Veering Off Course

A few thoughts after reading Friday's article in the New York Times about visiting Portland by bicycle:

- Why does the old gray lady always focus on North/east Portland? They did mention Hopworks on Powell, but visually, the photos are from the St. Johns and Broadway bridges and the intersection by Beaterville. I like it up there, too, but when did that neighborhood become the representation of the whole city? Then again, maybe I shouldn't complain, since the newbie transplants will all move there and leave Southeast alone. Wait, I'm moving to NE soon...nah, below Broadway doesn't count.

- Love the mapping program at byCycle.org, the bicycle version of the subway lifesaver HopStop.

- I wish I had known about Portland-based documentary Veer (which follows five local cyclists) when it was still hanging around Portland theaters. Instead, I'll have to wait until it comes home from screening at Lincoln Center on May 5.

- Maybe tell people where to rent bikes in town! For my New Yorkers, when you come to visit, we'll start here. And we'll rock and roll around town!

PAUSE 2.0

Maybe I'm a flake who can never manage to start something she starts. Maybe I'm lazy. Whatever (big "W" gesture with my thumbs and index fingers). I don't feel like writing about Portland anymore. I still love Portland. I still love New York. And who knows...maybe I'll be inspired again to blog about it/them. But for now, I'm just going to enjoy spring in Portland, the most beautiful time to be here, and not spend time in front of my computer trying to record it. I still love ponies. And I'm still "blogging," maybe on a smaller scale, at Percolating (random thoughts and camera phone photos) and Subway Reading (coming soon!).

Sushi Shocker

Photo of Sushi Takahashi from EverywhereMag.com


I was amazed to find out the other day that Kristen never knew about conveyor belt sushi joints until she stumbled across one in San Francisco. There are NONE in New York -- how can the epicenter of international cuisine and food gimmicks not be home to at least one of these?? Not being a huge fan of sushi, I only went to my first one last summer with a former co-worker, where I got a kick out of picking only the cheapest color-coded plates, which also happened to me my favorite Japanese restaurant staples: edamame and gyoza. There are so many of these places in Portland I can't even begin to name them all (what's your favorite?). Jeez, there's even one in our newly remodeled Hawthorne Fred Meyer! Which I admit made me laugh out loud since it's looks so randomly out-of-place in the middle of a grocery store deli. (Side note: Entertaining to read the Twitters about the remodel, and it appears I'm not the only one who was surprised by the sushi boats.)

Anyway, this whole shocking turn of events got me thinking about the unique little features of Portland and New York that the two cities don't share. This blog is loosely about trying to figure out how exactly to define the common energies of the two places. But since I'm trying to choose between them, maybe I should examine what each offers that the other can't. Starting with conveyor belt sushi. Stay tuned for an ongoing old-school Excel spreadsheet to examine this further.

PAUSE

When I started this blog, I wasn't a fan of diary-style blogs, full of mundane day-to-day activities that, really, only the person writing cares about. And I'm still not. But I softened my stance to write about my trip to New York, since I felt the experience would be, well, PONY-centric. And it was! But since I seem to be changing my mind about everything every single day, especially where to live and what to do with my life, I think it's time to put my personal revelations on the shelf for a bit until I get them sorted out for my self. So back to the posts about Portland and New York, not necessarily about me. There's plenty to talk about, you'll see! And if you're curious about what else I'm reading/seeing/thinking about, check out my random new Tumblr blog, Percolating. Thanks for reading!

Split Personality

Here I am, the last day of February, back in Portland. It feels good to be surrounded by my stuff (even though I desperately need to purge) and cuddle with my cat. I am dying to see my friends and catch-up. There are three concerts I would love to go to in the next week, new restaurants that opened in the past two weeks, and no sales tax. It's good!

I wanted to go to Bunk Sandwiches for lunch today. Maybe because the last time I went, I was reminded of New York thanks to the Woody Allen shrine by the cash register and the stray copies of the Times to read while waiting for hoagies with hot peppers:





Too bad it was closed by the time I got my act together to head outside. My last couple days in New York were all about finding delicious and cheap lunch. Porchetta was my first stop on Wednesday. With just a tiny counter and a few bar seats in the window, the East Village spot reminded me of Bunk or Pine State, tiny and relatively new Portland outposts of one kind of food (sandwiches and biscuits, respectively) done really well. Porchetta, if you don't speak Italian, does pork. And nothing but pork.



You can get the delicious stuff in a sandwich (just bread and meat) or on a plate with beans and greens. Simple, tasty, and wow, filling – I think I could only now eat more pork after wolfing down that sandwich three days ago.



I think the bacon/ham/pork trend is reaching its saturation point in the foodie world (though it probably has at least six more months to hit backlash in Portland), but I will always be a fan. It is just soooo good!

The rest of Wednesday: My first time in Queens to visit my friend Emily's place. I only saw two blocks, seemed like any other borough at night. I made Emily try an Oregon Pinot noir even though she hates red – I didn't convert her, but she didn't gag either! – and we ate pizza and watched American Idol. He's kind of a hack, but I love the holographic-shirt-and-sweatband-wearing "Norman Gentle," aka Nick Mitchell, for not taking the ridiculous show so seriously – he's wacky and campy and spazzy, oh my! Last stop: Stanton Public to meet Kristen at her co-worker Matt's going away party. He's moving to Boston to take a "creative breather," he told me. Another one of his friends lit up when I said I was from Portland: "I want to move there!" Kristen is planning to move to San Francisco. Am I nuts for wanting to move to New York?

I love how in the largest city in the country, you still find yourself orbiting the same small worlds. I was in SoHo nearly every day of my trip, always for completely different, random reasons. I must have walked by the corner of Prince and Elizabeth Streets close to ten times, always curious about the diner-looking Cafe Habana. A fan of Cuban food ever since I discovered the sorely-missed (in my opinion) Canita (sister of Pambiche), I knew I must have been drawn there for a reason and went back with a purpose on Thursday. Yum! The mole burrito was good enough, but the roasted corn on the cob – ahhhh-mazing! Probably because it was coated in butter and queso fresco. I could eat it every day – and I just might if I keep ending up in SoHo.

Another afternoon of working in my "office" (aka, the library), and then happy hour with Kristen and her work friends at Valhalla. I love that word; vikings or whatever nonsense, I just love the way it sounds. Tons of craft beers, kind of reminded me of all the taps at Bailey's Taproom. I chose hard cider. Such a girl. Kim and Robin and I later headed to the College Humor Live show at the Upright Citizens Brigade. So many barely 21-ers there! I felt old. The guys were funny, the guest comedians – including SNL writer John Mulaney – wunderkinds with so much talent. I'm no stand-up, but it made me want to put more creativity out there.

My last day consisted of lots of wandering, maybe just trying to soak it all up and bring some back to Portland with me. Lunch was a classic street vendor hot dog – my favorite NYC hangover cure from years past. I'll probably never outgrow that. I had come to feel like I really was living there, had settled in to a bit of a routine. My friends kept forgetting I was leaving. I didn't feel like I was really leaving until the plane finally took off. With a non-stop flight, I was back in Portland so quickly, plopped back into my life. But it feels different, I feel different.

I miss New York. I don't want to sound like an inconsistent ninny who doesn't know what she wants, when I was just rambling two weeks ago about how much I missed Portland... but maybe I am. Or maybe it's impossible to ever definitively choose between the two. On my last day in New York, walking through a brown and gray Central Park, my mom left a voicemail and told me to have a good flight back to Portland, which she said she wouldn't call my "home" anymore since I should start thinking of New York as home. And that's partly true – reinvigorated to make the move despite any fear, I'm beginning the process of mentally "moving" as well. But Portland will always feel like home. New York is part of a journey that I know will lead me back here, a quest to find myself in new and challenging surroundings, to prove I can make my life whatever I dream it to be. (Thanks, Thoreau: "Go confidently in the direction of your dreams. Live the life you you have imagined.") But considering how proud I felt every time I told someone, "I'm from Portland," I'm pretty sure I'll be leaving my heart right here in the west.

