride a bike when tired or post-drinking. At least until I get on that helmet stuff. Then I'll drink, ride, and listen to Tupac on full blast. "Picture me rolling..." I'm going through a Tupac phase for some reason right now. I hope it ends soon so I can return to regularly scheduled programming.

Also this past weekend, we went out dancing two nights in a row, both until super late. The line for Le Poisson Rouge was down the block and they weren't letting guys in shorts in so I chose to scoot home, change, and then get back out. It's possible to do this because things don't close in New York, I love it. So back on the scene at twelve thirty and then dancing till four. It was an absolute hot box, like everyone was just drenched through.

But that heat was nothing compared to our sauna the next night, at a place called Tender Trap. We didn't get there until two thirty but it was still packed, smelled like what you'd expect it to smell like, and sweat was literally dripping off my elbow at certain points. The music was all booty rap with overtures of late Nineties jams, and if it wasn't so late we probably would have looked for other options. I loved it ten minutes in though, as it was grimy but super fun.

The summer is for dancing, it's true.

Dance on Glass

So the soundtrack of my short few days so far is Q-Tip's Renaissance. It came out in 2008 but somehow I missed it until maybe earlier this year. I think everyone gave up on Q-Tip after Amplified. I don't even know what his albums sound like after that. But if you're slugging through the subways of New York, nothing's better than ATCQ. Or at least nothing's more appropriate and reminiscy. And here's the thing, Renaissance is a great throwback album. It's what ATCQ fans wanted from a solo Q-Tip, even if he wanted to move himself artistically in a different direction. Here's a track I've been having on repeat: "Manwomanboogie." What's going to follow is a "what I've been doing" post so really, skip it unless you care about this kinda stuff.

Des is visiting New York for a few days, and she was part of the reason I rushed out here and popped up so suddenly. Vacationing in New York with nobody to play with during the weekdays? Oh me me, choose me! As it turned out, we didn't actually hang out all that much. Our first day in the city was a marathon. Chinatown for Taiwanese breakfast at two, mid-afternoon sangria followed by karaoke, then I split from them as they went to a beer garden and I went to a book thing. Then we followed up with Susan Sarandon's ping pong bar, SPiN Galactic. And finally a clean up session for late night Korean food.

Thing was, it was only midnight and we were dones. Also, hanging out in New York necessitates a whole lot of drinking. I can't go from zero percent to three mid-afternoon drinks so soon. It just made me sleepy. Luckily the cure for any sleepyness is karaoke, and this new place we went to dished out the songs via iPad and had a ton of current stuff. Yes, even some Frank Ocean -- which JMZ performed quite credibly. "I think I started something / I got what I wanted / did didn't I can't feel nothing."

But the first day's lesson was that going ten hours in the city is freaking exhausting. All the noises, the people, the physical act of walking up and down stairs, of being hot, then hotter, and just all of it. I do this every time I come back, the adjustment. But this time was rougher than most, because I think I've been away for too long. I've been a hermit in San Diego for almost a year, I can't handle this much stimulation.

Friday was a late start, as poor Des had to wait for me and JMZ to gear up. If I was on my normal NY schedule, I wouldn't even head into the city until 9 PM or later. But she was ready and prepped to go at noon. In the end we settling on a compromise of meeting at five for an eating tour of Soho. Which stopped after two locations -- meatball parm rolls and Cuban corn -- because while the sandwiches at Parm were amazing, they were bigger than anticipated. No stomach for lobster rolls, or even dessert!

We parted ways as she went to go fancy rooftop drinking on the Upper East and I hoofed it over to Chelsea to meet some people. They were eating tapas so naturally I had to try a few bites. After a jaunt through Chelsea Markets for tiramisu making items -- my friend was making it for her Sunday pig roast -- we settled into a Chinatown alley for Malaysian. At the table behind us, someone was talking about how his friend was a postmodern belly dancer. Yeah, exactly.

The rest of the night ended up being my impromptu birthday celebration because the fact it was my birthday pretty much was sprung on everyone. They were nice enough to insist on celebrating me, which was very big of them as I popped up in New York out of nowhere and didn't even inform them I was here until that day. Thank you friends, for your consideration. Clearly I lack basic human values and like to guerilla guilt people into celebrating. Anyhow, part of their niceness was hitting up an Italian dessert place that dropped like eight different desserts on us, which was +3 more than we had people. Won't complain about that.

The only thing I had wanted to do for my birthday was go find some music and dance, but that proved harder than imagined. The only places I knew were from a year and a half ago and you know that's outdated info. We ended up at a place that was filled with absolutely the wrong crowd, and then went to a place that had the right crowd but the harshest rap currently out there -- none of which we knew -- which was regardless fun to dance to for a sec. A quick getaway meant we met up with my cousin and her boyfriend who is also cousins with my good friend and so on and so on.

