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.

Let Me Love You

After landing at LaGuardia, I jumped in a cab toward the city. Caught up texting and checking Twitter while the ride was happening, I had to remind myself to put the phone away to stare out toward the city as we approached. It's a cinematic gesture, and while the view isn't surprising or necessarily breathtaking, it's an important one to take in to create that artificial "I'm here!" moment.

Arriving in Chelsea, Amit's doorman greeted me by my full first and last name as I went into his building. Confused, I tried to recall if I knew him from my last visit. "Hi?"

"I recognize you from Facebook!" he said. Ah. Of course Amit is Facebook friends with his doorman. If I'm ever to achieve the noble status of unionized door person, that's the sort of intimate relationship I'll need to build with my clients. The door guy gave me an extra set of keys, opened the elevator, and then escorted me up. That's amore. Once inside, I noticed a Toy Story Martian mask in Amit's closet, which I recognized from his Halloween tweet. You really are connected through Twitter, even from friends far away.

Everyone was just finishing up the boat ride in honor of Thyda's thirtieth birthday, and I waited for their phone call. Thyda and her friend had invited a hundred friends to fill a four hundred capacity boat. I had really wanted to attend but the flight times didn't make that a possibility. Seeing as it was sub-forty out, I decided that my late arrival might actually have been a good thing. I changed into every layer I could in anticipation of the weather. I decided I'd forgo gloves and hats until absolutely necessary, to build up my winter tolerance.

Once I got in touch with everyone, I was directed to a bar on 23rd and 3rd, a street I spent a lot of time on last summer. It holds our favored karaoke place, as well as the bar where many shenanigans have happened on previous visits. Of course it figures that the thing we'd do on my first hours back in New York was to visit familiar haunts. It's probably one of two bars in the city I could find without the help of an iPhone. The bar was intensely crowded and I couldn't quite handle the mass of people and music, and neither could anybody else, so we went over to karaoke to clean out the night.

I guess most people don't sing "Part of Your World" with as much intensity and seriousness as we do. The non-regulars among us couldn't stop laughing. They should have been singing along.