They Always Go There on Cash Cab

That would be McSorley's, which I finally made it to tonight. Supposedly New York's oldest Irish tavern, dating to 1854 – and a prime spot to mingle with suits, Euro tourists, and packs of dudes. Many cabs pulled up while Mari and I sat by the window, proving that it's quite the destination, but none with Ben Bailey or passengers waving newly-won cash. I swear, I have to move to New York just to satisfy by burning desire to get on Cash Cab.

Mari and I first got dinner at MAX, a spot chosen to satisfy my pasta craving and to put us in the McSorley's vicinity (I've been getting daily texts from my friend Tyler telling me to go or I'd be disowned). Turns out the tiny space, oil-cloth tablecloths, and two-seater bar reminded me of my favorite Portland spot, The Italian Joint. Sad, because that restaurant – where you could get bread, salad (with the BEST raspberry vinaigrette) and a pasta fit for two for under $10, plus a giant carafe of house red for $11 – is closed, so yesterday's rumors go. Fucking economy. This was, of course, not so cheap, but the smoked mozzarella and asparagus ravioli was delicious. I'll eat anything smoked or pickled – those carcinogens are just too tasty to resist!

I arrived at 7:40 for dinner, and we were the only ones in the place; by the time we left an hour later, it was packed. I noticed the same timeline at Union Hall last week – at 7:15, I had my pick of most every seat, but by 8:30, I was crowded around by big groups – and told Kristen about how those big "happy hour" groups start convening as early as 5 and reach their peak around 6 in Portland. She was shocked. No one leaves work that early in New York. The later schedule works with my nocturnal tendencies, but still, I want happy hour at the usual time! Now that I think about it, I haven't noticed a single happy hour menu this entire time – uh oh.

Beers are cheap at McSorley's, though – $4.50 for two, albeit half pints. Saunter up the bar and choose between light and dark ales, that's all they got. We double-fisted it and found a prime table in the window, surrounded by old photos and memorabilia, none of which has been removed since 1910. I'm a sucker for history like that. One beer in, we noticed this mug on the table:



Root beer float? That was my first thought, but no. We decided it was the discarded foam from all the beers – not poured with the greatest care, at least a third of the mug was foam, so people must dump it off to get the goods stuff faster, we figured. Silly girls. Turns out it was spicy-ass mustard, to be used on the famous McSorley's Cheese Plate: saltines, white American cheese, and raw onions.



A generous pair of gentlemen not only informed us what exactly what is in that mug, but shared the gourmet treat with us. We each tried one. That was enough. Then we pondered why Mari thinks people in New York are nicer than people in San Francisco – maybe the more traditional East coast manners? And I wondered if the fact that Mari and I are both not the girliest girls has something to do with us growing up in California – not wanting to be considered ditzy valley girls, we avoided overly feminine stuff the older we got. These seemed like very poignant observations at the time, but maybe that ale was just really strong. All I know is that I want to go out on a limb and wear a skirt tomorrow.

File Under: Why Didn't I Think of That?

I think I may have just finally defrosted from my icy travels last night – and it took a whole night under warm and cozy blankets. If I could walk around New York in a Snuggie, I'd be all set! Instead, I forgot mittens yesterday and don't think my fingers have ever been so painfully frozen.

And still, I was happy the whole way, up to Columbia and back to Park Slope, even when I realized that taking the B train to 125th left me on the wrong side of Morningside Park, which may look skinny and easy to cross on the map, but is really a near-sheer climb up from the east to the west. Wind whipping, cumbersome bag on my bony shoulder, I stomped up hundreds of stairs in heels. I'm not necessarily well-prepared for this urban boot camp, but I'm getting used to it. And I like it.

At Columbia, I met with Ann Cami, an adjunct in the Developmental Psychology department who teaches about children and media – good fit. I'm endlessly fascinated with the way children see the world, how they learn and think, and how that shapes them as adults, and the program focuses on just that. What may or may not be a detriment: it doesn't prepare you for a specific career. I could combine it with my editorial background to go into children's entertainment or media literacy; of if I want to go into private practice, continue on with a doctorate in psychology.

It's a big investment that deserves more consideration. I'm feeling a renewed interest in new media and web development, and damn, I just want to work again. Do I want to, am I ready to switch over to a new path? I've said it before, but this is the first time in my life that I'm not sure of my next step – is it this first real decision that makes me an adult, finally? I keep wondering how I'll look back on this cross-roads in my life ten or twenty years from now, how each of the choices could play out: Portland or New York, editor or psychologist or teacher or writer.... When I was little, I used to tell people I was going to be a doctor and a lawyer and a writer and a veterinarian and an actress. I wish it still felt possible to do it all.

Back in Brooklyn, I went to Alchemy again (close to the subway, and hey, I like it) for some wine and food. The bartender had on a University of Puget Sound shirt, turned out to be from Washington. I told him I was from Portland, and I thought maybe we'd have a friendly fellow Northwesterners rapport. Nuh uh, he was not having it. Whatever, that's why it's PONY and WANY or some crap like that!

And proving that Portland is indeed much cooler, I came home to a link to the portland to new york Facebook group (thanks, Mike Hughes!), full of eighty-four members who "lived in Portland now living or visiting new york city and want to link with people they know." I'm going to suggest they rename it PONY. Or maybe I should start my own PONY group? This one doesn't seem very active....hmmmm. Why didn't I think of that? Perhaps it's not too late. Nope, never too late.

Winsome Whirlwind Weekend Wrap-Up

WARNING: This is gonna be a long one. I promise it'll be worth it. But also feel free to skim for only the scandalous parts.

I'm not sure exactly what's happened over the past four or five days, but I'm finding myself more and more hooked on this city. I feel at home again. It's energy and confidence and creativity that I haven't felt in a long time. It's hard – it's cold and my coats aren't thick enough, I pack my "office" and lug around a leaden bag all day, I don't know the most efficient trains and end up zigzagging all over Manhattan and Brooklyn, walking in circles and generally taking longer to get anywhere than I probably should. But the more I push myself, the better I feel. And the more assured I get to go further, and the more inspired I am to follow through on new ideas. And I'm just having fun, plain and simple. Portland is an amazing place to make a life, but I almost feel like it's time for me to earn it. I have to go away and stretch myself to really be content. I have to throw myself in the ocean and prove I can swim – and remember that even though it's effort, I have fun doing it; then the daiquiri on the beach will be that much more rewarding!

Enough introspection, let's rewind and recount the weekend...

Thursday, February 19
If you recall, Thursday was to be quite a busy day for me. Lesson learned: don't jinx it by blogging about the schedule the night before. I showed up at NYU and no one knew I was coming, nor did they know where the person was I was supposed to meet. Forty-five minutes later, I finally found someone who told me she had called in sick. Nice. I will never call in sick to work again.

Well, time for lunch then...headed up to Madison Square Park for some infamous Shake Shack. If I remember correctly, they opened soon after my ASME summer, and everyone was talking about the burgers, the fries, the frozen custards – serious cult following led to impossible lines. Now there are three locations, but it's still a popular lunch spot – the line took close to thirty minutes! And was it worth it? Eh, not really. The burger was fine, but kind of bland and soggy compared to In 'N Out; the fries were perfectly crisp, but the crinkle cut reminded me of the frozen ones you make at home; and the frozen custard chocolate shake...ick. Too nutty, or bitter, or something for my taste, and not nearly sweet enough. Maybe I'm too used to artificial flavor, but I kind of cringed every time I took a sip. The fauna were 'uuuge fans, though; birds sat right next to me and aggressive city squirrels nearly nabbed a fry when I wasn't looking! The pictures are hilarious, but I have to wait 'til I get home to the download cord to share them. Booooo.

