I have a post up on This Ordinary Day today. When I was trying to brainstorm ideas for the title, these phrases crossed my mind. And the comment about watering your flowers in this article about prioritizing captures the same sentiment too. Alas, I ended up with “Thank You.”
Whenever I peruse Flickr, I always lose track of time. I can never just scan through photos for 30 minutes or even an hour. It becomes an all-day obsession. My eyes hurt from staring at the screen. I have to put on my glasses. I have more tabs open than my computer knows what to do with. The inspiration is neverending, including things I’d never thought about being inspiring.
Here’s a collection of some recent additions to my favorites
{Credits. Top to bottom, left to right. Row One: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Row Two: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Row three: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Row four: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Row Five: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6. Row Six: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6.}
My best friend and I started using the phrase “Just another day in the city…” after I’d tell her about something absurd or unbelievable that I’d witnessed in New York. No matter how random the event was, by New York City standards, it was just another day. Like a weekend stroll in Union Square when I accidentally started walking in line with protesters passionate about Taiwan. Another time, I passed Cynthia Nixon on 16th Street one rainy day after work — and literally stopped, turned around and stared (with mouth open) as she walked past me. I’m not too fond of taxis, and I have to wonder if part of the reason is because one brushed against my right side as I was in the middle of a crosswalk during my lunch break. After being knocked to the ground, I picked myself up and continued on to the library. The bruises lasted a week but the story will live on forever. I’m not one for mingling in places where celebrities hang out, but Sean “Puffy” Combs and I had dinner at the same restaurant one night. He was even wearing a puffy coat. I actually felt like a celebrity when the cast and crew of America’s Next Top Model paused filming in Central Park for my running class to pass by. And then they clapped for us. I got the impression they thought we were training for a marathon and I wasn’t going to correct them.
Here are a few “just another day in the city” observations from this weekend (a little less exciting, but memorable nonetheless).
Celebrity sighting
Upon leaving work, I forced myself to walk through Times Square. I occasionally dare myself to do this, not so much as a test of patience or grace, but more to remind myself that I live in New York. That this place I dreamed of living when I was in high school has become my reality. That a few blocks from my office is the center of the tourist universe. And while I was cursing tourists under my breath for abruptly stopping and taking up the entire sidewalk, I noticed Saturday Night Live alum Rachel Dratch quietly walking past me. Spotting celebrities will never get old to me.
Sidewalk portraits
The artists who line the entrance to Central Park have an overwhelming affinity for showcasing their drawings of Angelina Jolie. They display other celebrities and regular people too, but it must be a requirement to set up shop on this path that you know how to draw Angelina specifically. While most of the artists’ work appears interchangeable, you can weed out one dude whose Angie portrait barely resembles her.
I’ll admit that when my sister and I were younger, our parents let us get caricatures done when we were on vacation. But I’m still baffled by how many artists are in Central Park everyday. I’m not sure how much business they have at 8:30 a.m. on a Sunday, but I appreciated the note one man left on his chair next to his easel that listed his phone number and said that if you called, he’d come right down. Which made me wonder if he’d climbed up in the tree or something. I sure wouldn’t mind a treehouse in Central Park.
Product instructions
Picked up cottonballs from the grocery store and got a kick out of the suggestions/instructions for use: “BABY CARE: Soft and gentle for cleaning a baby’s delicate skin. ARTS & CRAFTS: Ideal for art projects and creative hobbies.” Or, you know, removing eye makeup. Whatever.
Subway characters
I remember yelling at my sister a lot when we were younger because she blatantly stared at people. To the point that even I was uncomfortable. Subway commutes make it entirely too easy — and guilt free — to look at people. So I stare. A lot. And that seems to be OK with everyone else. One man caught my attention yesterday. He reminded me of a cross between Mr. Clean and actor/diabetic/Liberty Medical and Quaker Oats spokesman Wilford Brimley. Which is to say he was not a small guy and looked rather intimidating. Once he sat down, I noticed his baby blue shirt said “Animal Haven” in the center. Then I noticed that he also had his ear pierced, much like Mr. Clean, and that he had tattoos covering the majority of his arms. There’s something about picturing a large, gruff looking, middle-aged man playing with kittens that makes my day. It wasn’t until he exited the train that I noticed all of his tattoos were of animals — mostly dogs. I nearly melted.
I’ve always operated under the unspoken rule of friendship that when you come across a book, movie, blog or song that you love, you share it. If something brings you a lot of joy, why not let other people in on it. Especially people you like. Because that’s nice.