Then we karaoked until late/early. They had "Gangam Style." I requested my friend sing "Save the Best" for last, and three hours later it was a wrap. JMZ and Jenn have a car in New York so the whole experience of being in the city is a bit different. Sitting in a car makes New York seem much less New Yorky. High marks for convenience though. Driving home at dawn is a heck of a lot easier. Especially if JMZ is doing the driving.

Saturday I woke up with the back of my jaw area completely swollen. I seriously thought it was from too much karaoke. I'd never had this before and my face looked like it had gained thirty pounds. Turning one year older really did make a big difference this time. After some research, it was determined that I just had swollen lymph nodes. It could mean that I was getting sick but outside of being tired, I felt perfectly fine. More karaoke! Actually, I did go to karaoke again a few hours later, but I refrained from participating because, well, because.

This recap is going nowhere. It should end soon. Suffice to say, Saturday was spent crawling around at some more bars, after a freak tornado blistered through Brooklyn (and nicely cleared the humidity and the streets), and we ended the night at a tucked in bar filled with beautiful black people. I know what that sounds like but it's exactly what I mean. It was like when you read about 1940's Harlem. Only instead of jazz, it was incredible hip hop. Even though it was a very slow night, people were dressed so stylishly, and the crowd was just so damn good looking. I was like, "Where are we?" Chelsea, of all places.

And at the very end, my friend was accosted by the cutest Puerto Rican dude, who was trying to play it off like he didn't ever talk to girls but you don't get to just stand here at our booth for thirty minutes talking to a girl and also protest that you never do it. Puerto Rican Ken, complete with accent, was twenty one -- he showed us his ID -- and I was hoping for a How Stella Got Her Groove Back story. Alas, probably not. I need to return to this bar though, because the music is so damn good. And when a certain spazzy friend hits NY, I know just where to bring her. It's going to be my opening salvo in the campaign to move her out here.

While I was sitting down talking to my friend, a girl walked by and literally fondled my ear/ring. I didn't even react I was so shocked. I don't know if you know this but there's this whole online thing with testimonials about AMBW couples. Actual videos where black women talk about how wonderful their Asian boyfriends and husbands are. Like this is real life. My friend just told me about it the night before, and I had spent some of my afternoon Googling this phenomenon. The common factor seems to be anime. And asserting/defending the masculinity of Asian men. It's really something. You can decide how to feel about it yourself.

Sunday we went to a pig roast. And I had $7 rice pudding. Outrageous. The pricing, and the extravagantly durable packaging it came in. It was pretty delicious though.

Tomorrow I need to get my life back together. My computering has been neglected and I'm behind on everything. My life can't handle this much activity, it's too much.

Oh yeah, Fun's "We Are Young" is the new official karaoke closer. No debate. And please, no more Journey, ever.

Jubilee

I've officially given notice that I'm out of New York in a few days. Thursday to be exact. My plan is to fly to San Diego, then drive up to Los Angeles for a sure to be historic Celtics - Clippers game, and then eventually make my way up the coast to San Francisco and eventually the annual Tahoe trip. My thinking goes that if I'm hoping to spend most of March writing anyway, I might as well stop paying rent. This exit also neatly marks my traditional three month restlessness. That's the bad news. The good news is I'm coming back to New York. Too much unfinished business here.

Plus I hardly "moved here" when I haven't gotten a job or secured a permanent residence. In order to faciliate going to this basketball game, I turned down a part time job offer from the temp agency. Had to do it. I didn't get this far in life suddenly picking responsibility over life experiences. So I'll pack half a suitcase and leave some of my things behind because that means I'm returning.

Over the weekend we had a pretty epic karaoke session. For one, I made additional headway on my "top five karaoke songs for each person" list. For two, after watching the Valentine's Day episode of Glee, I was already all about the Katy Perry's "Fireworks" but when Sharon belted it out (risking tearing her vocal chords out in the process), I moved up another notch in my love for the song. Clearly people agree with me, as the video has a hundred and twenty four millions views on Youtube. Is that even possible? 124,245,149 views. Having never seen the video till just now, I'd recommend you watch it too as fireworks are literally shooting out of Katy Perry's chest. There's probably some symbolism there but it's just kind of funny.

In an AIM conversation, I called Katy Perry "slutty," but my friend took great offense to it and suddenly I was the bad guy and hypocrite. See, a few weeks ago I had been defending Megan Fox's honor when this same friend called her a "ho." We agreed to leave it alone for the sake of our continued friendship but calling women "sluts, hos, ****s" is probably something that should be analyzed rather carefully.

Also, I'd like to think I'm pretty respectful of women but it's been pointed out to me that when I use "bitch" in reference to a man, it's implying that they are acting like a woman. So even if I'm not directly calling a woman "bitch," I'm saddling the word with the same connotations.