Next up, my inaugural visit to the New York Public Library, which you may know as the refuge for freezing New Yorkers in the brilliant The Day After Tomorrow (can't help it, I love disaster movies!). It was slightly less desolate and a tad bit more warm and inviting, thankfully. It is, without a doubt, my new "office." Sitting in the periodical room, surrounded by murals of the great publishing buildings of the past, who wouldn't be inspired to genius?? Ok, I'll settle for productivity, and it worked wonders. I'm going back tomorrow.

I continued on the unfamiliar motivated-to-try-new-things path by going to a free pilates class that Melissa had looked into while she was visiting. I know, you're shocked! It turned out to be a very intensive bodywork class, less aerobic workout, less full-body yoga stretching, and more specific isolated muscle exercises. There may be nothing I hate more than not knowing what I'm doing (hence sticking with the familiar), and fitness has always been foreign to me. It makes me feel stupid, so I avoid it. Throughout the hour, though, even more than being reminded how out of shape I am (no news to me!), I realized just how much I don't pay attention to the individual parts of my body, how they move and interact in everyday motions, and how I can better take care of them. If/when I live here, I need to make this a regular thing. Any Brooklynites reading this, check out Ophra (that's oh-fra, not the other one) at Force and Flow. Seriously.

Resigned to a lazy night at "home," I hit a few bodegas for some food (this shopping-as-you-need-it thing is also hard to get used to) before Kristen invited me to meet up with her and Robin in Park Slope. Excellent, hot food! The problem is that the Atlantic stop on the subway is attached to Target, and I couldn't resist. If only I knew exercise as well as I know shopping! A few necessities later (and I promise, truly, only necessities, and travel sizes at that), I made it to Alchemy, my favorite kind of dense and dark wooded tavern/restaurant, where I wolfed down a veggie burger (with havarti cheese!) and traded dating advice. I am so out of practice!

Home to Lost catch-up and a bit of PONY news from home: Arthur Gregg Sulzberger, the heir-apparent to The New York Times, who had been a county court reporter at the Oregonian, is now at the city desk of the Times. It was expected that he'd end up back east, of course, just glad to add him to the PONY people list. Think we could swap stories? Ha.

Friday, February 20
I had scheduled lunch with Marlene, the Executive Director of ASME, but this time I had to reschedule because of another PawLinks conversation/interview (more on that later). I was able to make a later lunch with Meredith, another fellow ASME intern, at Spring Street Natural, where I had another veggie burger. The perfect food, I swear!

From there I wandered SoHo, got a wedding gift for PJ (another intern, shower on Saturday), and made my way to the Housing Works Bookstore, which Six-Word Memoirs Rachel recommended – she does work there, after all. I could have spent all day there, like the library – looking at room, I suppose it's no surprise I like to be surrounded by books. Unfortunately for my suitcase, I also can't resist buying books, especially vintage ones. This time, I picked up a 1951 review copy of Exploring the Child's World, a collection of insights and advice from a woman who interviewed kids and, unlike many during that time, listened to them as complete human beings with valid ideas, emotions and concerns. So much common sense now, but apparently groundbreaking at the time. It's fascinating to me to see how expert thinking and recommendations change so drastically with the times.

Cool book, but no place to sit and plug in the ancient laptop, so I just left early to stake our window seat at The Magician – same bar as last Friday with the awesomely cheap happy hour. Emily, one of my roommates from the ASME summer, showed up first, so we got to catch up, then Robin, Kim and Kristen (the trio of Brooklyn-dwelling, Hearst-employed ladies, I should note) arrived, making it about half of the ASME crew. When Kim's friend, Adam, joined us, it turned into an evening of coin toss dares and ballpoint pen "tattoos" – I'm stilled faintly marked with the New York Times "T," a lightning bolt heart, and a pair of so-nerdy-they're-now-hipster-cool black glasses. (Adam, a digital artist/designer/tech communication grad student, had been to the Times Open, a day-conference about open source API, using the new public archive of Times articles dating to 1981, full of inimitably searchable and sortable data. Fittingly, the attendees got a Nerd Merit Badge (you can buy your own) bearing the paper's insignia, providing the inspiration for our ink. Long description, but it was all interesting to me – I am a nerd.)

Now, back to the party... Kim and Robin left to go to a show, Adam went to a birthday party, and Mari met up with us, leaving me with two of my best friends to hit the town. Oooooh-kay, yay! We went to Back Room, which serves drinks in teacups and has a speakeasy vibe with its hidden entrance. Yet another library-esque spot (this seems to be the theme) – the VIP room is hidden behind a bookcase. We would have stayed longer, but we needed food, so we hit up Schiller's Liquor Bar, also with a slight '20s style, this time in the form of a hall of mirrors. I ate yet another veggie burger and loved every bite. From there, Kristen went home, and Mari and I went to 205 to meet her friends Jamie and Wes. Nag champa, techno music, but free drinks thanks to their birthday-boy friend. Deal. And I had the hilarious "pleasure" of meeting Cliff III, who is in the shipping business in Singapore, a trade his family has apparently been in for over 200 years. He grew up quite rich in Manhattan and went to prep school in San Francisco and "summered" in Nantucket. He is the first person I've ever met that I think I can call "pedigreed." They really exist, it blew my mind!

I think it was nearing 4am when we finally went to sleep at Mari's. Phew!

Saturday, February 20
Late start, obviously. After looking at the bridal shower invite, I was relieved to see that jeans were acceptable attire. No time to get back to Brooklyn from the Upper East Side – especially with the party in midtown – so I wore my same outfit from the night before. Classy! PJ and Ryan have been dating since before our ASME summer and are getting married in March, and after watching them match nearly every answer on the homemade video Newlywed Game that her friends had organized, I'm more sure than ever they're perfect for each other. So we celebrated a lot, of course, with tons of food, wine, tea and cake. Stuffed.

Kristen and I headed back to her place to refresh for the bachelorette portion of the fun, that same night. I was amazed at the energy I had, considering the hangover that kept me in bed all morning (or maybe that was the trick!). We went to The Randolph, a cozy nightspot, for schmancy, expensive cocktails – I wanted to order PBR – and I managed to stay relatively clear of all the girlie screaming and shrieking. Lots of fun, but huge groups of girls aren't my favorite scene. I stuck with Emily, Meredith and Brooke most of the time, trying to take advantage of the time together. We capped the night with drunken (everyone else) dancing at Happy Ending. Although now that I think about it, I'm not sure anyone really danced because it was so wall-to-wall packed. All that matters is that PJ was drunk and having a blast and telling everyone how much she loves them. That's all you can ask from a bachelorette party, I suppose!

Sunday, February 22 - today!
I ventured out by myself today, which was nice. I'm more content to explore alone in New York than anywhere else. There's so much to see, so much to get done, it's easier to just stick with your own agenda sometimes. This time was a trek to the Brooklyn Flea, which is massive and massively cool in the summer, as I'm told, but smaller and indoors in the winter. Still, the vintage junkie in me had to check it out.