But my friends don’t really follow this unspoken rule. Only after I’ve discovered something and rave about it to them will they say, “Oh yeah, that band is really good.” or “I know. I thought that movie was great when I saw it two months ago.” After which I’m all “WTF. Why didn’t you tell me? I don’t have cable! I don’t have a radio! How else am I supposed to find these things in a timely manner if you don’t have my back?”
In the spirit of sharing and following unspoken rules of friendship, here’s some music I’ve been enjoying lately:
“Heartbeats” by Jose Gonzalez
Youtube actually recommended it to me. This particular video with the song is actually a commercial, which would normally make me like it 43 percent less, but I’m actually quite fond of them together. Particularly entranced by the guitar, and the perfect background for reading and writing.
“Will You Be There” by Michael Jackson (perhaps more widely known as the “Free Willy song”)
Seems everyone is blaring “Billie Jean,” “Thriller” and “Pretty Young Thing” in memory of Michael. But I gotta give this song some props. I’m a sucker for large choirs (especially when they include children). Also. It makes me want to twirl around and swim with whales. And perform the dance circa the 4:30-5 minute mark. Don’t judge.
“Windowdipper” by Jib Kidder
First heard this Thursday night on “So You Think You Can Dance” when Ade performed a solo. Holy Mother. It was awesome. The music. The moves. I had a moment. I impatiently waited until the show’s website was updated so I could find out the real name of the song (I had it in my head as “Windowwasher” and wasn’t having much luck finding it). I love the energy the song has and how the sounds are so layered (though I’m not entirely sure what’s going on in the video, especially the last few seconds).
If you have any stellar songs, I think you know who you should send them to. Because that’d be nice.
Yesterday I had one of those terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days. One where you have to go on a walk around the block to get fresh air and remind yourself to take deep breaths. Where you try not to fall apart, but can’t focus on anything else.
Even after i got home, I couldn’t stop replaying the day’s events in my head. Finally I decided to have an intervention with myself. Which consisted of thinking of things I was thankful for. My mood and mindset weren’t changing on their own, so I new I had to force myself in a different direction.
Here’s what came to mind:
1) Comforting coworkers who will join you on a walk around the block, send a message asking if you’re OK and have the ability to make you laugh no matter how defeated you feel. I actually wrote thank you notes to the people who were nice to me on Monday. Not only did writing the notes make me feel better that night, but people’s responses today (big hugs, expressions of gratitude, kind words) confirmed that I’d done the right thing…it was just as much for them as it was for me, really. One coworker mentioned she couldn’t remember the last time she’d received a thank you note.
Let’s bring gratitude back. Who’s with me?
2) Nicely defined kneecaps. I realize how weird this sounds. Who cares how your kneecaps look? But the past couple weeks I’ve sat across from people on the train who had such obese legs that they didn’t have knees — their legs just bent. I’m not trying to slam people who lack knee definition. I’m just saying that it made me appreciate the way my knees look in a way I’d never thought about before. Honestly, how much recognition do kneecaps even get? So here it is.
Dear kneecaps,
I like you just the way you are. I wish you actually moved up and down instead of diagonally, because then running wouldn’t hurt, but at least you look good!
Sincerely,
Jacky
3) Running. For the endorphins. For the release. For being able to hit the pavement and use my aggression to power up a hill four times — my final time being faster than my first. It’s like the lyrics from Somewhere Over the Rainbow — “Where troubles melt like lemon drops.” Except my stress was melting through all my sweat.
4) Puppies. My parents brought home another dog on Friday. An eight-week old Whoodle named Zoe (or Zoey, depending on who in the family you ask. We haven’t reached a verdict on how to spell it.) My dad has sent me at least 10 videos of the puppy, including a 23-minute recap of her Fourth of July (which thankfully did not include fireworks or a body of water). Most of the footage is basically stuff like Zoe just sitting there and staring up at my dad. Or Zoe passed out on the floor. Or Zoe attacking my vintage Pound Puppy Fred (remember those?). But what gets my every time is when Zoe and all of her six pounds attempt to jump onto the couch or up a step. She’s just not big enough to get anywhere, but that doesn’t stop her from trying. Even if she propels herself into a tailspin in the process. That girl is persistent.
5) Black plums. My new favorite fruit. Is it me or does it seem like the plum is underappreciated? How often do you hear about them? How many recipes do you see that include them as an ingredient? And I’m almost entranced by the rich color of the skin and the brighter, fleshy inside. Not to mention, they’re delicious.