Possibly but not really related, here's an article about sports groupies, The Days and Nights of an NBA Groupie (2008).

What I'm slowly realizing, in talking to and thinking about people with artistic pursuits, is that being "____" has nothing to do with skill level. For example, my roommate right now is a terrific cook. She hones her craft with dedication and intensity. This past week she's been coming home from long days of work and then making macaroons from scratch. The process takes a long time and the results are professional worthy. The likely statement to make is obviously: "These are so good, you should sell them!"

There's this idea/dream that the best thing you do is logically your profession. In practice, that's rarely true. Being a professional means doing something over and over and consistently producing saleable work -- even when you don't feel like it. Instead of asking if someone is a professional, or if their work is professional worthy, it's probably more useful to ask something else entirely. I mean, if the common definition of being a professional is "getting paid to do it," then anyone can be a professional after a few gigs. But doing something full time, or supporting yourself off that skill, that's a different thing altogether.

A Bajillion Little Pieces

Usually when I come to New York, it's seeing a lot of people and finding out what they've been up to for the past year. Sometimes people have moved apartments, sometimes they're caught up in the same interpersonal drama as last year, sometimes nothing has changed at all. Over the past week I've been meeting up with some friends that I actually haven't caught up with in years. So we sort of do a little, "What has been going on since 2002?" life update and then we move on. As much as I dislike the "what have you been up to" talk, I find myself wanting to know everything in detail if I'm going to hear any of it. Watching a Seinfeld marathon the other day, I realized that the show about nothing encapsulates the sort of friendships I prefer. Jerry, George, Elaine, and Kramer focus on the minutaeia of each other's lives and they basically go around discussing and judging all the little things, or getting inflamed by small injustices.

My friend was worried the other day about whether or not she was "interesting." I assured her that she was, because she genuinely is, but there are obviously a whole host of people who aren't interesting at all. I'm finding, as I run around meeting up with different people, that my inability to handle conversational silence threatens to make me an overtalker. When meeting someone I have to pepper them with questions in order to bulldoze over the gaps. I think this week I'm going to work on keeping silent and seeing what happens.

Tuesday night I went to a zine reading event at St. Mark's Bookshop. The editor of the Zinester's Guide to NYC was on hand to present a few of her contributor's works. I've long admired zines and given time travel, would have started one in my teenage years. It would have been mundane and not angsty in the least, but it would have been mine.

Now I still hold an ambition to make one, but it seems slightly anachronistic as I'm much more capable online -- plus I don't have an office to make copies of my potentially best selling series. After visitng SF Zinefest last year, I did look up prices to print zines so I know it's both financially viable and easy to do. My new life goals list includes making a zine. There, I said it.

The type of zines I like are very particular. I don't do crappily drawn zines, I don't do image heavy zines, I don't do scrapbook zines, I don't do poetry zines, I don't do hard to read fonts zines. I need words and personal stories. My favorite zines of all time are Cometbus and Doris, so anything along those lines works for me. Most of the readers presenting tonight were up that alley, and I was delighted to add their work to my list of stuff I need to support and follow. Because my friends were a bit hungry, we left before the Q&A portion of the night, but there's another event on Sunday I hope to attend.

There are a lot of ramen places to try in New York, but the reigning king in my mind is Ippudo. The line for them was an hour long so we put down our names and went around the corner for a beer. Every social event here requires a beer or a drink. I'm going to run out of Pepcid AC very soon. On the TV behind the bar, the Christmas tree at Rockefeller Center was about to be lit and Susan Boyle had been imported from England for the occasion. Over the next few hours, our beer and then noodles conversation swung from the apathy of our citizens versus the French to the necessity of soon to be thirty year olds participating in one night stands.

I haven't hung out with my friend Alice since our college days. I noted that I'd completely missed the non-single Alice times, and now that we've had the chance to hang out some, I realized how much I like/missed her mix of curiosity and enthusiasm, a quality that hasn't been tempered in the least.

Afterward, I walked across town to find Stef and her people at a swanky sports bar. The mystery of the night settled in when a waitress came by to take a coffee order, but then twenty minutes later, another waitress came by. We asked her if the other girl had gotten the coffee. She said, "What other girl?"

At first we thought she was just kidding but it soon became clear that while our party was suspicious of her, she was suspicious of us -- she had walked up during a conversation we were having about drugs. We insisted that there was another girl and she kept insisting that there wasn't. This amused us and after awhile we decided that the ghost waitress had just pulled off an amusing scam. Dressing in all black, wearing a half apron, taking people's checks, and then cruising out the door seems like a ballsy thing to do. We gotta try it.