First off, DUMBO (Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass – basically Brooklyn, near the river, between the bridges) looks just like the Pearl. Warehouses turned into lofts, with walls of retail windows on the bottom. When I walked by West Elm, I seriously got confused about where I was. Second, the market was kind of disappointing. Kristen warned me, but I didn't think it would be that small. Probably under 20 vendors, a mix between clothes, jewelry, house decor, photos. I've spent more time and found so many more things I wanted to take home at HOUSE on Hawthorne; I think half my own house is decorated from that vintage warehouse. But still, I did manage to find another vintage book for my collection: Get Wise to Yourself! This one's a doozy, from 1928, full of ways to analyze your physical features and gestures as clues to your personality – it's become an exact science, they say! Does the ball of your foot hit the ground first when you walk? You're "administrative – suggesting the owner or magnate." Do you have large earlobes? Then you are "generous and benevolent." It gets so much better: forehead slopes, nose bulges, lip angles, chin shapes. Please, come over or send me photos so I can analyze you! As they say, "grasp courage by the forelock; sharpen your pencil; put your pride on the ice for a moment, and proceed to the charts with a heart for any fate."

New collection: vintage self-help books. Hilarious.

Quick dinner and margaritas with Kristen to honor National Margarita Day, then up to Mari's to watch the Oscars. We drank Prosecco and ate brownies shaped like train cars (Mari went to Williams-Sonoma today), and Mari and I tied with 16 out of 24 predictions spot on. That's a record for me. Now I'm watching The Soup and should really be asleep.

Oh wait, there's more? Just a few loose ends..... The job stuff. I've had a few more conversations with the business/marketing/strategy person and the product/user experience developer for PawLinks, and I think they've gone really well. The more I talk about it, the more ideas I have. Tomorrow I've got to finish up some research of their plans so far, plus analysis of a few competitors, then I'm talking with the founder again to share some ideas and nail down a plan/expectations for my proposal. I want to do this. But I also need to earn a living.

Last but sooooo not least, I haven't given up on the subway reading lists. I think they deserve their own blog, though, photos and all. It should debut tomorrow. Also, more cool links and information when I can finally catch up on my own web reading and searching. Thanks for reading my diary for now!

*What, you really thought I would post scandalous stuff for the whole world to read on the internet? You'll have to email me personally for that dirt!

Everyday New York City Rain

Another lazy day for Liz. But only because I was up nearly all night "working," so had to get my zzzzz's during the day today. After some email catchup and more lunch/happy hour scheduling, I finally headed out of the apartment around six – and wouldn't you know it, the rain finally found me! I had been so spoiled by the near constant sun over the past week that I forgot I even packed my galoshes. But after WAY too much time indoors over the past 36 hours, I was on a mission to explore the neighborhood and find myself a wifi coffee shop to do some more "work" – even if I was going to walk a mile in those $6 booties (I know, I can't get over the price either!). But that Brooklyn Industries puff coat....seriously, it's like walking around in your own dry and toasty cloud, completely sheltered from the elements. I am starting a savings fund for my very own. Ask your nearest bank how you can contribute to the Liz-Has-No-Body-Fat-So-Needs-A-Huge-Puff-Coat-To-Survive Foundation.

Anywhooo, comfortable bundled up, I walked by Grand Army Plaza, picture-perfect brownstones on Union Street, bike shops, yoga studios, and the packed Park Slope Food Coop. I realized that I hadn't seen a single Subaru since I've been in New York, and then on the very next block spotted two of them. They were from out of state, though (New Hampshire and New Mexico), so I still remained convinced that Subarus are decidedly part of only the Portland end of the PONY spectrum.

Kristen's recommended coffee shop, Tea Lounge, was overrun by the time I got there, so I ended up at Union Hall for a glass of wine with my laptop. I immediately declared it a new favorite, with vintage chairs and couches (think Kennedy School's movie theater), built-in bookshelves lining the walls, and indoor bocce ball. I also hear they host pretty good bands in the basement. Considering all that and it's in Park Slope, I was pleasantly surprised at the very low percentage of barf-y hipsters. I got lucky on this one!

More walking toward Smith Street in Cobble Hill followed, and a yummy dinner of Provencal beef stew with Kristen at Bar Tabac, a cooler, dimmer, cozier version of Portland's old Brasserie Montmartre. I've never been to Paris, but it felt so authentic to me I wanted a cigarette afterwards, and I haven't thought about one in weeks!

One stop at a newsstand for my daily Twix fix (instead of that smoke), one train ride during which I couldn't make out the titles of any of the books being read (bummer), and we were home to watch Top Chef and (hopefully!) go to bed at a decent hour.

Tomorrow's a busy one and I can't wait. First thing, I'm meeting with the admissions coordinator for NYU's Applied Psychology graduate program. What's that? I've never told you about my secret identity as an aspiring child psychologist? It's been brewing in me a long time, from my days working with kids at camps to the one psych class I took at the end of college, which made me want to learn so much more. With no clear path in front of me, I'm trying to explore every possibility and listen to where my gut leads me. And I tell ya, I haven't been so excited about something as I am to take this real step toward a move I have pondered quietly for years. A visit to Columbia to learn about their Developmental Psychology program is also on the books.

After that, I'm treating myself to Shake Shack. We'll see how it compares to In 'n Out. Then my first visit to the New York Public Library, which I hope will inspire some truly genius work. Ha! I'll end my "work" day with a free pilates/yoga class (thanks, Melissa!) and dinner/drinks with my new friend Eli, the soon-to-be former Executive Director of MoveOn.org, who I randomly met in L.A. with Becky right before New Year's. He's promised to show me what he deems to be cooler sections of Brooklyn than Park Slope – i.e. his neighborhood of Fort Greene. Kristen says the place he picked, No. 7, is delicious, and coming from my favorite foodie, I think that means he's off to a good start!

Working for Work

I said it yesterday, and I'll say it again: Life in New York is pretty much the same as life in Portland, except for diversity, subways and trash on the street. And rats in the walls. But when you're working all day – in my case, on the couch with my laptop – it feels exactly the same. I could have gone to a coffee shop, but I was lazy. Still, I managed to get lots of research done, caught up on emails, and updated my sample Glamour blogs (four new posts). They wanted to see more, so I guess that's a good sign!

It's going to be morning soon. Even the Portlanders are sleeping right now. I'm ridiculous!

Stories to Read, Stores to Tell

I ended yesterday, and began today, with Paul Auster's memoirs of destitution and failure, Hand to Mouth. I hoped that in reading about a favorite writer's struggles – and knowing about the success he later experienced – I would feel a little stronger in my confidence that everything is going to be okay (EGBOK, as my mom likes to remind me) for me. Right now, I'm still feeling very awash in confusion, fear and lethargy. Ick. Not the book's fault, mind you. Just the result of an overactive catastrophizing brain at the moment. The memoirs themselves are light enough to infuse the subject matter with hope. I'll let you know how I feel when I finish the book.



At the same adorable bookstore where I found the memoirs, Unnameable Books, which I came across on Bergen Street during my venture into Park Slope yesterday (smaller even than Reading Frenzy, stacked floor to ceiling with used books), I also picked up a collection of stories Auster edited for NPR's National Story Project. We know by now that I'm a fan of stories collected from real people, and while I love web projects like Six-Word Memoirs and Fifty People, One Question, which collect stories via Twitter and video, it's nice to hold this book, turn the pages and catch a glimpse of people's lives.

On the train back to Brooklyn from Harlem last night, reading the book, I looked up for a moment and realized that six people around me were also reading, and the stories they chose seemed to offer a glimpse into their lives as well. Isn't it true that the stories we read say something about our own life stories? So now I'm keeping track of what I see people reading on the subway. And since I've been riding the subway a ton (see below), it keeps me entertained...

