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A friend sent me an invite to Joost's beta project (and I think she got it from Holy Moly, so you may all have it, but if you don't...) I thought I'd pass on to you, because it's incredible. Or it will be.
I got hooked on Bridezillas last night. Strangely, it comforted me. I think this aberrant behaviour has something to do with me reaching the 5 weeks to go mark. (I've done pretty well so far. No white, no gold script, no magazines...)
I've had to bring back captcha (which I didn't really want) as I got spammed to within an inch of my blog's life. (Isn't it weird, anyone else who's had this, how they try and be so insidious, but so badly? Like starting a comment about Lust +/ Viagra with 'hey, nice blog! interesting stuff!!') By mistake I did Typekey instead, which meant people started emailing me instead of commenting. Which was quite nice actually, but it's all back in order if you want to write here instead.
According to the NY Times. I wonder if it'll be as big here.
This song is everywhere here. You have to love it. Maybe you don't. But I do.
(Spoke too soon about the storms.)
This is No Name. He's my room mate for the week. It's nice. He's fantastically good company. Matt and I had a fish like this at university called MJ, who tragically died while we were on holiday. Somehow these particular fish feel like they're always playing. They're just nice to have around. It's funny how you can rent out fish for a few days and not feel bad about it the way you would if it was a dog, say. Although the one thing I can't do (as enouraged) is name him. That feels exploitative. You can't name a pet you're only looking after for 3 days. He surely must have one already. So he's No Name.
So after the blur that was Chicago, and the almost total absence of sleep since Sunday, I just had 9 hours straight. I think the last time I did that was years ago. So that's good. And I've woken up to thunder and rain, but it still looks beautiful.
I always feel like I have more of connection with New York than is warranted by the actual time I've spent here. In so many ways it feels like home. More than London really. And I've only ever been twice before. But it's all to do with the first time. I came here to work for Elle magazine (I say work, it was more a placement where you sit and email your friends and make coffee) in the summer of 2001. I knew I had to do it, because I was 20, and at the time, it was the only summer plan that scared me. So I did. And it turned out to be the most incredible experience, that taught me you can be as in love with a place as with a person. I spent weeks wandering the street alone, gawping at people, talking to people I needed to say nothing to, just for the accents. Reading the totally inappropriate Crime + Punishment in Central Park to the sound of jazz trumpet. Then meeting friends out here, one of whom has become a lifetime kindred spirit.
And then, in the middle of it all, just as I had fallen for this incredible city hook line and sinker, came 11th September 2001. I was staying in a friend's apartment at the time - she was out of town. And I remember the phone not working when I got up. Then the internet was down. I went to talk to the doormen to see if they knew why, and they told me to go upstairs and watch TV. Which is when I first saw the planes.
I cut my stay short after that, and went home 10 days later. But really I was torn. My family wanted me home, and although I felt like I was tearing myself away, it also seemed totally inappropriate to be a tourist at that time. I'll never forget the immediate change though. The impact on these particular people, of that particular event. As soon as I was home I wanted to come back. I felt like I was in the wrong place. That somehow at home I couldn't deal with the shock as well. Somehow it was weird that everyone else had a version of what had happened, when although gargantuan in effect on NY, it felt at the same time so local. It didnt' feel right that everyone knew how it happened and why. I felt incredibly lonely, and the only thing that helped was hearing from friends in New York that everyone there had the same thing as me: waking up at 3 in the morning shot through with anxiety.
In a way it all made me love NY even more. I ran away in the middle of a big love affair with it, and promised I'd come back more permanently one day. As it's worked out, this is only the second trip since. I still bring the same guide with me. And, like everything about that summer it feels so innocent, so dated. It has, of course the WTC in its list of attractions, as did the postcards I sent that summer to family.
So. Here I am again, and it's as beautiful as ever. The storms are just finishing up I think, so I'm off out again.
If I extend my neck in a slightly odd fashion this is what I can see out of the window. I got here a couple of hours ago after the blur that was Chicago, and luckily I get to stay for longer for this stop. Over the moon to be here.
Lots to post about, but I'm going to explore first.
I'm all work and no blog at the moment. And I can't even tell you about it, as it's mostly top secret. Last night, just before packing it in very late, I found this for something I'm working on. And it cheered me no end. Good old Kermit.
(Those of you lured here by the potential in the title of an intelligent plannerly post on Green Issues, tempered by a light hearted reference to Kermit, well, sorry about that. There's just Kermit instead. Hopefully better blogging service will be resumed shortly.)
Worsley by name. Daft by nature. He sits there and pouts, for much of the day.
Much fun has been had at Bloom creating our Simpsons avatars.
(There are more than four of us, these are just the best photos).
This was mine.
And then I thought I ought to do a muppet one. But when I did, I realised Beeker looks more normal as a Simpsons avatar. So that's not quite right.
Home. Vigour renewed.
I'm always startled - and then startled at being startled - that holidays actually work. It's easy to forget how good for you they'll be. Walking home today I had to stop 3 times to write things down. (Probably rubbish, but the important thing was it didn't feel like it was). I had that kind of unfurling of ideas you get when your mind is properly refreshed. Where each one spawns another. It's nice.
So I figure holidays are like anything that might need a break. The project you're working on. The paper you're writing. The little sore in your mouth.* I've always had this problem, to the extent that I'll even delay going to the bathroom to a dangerous extent, just to crack a sentence. But the thing is that probably pretty much whatever you're doing will benefit from a cessation of some sort. Must remember this. To just stoppit. Just do it. In Nike's if you must. (I was, for most of it, although I don't think that's where I got my spirit).
These are the postcards I always buy. Every year. I can't resist seeking out the old - even faded - ones from the little shop sandy with bare feet, in the dunes. This year I forgot to send them. But seeing as most people get the same ones every year I doubt anyone really minds. One of them is of the beach in winter, which has bewitched me for a long time. I've had such a lengthy romance with the place that I fantasise about seeing it in such a different guise every summer I'm there. Weirdly I've never been. Probably because I can't find anyone odd enough to want to go in crap weather.
*Update. It's been brought to my attention this makes it sound like I had some dreadful illness. I don't mean it literally. I meant it as a metaphor. You know, like Ed Norton in Fight Club when he says Helena BC is like a sore in your mouth that would go away if you just left it alone. Something like that.
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