Taxonomy is for Nerds

I woke up to a text this morning from George, informing me that a friend of mine was engaged. Not surprising news these days, engagements, but this is a friend that I essentially only know electronically. For example, George was familiar with my friend only through her blog, which has detailed Nine’s journey from the financial world to med school and now through residency. When I was slaving away in China, it was our epic length emails that kept me afloat. Ours was an epistolary relationship, and that evolved into real life feelings, which goes to prove that you can just like someone’s thoughts -- without knowing what they’re like in any other capacity.

There’s been plenty of visitors this week in New York. Out of towners popping in for short visits and a huge surprise from a San Diego friend. She showed up at my book thing, sitting in the back row, and I had to wait for my head to puzzle out the pieces as to why this person was in New York. Seeing people out of location context is so jarring. “It’s so weird to see you here,” we kept repeating to each other.

After an afternoon visit to the Natural History Museum with Helen and her lawyer turned screenwriter friend, I popped down to a reading event in midtown featuring the work of Wallace Shawn, more famously known as Vizzini from The Princess Bride. Time Out may be the magazine for tourists but it’s got convenient listings of events and I’m not quite sure why it’s got such a crappy reputation. Shawn’s event was free and held at a City University of New York building. A line was forming beforehand and as we sat down, Reena started chatting up the girl in line behind us. I sat off in the distance, trying to charge my phone, which had dipped into life alert territory.

I can already tell this is going to be a consistent problem. My iPhone battery lasts about four hours on casual use and by the end of long day I had completely run out of juice, even as I was trying to find out where my friend was watching Monday Night Football. I slunk into a bar and stood by the bathroom, waiting patiently for the battery to charge.

Shawn's just released a book of essays, and this was what was read, along with selections from his various plays. Awhile ago I had watched Dinner with Andre, a pure conversation movie featuring two old friends catching up over dinner. Credited as the screenwriter on that film, I recognized Shawn’s writing style. Thematically his pieces sounded much like blog posts, as he mused about the costumes actors and actresses wear, his reflections on 9/11, and other events that impacted him and got his brain churning. There were quite a few famous folk reading his work, including Mary-Louise Parker, Bob Balaban, Julianne Moore, the big brain guy from Pulp Fiction, and other very notable minds that I only learned about post-reading, via their Wikipedia bios.

Having other people read your stuff must be quite an experience, and Shawn sat at one end of the stage with a constant grin on his face, either from pride or amusement. His voice is very distinct, with longish sentences, a snappy coda, and a cadence that becomes very recognizable once you hear him speak. The man has the most dramatic and funny pauses in his speech pattern, and that was reflected in his writing style.

When I get big enough one day, I’d like to organize a reading where I make my friends read my stuff. That would please me greatly.

Serve Chilled

Since college, my friend Pam been bouncing around New York (and a bit of Europe) working in the food industry. A lot of my fonder New York memories are visiting while the nights are warm enough to hang out and following Pam from food place to food place, not questioning a thing as she orders up a storm. If I had any talent in the kitchen, I'd like to think the food prep world could be for me. Late hours, no ties and suits, lots of tattoos, and a wide range of characters. Of course, I probably wouldn't have the work ethic required. Chefs slave over their career, as detailed in Bourdain's No Reservations, and my apron would probably be stripped from me by day two.

Pam used to work at this place called Room 4 Dessert where the head guy was a big figure in the molecular gastronomy movement, which mixes science and food for a unique eating experience. What this translates to is lots of foams and ices, experimentation away from traditional cooking techniques, and combinations of textures/flavors truly unexpected. I'd actually never been to Room 4 Dessert, even though all of my friends had gone multiple times. There was a period of three years, starting in 2004, when I didn't visit NY at all and I missed its heyday. R4D closed a few years ago but had a pop up revival Sunday night. Amit, being the go-getter that he is, got four tickets for the dessert and drinks pairing.

The old Room 4 Dessert space in Nolita is now Veloce Club, which serves as Amit's unofficial clubhouse. On normal nights, you ring a buzzer to get in and the service and drinks are top notch. We go there a lot. I mean, I only know about four bars in Manhattan and three of them are Veloce branded. The entire experience was interesting but I was really just excited to see Pam doing her amazing work. Watching friends do something they care about, job-wise, is something I don't get to do often. Pam's actually one of the only college friends I have who chose to buck the traditional career route. It makes for inspiring conversations.

Afterward, the group of us retired to the Mexican eatery next door for margaritas and miscellaneous (possibly malicious) gossip, my favorite kind.

In Alignment

I enjoy the nights in New York where you wander from place to place. While the same experience can be duplicated in other cities, it just doesn't feel the same. Because everyone is always socially obligated in a few different directions, there's this feeling that people are comets whizzing back and forth, and you’re texting each other to see if there’s some time you could meet up, or if they’re at a better occasion than you are. I can imagine this getting old after awhile, but for now it’s bliss.