2/15, midnight, 2/3 to Brooklyn: 1776, Medical Terminology for Health Professionals, A Bona Fide Gold Digger, The Wave, New Moon, Bruiser 2

2/16, 2pm, 3 & Q to midtown: Janacek's Essays, A Civil Action

2/16, 5:30pm, R & F to LES: Mary Todd Lincoln, Eclipse

2/16, 11pm, 6 & 3 to Brooklyn: The Crown of Creation, New Moon

So the Twilight books are still pretty damn popular. Can't wait to see what other patterns I notice.

And now, to sum up the last three days:

Saturday, February 14
Melissa and I got a late start, making our way to the Brooklyn side of the Brooklyn Bridge nearing sunset. Turns out the light was gorgeous on the Manhattan skyline. But in just my red ballet flats, my toes were frozen by the time we landed in Manhattan, so we headed to Century 21 to warm up. During my first visit in 2003, I remember being unsettled by this temple of consumerism sitting so bright and shiny across from the hole of the WTC site. How frivolous. It still strikes me as odd, but maybe the best thing we can do for the country is spend a little. Eh? I managed to do my part by snapping up black Nine West booties for six bucks, plus a brown knit skirt for all of $2. Quite a stimulus package! Back in Brooklyn, we put on some dresses (and my new shoes!) and trekked to Bushwick to our friend Ellie's party. It's out there, and kind of a desolate area (except for the lofts that are surely awesome, with a view of the Chrysler Building). And Ellie didn't answer the phone to let us in. Weeee waaaaugh. One party: bust. But I saw a new area of Brooklyn, I was happy enough. Now back to the Park Slope/Fort Green area for Kim and Robin's friend's party. I was again happy when I emerged from the subway on Portland Avenue. PONY, straight up. At the party, I was content to eat cupcakes, drink wine, and girl talk in the kitchen. No romantic or crazy stories, but I swear I'd be happy to just wander the city all night. At least for a little while. Last stop: the fried chicken place on the corner by Kristen's place; chicken sandwich, macaroni salad and Sprite is yummy at 3am.

Sunday, February 15
Time to see Kim and Robin's place in Park Slope. First, a leisurely stroll from the subway along 5th Avenue, boutique/restaurant/bar/coffee shop central. It felt dense like Hawthorne between 34th and 37th, but looked more like Mississippi, and included high-end spots like the Pearl. And just like on a sunny Sunday in Portland, the strollers, puppies and hipsters were out in droves. Perhaps it's a good sign that I have pets on the brain, but I couldn't help noticing at least eight animal boutiques, spas, vets and daycares in probably a ten block radius at the most. Good sign that there's a huge market for the site, at least. I managed to avoid the clothing stores so I wouldn't be tempted, except for Brooklyn Industries, which is opening it's first store on the west coast in – where do you think? – Portland!



Since I've been living in Kristen's long puff coat from there, glad to know I'll be covered on both coasts when I need to invest in my own. (PDX store opens on March 12.) Also stopped in to Bob & Judi's Coolectibles, which I hoped would be packed with vintage treasures like SMUT or Flutter, but it was too well-organized, bright and clean – and expensive – for me to enjoy the hunt. I need to check out Under the Pig down the street, but so far, I fear that vintage shopping may be too sanitized and upmarket here, devoid of the mystery and quirk in Portland. As evening fell, I set out on my trek to Dinosaur BBQ in Harlem for dinner with Mari and friends, most of whom I've known through her since high school. I still can't believe the city is so big that the trip took an hour-and-a-half; you could be at the beach or the mountain from Portland in that time! At the same time, a city with so many different worlds to explore is pretty addicting. Anyway, good barbecue, even better company, and another loooooong ride back to Brooklyn, getting home near one. Exhausted. But still read late into the night.

Monday, February 16
Woke up to read. Saw Melissa off, back to DC. Headed to midtown to meet Andrew Rhodes at McGee's. Andrew worked at ASME and coordinated the internship program that first brought me to New York in 2003. So grateful to him for the opportunity! Unfortunately, he was laid off in December, so this was a commiseration and catch-up beer. I didn't know that Andrew grew up in West Virginia and moved to New York to become an actor in his 30s. Talk about gutsy! I hope this free time helps him get back in touch with that passion. A bit buzzed, I walked down through Times Square. I'm not ashamed to admit it – I love Times Square. It's so bright and busy, so far removed from everyday reality, I can get lost from all my cares and concerns. This surely marks me as a non-New Yorker, but I love to watch the tourists excite in the city and imagine what stories they'll tell when they get back home. Such a fascinating array of people. So much energy in one place. It gets me out of my head. Then headed down to the Lower East Side to meet Mari et al. Got drinks at Motor City Bar, which reminded me of Kelly's Olympian, but not as cool without the hanging motorcycles, and ate Latin American small plates at Paladar. Food was tasty, but the service was terribly slow and the decor looked as interesting as an airport bar. If that place can make it in such a trendy neighborhood, maybe I should open a restaurant. Ha! Endured all the train changes (thanks, construction) to get back home eventually. One night to have the place to myself. I think I may be more introverted than I've thought in the past.

A Veritable Cornucopia of Fun

Unemployment. Recession. Inevitable depression. Every morning I wake up with a heavy pit of anxiety, self-doubt, fear-that-my-life-won't-get-back-on-track in my stomach. It feels all-consuming and makes me resist fully waking up to face a day filled with such uncertainty. The irony, of course, is that laying there and stewing in it just gives it more power. Once I get moving, take a shower, put some effort into what I wear, and step out into the fresh air, some hope returns. And if yesterday was any indication, in a city like this, there's a story around every corner.

First, we made a beeline for the Museum of Sex (Tyler was adamant about this, and Karen and Laura both said it was worth a trip), where the featured exhibit currently examines the sex lives of animals. No holds barred. I'd rather this blog not show up in unsavory Google search results, so I won't go into details – except to say blowholes, G-G rubbing, and diddling. Now go satisfy your curiosity over at Wired. Upstairs, another rotating exhibit explored the evolution of porn; I'm not prude, but watching such explicit scenes with a bunch of strangers was, well, a bit strange. And proving that there can be too much of a good thing, we didn't even walk through the whole thing because the videos just got boring. Finally, the third floor housed the permanent collection of antique vibrators, archaic sex education books (my favorites below), erotic art from various cultures, extreme bondage gear, RealDolls a la Lars and The Real Girl, and sex machines, which I had seen photos of at Powell's a few years ago.



Midway through, around the art and before the RealDolls you could, ahem, explore, some dude started to linger too long and try to strike up a conversation with me. Picking up women at the sex museum – ballsy, but not gonna work with me, buddy. Overall, it was an eye-opening experience...I think our culture would be a whole lot happier if it was as honest and educated about sex as the museum. Worth the $15.

Our curiosities fully sated, we needed to indulge our consumer whores and headed to SoHo. Melissa loves Mango; there, I was tempted to buy a clearance coat, but decided it wasn't warm enough to warrant the expense. Over at H&M, we were welcomed with a 20% off coupon, which was all the permission I needed to buy something. My weakness. But Mom would have been proud that I also bought only sale items. My frugality was rewarded by walking by Miss J from America's Next Top Model (not really a fan of the show or the androgynous runway coach, but it was my first celeb sighting, so yay!). And then, boom, on the other end of the spectrum, some Canadian tuxedo-clad guy stopped us, "Got a quarter?" Immediately followed by, "Right up the ass." I was too overcome by laughter to dig for spare change before he had moved on to a new target.

We ended up at The Magician to meet Kim for happy hour. Happy, indeed – a well drink and house red for $5! if we didn't have to get to bowling by 8, that bar would have been my downfall. Luckily, Kim dragged us out into a van cab (not Cash Cab, dammit!) to get to The Gutter in Williamsburg, where we met her friends, some of the staff behind College Humor. This maybe could be considered by second celeb sighting since the guys (and one girl, Sarah) star in the new College Humor Show on MTV. They make money just being their funny selves, lucky bastards. Aaaaaand, The Gutter was the setting for the Flight of the Conchords new song, "Friends," from the last episode. Hearing that, I was downright giddy (the two glasses of wine I downed at The Magician probably helped)!

