the addictive qualities of life

Here’s a shot of the city from my office window as the storm was kicking into high gear.

Here’s a view of my daily office distraction without the nasty-ness.

Miserable. And no, I’m not talking about another Valentine’s Day. I’m talking about the lovely mix of ice/sleet/snow that’s been gently rapping on my window for the past evening, as if even the weather couldn’t stand the nasty conditions outside.

In 2 minutes I’m out the door to wage my daily battle with the city. Crushed bodies, odd smells and a 45 minute commute giving me all the time in the world to take it in and read a book. The B train wasn’t working last night due to the weather and I doubt it will this morning. Sharpen the elbows fellas! I love this city…

Ohh… and I almost forgot. Happy Valentine’s Day!~ 

“The television event America has been waiting for.” The ABC promo teased me and prodded me and let me know exactly where I stood in regards to American culture. I hadn’t even heard of the show that was being featured, much less did I realize there was an episode all of America had set in their collective calendars to catch.

I finally, completely, unpacked my suitcase from the big move this past week. After sifting through red-yellow-black Hula necklaces and tiny boxes that, when wound, play Motzart’s “Nachtmusik”, I found myself scraping up dust from chunks of the Berlin Wall and glitter that had fallen off of children’s goodbye cards, all forming a collective mosaic at the bottom of my suitcase. It’s amazing how a box full of nothing can mean the world to some peole.

I still haven’t hung memories on the wall or scattered my shelves with souveniers from Europe. They are all sitting in a large drawer next to my desk in an ordered heap of memories. It’s unusual because hanging trinkets and dangling momentos is my thing.

I’m happy here in New York. Really. I am. But I’m allowed to be sentimental, right? I’m allowed to wake up at night and not know exactly where I am, thinking I’m back in good old Lenbachstr 1 with Ulla and the Happy Pig beneath me and Duc down at the foodmart, talking to me about girls and asking me for English mini-lessons. I loved that neighborhood.

The other day, New Mexico State University came across my desk at work and it reminded me of this guy from the Kiez — he was from New Mexico and was always wearing an NMSU hat. We got to talking one night at the pub, I’d always seen him around, really friendly guy, but he invited me out to his buddy’s bookstore — there was a party going on. Really, a party in the bookstore. Full bar and everything. So whenever conversation died down, you just picked up a book and either a) removed yourself from the social pressures or b) elicited a new conversation with your book choice. And somehow through it all, and this is really the catch, it remained totally unpretentious. Eitherwho, so this guy named Boris gets on stage with his guitar. I’d seen him around a bit as well. He led a Russian Rock/Punk band called The Flashbacks, easily my most favoritest band in Berlin. But he get’s on stage, just him and his guitar on this little home-made box of an elevated stage, and he breaks into Katjusha. Everything in the room stopped: all eyes and ears and every-other-sense organ were on Boris. A band had played earlier, but to the usual party affair of background music / nice filler. But this… it was the only time in my life that I’ve ever seen that kind of reaction from on audience in regards to the musician, myself included in the bunch. But I digress…

As I mentioned, I’m happy here in New York. I am. Really. 

It got cold. Berlin cold. Walking through the concrete canyons of Manhattan on my way to work, the wind whipped my cheeks into a burning redness I could do little to prevent. It reminded me of “the good ol’ days”. Half the work I do takes place in a new office — I’m actually the first person to sit at its desk. It is so new that the windows haven’t been corked and the door hasn’t been sealed. Thus, a draft filled the room, giving a constant reminder of just how nasty it was outside. We spent the morning at our computers decked out in scraves and hats. We made it though. And no frostbite to show for it.

In other news, I found a place to live. I’m stoked, as I should be. I had no idea the relief I would feel once I had that last piece of the puzzle taken care of. Now I can finally start to settle in. The flat is in Prospect Heights (Brooklyn), about 953 steps north of Prospect Park. Summer, here I come! I’m sharing the flat with two other roomates, a guy from N’awlins and a girl from SoCal. Really chill, friendly, good people (or so they play themselves off to be) — I’m looking forward to grilling some food with them on our roof or our fire-escape or playing soccer in the kitchen or learning to use a sewing machine. All that, PLUS, my tiny room comes with a window! We’re talking luxury here! Book your night now, because floor space is going fast!

I’ll miss the flat I’m in right now though. Actually, not so much. But it has been an interesting situation. I paid my weekly rent but leaving the cash under the matress of my bed: Sometime during the week the Rent-Fairy would sweep in and leave another weeks stay under my pillow. Then there’s the Polish deli next door (I’ve been treating myself to a veritable Polish feast the past two weeks). And no flat would be complete without the neighborhood bar. Really, truly, everyone there knows your name (my name included). And they even show Texas basketball games! When Texas wins, people there buy me a drink. When Texas loses…. they still buy me that drink. I gotta stop by more often! 

The first day on the job.  I’m somewhere up on the 15th floor of the slender building to the right. The Trump Tower is on the left side of the picture. The Chrysler Building is squeezed into the background. I have no idea what the red brick building is (it’s only my 7th day in the City).