Saturday night, after my book event, we had dinner with the other authors, some book bloggers, and accompanying friends and family. Quite a few of my people showed up to the signing, much to my appreciation. I happened to be seated next to an author whose blog I read and whose work I’ve admired. He just moved here a year and a half ago, and hearing about his experiences with the young adult book community out here was uplifting. This is essentially the reason I moved out here, to meet and attend book things.

The night before, I wandered into a room of twenty strangers on the Upper West Side. People were jammed into every corner and seating area, and everyone was in the quiet of writing. I found this group online, one of two I plan on checking out. After an hour of writing time, this group takes a break before engaging in a round of readings and critiques. The guy in charge, Zach, told me he’d been running this group for over eight years and there was over three hundred people on his email list.

I later found out he writes books about baseball, and is a serious stats geek. That explained why he knew exactly how many meetings everyone had attended. I recommend that a stats obsessed guy like him would probably really appreciate the Feltron Report. The writing group meets semi-weekly in various locations, and everyone seemed to be really chill and relaxed. The readings covered non-fiction, poetry, film criticism, alcohol reviews, excerpted blog entries, and a nice variety of things. I'll be back.

The rest of our Saturday adventures was spent stopping by a bar, a house party, and then a lounge to dance. Finding a venue to dance is a serious challenge, and I do miss the SF people's constant desire to go out and find a dance floor. The bar we were at was playing some very danceable Phoenix music, but it wasn't the right sort of vibe. Given the chance, I would have taken control of the music at the house party and dimmed the lights and thrown on Girl Talk. "Like a G6" gushed on repeat as people got louder and drunker.

By the time we hit the Korean place to eat and finish out the night, most everybody was exhausted. We aren’t young bucks anymore. In the future, may I recommend a three o’clock shut down time? The city never sleeps but people tend to peter out around four.

Help Yourself

One thing I’d forgotten about being a teen is how your day is never quite your own. If you have particularly ambitious parents, you’re likely to have activities and events lined up each and every day after school. My cousin, whom I’m visiting this week, is a sophomore in high school and when she gets home at three, she’s almost immediately tossed into a squash lesson, an art class, Chinese tutoring, or perhaps a bit of practice with her pipa. With a bed time of ten o’clock, she has only a few hours to cram in her homework, a bit of relaxation, dinner and shower, her treasured manga comics, and whatever extracurricular activities her mom has planned out for her. George and I had a similar experience growing up.

When I look back, what did the kids who didn’t have an itinerary built for them do after school? They came home in the early afternoon and just hung out? It seems incomprehensible now to me that children would be left to their own devices for such a long time. I realize that this was something my friends and I could relate to: our immigrant parents forcing us into all sorts of activities. We might have griped but we never stopped doing them because that was life as we knew it. Everybody had piano and violin lessons, tennis coaches, Kumon worksheets, and Chinese homework on top of regular homework. The grind of primary school seems incredibly long to me now, even if it’s hard to fault (or thank) our parents for pushing us through those years, trying to cram in as much as possible.

Most of my week has been spent slumped on the couch in front of my laptop, the position Tiana found me after school, after her activities, and before bed. Being an adult means you get to plan your time however you want. In theory.

Standing on the Shore

Having recently read an article about loneliness in urban cities, specifically New York, I've been asking all my friends how lonely they feel here. Some of them aren't lonely at all, with social obligations that pack up their schedules and solid friendship circles. Some of them are lonely even admist the busy-ness. A few of them have to get back to me on the question. Most everyone agrees that having things to do has nothing to do with if you're actually alone or not. I find that for some peopke, loneliness often comes down to just not having anyone around for a Saturday night or a Sunday brunch. When you feel like doing something but can't find the right people to do it with, that's lonely, right?

Unrelated to the above, my Saturday was spent in a most unexpected fashion. I thought I was going to an indie film fest, and had various people and events lined up -- which eventually all fell through. The day started with a baby shower. Baby showers are good for free food, not so good for non-baby making people. There had to be once upon a time when baby showers were just for women right? I object to this "bring the men" mentality to baby showers and bridal things.

The divide between single people and married people with kids seems to be incredibly huge. It's no wonder friendships stall and social lives shrivel up. What's there in common? To witness a baby shower in Manhattan was kind of interesting though, as I've increasingly been told that the island is mostly a kid free zone. It's true actually. Unless you count teenagers as kids, there's hardly any children about. I don't know how I missed this before.

Related to this, a friend who recently had her first child sent a few of us a many thousands of words email detailing her experience. It was epic in scope and detailed in description. Ladies, if you are thinking of birthing a child, allow me to share this piece with you as it's really a must-read item. Hopefully I won't offend her by excerpting a bit here: "Birth was terrible, agonizing, and it nearly destroyed me mentally. I want to slap all the people who told me 'don't worry, you'll forget all the pain once the baby is born -- it's all worth it!' I will never ever say 'it's worth it' to anyone, this is my vow."