What the drinks didn't help: my bowling performance. 60. Seriously? Such a sad showing. So I drowned my sorrows in a red velvet cupcake at Enid's, then a Rogue Stout (yay, Oregon!) at Bar Matchless. The bars were more crowded, but stocked with the bearded, skinny jeans, hipster crowd I know so well. If beers weren't six bucks, we could have been in Portland. Even the Camel guy, who gives you free cigarettes in Portland, came around, but could only give out free Zippos since free smokes are apparently against the law in New Yawk. Probably for the best. I still signed up for the lighter, though, and when the guy looked at my license he exclaimed, "Portland – that's pretty much heaven, right?" Sigh....you may be right, Camel guy. I'm still trying to figure it out.

Maybe today's walk across the Brooklyn Bridge will help. Valentine's Day parties tonight. I hope everyone feels some love today!

Moving, Moving Forward

Today was a transportation clusterfuck. From Brooklyn to Midtown to the Upper East Side, then down to SoHo, over to the East Village, up to Union Square and back to Brooklyn. Phew! And where, oh where has my sense of direction gone? I got off a stop too early on 5th Ave and 59th, which meant I had to walk over three avenue blocks (the loooong ones) to catch the right train to my interview, with time running short. But at least I got to walk by The Plaza and Bloomingdale's. In search of the crosstown bus post-interview (I'll get to that in a bit), I couldn't for the life of me find either that or the subway. I turned in circles in the triangle between 6th Ave and Canal Street before spotting that controversial bike lane and getting wine at a cigar bar that charges $7 for edamame. Seriously??



And the longest trek of all, I dragged Melissa from Washington Square Park to the East Village to get cheap and yummy Indian food at one of the many spots that 6th Street is known for (we chose Taj because it was the first we saw and we were starving – plus, they had a sitar player perched in the window and we got soup, samosa, entree, rice and naan for ten bucks). In subway no man's land, I decided we'd walk up to Union Square, where I lived during the ASME summer. Now there's a Trader Joe's on the bottom of University Hall, and walking in there made me really feel like I was back in Portland, but instead of the impossible-to-find-a-spot parking lot there was an insane line snaking through the back of the store. We didn't want to wait. (Luckily, for winos like myself, there's a separate wine shop to stock up on Two Buck Chuck).

I'm not sure I've ever traveled to such far flung locales in one single day in Manhattan. Walking all those blocks and climbing all those subway stairs, I feel like I had a hardcore workout. The mental concentration and planning it took to navigate the subways, I feel like I had a stressful day at work (and boy, is that satisfying for an unemployed chick). Along the way, I enjoyed a world of music, quite literally – bongos accompanying "The Girl from Ipanema," an Appalachian fiddler, a cappella gospel, bagpipes, and steel drums. Plus, one diminutive woman dressed like Kermit, in all lime green from shoes to gloves, including streaks in her hair. Wha???

And how, you ask, was the interview? It was good. First, it turns out Fetch is across the street from Brother Jimmy's Bait Shack, where I first sang karaoke and used to dance on the bar with Kristen during many debaucherous nights.



The difference between those memories and today's reality made me feel a bit old, but at least wiser.

The meeting itself was less an interview than a conversation about the how the site (PawLinks, for pet owners to connect, learn from experts, organize care, etc) is being developed and what I could bring to the table. He felt the sample content plan and writer's guidelines I submitted as a sort of "edit test" were exactly what they were looking for, and for once, I felt my confidence in myself return. Because this is a startup, there is no real defined job description, and it sounds like the next steps are for me to develop a proposal about how I would launch the content, how long it would take me, and how much I would charge. I could create a plan that keeps me busy full-time, and he plans for the position to become staff down the line. It feels both amazing and incredibly daunting to craft not only the voice and editorial on the site, but my role itself, from scratch. What am I capable of? What am I worth?

These are the questions I won't be thinking about until Tuesday. It's time to get out and have some fun. After all, it's a holiday weekend! I'm sure my loyal reader or two would like to hear about some crazy nights on the town. I'll see what I can do.

Oh, and want to see my sample blogs for Glamour? Letting it all hang out over on...Broke-Ass.

Good Morning, New York!

Ok, so it's hardly morning anymore. I meant to write this when I woke up bright and early, ready to take on the day, when the sun shone through the windows and I breathed a sigh of relief that it was going to be near 60 degrees today – hardly the frigid wasteland I'd been warned about. I did, in fact, wake up early, but on principle I just couldn't make myself get out of bed (or off the couch) – it was 6am in Portland. Nuh-uh. That's obscene.

Almost eight hours later, I'm sitting in the Hearst building's gorgeous atrium cafeteria (soon to be seen in Confessions of a Shopaholic - barf). Kristen is upstairs, stressing about her work at Delish.com. What I wouldn't give for some work stress. It felt so good to sit in an office, like I had a purpose again. I know I praised being free from the cubicle farm a few weeks ago, but these aren't cubes...they're airy desks, stocked with new Mac technology. There were cupcakes to be had. All in all, not a bad place to come to work.

Last night, I got re-broken-in to New York as we drove through Queens and East New York from JFK into Brooklyn. Kristen lives in Crown Heights, in an adorable studio that she has painted my favorite shade of brown. I felt like I was at home sinking my toes into same the white shag rug we both bought at IKEA. The anxiety I had been fighting off all day seemed to melt away, like it always does at night, and I eagerly anticipated my first day in the city.

This morning, however, the angst returned. Kristen gave me door-to-door directions from her apartment to her office, and I still felt overwhelmed at the prospect of heading in to Manhattan. I am overwhelmed at the idea of the job I'm interviewing for tomorrow – do I really want the burden of creating a site's editorial strategy from scratch again? And I couldn't figure out what to wear!

Keep it simple, I told myself. One step at a time. Skinny jeans, black-and-white striped sweater, and the Jimmy Choo heels I found for $60 at Last Chance in Phoenix. At least I can pretend to be sophisticated (I don't think anyone saw me just eat that Lunchable in this multi-million dollar cafeteria). Just walk out the door, get on the train. And the minute I descended into the subway, that smell, not bad, not good, but the industry and humanity of the city, I felt happy. That brought me back to all the carefree wonder and possibility of the summer of 2003. I need to try to look at these two weeks the same way. Anything can happen – and whatever that is, it will be the right thing for me.

I'm off now to meet Mari at her office by the MoMA. I need to write three sample blogs tonight to be considered for Glamour's new "I'm in a financial pickle" blog. At least that's what I've been calling it. I have plenty of fodder for that! And then I'm going to paint my nails and watch Top Chef with Kristen and try to savor each and every moment, not worried about what comes next.

Tomorrow: lunch with Mari, job interview at 3pm at Fetch (yes, a doggy-themed restaurant for a pet website interview), and picking up Melissa at Penn Station, who is going to be my Valentine. That's when the adventures will start.

I miss Portland. I can forget that when I'm caught up in the sea of people on the sidewalk or on the subway. I've always loved being in transit. But sitting still... This morning, I woke up and thought for a minute, looking out the window, I could be in my living room, hearing the traffic on Belmont. I just want brown walls like Kristen's.

Trying It On For Size

I've fantasized about living in New York since I first started reading magazines – first, my mom's Glamour, then begging for my own subscription to Teen magazine when I was merely 11 or 12. I pictured myself growing up to wear power stilettos and stylish skirts, strutting through the hallways of a highrise office, then snaking through the crowded sidewalks to sexy after-work cocktails. I dreamed of the Sex and the City life before it ever materialized on HBO.

