Flattering Criticisms, New Silly Neighborhoods

Something I had forgotten but rediscovered today is that New York breeds a certain kind of restlessness in me. I've been sick for three weeks straight and really should have spent this holiday in bed, surfing the internet and reading Atmospheric Disturbances by Rivka Galchen. My favorite part so far is when the narrator, Leo, discusses an argument he has with his "authentic" wife, Rema:

But I did tell Rema that her response was ludicrously out of proportion. She must actually be worried about something else, I said. She had an endogenous mesallaiance, I concluded. She said she didn't know what a mesallaince as, or what endogenous was, and that I was arrogant, awful, a few other things as well. I liked those accusations and found them flattering and thought she was right.

What if all everyone liked the accusations you threw at them? What if they were grateful for the criticisms and harsh words? Maybe, just like Leo, we should find it flattering when people point out our flaws. It shows a kind of caring - an negative sign of affection. I don't think anyone outside of a book would really ever feel that way. And as an overly direct yet ridiculously sensitive person, I certainly don't, even though I'm always relieved to hear the absolute, complete truth. Well, I'm relieved after I cry a little.

That was sort of a tangent. What I really set out to talk about was my restlessness today, and how I worsened a slight cold by wandering in the freezing cold in one of the silliest neighborhoods known to man. I won't name it because I'll probably end up moving there (I'm awaiting landlord approval as I type), but you should know that it's in Brooklyn and it even has a really ridiculous name. It also happens to be the neighborhood my grandmother literally landed in when she migrated from Puerto Rico. She remembers the boat docking and then walking to a cousin's house near the water. They stayed for a little while and then moved to the neighborhood where I'm currently subletting, Williamsburg. Apparently, there were more (possibly better) cousins to hang out with over here. It's sort of a big decision to not live in Fort Greene, which I loved and still has a lot going for it. Unfortunately, the few times I've hung out there over the last three months I felt myself slipping into the same funk of last August, and, well, that's just not going to work this time around. Banish the funk!

Anyway, I wandered all over the new neighborhood and checked out the synagogue, perused the menus of a Japanese restaurant that makes a decent tuna avocado roll, purchased Dayquil and Nyquil at a gigantic RiteAid (one of three within like ten blocks; I told you the neighborhood is ridiculous), and bought a cup of coffee at a tiny cafe with a talkative proprietor with tons of opinions on art (thumbs up to Van Gogh and Basquiat; thumbs down to Jackson Pollock!) and who tipped me off to a Berber-speaking waitress at one of my favorite restaurants (which is run by his brother). I really hope she speaks the same dialect I do, and that I can actually remember some! And that she doesn't think I'm totally crazy for wanting to order falafel plates in Tashlheit. Maybe she'll be flattered, actually.

And by "aggressive" do you actually mean assertive?

This New York Times article was interesting to read post-election.

http://www.nytimes.com/2008/11/11/us/politics/11south.html?partner=permalink&exprod=permalink

There are still people who find the idea of African-Americans as assertive, equal partners in society as frightening as they did fifty years ago. Only now it's not necessarily about equal access to schools or jobs (except that it actually is even though there are laws governing that sort of thing) it's about the most basic respect on the street. Who moves to the right when you're about to run into each other? Who gets to speak up at town halls? The people interviewed in this article use the word "aggressive" a lot to describe how blacks will act now that we have a Preseident-Elect Obama. It reminds me in many ways how assertive women are often labeled bitches or Jews too pushy for doing very similar things they're male or gentile counterparts do all the time. And I'm actually quite worried about how this will play out in more rural areas, where even as recently as this year we've heard stories of forced confessions under police beatings and horrific lynchings of black adolescents simply for being "too aggressive" in schoolyard skirmishes. Yes, we've elected our first African-American president, but we still have a great deal of work to do.

True Story

I just got back from the BYFI Fall Forum, which was all about Jewish writing in America today. It's a topic that's been much-mulled over, and proclaimed dead by more than one person with way more credentials than me. But I found it kind of inspiring. There are three new authors whose books I'm definitely going to pick up: Dara Horn (BYFI '94!), Rivka Galchen (she grew up like me but in Oklahoma!), and Elisa Albert (she is vehemently NOT a Jewish writer). Little ideas for my own novel came to mind while I sat in the audience, but I think I'll leave them to rest in my notebook for now. Yes, characters will probably be based on you.