As Saturday night's plans fell apart, I found myself trailing along to two birthday parties. We didn't really know any of the people in question but they were good exercises in getting to know people. The first one, hosted by someone my friend had met just hours earlier, was an awkward mess in the beginning. I wasn't entirely sure why we were at a quiet bar with a cozy group of nobody we knews but eventually the ice was broken and somehow we ended up having them drive us uptown to the other party.

That other party was in Murray Hill, and the almost club was packed with lame-o's and people that would normally make me turn heel and run. But the space in the back was better and there was some dancing involved. The real problem wasn't the venue or the crowd, since I've spent many a night in this type of environment, but really how I should probably learn to just suck it up once in awhile. I have this face, the face of distaste, that I tend to wear in these situations. It's sour.

After waiting at the bar for thirty minutes -- "water, on the rocks" -- I had no interest in dancing and sat down to chat with a random. My friend was having fun though, so that meant mission accomplished. Afterward we trekked over to K-Town for late night eats. My friend's friend, whom I've met twice over the course of this week, does a nice combination of sweet, sheltered, impassioned, and feisty. I think they'd go well together.

Breathe In, Breathe Out

Going to the Nuyorican is something I do every time I come to New York. Most people can only bear it once with me; slam poetry tends to be the same after a few visits. This time around it was almost exactly the same as any other time, with the themes and styles being similar to anything you'd hear on an average episode of Def Poetry Slam. Usually I go to the Nuyorican in the hopes that one poet will really capture my attention. Despite it being the semi-finals, there wasn't any poets of particular interest. One performer, a student from NYU, was incredible though. She was offered to the crowd as a sacrificial lamb but her piece was the only one that drew deep sighs and oooohs from the crowd. It was a poem about love and it was original and brilliant. Never got her name though.

Afterward we had a grand time talking about what sorts of poems we'd like to perform. It's rather rare that I get to hang out with more than one writer friend at a time. Two would be a luxury, three an unprecedented experience. In fact, if I had wanted to assemble a hang out team for a literary Friday night, I don't think I could have done any better.

When people talk about interpersonal chemistry, I wonder what it is they mean. Some people, who I think we would have every interest and topic in common, are impossible to talk to. Some people, after meeting them for ten minutes, immediately are elevated to instant friend status. There are people I've hung out with twice in my life and I feel like we're besties already. Perhaps this is more a function of having all that newness and exploration ahead, but I'd like to think that it's just a sign that when you get along you get along, even inexplicably.

Maybe it comes down to banter. If you can talk about something, we can at least start somewhere. As I get around to meeting people, I should really pay attention to the things that make people connect or feel at ease. There has to be something more scientific aside from just "We get along."

Let's hope I never say "besties" again.

Bridging the Gap

Took a look at my sublet today. Deciding to take a place from a friend of a friend could be the best decision ever. The process has been simple, with no background or credit checks, no hiccups of any sort, and the place turned out to be as wonderful as advertised. Located in Williamsburg, it's one block away from the subway station and the building looks like an industrial conversion. My temporary landlord had the fullest dreadlocks I'd ever seen on an Asian and I wanted to ask if they were real. That would've been rude of course.

The vibe of the place reminds me of James' decorative style, with comfort, aesthetics, and objects all in fine balance. Turns out Mac is a designer, just like James, which leads me to believe that rooming with these types is good for having your home not resemble a prison, or a generic catalog. Mac knows my friend from high school, or maybe even middle school, and it seems like the apartment will be an ideal settling in location. The friend network successfully strikes again!

I now have a ring full of keys and a move in date next weekend. Here's an AIM convo I was forwarded after my afternoon of reconnaissance:

JG: my buddy just IMed asking if jon was safe. and if he would throw outrageous parties.
JG: i said he might have a few folks over to play scrabble
AN: hahahahhahaha. if you don't want people playing magic or starcraft… then stay away from jon!
JG: hahahahaahahah
AN: tell him that jon is so anal about people wearing shoes in the house cause he sleeps on the floor
JG: it was funny. he said "outrageous parties" and i was like...hmmm, how do i explain jon...
AN: he wrote a book for 12yo girls
AN: wait, that sounds bad, hahahaha
AN: he has blogging parties
AN: his dream is to live at an internet cafe

Afterwards I met up with Mary on a side of Chinatown I was unfamiliar with, almost the East Village, away from all the restaurants and shops on Canal. This part of Chinatown has towering housing projects, a lot of Hasidic Jews, and one dollar dumplings, which are all the rage recently in my food blogs. I assumed they were a buck per dumpling but as it turned out, for one dollar you get five pieces. The rest of the menu was similarly priced, with a big bowl of wonton noodle soup costing only three dollars. As I waited for Mary to show up post-yoga, I watched the line of people flow in and out of the dumpling place. Black, white, Latino, Asian, young, old. It was a regular Black Eyed Peas' joint.