At the same time, I was really most comfortable curling up with a book, not flitting around crowds of popular girls; I couldn't wait to go to college, picturing myself carrying great books from class to class, thinking hard, writing furiously. Were I to imagine a night I'd most look forward to, it usually involved a fire, hot cider and a novel, puzzle or movie – not the glitz and glamour of the big city. I am, at my core, a nerd, but have a developed a finely tuned ability to fit in with the cool kids.

When I went to New York in 2003 for the ASME internship, I was breaking out of my shell, trying on that magazine persona for size. And it seemed to fit. I felt at home, more confident than I'd ever been, vibrant, curious, full of energy – my best self. But I was living in a fantasy, a three-month-long bubble sustained by parent-funded NYU housing at Union Square, credit cards, alcohol, and the pristine confidence of youth (I know, I'm only 27, but it feels like ages from 21!). It was exhilarating to have New York City as my playground, with every opportunity available, untarnished by reality. But five years later, that is not the New York I would be returning to – and I'm not so sure that was the real me, but someone so entranced by the city that she was able to fully lose herself in the role.

Do I sound jaded? Cynical? Perhaps it's the Seasonal Affective Disorder we Portlanders are prone to. But perhaps it's the realization that I don't want to pretend anymore. Without a job or a plan for the first time in my life, I am being forced to confront my self at the most bare, stripped of the roles I have taken on all my life to fit in. I am increasingly haunted by the notion that I've chosen what I "like" based on external expectations and approval – i.e. what's "cool." I fear that I've been ignoring my internal voice for so long that it's stopped trying to be heard. Do I want to continue on this career path? Why, really, did I choose it in the first place? Who am I if not an "Editor"? What makes me truly, deeply happy? And where do I belong? Quarter-life existential crisis, indeed!

I'm flying to New York in ten hours. I have an interview for a web startup focusing on pets. I should be excited. I have pictured myself strutting in to the meeting in killer heels, full of the same blustery confidence that I had (or faked so well) five years ago. But something doesn't feel right. It may be fear. It may be the paralyzing inertia of not working for three months. Or it may not be the right thing for the real me. I already miss Portland – for the first time in a long time, I don't want to leave. But I have to go, to find out the truth about what I really want. And I plan to curl up with a good book after I knock their socks off.

(I'll [try to] post here daily during the trip if you want to follow the adventures – I promise much more fun interspersed with the introspective ramblings!)

Street PONY, Where Have You Been?

Almost three years ago, when I was first started editing PDX Magazine, I also began noticing toy horses tied to rings on the sidewalk around town. At the time, there wasn't this website to explain the phenomenon. But researching it for one of the our "PDXplained" columns, I discovered that a local artist, Scott Wayne Indiana, looked at the old rings where Portlanders used to tie real horses as a sadly discarded relic of a bygone era, and decided to resurrect them with the tongue-in-cheek toy horses. It became a community effort, with new horses appearing all over town, one of those fabulous, spontaneous creative projects that makes Portland so vibrant.


I hadn't seen a new horse, though, for a year or more until yesterday, when I stumbled on this pink pony in Southeast. It quite simply made my day. I hadn't realized how much I missed them. And what it symbolizes – the urban canvas of a city bursting with visionary talent – speaks for both New York and Portland. So I've decided it's the new "mascot" of PONYtales. Now we just need a name...

UPDATE: Found My Dream Job, Now What?

I have a new six-word memoir: Accidentally stole your books from Powell's.

This past Monday I went to the "reading" for SMITH Mag's new book, Six-Word Memoirs on Love & Heartbreak. The crowd was disappointingly small (no standers) and not very forthcoming with their own stories when the mic was passed around, but the editors, Larry Smith and Rachel Fershleiser, were lively, witty and obviously passionate about the project. I can relate!

With opportunity staring me in the face, I got the books signed (both the original, Not Quite What I Was Planning, and the new one) and tried to oh-so subtly work into the conversation that a) I'm an out-of-work editor/writer, and b) I would love to work with them. Except I just blurted out, "I'm an out-of-work editor and would love to work with you." So much for subtle. Thankfully, Rachel was incredibly nice, and despite the fact that "there's no money in it," I left with some SMITH lip balm, her email and the inscription, "If you want some unpaid editing work, you know where to find us!" So while a dream job is usually one that also pays the bills, I'm willing to overlook that technicality to be a part of such a compelling project.

Oh, and in the flurry of my excitement (seriously, meeting editors I admire is like meeting movie stars for regular people), I tucked the books into my purse, completely forgetting that I had yet to pay for them downstairs, and just walked right out. I didn't realize my shoplifting ways 'til I got home. I'm ashamed to not have financially supported our indie bookstore and my new friends (ha!), but I'm assuaging my guilt by looking at the $15 I saved as a down payment on my unpaid editing work. Yeah?

It's Business Time

Breaking news, y'all! Who will be gracing Arlene Schnitzer Concert Hall in May? None other than our favorite kiwis, Bret and Jemaine!

Yep, the Brooklyn-via-New-Zealand-residing Flight of the Conchords are finally making a stop in dear ole Portland. Jemaine, with his brooding, bespeckled eyes; Bret with his adorable thrift store animal sweatshirts – I simply love, love, love these boys. Hell, I was Mel for Halloween two years ago (which, I think, makes me the 6th or 7th best "weirdo" fan, according to Wired):



The only problem: Do I push my move back to May to see the magic in person? I am seriously tempted. I'm starting to scheme how I can score an interview with them to get their PONY impressions....stay tuned. (Speaking of, watch the second season on HBO, Sundays at 10pm!)

And because I can never get enough:

The Perils of Being a Hummer

I remember the moment I realized my last name was slang for a sex act. I was watching Saturday Night Live at 12 or 13, and they used "hummer" in a skit. (This whole time, I thought it involved Monica Lewinsky and a book called "How to Give the President a Hummer," but Wikipedia has just reminded me that the scandal didn't break until four years later, so I'm not sure I can trust my memory at all.) Whatever the context, I knew exactly what they were referring to, and I whirled around to my dad, desperately embarrassed – but also irrationally angry that he'd never warned me of this legacy before (in hindsight, I'm very glad we never had that awkward conversation).

Until then, I had, amazingly, never been the target of lewd jokes. All I knew was that Hummer means "lobster" in German, and according to our third grade lesson about surnames, that meant my ancestors were lobster fishermen (where did they do this in Germany? I've never figured that out...). Oh yeah, and it was also the name of those monoliths of the road, which back then were owned by only the military and Arnold Schwarzenegger. The Hummer car company actually sent us a catalog once, full of sweatshirts, key chains, mugs and other tsotchkes – did they junk-mail assault all my distant relatives across the land? Nice marketing trick, guys. I know that I'm "Like Nothing Else," but I don't need to wear it on a T-shirt.


There are certain things you get used to with this last name. I've inevitably collected some curious lobster knick knacks. When I say my last name to close a bar tab, bartenders raise their eyebrows as though I must be joking. Dating...well, let's just say it creates certain high hopes. Even just platonic guy friends never get tired of calling me "Hummer." And I get every Hummer (vehicle)-related news story forwarded to my inbox, making me a mini-expert on a car I loathe. Today's installment, from my dad: Hummer Drivers Get More Tickets. A Lot More. [from Wired] Not too surprising, right? They're bullies on the road. But are they being unfairly targeted because the tanks attract so much attention? Or do Hummer drivers think they're big enough to break the rules more often? I'm going with the latter (and the experts agree). As my dad said, "Our name is being besmirched by 'colossal jerks'!"