I am thankful for many more things (a pay check, health insurance, Central Park, hair, sports bras, pockets, dark chocolate, pens, notebooks, air conditioning, laughter…) but I’ll leave it at that because it’s bedtime, and if I wrote down everything I was truly thankful for, I’m not sure I’d ever stop writing. Here’s to hoping that you don’t need a negative kick to recognize the things in life that you’re thankful for.
Clicked through to The New Declaration of the United States of America website from an ad on the New York Times homepage. Interesting campaign from Levi’s, of all places, asking people to share their truths.
(Clever tie in of the “Go forth” concept and the Fourth of July)
Here’s a couple of the reader-submitted voices of the revolution:
“We hold these truths to be no brainers: that women are equal to men, that no one actually knows what the hell is going on, that we dance somewhere amongst chaos and faith, the pursuit of Happiness is never ending, that death comes to all but rock n roll, schools are better than bombs, love is to be shared, and the money is never worth it.” —Anonymous
“I want to go forth and explore. Explore the unknown. Integrate new cultures, beliefs, foods, sounds and more into my life. I want to share these things with everyone. That’s where I want to go.” —Anonymous
Should you feel so inclined, you have the option of submitting your own story of “today’s America” until August 1 (and the chance to be featured in a live gallery).
I have a tree. She doesn’t have a name yet, and I generally don’t look at her much above eye level, but she’s mine.
When I arrive at Central Park to run, she’s my destination. There is something reassuring about having this routine, a designated beginning to my run. And it gets me in the habit of warming up, without which I would be in enormous pain. I use her for balance to stretch my quads, and I lunge against her to keep my calves from getting too tight. When I lean down to reach for my toes, she hides my ass from the masses of park patrons and tourists. I appreciate that she values modesty. Her branches give me enough shade so I can delay sweating for just a few more minutes, something that doesn’t go unnoticed (Thank you, dear tree). I never have to share her with anyone either.
My post-run stretching doesn’t always find me by my tree. Sometimes I take a different path or don’t loop around and I have to find another place to stretch. I’m a bit out of sorts, stumbling to find another sturdy tree to aid in my cool down. None have ever been as “just right” as mine.
With so many people in this city that I have to share everything else with, it’s nice to have a tree. If only she had a water fountain nearby. Then it’d be perfection.
(photo from my June trip to Sanibel Island, Fla., where I forgot how relaxing it was to be a beach bum)
Wishing I could run my toes through the sand and chase waves right now. Will have to settle for fireworks instead. Happy Birthday, America!
Taking buses in New York is always an adventure. They never run on time. You never know how many people will already be on them. It’s impossible to gauge how long it will take to get somewhere because of factors like traffic, or people throwing themselves on the windshield because they’re pissed the driver won’t let them on (yes, this actually happened, and I was on the bus. Quite the spectacle, I must say).
I’m always amazed by the way so many people treat the bus like their personal car. Today a woman blocked the entryway and took up two seats with her cart and boxes. I realize I am probably one of the few people who has read subway and bus etiquette on the transit authority’s website, but when a bus is full, it’s incredibly rude to invade as much space as possible with all your crap, which honestly looks like trash you’re taking to a dumpster. People have no qualms about screaming on their cell phones, yelling at their children or holding up the line so they can ask the bus driver detailed questions about their commute.
But what I love about buses is the view, which is by far better than subway tunnels. Today I saw courts full of teenage boys shooting hoops. The glow of the sunset casting its soft haze on buildings. And the crowds of people still mourning Michael Jackson’s death outside the Apollo Theater in Harlem, leaving flowers and writing messages. I also saw a whole bunch of cops surrounding a couple guys, but it was too dark to really see what was going on.
I’ve tried convincing skeptical friends of the benefits of the bus — that they can be much more direct and put you much closer to your destination than a train; they’re not as confusing to navigate as you might worry; they really don’t get stuck in traffic (most of the time they’re in a special lane anyways). But not many people believe me. Which is fine, I guess, because it increases my chances of getting a seat.
“What is the feeling when you’re driving away from people, and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? It’s the too huge world vaulting us, and it’s good-bye. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies.” — Jack Kerouac
If I had the choice of knowing when to say goodbye and being forced to say goodbye, I’d easily pick the first. Because then my plans would be solidified and stable. But talking with friends lately (some of whom have been laid off, others who are bracing for it), I’ve started to realize that an unexpected goodbye could be just what you need to open the way for something you’d never thought or prepared for. And while that sounds incredibly scary for a planner like me, it’s also reassuring that even when you’re not working on your own terms, things will eventually fall into place, and perhaps in a completely different way than you expected. And life may be all the better for it.