While eating a cheap meal is glorious and the food was delicious, I couldn't help feeling terrible for the plight of the dumpling makers. A few ladies were right behind the counter rolling and chopping away and I wanted the dumplings to cost more than they did. Maybe they'd be able to work less, or the store could make more, or as Mary put it, "Grandma could go home and get some rest." There's some celebration in finding tasty food that won't rip a hole in your wallet but when it comes at the expense of your people, I'd almost rather pay a premium. Then again, I happily indulge in cheap burritos and McDonald's so there's some faulty logic at work here. Basically I'm a socio-economic racist probably.

Mary's friend lives in a great apartment right next to the park, and it's easily the nicest apartment I've seen in Manhattan. Not boring nice as in marble floors and chandeliers, but nice as in well appointed, with high ceilings and space that feels open and wide -- a rarity I think. A few of the people behind my favorite blogs live in Chinatown and I'd always wondered where they were. I'll find out soon since I'm actively going to be stalking them but until I actually find out, I imagined that Chinatown would be a terrible place to live. Despite its ideal central location, being that close to tons of crazy Chinese people would drive me, well, crazy. But with the edges of Chinatown quickly gentrifying, maybe it's a place I should look into living. One dollar dumplings steps away from my door would be appealing.

The first time I learned about the word "gentrification" was from Mary and her liberal arts school sirens, while I was visiting her in Scotland. They said it was a buzz word I needed to know. "When in doubt, cite 'gentrification!'" Since I went to a public university I didn't know that, and being from the suburbs of San Diego, I'm pretty sure I had no idea what gentrification was in concept or execution. Now it's the evil urban word of the decade. I can't wait to contribute my (hopefully very small) part to the process.

Dog Days Are Over

It's only recently that I've become aware of the social anxiety I get when random groups of people are thrown together. I feel ultimately responsible for everyone's well being, and hope people are getting along and talking to each other. It really has nothing to do with me, most of the time, but I can't help but feel anxious when I'm not sure of the chemistry. Sometimes I'd like to leave a camera behind to observe what happens when I leave the room. Where does the conversation go when I'm not there to turn it toward something I enjoy talking about -- or something that I think they'd enjoy talking about? Can a conversation be unaffected by me if I'm just there and not talking? Or does simply observing change everything? Quantum social mixing, is that something people can study?

Tonight I met up with Mary, who's back from Khartoum but about to head back there soon. We had plans to finally live in the same city in 2011, but apparently her U.N. work will take her away again. For now we're in the same situation, both of us underemployed and free to take our days anywhere. We've reached this point from opposite directions. Or rather I've been at this place for awhile and she's passing through. Mary's twenties took her from studio art, to Taiwan radio jockey, to Princeton grad school, to way overseas in countries I know nothing about and can't really spell, much less pronounce. My twenties were mostly spent shuffling side to side, apparently waiting for Mary to return to useless days space. Now we're in New York for one brief week together.

Being an absolute tech-loser, she had a little Moleskin that was packed with scrimpy writing about the things and places she wanted to go. On that list was eating Momofuku David Chang's favorite meal -- hand pulled noodles from Koreatown -- and on my way to meet her I ran into someone I actually knew, randomly on a street corner. That has never really happened before to me in the city. The chance meeting of two people in a city of eight million seems mathematically improbable but it apparently happens quite a bit. I'm excited for more of these moments. "Hey, what're you doing here?!"

Having more acquaintances would increase those opportunities exponentially I'm sure. I'll be working on that.

The other thing we did tonight was to go watch Brian's stand up show. He hosts a monthly Asian showcase and I haven't seen him perform since he lived in LA. In my opinion, nothing's more intimidating than standing on stage with ten minutes of open time and an expectant crowd. Most of the comedians were great but some were so awkward time practically stopped. It ain't easy being funny. When they say that you have to "win over the crowd," you really have to do that, and usually within the first thirty seconds. The energy you bring to the stage sets the tone in the room so quickly. Come out weak and people lose interest and it's hard to pull them back.

Years ago, when my friend was trying to do the musician thing, we'd go to a lot of his open mikes and performances. Most of the time I'd stand in back and watch the crowd for signs of impatience or irritation. My stomach would tie up in knots as I got nervous for them. Once the crowd settled in, or bobbed their head along to the music, I'd finally be able to relax, even as I kept a running list of things to improve and critique. I'd be such a bad stage parent.

Everybody Got Their Something

Woke up at eight a.m. today, right before Kyle's alarm went off. I thought I'd want to stay in bed but my body had other plans. I've been having this problem for awhile now, waking up super early and not knowing what to do. A productive person would bounce out of bed and be productive. An unproductive person stays in bed and whips through their iPhone apps. As Kyle's alarm kept snoozing, I thought about how hard it is to crawl out of bed and shut an alarm off knowing there's eight hours of work on the other side. Not a struggle I've had to deal with for the last few years, thankfully. I turned the volume up on my podcast to ward off the insistent buzzing instead of snoozing the alarm since I didn't want to interrupt Kyle's Monday morning schedule.