I used to think I wouldn't hesitate to change my name when I got married. There's only so many times you can say, "Yes, like the car," knowing the person is really thinking that you've got a great porn star name. These days, though, I think I should hang on to it. Someone's gotta give the name a...well, good name!

By the way, wondering what the PONY connection is in this post? I found a fellow Elizabeth Hummer in New York (who has made the name proud with Hummer Productions). For now, until I tip the scales eastward, we're yet another thing the two cities have in common.

Random Thoughts & Links: Puddles

I walked all the way home from the cafe tonight, wearing galoshes, and never once splish-splashed through the puddles. I carefully stepped around them without even thinking. Where was my head?? Following unnecessary rules for no good reason? Lame! Just a reminder to me to focus less on what I should do and more on what I could do.

In the spirit (puddles), check out what this neato photo set of reflections in the street. He needs to come to Portland, but in the meantime, there's plenty of NY.

Cold Comfort

When I read about the 65,000+ jobs eliminated across the world yesterday – yes, in one day – I felt a conflicted emotion that has become all too familiar over the past three unemployed months: the (slightly hollow) comfort of knowing I'm not alone, rapidly followed by panicked awareness that this means even more competition for the few job openings that pop up. Having already heard that a couple jobs I applied for received upwards of 400, 500 resumes, it's all enough to make me want to curl up in bed and hibernate for the winter.

To battle the dark curtain of depression – and resist the reassuring, but motivation-zapping, warmth of my down comforter – I'm trying to keep a sense of humor. And sometimes that means indulging in those "at least I'm not as bad off as that guy..." comparisons. Today's treat: photos of Wired's Saddest Cubicle Contest winners. No matter what, I am thankful to have traded the cage for the coffeeshop.

Safety First

Growing up in a college town with the most bicycles per capita in the country (Davis, CA) spoils you just a bit. I was riding to school by myself at 7-years-old. I could get to most friends' houses without even hitting a street, instead using the extensive Greenbelt network of playgrounds, grass fields and paths. And when I did hit the roads with the big, scary cars, there were wide, designated bike lanes on every street – not to mention the dedicated bike traffic lights and with more bikes than cars, the most genuine "share the road" philosophy I've ever experienced (I've yet to go to Amsterdam, though, so we'll see).

So when I moved to Portland, which proudly proclaims it's bike-friendliness, I was, well... underwhelmed (seriously: Davis has 100 miles of bike lanes vs. Portland's 38; 17% of Davis residents commute by bike vs. 9% of Portlanders [for real]). And overwhelmed at the same time. With bigger and busier streets, bridges, hills and some horribly designed intersections, I did not feel like the city was inviting me to ride. Instead, I was scared. A lifelong bicyclist, and it took me eight years to hop on two wheels again.

Thankfully, I finally grew some balls and regained my confidence; now, carless for the first time since I got my learner's permit, I ride everywhere. But I still get nervous at night, especially on streets with no bike lane. So I'm rooting for this LightLane to go into mass production:


[Copyright Altitude, via their blog Dustbowl]

While those new neon green boxes surely help vehicles notice cyclists in the daytime, this laser-projected bike lane will do wonders once the sun goes down – your own little safety zone trailing out behind you wherever you ride! It may label me a scaredy-cat nerd (I'm sure the fixed gear-heads wouldn't be caught dead with one), but I'd rather that than end up as another ghost bike.

(And yes, I do realize now that I am, again, spoiled with biking amenities in Portland. I'm not sure what waits for me in New York; although I imagine parts of Brooklyn will feel similar in both scale and hipsters-on-vintage-bikes population, I wouldn't even want to drive in Manhattan, let alone ride my bike. Two recent developments, however – a buzzed-about bike rack design competition and controversy-inducing bike lane on Grand Street separated from traffic by parked cars – leave me hopeful that I'll find a similar bike culture across the country. Now let's just hope it doesn't take me another eight years to adjust to a bigger city this time!)

Found My Dream Job, Now What?

That was six words.

How would you tell your life story in six words? That's what SMITH Magazine is all about. Well, they're all about storytelling, and using new social media to do it. The six words idea came from a "legend" that Hemingway was challenged to tell a story in only six words. He wrote, "For sale: Baby shoes, never worn." A couple years ago, the two guys behind SMITH put the same challenge to the people via Twitter. The overwhelming response was published in early 2008. I came across the book in a small bookstore in Astoria; why I didn't buy it, since I couldn't put it down, I don't know. But an article about their most recent book, focusing specifically on love & heartbreak, brought me back.

So, what would your six-word memoir be? My problem is that I can't settle on just one. Here are two, in case you're wondering:

People-pleaser, finally making herself happy. • Leaving life of leisure for NYC.

And a third, the title above. I find almost nothing as fascinating as people's stories (yes, I'm voyeuristic that way) – especially told through their own words. I know the MySpace/Facebook world we now live in, which has pretty much decimated privacy, can get tiresome, putting every life on display. But that's why SMITH's curated collections are so important. And the six words leave you wondering, filling in the gaps, imagining the history, the future. Obviously, I would so love to work there. Maybe a special PONY category?

I Love Musicians

I had a mini-panic attack over the weekend about moving; I let my neuroses get the better of me (unfortunately not a rare occurrence) and started freaking out that I won't have enough money, won't find a job, won't find a place to live, won't have the moxie to make it in New York. That combined with some nostalgia about Portland made me wonder if I've really made the right decision.

Then a few musicians stepped in to remind me why it's worth the risk.

First, My Morning Jacket's Jim James told New York Magazine why he moved to NYC from Louisville:

"I wanted to find different ways to see the world, and reinvent myself, and try to wipe the slate clean. The pace is a little slower back home. I love the unpredictability of the city. I feel like I'm playing some crazy game here – like I'm Pac-Man or something. Even when I'm sleeping I'm there playing the game. Somehow I'm not my normal self. Yet maybe I'm more my normal self than I was before?"

And here I thought he was just an epic guitar player (see Kristen's pics from their Edgefield show in September). Turns out he has also perfectly expressed why I want – need – to move. I love Portland. And watching it grow and change over these eight years has been amazing. But now it's time for me to grow and change. To get out of my comfort zone (and let's face it, Portland is almost too comfortable!), to build a new life as an adult, to see who I am in a new environment, faced with new challenges and new adventures. It's the classic twenty-something manifesto, I know. Thing is, I have never felt more myself than I did in New York during the ASME internship summer of 2003. I showed up all alone and made some of the best friends of my life. I found a place for my spastic (and yes, neurotic) energy amidst the buzz of the city. I'm more than ready to be back. Jim James calls it Pac-Man; George Costanza played Frogger in the streets. I think my game will be more like Tetris, fitting the angular, mismatched pieces of myself together in the nooks and crannies of the city.

And second, the next night, I hung out with my ex, now friend, Mike (Johnson - Reclinerland and Parks & Recreation). He, too, is feeling restless in Portland, so we had lots to talk about. [Side note: He's always wanted to live in London, and I got him M. Sasek's classic children's book This is London when we were dating. This time, two years later, he brought me This is New York. Is he not the best ex-boyfriend ever?] Long story short, he recorded a cover of The Pogues' "Fairytale of New York" with Grey Anne. I know, the lyrics are pretty depressing (broken hearts, addiction), but the name and the one line ("I can see a better time / When all our dreams come true") make it my new theme song. Listen to their darling rendition here.

[One more tangent: Got a better theme song idea for this PONY stage of my life? I'd love to hear it! I'm terrible at remembering songs off the top of my head. During my radio stint last Friday, there was a segment on the best movie montage songs of all time. I would really love to see this time of my life as a movie montage. And I need a song!]