Oh, it's just a little chopped liver

Accidentally, I ate some chopped liver. This totally goes against my pseudo-vegetarian (aka pickiness) habits, which were developed in direct response to the massive amounts of meat I was forced to eat in Morocco. It's not that I had meat every day, mind you. It was expensive, and therefore a special treat. But because it was considered special and a yummy, nutritious treat to be savored it was served in heaping mounds with maybe a few olives thrown in. Entire chickens and rabbits just piled up on plates. I was grateful for the protein, but it's a little odd when you notice your neighborhood has far fewer sounds of clucking. So here in the states I've been sticking to fish (plants that move really) and tofu for my protein needs. I'm one of the few people who find the taste and texture of tofu appealing. So that's what I ordered at this little Asian place in my current Brooklyn neighborhood, and I just realized that what I was hoping was eggplant is actually liver. It's kind of like when I was presented with an entire rabbit to eat, I practically willed it to be chicken. It tastes like it!

Sorting it all out

When I was little my Uncle Oliver would throw me up in the air and catch me over and over again. It was my favorite game. It made me feel happy, cared for and exhilarated all at the same time. When Senator Barack Obama was declared the winner of Tuesday night's election, I felt all of these things. Finally, taking a leap of faith had paid off. All of a sudden a whole new world opened up. I shed a single tear, took some pictures with my friend Yaelle, called my mother, aunt and grandmother and texted everyone I knew. On the two hour ride through the subways to Williamsburg I saw the tired yet elated faces of my fellow New Yorkers. When I finally emerged above ground the riot police were blocking off Bedford Avenue while search helicopters saught stray "rioters" on side streets. Apparently, some people were a little too happy in this Obama stronghold.

Over the past few days a new feeling has settled in. When I was little the beach was my weekend hangout. My mother allowed me to swim alone, but always gave me a strict marker on my bathing suit that I wasn't allowed to go past. At the time Hawaii was one of those majestic places where you could see straight to the bottom of the ocean floor. It helped if you were interested in avoiding sea urchins and sharp rocks. Go out too far and you would injure your feet, or worse, get caught in a rip tide and be carried out to sea. On those rare weekends when my father was home he often decided that I needed to be toughened up. He would carry me much further out into the ocean, waaaay past my safety marker. So incredibly far, that I couldn't see through the water to the bottom (it helps to keep in mind that he was literally twice my height). I would hold onto him for dear life and protest quite loudly that he carry me back to shore. Sometimes he obliged me, but mostly he wanted me to explore and to see the world from a little further away. All I felt was the huge expanse of the sea ready to swallow me up, and take me away from everything I knew.

Those feelings of uncertainty, of the completely and utterly unknown are what have settled in. What does it mean to have an Obama presidency? What does it man to not have a Bush or Clinton in the White House? On a personal note, what does it mean to have someone like me in the presidency? Not just "like me" because he's biracial, but because he was raised by a single mother and his grandparents, plus he's well-educated, progressive, pragmatic and young. Yes, many of these things could describe President Bill Clinton, but, honestly I wasn't nearly as cognizant of his administration as I was of President George W. Bush's. The consequences of the latter presidency will stay with us for generations to come, no matter how amazing (or not) President Obama proves to be. I have high hopes for the next four (dare I say, eight) years, but I'm also full of the fear of the unknown. It's actually a positive fear in an odd way. That scared feeling you get when you sense your hopes are being raised, and you just hope to God that no one will bring them down, but you know someone probably will, so you hold back a little.

I thought that I would have carried the unexamined elation of Tuesday through at least today!

In other news: Williams beat Amherst in their 123rd match-up. I love my new job (more on that later). I love the new Trader Joe's in Cobble Hill (way more on that later). Karin and Ryu are getting married next weekend and I'm going to be a bridesmaid. (I bought gold shoes today - 30% off! I am so a recessionista.) I'm happy to be back in New York.

xoxoxo

Is anyone else incredibly nervous?

I've avoided TV and radio for the past three days (sorry, Rachel - you're still Rachel-tastic!), but all I can think about is tomorrow and the crazy consequences that are in store for our country if things don't go a certain (OK, my) way. Here's what I'm reading and watching to keep myself calm and hopeful:




and



Vote early and keep your fingers crossed. I'll be in Park Slope either celebrating or mourning. I have a special feeling about this one though.