I'm learning to walk again. Tonight after dinner we went from 50th Street to 30th, even though the weather was chilly. We passed through Times Square, stopping atop the giant red staircase over the TKTS booth for a moblog moment. The staircase is new to me and it's where part of the video for Empire State of Mind was shot. I was told that the entire project cost over thirteen million dollars. For a bright red staircase.

The area around the TKTS island has been blocked off on one side too, with picnic table seating available for people to lounge around in and less cars streaming by. Yasmine's out here for work and her hotel room had quite a view of the Empire State Building, which was lit up tonight in whites, greens, and reds in an apparent homage to the Italian flag? Through her windows you can look down and get a vertigo inducing view of the street. I counted the number of cabs to regular cars that shuttled by. Cabs: 20+, Regular Cars: 3. Hailing a cab here isn't an annoyance like it is in SF, another reason to prefer New York.

Regarding Empire State of Mind: It's impossible to not hum that track while walking around the city. It's sick but true. Bill Simmons says part of Jay-Z's business genius is coming up with a new New York anthem that is going to be pumping in royalties for the next ten years -- at least. Jessica sent me this LCD Soundsystem song before I left and I've listened to it at least once a day since. I think I'll incorporate it into my morning mix as it's got the right mix of slow melancholy and soft optimism.

As I'm learning to walk again, my internal "how far is it" meter is being re-adjusted. Anything located within a five block radius is extremely close. One neighborhood over is usually walkeable, even in extreme temperatures. Two is pushing it. Three is a subway ride and anything beyond that normally requires a bit more planning. I've had to resist hopping into a cab a few times already, since that's my usual mode of transportation in New York. But this time I'm a committed public transportation person, and the monthly Metro Card set me back $90 already. The one thing I've already noticed about walking around NY versus SF is how my eyes are focused on the things around me, or upwards toward the buildings, versus downward and scanning the sidewalk for dog poop and possible pee puddles.

I should stop comparing things.

Same Sun

If I drink, I wake up early, that's the rule. Sunday morning I found myself awake around nine, even though we hadn't gotten back and settled into bed until past four. There was an Asian American literary festival going on and a friend was reading at eleven. I had been pretty certain I wasn't going to make it that early but seeing as I was up, I decided to trek over to Brooklyn and be a supportive person.

For the first week, I'm staying with Kyle, whose apartment is located in Southstreet Seaport, only one stop away from Dumbo, right across the river. I arrived at the literary event on time -- a trend I hope to sustain as part of the new me -- and went upstairs to settle in the stage area. There were a lot of big Asian American writer types slated to be at the festival but I'm not facially familiar with many of them so didn't expect to recognize anyone. Five minutes after I arrived however, I saw Jeff Yang sitting in the alcove. He was technically my boss ten years ago at a.Magazine, although I doubt he'd remember a marketing intern from a decade ago. Another friend of mine worked there too, right before they closed down, a fact I'd totally forgotten about until right then.

Among many other projects, Yang now writes a column for SF Gate. I had actually spent some of my time on the flight coming up with a story arc and character idea for the planned sequel to Secret Identities, an Asian superhero graphic novel, which Jeff edits. If I were a braver man, I'd have stepped up and tried to sell him on my idea before I submitted it. Lately I've been bookmarking sites and blogs that have open submissions, as I need to make more pieces for public consumption. Being able to contribute to an Asian American superhero anthology would be a combination of dreams.

Sam, who was my workshop teacher back in SF, now lives a much coveted bicoastal lifestyle, swinging between SF and NY. She's getting her MFA in playwriting out here but still performs and travels back to the Bay quite often. During our class, she had mentioned a prose piece she'd been working on about lap dances, strippers, and boyfriends. We'd heard a snippet from back then, and that almost finished piece was the one she read today. It's always interesting to see your instructor in action, watching them execute things they've taught you, albeit at a much higher level. Aha, I think, that's what she meant by that lesson.

Immediately following Sam's reading was a scheduled panel that included Das Racist. A friend is family friends with one of them, and said that they were wicked smart. I wanted to hear it in action. Plus I was hoping to get a picture of them to surprise her. Half an hour past the scheduled start time, Das was still nowhere to be found. My first thought was: typical rappers. But then I looked up their recent tweets and it said the New York Marathon, being run that Sunday, had made them indefinitely delayed. True story? You are what you tweet...

As it was a beautiful day, Sam and I walked across the Brooklyn Bridge, past the Statue of Liberty off in the distance, and back into lower Manhattan.