Because I Love Numbers More Than You Realize

I am obsessed with this blog. (Thanks to Eric! [Or did Greg actually find it first?]) It's possible that I would enjoy it less if my guy were losing, but since he has a 92.5% chance of winning today, I love it. A lot. Also, the writers have a habit of making fun of the Drudge Report, which also makes me smile. "Drudge" is a word my grandmother uses to describe the stuff caught in the drain of the kitchen sink.

Today I'm going up north to spend time with my aunt and uncle before I depart for New York (again) on Friday. We'll probably watch MSNBC, eat In-N-Out burgers (even though I am 95% vegetarian now), and roam around Carlsbad. I'm not really sure, but I love spending time with them, and am sad that I won't be able to do it as frequently as I have over the past four months. Boo. New York, you better be worth it.

Vote! I did!

Today I went to the San Diego Registrar of Voters and voted early! After months of waiting and waiting I finally got to mark my ballot for Barack Obama. I am so happy!

Now if only my clothes would pack themselves . . .

And We're Back

Is anyone still reading this? Well, besides lovely Matthew, who occasionally looks up from his intense social calendar of tea, leather and mountain climbs to read about my silly musings on CostCo. If you are: thanks!

About eighteen months ago I decided that New York had given up on me. It's an intensely fickle city, full of itinerant freelancers and subletters. Most people I know are struggling to figure out their careers, and we're never sure if it's because we're under thirty or if because the city is just more difficult than other places. For some reason many New Yorkers believe that by simply existing in that space they are somehow "making it". Fearing that trap, I made a decision to leave, sold all my furniture, gave up a lease on a disgusting vermin-infested studio (thank you, Parkoff Management!) and jaunted off to Morocco. What a great idea that was!

Actually, it was. As difficult as my experience turned out to be--the lack of water, the parasites, the crazy host sisters who thought it was OK to gossip about my health and spend 8 hours in a too hot public bath, and the men who thought daily marriage proposals should be considered carefully (highest offer? 100,000 camels!)--it was worth it. I never want it to be thought that I didn't value my time in that place. The most important lesson I took from that experience, however, wasn't the three languages I learned, or the insights into a different culture, or how to make cous-cous. It wasn't even my realization that I'm somewhat of a change junkie. What I hope to always carry with me is the knowledge that I am my best and only true judge.

And so next week I return to New York, to work in my chosen field, in a position I've always thought I wanted. I hope it's true. It's work that I love and believe is important, in a place that I've always felt the most myself. I'm frightened that I'll fall into some old, very damaging patterns, that only serve to undermine my happiness. Mostly, I'm anxious about leaving my family again. Who will take me to CostCo and make sure I see the latest Hollywood releases? The wanderlust in me has been cured, though, I think. Everything else will follow.

My Grandmother Has a Crush on Jon Stewart

The television in my house is a hot commodity. Four adults with very different viewing preferences reside here. My mother will watch anything and everything on the SciFi Channel, including but by no means excluded to, Eureka, Dr. Who, Dead Like Me and some show about a man whose parents sold his soul to the devil when he was born. Rick enjoys WWF and Burn Notice. I enjoy anything on Showtime (Weeds and Dexter are probably my favorites), along with Lost and The Office.

My grandmother has always liked what we affectionately call "dead people shows." House, Monk, CSI, CSI: Miami, Law and Order, Law and Order: Criminal Intent, Cold Case, NCIS, Bones and a myriad of other shows which tend to revolve around an illness or crime and wrap up their story lines within the hour. She despises Lost even though I've explained that the main character is a doctor, just like House, there are mysteries to be solved and a few people even manage to die. She's not buying it; she thinks the polar bear is ridiculous, and that a bunch of pretty people on an island should really "get a grip". She also doesn't find comedies funny. (Don't get me wrong, Grandma actually has a fabulous sense of humor; she just finds sit-coms inane.)

But while I was away on a recent trip to New York (yay!), as you may know, Senator John McCain named little-known Governor Sarah Palin as his running mate. For some reason this has opened up a whole new world of television. She watches Countdown with Keith Olbermann and The Rachel Maddow Show with me. There are few objections when I watch the other news programs. Somehow the whole X chromosome ploy by McCain didn't win over my Grandma - a woman who once told me that Senator Barack Obama was smarmy, and that she didn't understand how people my age could be so enthusiastic about him. And tonight, after a lovely trip to CostCo for a three pound package of strawberries, I turned on The Daily Show, and Grandma admitted that "Jon Stewart is so cute." Obviously, this country is on the right track.